Page 49 of Dragon Fires Everywhere (Witchlore #4)

It is no surprise that Emerson is a miracle worker. She always has been, though what she pulls off this time is truly next-level,

even for her.

The night before solstice, everything is ready as if she’s been planning it for ten years. She has a gorgeous white dress

and veil. We have bridesmaids’ dresses that fit us perfectly, and the men all have their suits and ties and shoes. Main Street

is decked out in its usual winter holiday decorations, plus what Emerson is calling her winter white theme .

The snow hasn’t cooperated, so she did it herself, decorating the old town with a lovely, magical dusting of snow that is

all charm without the iciness and bitter cold. Plus no cleanup afterward. Humans will marvel that it all melted away in the

night.

Assuming we win. But then, Emerson always assumes we’ll win.

Tonight we send the men away so we can have a little bachelorette party of sorts. Only it’s Emerson. And it’s us. So it’s

no raging party. It’s just an old-fashioned sleepover like we had when we were young. Before the pubertatum. Before everything

changed.

It feels a bit like the sentimental goodbye to our childhood that we never got. Melisande even crashes the party for a bit and has us crying with laughter at her tales of men she’s literally and metaphorically caused to crash upon the rocks.

“Deep down,” she tells us with that smile of hers, “men are fools who want that crash. It’s all in how you frame it.”

We nod sagely. It might not be traditional prewedding talk, but we enjoy it anyway. When she retires to the chandelier for

the night— because I look good in crystal, thank you , she tells us—Ellowyn flops back on her couch. “We just partied with a mermaid,” she says with a laugh. “Zander is going

to be so jealous.”

Emerson yawns. “I know what Rebekah is going to say, but I think that’s all I can handle. Some of us need our sleep for tomorrow.”

“You were always such a sleepover killjoy,” Rebekah says, but with that sisterly fondness.

“That’s exactly what I knew you’d say.”

Rebekah shakes her head. “All right, before bed, one last toast.”

She magicks us all little flutes of champagne—sparkling cider for Ellowyn—and we hold them up to Emerson.

“To Emerson. Our oldest sister—in blood, and spirit,” Rebekah says.

“Our fearless leader,” Ellowyn adds.

“The best friend anyone could ever be blessed with and, no doubt, about to be the champion wife of all wives,” I say, letting

the tears fall.

Emerson sniffles but doesn’t cry. “I do like being the champion. Which is why I know tomorrow is going to be the best. Because I’m marrying Jacob, and because we weren’t just meant to lead.

We were forged to lead, to unite. Tomorrow, the Riverwood coven ascends.

And we will find a way to defeat black magic—before or after.

No one can tell us what we can or can’t do.

I know we will succeed, because we’re ready to do whatever it takes for everyone .

” She nods as if confirming it. “Some things are just meant to be.”

She believes this. About Jacob, certainly. But also about the Riverwood and our eventual success. About her ability to bring

everyone together, and serve them fairly.

The truth is, she has always believed this, no matter the setback, the betrayal, the heartache, the loss. She believed all

of this, even before she knew who she was or what had been done to her.

“I thought you were tired, Em?” Rebekah reminds her as she gears up to say more.

Emerson huffs out a breath. “Oh, fine. No speech.”

But then she holds out her arms, and we all move together in a big four-way hug.

“I love you guys,” she whispers fiercely.

So we all hug, cry a little, and go to bed.

Or Rebekah and Ellowyn do, but Emerson grabs me on the way up the stairs to our respective rooms.

“I thought about not telling you, but... well. I saw the votes change a little earlier, at last. The majority is for Azrael

being free. He can leave the cemetery, and we don’t have to decide what to do with him.”

“Can’t the votes go back?” I ask, rather than think about what this means.

“I suppose they could until tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean he can’t walk free until then.”

“Did you tell him?”

Emerson shakes her head. “I imagine... well, he should feel it.”

“Right.” Right. And if he felt it... he would be here. If he wanted to be.

He doesn’t want to be. He isn’t ready or brave enough to be, and that’s fine. I tell myself this. All night. Sitting in my bed, wide-awake, Octavius asleep on my pillow,

just... waiting .

He never comes.

Eventually, I hear people downstairs. Sounds in the kitchen. Breakfast being made and people chatting.

It’s morning, and it’s Emerson’s wedding day, so I can hardly hide. I need to put on a happy face and celebrate my friend.

Even if my heart feels blended into a terrible little pulp.

