Page 40 of Dragon Fires Everywhere (Witchlore #4)

Ellowyn is closest to me, so I reach out, grab the sleeve of her cloak, and tug.

She turns her head toward me. “Wh— Oh, shit.” She immediately reaches for Zander’s hand. “Remember that dream I told you about

from All Souls’ Day?”

“Not real— Oh, shit ,” he says when he catches sight of the violet-eyed raven. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I think we need to follow him,” I say, not taking my eyes off the bird as he hops once, then twice, each time moving deeper

into the shadows of the alley. “Can you get everyone?”

“On it,” Zander says, then disappears.

I take a step forward, but I’m still holding on to Ellowyn’s cloak, so I don’t get far.

“Georgie...” she says in warning.

“We can’t lose him.” I know this the way I know that Azrael is wrong to stay away from me. I take another step, and Ellowyn

steps with me. “Do you remember anything else from your dream?”

“He was just there and... Well...” It isn’t like Ellowyn to trail off and get quiet, so I risk taking my eyes off the bird and look at her. She makes a face. “I’m just not entirely sure the bird part was a dream. I’m pretty sure I woke up from the dream and he was in the window.”

“Pretty sure?” I ask.

She looks at me with her bejeweled Revelare gaze. “He was in the window. He was real.”

And she can’t lie out loud. So that means it’s the absolute truth.

We stare at each other. Then at the crow, who is standing there, half in shadow with his head tilted to one side, staring

right back.

Rebekah and Frost appear then, and Zander reappears next to Ellowyn. “Jacob is trying to maneuver Emerson out of an impromptu

speech. Apparently the vote has almost gone in Azrael’s favor. She just needs two more,” he says, his gaze on me. “Then they’ll

catch up.”

He’ll be free. He’ll be free . Once he is, I can deal with all the Azrael-ness of it all, but for right now, I have to think about this violet-eyed bird.

I hurry a few steps forward into the alley because the bird has started hopping again. He’s almost out of sight.

We reach the end of the alley at a fence line. On the other side of the fence is a parking lot. It’s not the most beautiful

setting—except, when we arrive, something sparkles around us.

Magic, but not a magic I recognize.

If I have to describe it in terms of anything I’ve seen, it’s a little bit like Azrael’s smoke.

And a little army of crows sits along that fence line, there at the end of the alley.

They’re not just sitting , I realize. Not the way crows do all the time, all over the place. There’s a certain intent . A purpose , even, as if they arranged themselves there—

My breath goes a little shallow. Are these crows magical creatures? A different sort of fabulae?

But how were they freed if they are?

The biggest bird among them flies forward. It has something in its beak. It sets the envelope down in the middle of all that

sparkling magic, on something like a tiny podium. Then it simply... flies away. And the others follow, one after the next.

Like a parade of crows.

And then there are no more birds and no more swirling magic. Only the end of an alley and an envelope. I move forward to touch

it, but Ellowyn holds me back.

“This feels like an epically bad idea, Georgie,” she mutters.

“Cosign,” Rebekah agrees from behind us.

“By all means,” Frost says with scathing sarcasm, “pick up the magic envelope delivered by a full murder of crows in a dark

alley in midwinter. What could go wrong?”

“I hate agreeing with him,” Zander practically growls. “On anything. But give me a break, Georgie. At least wait for Emerson

and Jacob before you jump into the next suicide mission.”

But the script on the front is a looping, fancy calligraphy. And it says my name.

Not my nickname.

Georgina , it reads.

Jacob and Emerson appear. Emerson is clearly worried, but she’s listening. “It was on the book cover this morning,” I tell

them.

I describe the scene in detail and the necklace the crows gave me in that picture.

“I know this is an envelope, not a necklace,” I say before anyone else can, “but I think I’m supposed to read it. It has my

name on it, after all.” I look back at my coven, especially Emerson. “This book has been nothing but a positive force for

us,” I remind her. “Your— our grandmother wrote it.”

Eventually she nods at me. A green light.

I pick up the envelope and open it carefully, then pull out a card.

It’s ornate. Beautiful drawings of trees and many crows, with purple-and-green gems along the top. Along the bottom, there’s an intricately painted scene from the cemetery across the way.

Complete with a dragon statue.

