Page 9 of Dragon Fires Everywhere (Witchlore #4)

Later, tucked into one of the guest bedrooms a floor down, I don’t think about how long I stood there, just staring at Azrael

in my bed. I don’t think about that scalding heat or that wildfire recognition that is still wreaking havoc on me.

Just like that pulse keeps kicking at me, like it’s whispering, Us. Us. Us.

I don’t think about soaring through the sky or that odd, shivery sensation that suggests none of this is new . Not really.

I tell myself that I’m being brave. Because it was rational and reasonable and right to remove myself from the situation. I was exercising the Pendell caution my mother has spent my life trying to instill in

me.

I repeat that to myself until it almost drowns out that ache inside me, those little gleaming threads that I pretend I can’t

see, reaching out toward a conclusion I don’t want to draw while I can still feel us gliding through the cold night like we

make our own heat—

That’s all future Georgie’s problem , I tell myself as I let my eyes close on the longest Thanksgiving I can remember.

I quickly fall into a hard and dreamless sleep. When I wake up to morning light pouring in through the windows, I push myself into sitting position. I stretch and yawn, and then stop mid-stretch.

Because crystals dance in the air above me. My crystals.

Except I didn’t enchant them to dance above me—though maybe I should have, because clearly they’re the source of my amazing

sleep.

It’s just the type of thing Emerson would do. But I know her. More importantly, I know the crystals she’d choose for something

like this, and it wouldn’t occur to her to have them dance in the air above me. And not just because of the energy that would require.

She would have them ruthlessly organized around the bed. She would have chosen the obvious ones for good, protected sleep. Amethyst, quartz, citrine. Instead, the stones humming above my bed are in all blacks, greens,

and blues. Like a dragon chose and charmed the onyx, tourmaline, serpentine, and sodalite.

I study them, recognize them. These crystals were all gifts. Anonymous gifts after moving into Wilde House. After I’d had

bad nights, was upset about something or another, these crystals had just appeared in my collection over the years.

I thought they were sweet gestures from Emerson, who knows how hard I’ve tried to pretend my mother’s disapproval doesn’t

get to me.

Now, in dragon colors dancing around me, I wonder.

I watch them for a minute, and then, before I can decide what to do, they all fall with a soft thud at the end of the mattress, just narrowly missing my feet. Almost at the same time, the door slams open, and Azrael stands

there. In all his man-but-dragon state. “Finally.”

“Do you mind ?”

“Not at all.” He prowls in like he owns the place. Perhaps it doesn’t occur to a dragon that he doesn’t. He pokes around this room much the same way he did mine. Like every corner is fascinating.

“You charmed my sleep.”

“You’re welcome.”

As if this reminds him, he sweeps a hand up, and the crystals rise up too. He closes his fist and they huddle together. Then,

with a snap, they’re gone.

I frown at him. And will obviously have to replace all my traitorous stones. Except... maybe they were never really mine.

“You... gave me those. Over the years.”

“You spent those years telling me your secrets and sorrows,” he returns with an easy shrug. “You like stones. They cheered

you up.”

This is not an answer, but I find I suddenly don’t want one. Not while he’s looking at me with such... intent . Not when it feels like the kind of sweet gesture someone who knows me would make, but how could he know me?

He’s been cursed in a newel post.

I’m distracted when Octavius hops up onto the bed with his usual orange potbellied thunk . He walks in three circles and then settles himself on my lap. It’s his version of a welcome home, so I scratch his head

until he purrs.

It’s the first time I’ve felt actually settled since coming home. Unlike all the other familiars I know of, Octavius doesn’t communicate with me. At least, not in my head

with words. It’s more I can... feel what he’s thinking, and vice versa.

“Are you going to rise?” Azrael asks me irritably. He’s staring at Octavius with a look I can’t quite name. It’s not predatory...

exactly . It’s almost the way he looks at Frost.

“Are you going to leave me be so I can do so in privacy?”

“Privacy.” Azrael makes a scoffing noise, and a puff of his dragon smoke. “What about him?” He points at Octavius curled up

in my lap.

“He’s a familiar. He’s a cat .”

Azrael and Octavius regard each other. It’s a strange standoff I can’t quite figure out. Then Azrael stalks out of the room.

“As much as I don’t like to be rushed, I do have a lot to do today. Luckily, the museum is closed for the holiday weekend.

