Page 30 of Dragon Fires Everywhere (Witchlore #4)

I spend the next few days in the archives, but it’s not like that first night. The archives are being decidedly difficult.

No more books appear and show off for me. I commune, I ask, I beg .

But they give me nothing.

I try to find information about next steps, about what happens on the solstice, and how to make sure the full power exchange

happens.

I try to find books about dragons, past lives, and most importantly, dark magic.

“Maybe it’s a test,” I suggest to Octavius, who’s curled up in the middle of the table in the center of the room. A little

shaft of light shines on him from the skylight above, and he’s basking in it.

He doesn’t offer anything in return, not even a feline show of support.

I don’t feel tested . I feel thwarted. Like the Joywood are dancing around in the stacks, hiding everything I need. Which makes it easier to pack

up at night and head home.

I have no desire to dance with the Joywood.

Tonight, I decide to change my way home. Maybe I’m not getting anywhere in the archives because I’m following the same old patterns. Maybe I need to take a page out of Azrael’s book and upend everything.

The thought makes me smile, and I decide to take the longer walk back to Wilde House along the river path that humans—mostly—use

to jog and cycle on.

I watch the river as I walk, my hands in my pockets against the cold. I’ve forgone the black jade rodent that looked a bit

too much like Carol’s weasel and switched it out for a disc made of fluorite that I bought in Juneau. I curl my fingers around

it now, still seeking that spiritual crystal guidance I’ve had trouble feeling since I returned from my trip.

My crystals and I just haven’t been on the right frequency ever since. Everything has felt off since I came back. I frown

a little, trying to think back to anything that might have happened to ruin my balance. Sage and Cailee, obviously—except

I felt off before I walked in on them. I went to Sage’s house because I already felt strange.

I hold the fluorite disc more tightly, but I still feel nothing. Nothing comes to mind to explain it. I stop walking, though,

because what does come to mind is that melody.

Faint and just out of reach, as always.

But calling me, tugging me.

I realize then that I forgot to tell my coven about this. About Carol watching the rivers from the windows in Wilde House

when she was there.

How did I forget? It feels imperative now.

If Carol hears this melody too, then surely I need to get to the source of it. I step off the paved path and take a few steps

on the hard, cold ground. I frown down at the river and feel a shiver of fear when I see the water looks black again, the

way it did before Emerson dived into the confluence and fought off the flood that would have killed us all.

This is a very bad sign. I should hurry home and tell everyone.

I’m sure that’s what I’ll do, but my feet take another few steps toward the water anyway. Because that melody is so close .

If I could make out the words, would that be the answer to everything? I just need a few words. Then I can—

My feet slide out from under me. I let out a screech. My butt hits the ground hard .

But then... nothing else happens.

I let out a surprised, relieved sort of laugh. I get my bearings, a little confused, but it was just a slip in the mud. I’m

fine. Shaking my head, I try to push myself to my feet. Muddy and a little wet and feeling silly.

I’m just hoping that no one saw me bite it on the riverbank. That’s hardly the sort of dignified behavior witchdom is looking

for in its newly elected—

But I can’t get up.

I struggle to move, to get my feet under me, but I can’t.

I can’t.

And the water is suddenly creeping up and over my legs. I try to shove myself back on my butt since I can’t seem to get to

my feet, but the mud not only won’t let me go, it’s sucking me closer and closer to the water.

All that waiting black—

And maybe it’s an overreaction, but I try to reach out to my coven.

Only it doesn’t work. I can feel the magic deep in the center of me... stuck. Like something is blocking it from moving out.

Fear sinks its claws into me, because this is more than a slip in the mud, more than rising waters. I reach into my pocket,

frantic for something that will help. I touch the fluorite disc, but it burns .

All of the crystals on my body begin to do the same. Pulsing and burning hot, but not in warning, not in comfort or guidance,

not in anything good .

They are actually burning me.

Every single crystal on my body is like a fire, and their singing as they blaze through me, that same, terrible song—

Except the ring Azrael gave me.

I decide it’s my only hope. I hold it out, away from the water. But I know almost at once that it’s the wrong move, it’s not

the answer. I have to use it.

With my ringed hand, I begin to slap at the black water as it seethes in closer. It doesn’t seem to do anything—

But the water isn’t rising anymore.

And then, deep inside that black, dangerous water, I see glowing eyes.

I freeze, because those eyes remind me of something in a cage—

But the memory is dim. Still, I know this is bad and wrong, as black tendrils of water begin to wrap around my legs and pull.

Hard. I’m sliding in the mud, into the water and the vicious black.

Something in me screams. Maybe I do.

Then a roar thunders through the air above me.

I look up at the bright sky, and there is Azrael in his full dragon form, like he should definitely not be if we’re trying

to keep him a secret.

But that’s only a fleeting thought, because I’m getting sucked into the water again. Azrael’s eyes blaze gold as he swoops

down low along the surface of the water.

Fire roars out of his mouth in a dazzling dragon display. Something deep in the water screams in pain, but ribbons of black

shoot out of the water and wrap around one of his wings. He shoots more fire, and the ribbons fall into the water with a slap . But then another band slithers up over my leg, pulling me so that I’m neck-deep in black, oily, churning water no attempts

at swimming or magic can seem to disengage.

Azrael lands on the water, dragon claws flashing. He’s grappling with something, and then there’s a loud boom , almost as loud as Azrael’s roar.

I hear something high-pitched mixed in with the boom , like the crescendo to a terrible song, and then I can feel something break .

At last I’m able to scramble away from the water.

Which is just its normal brown again. I look around frantically and see my coven charging in. Azrael lands next to me, still

in his dragon form.

His wing is bleeding. My lungs are burning.

“What happened?” Emerson demands, skidding to a kneeling halt next to me. She’s immediately whispering a spell to get me dry.

“It got away,” Azrael says disgustedly. When Jacob approaches his wing, he jerks it away. “A witch Healer can’t help me. See

to Georgie.”

Jacob pauses, then turns to me. He kneels down next to me too. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “I’m fine. It just... tried to pull me in. Into the water.”

“She’s burned,” Azrael says flatly.

And only then do I remember the crystals. I hold out the hand that tried to grab the fluorite. There is indeed a burn there.

Jacob sets about to healing, and I would try to speak, try to understand what has happened, but a crowd has appeared. Made

up of witches—Joywood and Riverwood supporters alike—who live in St. Cyprian and must have heard the commotion.

And who are now staring at Azrael, full-on dragon Azrael , with a mix of awe, shock, and fear. Mostly fear.

This isn’t the worst thing in the world, I tell myself. It’s fine. It’s just a dragon. We all wield magic, and a dragon is

just a step away from that.

Everything is okay , I tell myself.

Until the Joywood charge through the middle of the crowd, right at us.