Page 33 of Dragon Fires Everywhere (Witchlore #4)

“No, but it’s also not just a story,” I counter. “There’s historical fact buried in there. There’s our story buried in there. And it’s magical because the story keeps changing. Which means there are other stories too.”

I look over at Azrael, and I don’t like what I see on his face. A guardedness I don’t recall ever being there before. “You all must focus on the future,” he tells us. “On the solstice and your ascension.

Not fairy stories and not me.”

I don’t understand that kind of response. Not from him. “But you’re what makes us a true coven.”

He’s not looking at me. His gaze is on a grave to his right. It’s a Wilde, with a stone raccoon sitting on the top of the

headstone.

“I knew him,” he says as we all peer at the carved name. LINUS WILDE. “He was a Historian, I was his protector, and I failed.” There are layers in his voice then, like smoke and fury, but when

he looks back at us, his gaze is cool. Onyx more than gold. “This time around, I have not failed. But I almost did.”

I can see how that weighs on him. The almost of it.

I move to him, and he doesn’t push me away, but there is still a distance he has put up. A wall, even as his arm comes around

me and he looks out at my coven.

“You all do not understand the role of the fabulae yet. It’s not the same as yours. I add magic to spells, to ceremonies,

but I do not have to have a say in all the goings-on, the day-to-day. You must go on as you did before I showed up.”

I don’t like this at all. “Why would we do that?”

But he remains calm. Too calm. “Trust me. I have not led you all astray.” Then he smiles, but it has none of that dragon certainty, and I hate it. “Yet.”

“Azrael—” I begin.

He looks at me, and I think he’s trying to hide all the old pain in his eyes, but I can see it. “You must all go and focus

on full ascension. On making sure the Joywood do not have access to the archives, to your crystals and homes and so on. You

must be vigilant. You can deal with me once all is said and done.”

I can tell no one is quite buying this, but no one says anything. No one argues with him. So I do, clenching my hand tight around the ring he gave me.

“You don’t really think we should just... leave you in a graveyard and worry about ascension like you’re not trapped here,

do you?”

“I don’t think you should. I know you should,” he says gently. Almost like he understands what he’s asking of me. Of us . He looks like himself again, for a moment, when his gaze meets mine. “Trust me, Georgina.”

I want to. I really do. But this is leaving him behind, and that is not what I stand for. It’s not who we are.

“How about we regroup,” Emerson says then. And I know this is directed at me, even if she’s ostensibly addressing the coven.

“We’ll all go home and sleep on it. Then we’ll meet back here in the morning and discuss plans.”

Azrael makes a frustrated sound. “You need not come back here. Have your meetings and plans in Wilde House where they belong.”

“We’ll be back here in the morning, Azrael,” Emerson replies. Firmly. “Whether we need to or not.”

He says nothing to this. He turns back toward the grave he pointed out instead. Behind me, my friends take off, talking quietly

amongst themselves.

Emerson comes to me and gives my arm a squeeze. “If you decide to stay here tonight, let me know, okay? I don’t want you alone after what happened.”

I nod. But I don’t promise. I think alone may be just what I need. But I won’t put myself at risk again. There will obviously

be no more walking along rivers.

She and Jacob leave then, choosing to walk over to his farm.

I don’t watch them go. I watch Azrael’s back instead. Of course I should stay here, with him—

But when he turns back to me, he looks so remote. Walled off. Not like the dragon I’ve come to know at all. Not even like

the newel post version of him.

“You should go back to Wilde House,” he tells me stiffly. “Or the archives. There is much to do, and those are the places

where you will be best protected.”

“Do you think this act is going to work on me?”

He sighs at that. “This is not a game, Georgina. It is not...” He trails off. Then some of that intensity I know so well

shines through in his expression, making everything in me feel comforted and furious at once. “I need you to understand me.

To believe me.”

“What I can’t believe is that you suddenly don’t want to be in the middle of this.”

He looks at that Wilde grave again. Sad. Guilty. “This is not about wants. It is about what is right.” He says this as if

the words and feelings are brand-new to him, but with a dollop of self-recrimination that I’m not loving. “It is about the

future. Not the past. I have been trying to re-create the past, and you almost died for it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The Joywood are behind the black magic attack.”

“Yes,” he agrees, but doesn’t explain.

