Page 25 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
“Where’s the old armchair?” I ask, trying not to sound violated.
It’s notmychair. This isn’tmyhouse.
Emerson waves a hand. “Oh, Mom said something about wanting to see how it fits in one of their reception rooms over at theembassy in Germany.”
So... I have nowhere to sit.
That’s silly, and I know it. There are plenty of other places to sit, like the rickety bench in the far corner. Away fromthe fire and the group.It’s fine.I make my way over and refuse to admit to myself that it feels like I’ve been sent to the corner like some kind of naughtytoddler.
I also refuse to admit I don’t love that no one else seems to notice I’ve been relegated to the outskirts.
What Icanadmit is that I’m not fond of this much self-pity. It’s flooding me like a rising river, and I hate it. I refuse to indulgeit. I’ve never been one to wallow, and I’m not really sure why I can’t seem to stop now.
I lounge on the bench like it’sfive timesas comfortable as my usual seat.
“I have a sad announcement to make,” Emerson says, and everyone stills. She blows out a heavy breath. “I won’t be doing mytraditional advent calendars this year.”
For a moment, we all sit with that. I don’t think I’m the only one who expects a follow-up, like a goblin attack or the riseof killer reindeer, but she doesn’t go on.
“Um.” I clear my throat. “Why, Em? You used to put so much work into them.”
Her advent calendars were a whole event. Gift deliveries, flowers, once an entire costumed a cappella concert at each of ourwindows.
She smiles. “The work was the fun part,” she says quietly. “I liked the idea that I could make Christmas magical for you guys.Now I have magic. It doesn’t feel the same.”
I feel my eyes tear up a little at that. Even Ellowyn looks suspiciously misty-eyed. Because getting her magic back hastransformed Emerson, and us. It has turned us into the Riverwood. But there are losses too—even these silly ones.
I won’t miss being assaulted by Christmas cheer at a different time every day in the lead-up to the big day, but part of mewill always miss thinks-she’s-human Emerson’s delight in giving us her version of heedless holiday joy like that.
“Back to business,” Emerson says in a brisker tone, and then dives into a quick recap of everything we know so far, catchingup those who weren’t around today. While the rest of us are seated andnever morecomfortable, indulging in the brownies and other snacks and pizza from Redbrick, Azrael paces restlessly around the room.I find myself watching him far more than I’m paying full attention to one of Emerson’swe’ve got thismonologues, even though this one is sprinkled with all the holiday glitter and cheer we won’t be getting as a live adventsituation this year.
But Azrael looks more like a dragon than a being in a supposedly humanish form should. He’s just so...dangerous.And out of the corner of my eye, I can see the blue-and-green smoke, and the immensity of the real him. The tail and long,muscular body.
“When should we do the spell?” Emerson asks Frost.
“You can do a spell whenever you like, but withouthim,” Azrael interrupts before Frost can answer. “I don’t want him to be a part of it.”
“Heneedsto be a part of it. He’s part of the Riverwood. It will take our full power, all of our magic melding together to shroudadragon,” I say, hoping that appealing to the dragon-size ego in there will move the needle.
Azrael considers this for approximately zero seconds. “No.”
“Maybe the Joywood can curse you into the ground this time,” Rebekah offers with a sharp smile.
Azrael scowls at her. His pacing has led him closer to me, so I stand and put my hand on his arm, feeling the desperate need to get him to agree. I’m about ready to plead. “You trustme.”You’ve been a faithful friend.“So trust me. Nothing bad will happen to you.”
It’s a big leap of a promise, because who knows what might happen? Magic is a temperamental thing, even when you know it inyour soul. And that’s not taking into account the dragonfactor. Or the Joywood.
His dark eyes are on me, while threads of gold seem to dance. I feel that dance inside me, where my magic glows hot.
Ready for a spell, I tell myself. That’s all it is.
But it’s hard to remember that we’re not alone.
“If you want to be part of the Riverwood, part of what comes next, part of defeating the Joywood once and for all, we’ll needyou in fighting form, Azrael,” Emerson says. “Which means you cannot have a target on your back. They have to believe you’reharmless.”
Big ask.It’s Azrael’s voice inside my head. He hasn’t done that since he was a newel post. It’s significantly more disconcertingnow, since the newel post wasn’t the best conversationalist.
But we both turn to Emerson, my hand still on his arm. He gives the faintest of nods, and Emerson looks at Frost.