But it isn’t hard to pretend otherwise when I get to the kitchen. Emerson has a floating to-do list that follows her around

as she makes breakfast. Before I can try to take over, Rebekah waves me to the table.

“I told her I’d make breakfast, but she insisted she needs to move,” Rebekah says from her seat.

“I just had this really disturbing dream last night that I need to work off,” Emerson tells me.

“Join the club,” Rebekah mutters.

They both look at me, but I shrug. I didn’t sleep, so no dreams for me. Just the bone-deep worry that without Azrael letting

go of his fear of my death—which is inevitable at some point—we can’t win this. So as little as I like the idea myself, why

not enjoy each other while we can?

“Was it Maeve drowning in a pool of black magic goo?” Ellowyn asks from the entry to the kitchen, a fuzzy blanket wrapped

around her shoulders.

“Yes,” Rebekah agrees. “In great, gooey detail.”

Emerson frowns at Ellowyn, then her sister. “How did you know?”

“You all had the same dream,” I say, puzzled. “The same dream of Maeve Mather drowning? What new evil is that?”

“If the rumors are true and our dream is true, it means that the only Joywood asshole left is Carol Simon,” Rebekah says.

“So not a new evil, just the same old one. I wish that made me feel better.”

We all kind of pause. Carol is the leader of the Joywood, their Warrior, and arguably still the most powerful witch in the world. She’s nothing to sneeze at, with or without her coven.

Still.

“Surely together we’re stronger than Carol,” I say. “We have beat her every step of the way this year. Even with black magic

involved.”

Emerson gives me one of her determined nods. “Exactly that.”

We all sit down and eat, and there’s a purposeful change in subject, from evil to dresses and shoes and flowers. Emerson is

sending off missives to her wedding vendors, clarifying last-minute details for the solstice festival that always hums along

beneath the usual Christmas celebrations, apparently finishing up the last of the year’s chamber of commerce duties, and corresponding

with governing bodies in other witch-heavy areas on this, the day of our ascension to full power and rule.

No big deal.

I message nobody.

And sooner than seems possible, it’s time for all of us to get ready. There’s a nervy kind of excitement in the air as we

get into our dresses and then help Emerson into hers. I do Emerson’s hair, a mix of my own skill and magic. Ellowyn handles

the makeup.

Emerson’s mother pops in for a little bit. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since finding out her husband is my father. And

I have to think about that . The fact Elspeth was never particularly kind to me, but not quite as cutting as she was to Rebekah and Ellowyn.

I guess I knew how to play a role after all.

Of course, it’s also possible she doesn’t know. My heart twists at that idea. That we’re all keeping a terrible secret from

her.

I am so tired of all these secrets.

Once Emerson is fully ready and Elspeth gets her fill of pictures, she makes a move to leave.

“I have some of the extended family to wrangle,” she says. “I’ll see you at the wedding.” She leans in and gives Emerson a kiss on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”

I think that’s it, but as she passes me, she gives me a look .

“It must be a heady thing to have access to the full archives,” she says.

I feel speechless, but I can’t not respond . I cough. “I don’t take my responsibilities lightly.”

She looks at me a little longer. Then she gives me a nod. That’s it.

But I think that’s all it needed to be. Silent acknowledgment that we don’t need to make this a thing .

“If we’re going to stick to the schedule, we better get to the bookstore,” Rebekah says, and the fact she’s even paying attention

to the schedule is for Emerson and Emerson alone. A sweet gesture.

Emerson knows it. She’s grinning as she stands up.

“We did it, you guys.” But she’s being generous. Sure, being a witch means that putting together events is a breeze, but it’s

still her wedding , and no matter how we helped, she did the bulk of the work. Just like with everything else.

Zander arrives, dressed in his wedding finery. He hesitates in the doorway, though he smiles. “You look great, Em,” he says.

But there’s something in his eyes, in his expression. Kind of a forced cheer.

“What’s that look about?” Ellowyn demands, narrowed eyes of suspicion arrowing in on him. “You’re not supposed to be here.

The guys are supposed to meet us at the bookstore.”

“Yeah, and we will. I just wanted to give you a little heads-up.” He tries that smile again. “Uh, well. Jacob is just, uh,

running a little... late.”

“Then you need to go make him not late,” Ellowyn is saying, with just enough malice and threat even I’m inclined to believe she might shank Zander right here, right now.

“There was another black magic attack last night,” Zander explains apologetically to Emerson. “It was brutal. A couple Healers tried to handle it themselves. No one wanted to bother you or Jacob this morning, but... it was bad, and they needed him.”