Maybe he does actually need time. Maybe this mood of his will blow over. Maybe this is what a bad reaction to something he can’t burn looks like on a dragon—and Hecate knows I would be having a whole private opera if I found myself imprisoned in a graveyard .

Then he reaches over and touches my face. “My own,” he says, and I can tell he is trying to smile. Trying to lighten this

up between us, but he can’t manage it. “They have taken away my ability to protect you by putting me here—something I was

almost not able to do today anyway. So you must protect yourself. You must be careful. They have made you a target because you are the one who can find the truth, and the past. I think we both know

the truth and the past can be dangerous weapons. You must focus on the present, the future, instead. So you are safe.”

And then I realize what this is. Worry. Deep concern. Over me .

But he doesn’t seem to understand that’s a two-way street. I grip the hand on my face. “What if something happens to you here?”

He gestures around the cemetery with his free hand. “Frost was not wrong. This space is sacred. I’m not saying the Joywood

wouldn’t try to pervert the sacred, but they will find it incredibly difficult. I am safe here. You seven are the ones who

are walking in a world without safety. You must not spend your time here. You must not let me be a distraction. I accepted

my imprisonment because I can handle it. Focus on your coven. Focus on you .”

He’s trying to get rid of me. He’s trying to manage me. He’s never done this before, and I have no idea what to do with it.

“Azrael, you are part of me .”

He stares at me then. There’s gold in his gaze, but also something else. Something has changed. From the moment he saved me

from that water, something changed .

He presses a rather chaste kiss to my forehead. Squeezes my hand with the ring on it. His ring. Our ring. “Do not take it off. It is protection, Georgina.” His gaze meets mine, serious and focused.

“I won’t,” I say, as honest and real as any vow. “But you must promise to reach out for help if something goes wrong. You

must promise—”

“Georgina,” he interrupts, decidedly not promising. “You must go. And focus on the real problems at hand.” He holds my gaze, gleaming and determined. But there’s

an odd kind of desperation there. “The past does not matter. I need you to understand that.”

It’s such a strange thing for him to focus on. I have the terrible notion that he means... all of our pasts. Not just what

he’s been doing since he escaped his curse.

But I’m a Historian . Of course the past matters. I would think so even if he hadn’t said it himself.

There’s no point arguing with a dragon who’s made a decision, though. Might as well go pound my head against the snarling

stone version of him instead. So I hug him, hold him close, and he does the same.

I put my hand over the gash on his arm. I am no Healer, but still I whisper words of healing, hoping it offers something .

When I pull back, his expression is careful, unreadable. But he smiles. “I will see you tomorrow morning. Not before.”

I want to scowl at him, but... This is what he wants. And he is the one imprisoned, so I should give it to him.

Reluctantly, I leave him behind. Alone. I hate it. I know if I go home to Wilde House, I will only stew, and likely convince myself to return against his wishes. So I go

to the one place I know I can be distracted enough to forget he is imprisoned and alone .

I go straight to the archives.

It feels different immediately. It’s more welcoming.

There are stacks and stacks of books already on the table. A book on the history of dragons, three tomes on the dangers of

black magic, and every other book I asked for before. Still nothing on the history of the Joywood, but it’s progress.

“What’s changed?” I ask out loud, frowning around at all the golden light. “Azrael being imprisoned? Being attacked like that?”

Then it dawns on me. It was the black magic in my crystals.

The archives knew, clearly, and they could not allow me to have any information about power, about covens, about ascension

or black magic, until I was free of it.

If Azrael wasn’t stuck in a cemetery right now, I think this understanding might have defeated me. That’s how close I was

to ruining everything for everyone, because I had no idea I was the Joywood’s latest attack on my coven.

I thought Carol had kept my true parentage a secret because of some grand plan, but it was just this—a distraction. The Joywood

use the personal to distract from the political. And everything they do is about power.

I should have understood they would never give it up so easily.

I stand here, in the middle of historic texts and all our pasts laid out to learn from. Why doesn’t Azrael want me to do that? It makes no sense. What is he trying to hide?

No, he’s not one to hide. I know that much. He’s trying to protect me from something. Something that connects to the attack

today—and I frown at that.

What about today made him worry about the past ? About me, a Historian , finding the past?

But I should focus on the Joywood’s past.