Page 52 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
It makes me want to cry, shout, dance. Throw my arms around my friends. But we look out at the awed crowd. And I can’t helpbut notice the Joywood are still here, but... worse for wear.
Maeve is actually missing a shoe. Festus Proctor’s face doesn’t... look right, like it’s deforming in front of us. Gil appears as though he might actually be turning into a toad.And Felicia Ipswitch seems like she’s aged three hundred years in the last hour.
Carol, somehow, looks just fine.
Still, I think Emerson must be right. Their magic, their power, must be fading. Carol’s is probably just taking longer becauseshe’s the most powerful.
Maybe our ascension is stealing it from them. Because they’re not just decaying in front of us. They’re also not pretendingtolookhappy anymore.
They hate that we succeeded.
Which reminds me of the rest of what I want to do tonight. The most important part, in my mind. I address our citizens.
“The witchlore archives are not just for the ruling coven,” I tell everyone gathered. “While it will be my responsibilityto keep them organized and safe, we will not shut the world out from knowledge. That time is over. The truth is for everyone.Access to knowledge is foreveryone.”
There’s a murmur in the crowd. Surprise, I think. Maybe even wonder.
There’s also what feels like fury from the Joywood contingent, but I expected that.
I continue on, as if I don’t notice. Or more like it doesn’t matter if they’re mad or not, because it shouldn’t. And maybeI’m bold enough to believe it doesn’t, not anymore.
“I’ve been developing a system, and soon I’ll put out a call for Historians who’d like to work with me in the archives tohelp facilitate this,” I tell the crowd. “Once the Riverwood have fully ascended, anyone will be able to request information,access resources, and get help finding answers. It’sourhistory. We all deserve to know it.”
At that, we actually get applause. Better still, the Joywood disappear in one of their dramatic bursts, but almost no onenotices because it’s muted. Weak. Sad.
Just like them.
The rest of the crowd stays around for a bit, congratulating us and asking me questions about whataccess for everyonewill mean for the most random situations.
“Access means access,” I keep saying, as patiently as I can. “No one gets to judge you for what you want to know. That’s nothow knowledge is supposed to work.”
And then, as the crowd finally filters away, I turn to the building.
It’s glowing. The key in my hand is hot. “I can’t wait to dive in. I feel like I could run a marathon. There’s so much tofind.”
Emerson laughs and gives me a squeeze. “You were great, Georgie. But I don’t have any marathons in me. Can’t we get some restand start fresh in the morning? We still have over two weeks before the solstice.”
“I’m with Em,” Rebekah says with a yawn.
“Dead on my feet,” Ellowyn agrees, rubbing her belly.
I look at all of them. I canfeelthe archives pulling at me, but they all want to go home. How will I sleep if we go home? How can I possibly leave without—
“I will stay with her,” Azrael says, melting out of the shadows in his man form but with eyes completely dragon gold. “A Historianmust see her treasures before she can be expected to rest.”
Emerson surveys him with some suspicion. But her next words are genuine. “Thank you for your help, Azrael. We could not havedone it without you.”
He looks... not quite offended. “Of course you couldn’t have. No thanks are needed. I have done my duty as the Riverwoodfabulae, as I always will.” He shifts his gaze to Frost. “That is what a true coven does.”
Frost only looks back at him with apparent mildness, but I think we can all sense the implied middle finger in his gaze. Azraellaughs.
“I can stay too,” Emerson begins to say, but I shake my head.
“It’s okay.” I smile at my best friend. Even as that melody that’sAzraeldances inside me. As I imagine where that dance might have led if we hadn’t had the ceremony to worry about. As I acknowledgethat I want him in a way that should scare me even more than it does.
I can handle the dragon, I tell Emerson.
She still looks at Azrael suspiciously. At the necklace around my neck, then me. Her lips are pursed, and I don’t know thatit’s disapproval, exactly. Worry, I think, is more accurate.