“What does it say?” Emerson demands.

“It’s an invitation,” I say. Carefully, as I read the words in dramatic calligraphy, and not in English. These are old spell

words. An ancient vocabulary I have previously only read in very old books. “It says, more or less, ‘ The Most Holy Cornix, First of Crows, is Commanded by His Royal Highness the King to invite Georgina Pendell into the great

compliment of His Royal Presence at the St. Cyprian cemetery. Immediately. ’ ? ”

For a moment, we all stand there very quietly. Rebekah studies the invitation over my shoulder. “Whoever made that has some

serious skills.”

I’m studying that dragon statue. It doesn’t feel like a threat, but I’m worried anyway. “We have to go.”

Emerson pauses, and I think I am either going to have to argue with her... or just fly away and argue with her later. But

she finally nods. “Let’s go.”

So we all fly across the river and land, together, at the cemetery entrance, still in our ridiculous costumes. Azrael is standing

in the archway, the statue rearing up behind him. His arms are crossed, something like a puff of smoke billowing out of his

ears as he stares not at us—

But behind us.

We all turn.

Across from him, outside the cemetery bounds, sits a man.

Though sits and a man are not actually accurate descriptors for what I’m seeing.

He’s tall and lean, languid and yet pulsing with power. He’s dressed all in black. His face is shrouded in shadows and the

suggestion of jet-black hair. He lounges in a tree, sprawled out on a low branch like it was made to be a bed.

“Hello, Riverwood coven,” he greets us, his voice low and powerful. His leg swings lazily to one side of the branch. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I believe I only invited one of you.”

“We’re kind of a package deal,” Emerson says, eyeing the man carefully.

“I suppose I can overlook this lack of manners. You are witches , after all.” He sniffs a little. “And you come with a dragon .”

I look back at Azrael. Fury pumps off him. But he’s within the square of the cemetery, and we’re standing just out of his

reach.

I honestly don’t know what to think. I’d jump to this is bad , but the book led us here, and well, it’s not like Azrael hating someone is fully something to go by. He hates Frost.

I look back at the new guy. He jumps off the branch and into the snow below with a kind of grace that reminds me of bird flight.

“I am Gideon Wulfram, better known as the Raven King.” He looks down at us, violet eyes glowing. “You may bow, curtsy, faint.

Your choice.”

“Not real big on any of those things,” Zander grumbles next to me. He has himself slightly angled in front of Ellowyn, but

Ellowyn is staring at Gideon Wulfram, the Raven King, in a way that makes me wonder...

Could this have been her violet-eyed post-dream crow?

“Witches never did have any flair ,” the king says in a conversational sort of way that makes Frost’s languid wave of a hand seem stuffy by comparison. “Despite these

bizarre costumes . But that is an age-old complaint with no cure, and we have real problems at hand. It has come to our attention that one

Georgina Pendell, regrettably also a witch, can free magical creatures from the Joywood’s evil curse.”

“Don’t let your guard down until the crows are free,” Ellowyn whispers. Her eyes are wide, her hand splayed over her belly.

“That was in my dream.”

Gideon gives a little nod, as if agreeing with what Ellowyn’s saying. Then his violet eyes focus in on me, and everything in me... stills.

I know deep, ancient, unmistakable power when I see it. But there’s something else humming there. A kind of recognition. I

have to wonder... Did I know him in a former life?

“How would such a thing come to your attention?” Azrael demands. But he’s stuck there in the cemetery, and the king smiles

as if he knows this. As if he enjoys us all being just out of Azrael’s reach.

“Not all of us were so weak as to be killed or imprisoned by the curse of a rogue coven,” Gideon says with another bored wave

of his hand. “ Some of us know how to handle ourselves when black magic is about.”

“The phrase birds of a feather comes to mind,” Azrael says darkly.

“Be careful with these dangerous accusations, dragon.” Gideon’s violet eyes glint with malice as he looks past us toward Azrael.

“You may have burned my people once, but you won’t again.”

“You deserved it,” Azrael retorts. “You’re a dick.”

Gideon smiles. It is... not pleasant. “I believe there is a saying amongst the witches and the humans, is there not? You

should know it, having enjoyed so many of their witticisms while in the guise of a bit of furniture. Takes one to know one , asshole.”

