Page 44 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
Everything in me feels tight, constricted. I know Azrael has flown off to hunt down someartifact. The Joywood are watching our every move. And my mother is performatively nursing the one drink she will allow herself allnight, the better to watch everyone else and shred them to pieces—with facts, only the cold, hard facts—when she gets home.
I need some air. The Joywood might think it’s fishy, but if they follow me out the side door or send one of their sickly familiars,all they will see is a woman in desperate need of some breathing room and solitude.
I make my way outside, ditzing my way past anyone who wants to talk to me. As soon as I make it outside, I gulp in a deepbreath of the icy air. Once. Again.
Everything is going as it should. Everything isgood. We will get the artifact, do the spell, and I willfinallyhave access to the archives reserved for the ruling coven only. I will finally haveallthe knowledge.
My father’s words about facts and truth and stories come back to me, but I don’t want to think about that. About complicationsand difficulties.
Truth is the answer. Always.
I take a deep breath and look out into the early December night. Moonlight dapples the surface of the river. In the distance,I can see the pulse and twining of the other two as they braid together into the confluence, brimming with magic and light.That’s the reason we’re all here, fighting to make it the way it should be.
Not the way it’s been for as long as I can remember.
And the longer I stand there, the more it’s like the rivers are singing a little song. But I can’t quite hear it. The melodyis haunting, and I think that really, I should get closer and then maybe—
“Georgie.”
I turn and there’s Sage.
12
I knew this was a possibility. Witches in St. Cyprian don’t tend to skip the Cold Moon Ball. But I didn’t really think Sagewould... come find me, alone or otherwise. I didn’t think he’d bother.
He looks at me withgreat import, a look I am actually delighted that I no longer have to respond to with feigned interest. “We need to talk.”
“Aboutwhat?” I cannot fathom what there could possibly be to discuss. “You can magic anything I left at your place back to Wilde House.I think I left my copy ofA Portrait of the Artist as a Young Manbehind.”
Although, on second thought, he can keep that. I don’t ever want to pretend I care about James Joyce again.
“Georgie.” And I always heard that faint note of disapproval in his voice. Maybe I wanted it there, because I’ve always likeda project I could, with effort, get high marks on. But tonight it grates. “Who were you with back there?”
My eyebrows rise so far up it feels as though they might shoot off my head. “I beg your pardon?”
“That man. Kissing yourcheek.”
He is not kidding. He looks dead serious. He looksaffronted.
I stare at Sage, and now that he is not half naked and bucking about on Cailee Blanchard, I really take him in. The tall,reedy frame. The ridiculous bow tie he thinks makes him look important and interesting. The wire-framed glasses I know hedoesn’t actually need. I think of every lecture he gave me on the environmental impact of beef when I just wanted to eat adamn hamburger, or whyJane Eyreshouldn’t really be considered a classic because it’sactuallyregressive and not at all feminist when he knew it’s one of my favorite books anyway, or why the discordant, experimentalmusic he listens to and claims to be inspired by was far, far superior to any music I like—the kind with a melody.
I realize in this moment that I put up with him simply because I thought he was someone my mother would like. Someone whowould earn me a certain kind of response from her. An acknowledgment, almost.See, Mom, I do not in fact think I’m special if I think I belong with this man.
My mother. The project I’ve been working on all my life, with only low marks to show for it.
Yeah, my mother really did a number on me.
That gross, sick feeling in my stomach gets worse, because Sage is still standing there, and I am... so stupid. Just sostupid. I didn’t listen to my friends because I didn’t think they understood. And they didn’t.
Because they loveme, not who they want me tobe.
“Sage, this isn’t the time or place,” I say, as kindly as I can manage. After all, there’s no point making a scene. That muchof the family code I agree with. “I have an important ceremony to prepare for, and I needed a little fresh air to center myself.Go back inside.”
He does not do that. Instead, he moves closer to me. “I think we have an opportunity here, Georgie.”
I’m so confused by that, I make the mistake of saying, “What?”
Instead of telling him to go to hell.