It’ll give me some extra time to come up with this spell,” I murmur to Octavius as I magic myself ready and catch him up on

the happenings of my trip and return.

I don’t mention Sage, but then, Octavius never cared for Sage. Much in the same way my friends didn’t. Not with hisses or

claws, but with careful distance.

Once I’m dressed and satisfied with the wildness of my hair, always a curly red problem, I call on a few of my crystals—the

ones I found on my travels. They appear in my hand. I ask the amethyst for its calm and intuition, aquamarine for truth and

clarity, and black tourmaline to shield me against negativity.

Including my own.

This is my usual morning ritual, and I enjoy it. When I’m done, I brace myself for all that dragon awaiting me. “I’m headed to Frost’s library today,” I tell Octavius as I open the bedroom door. “It’s up to you whether you’d

like to come with me or stay he—”

As I move into the hall, looking over my shoulder at Octavius, I slam right into a hard, hot wall of muscle .

Dragon muscle. In the shape of man.

I might have fallen back a bit at the contact, but Azrael’s hand is on my arm. And he is holding me steady. And close.

Very close.

Close enough that I’m not sure I’m breathing. I don’t even know how to characterize the reactions going on inside of my body.

They’re so foreign . They can’t possibly be me . And yet, there’s also that same strange belonging feeling from last night, centered in the very heart of me where I’ve always known my magic resides.

Confirming that no, I didn’t make this up.

He feels like home . We feel like us . He gave me crystals to cheer me up. For years.

I don’t know what to say or what to do—but that’s enough to have me trying to pull away. For a moment, Azrael’s grip tightens.

He holds me even closer, and I swear to Hecate he just... sniffed my hair?

I should be appalled, but that is not how I would categorize the sensation that dances through me then, a bit of fuel to that

deep, scalding fire.

Before I can comment on any part of that, his hand drops. And he’s merrily off down the stairs, calling back to me as he goes.

“Something smells delicious. Do you know how long I’ve been dreaming of these breakfasts you lot cook up?”

I can’t seem to do anything but stand there in the hallway, completely and utterly at a loss. The past twelve hours have been

nothing but new strange thing after new strange thing. The whole past year has been like this, so really, I should be used

to it.

I’m a member of the ruling coven now. I’ve got to get myself together.

This is happening.

Which means I need to get to work. And trust Emerson and Jacob to entertain a dragon for the morning.

Besides, I’m too hopped up on crystals and flight to eat.

I could fly to Frost’s, but I walk out into the morning instead because I clearly need some grounding. I take deep breaths

in the cold air and amuse myself with exhalations that make clouds and look like dragon smoke.

This walk is good for me. I can feel my body respond to the movement, the cold. The fresh air on my face. I walk down Main

Street toward Frost’s eyesore on the hill and take these few minutes to find my inner self. The Historian in me. The researcher.

Everything I’ve been up until now. Everything I am.

The river murmurs along in my peripheral vision the way it always does. The river that makes this a river town. The river that joins two others and tangles into a knot of power.

The water calls to me, and while it always does, even this winter version of it seems to have more pull than usual.

I tell myself that this is just another reaction to the dragon of it all.

That the reality of dragons and magical creatures and curses doesn’t change anything for me, even if it feels like Azrael

is trying to make it seem like it might, what with dragon rides and this... reaction to him.

I can still feel that heat inside me, prickling just beneath my skin.

I climb the stairs in the hill up to Frost’s house. When I make it to his glamoured door, feeling windswept and cold but hopefully

clear of mind, I don’t have to knock. The door opens for me. No one’s waiting there, but I know how to find the way.

Even though the hallways shift about at their leisure, if I keep my destination in mind, they deliver me where I need to go.

When I make it to the library, Rebekah is already there, slouched down in a chair at one of the intricately wrought, polished

wooden tables. No sign of Frost, though I look around like he might be hanging from the chandelier or something. She smiles

when she sees me and waves for me to come closer.

“We’ve been pulling books,” Rebekah tells me. “Anything we think might apply. Nicholas will let you take some of them. Others

are charmed to remain here—but you know the drill. He came across something about a book somewhere in Germany he thinks will

help, so he went to get it. He’ll be back soon.” She tips her head toward the books stacked up on the long table before her.

“For now, you can look through these to your heart’s content.”