All this we and us talk makes it clear. “You’re a magical creature, aren’t you? Not just a bird?”

The Raven King gives me a withering violet look. “What in this world or any other is just anything?”

Fair enough, I suppose.

But the king is still staring at me, and something... changes. In the air, like back in the alley. A kind of sharp, edgy

sparkle.

He moves close, though I’m not sure how.

It’s like the world around us has gone a little fuzzy.

The only thing I’m aware of, beside the two points of violet in his eyes, is a faint racket that I’m pretty sure is Azrael back there spontaneously combusting, especially when Gideon reaches out and touches my neck.

I barely notice, though. Because there is something here. Not like the connection Azrael and I have, but still. This is strange, deep, but it is also... important.

Gideon pulls the chain around my neck, so the teardrop gemstone appears from beneath the collar of my white dress. He looks

stormy and not quite so languid . His eyes meet mine.

“My grandmother had a necklace identical to this,” he says.

He stares at the necklace another moment, then drops it and steps away from me. The magic that swirled around us seems to

dissipate.

The real world comes crashing back down—

Complete with Azrael growling threats and Ellowyn trying to talk him down.

But I don’t look at him.

I keep my gaze on the Raven King. “I don’t remember where I got this necklace. It’s just... always been with me.”

I remember that Jacob said the Wildes might be part magical creature. And if crows might be magical creatures, if my soul

has gone from body to body—

“You must tell me how you freed your dragon,” Gideon says, putting this strange development aside. I have the feeling he’s

doing it deliberately.

And I don’t think I’m ready for any more familial revelations, so I let it happen. “I honestly don’t know how I freed him.

I read from a book. And then... there he was.”

He nods. “You will read to me from this book.”

“Like hell she will,” Azrael growls, and there’s that dragonish gleam of gold in his gaze and fire burning loud in his throat,

but he can’t do anything from where he stands.

He knows that as well as we all do. As Gideon clearly does too.

“I thought you said you weren’t cursed,” I say, because if he’s not cursed, why do I need to read to him?

“I said I know how to get around a curse.” His frown deepens, and his violet eyes glow. “Read to me from your book.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“I didn’t ask what you think, Georgina.”

I swear I hear Azrael growl.

Gideon is unfazed by the dragon, and focuses on me. “I told you to read to me from the book.”

“You may be a king,” I say to him, smiling brightly. “But you’re not my king.”

He nods toward the necklace. “Am I not? Because as far as I know, it’s only my people who wear dragon tears.”

Dragon tears. I feel the weight of the necklace around my neck. I look back at Azrael. His expression is grim and stormy—and it’s fixed

on Gideon. “Because only crows would be sadistic enough to wear another fabulae’s tears .”

“I forgot,” the Raven King says with a silken disdain. “Dragons prefer trophies of the dead fabulae they murder in cold blood.

So noble.”

“If the Joywood cursed you, won’t you all be freed once the Riverwood takes over?” I ask, because surely that’s a compromise.

A sensible solution. Once we’re in charge, no one will be cursed. It’s only a week away.

“He didn’t wait,” the king says, jerking his chin toward Azrael. “Besides, we don’t know what will happen. The Joywood are

evil. I presume their curse stemmed from a deep and unnatural understanding and use of black magic. Is your full ascension

going to magically make that go away?”

“We’re working on it,” Emerson says immediately.

The king rolls his eyes. “Of course you are. For your people. What about my people?”

“I didn’t know your people existed until Georgie accidentally freed a dragon from a newel post,” Emerson shoots back with

more impatience than usual. “I am doing the best I can with what I have.”

She takes a minute, looking from the Raven King to Azrael, then over to Frost.

And she seems even less patient than before. “How about those of you who have been around the proverbial block a few times

stop fighting old wars and start focusing on the current one? How can we all work together to get rid of black magic and nasty,

evil curses? For good. For all people.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you,” the king says, smiling once again. “But you’ll have to lift my curse first.”

Emerson frowns. Azrael scoffs. But I...

“It’s okay. I’ll read him the book,” I tell my coven.

“No, you fucking won’t.”

And I’m shocked that it isn’t just Azrael who says this, loud and clear and furious.

It’s Frost too.