Page 66 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
He makes a considering sound, like this is acceptable, but not enough. He takes my hand and slides a ring, black tourmalinetwisted with gold, onto my finger.
My left ring finger.
Suddenly everything that I’ve rolled with well enough over the past twelve hours seems to crash inside my chest, a littlelike panic. “Azrael...”
“You’ve worn it before,” he says, lifting my hand and pressing a kiss to the top of it. His eyes so gold it hurts. It remindsme of what it was like when he was inside me. “Because in every time, you are you. You are my own. And in every life, I claimyou as best I can.”
“Claim?” I echo, a new kind of song rising in me.
“I will always claim you,” he tells me, and he sounds almost formal. “With fire and fury, as suits a dragon’s woman.” Thenhe flashes that grin at me, as if he’s not making my head spin. “And my favorite princess.”
“Tell me,” I whisper at him, not sure where this desperate longing comes from. “Tell me about us.”
His expression saddens, and that hurts more than the desperate longing.
“I cannot tell you what our past lives were, Georgina. It is not what magic or time or my soul will allow. Your soul mightbe old, well traveled,mine—but it is in a new body, with a new life, and you must live the current one. Not relive the past ones.”
I suppose this makes sense, though I don’tloveit. Especially considering my entire life is dedicated to the past, essentially. Also... “Why doyouremember, then?”
His response is as grave as I’ve ever heard him. “Dragons always remember.”
He doesn’t say,It is our curse, but it hangs in the ether, like something I once knew.
Before I can ask more questions, the doorbell rings. And Azrael disappears in a dramatic puff of dragon smoke. I think itwas supposed to make me laugh, but I’m stuck ondragons always remember...as if the memories are not alwaysgood.
16
I regret sending Azrael off the minute I open the door to the first tour group.
Usually, these groups consist of more humans than witches. If we do get witches, they tend to be from out of town. Interestedin the lore of St. Cyprian, the center of the witching world, and eager to soak in their own history.
But today, Carol Simon herself is part of the group standing on the porch. I’m not sure if I’m more shocked by her presenceor the fact she’s wearing a very dramatic brooch in the shape of a weasel.
That looks a little too much like the little rodent of black jade in my pocket.
Yet this is hardly the most pressing matter at hand.
Emerson took care of the “company” spell that every witch knows, to make sure the house looks its best when guests arrive—butI add a little extra to it with a muttered word—sparkle—to withstand Carol and to hide things like the ring I’m wearing.
I don’t want to find out if she’s seen it before too.
Then I work on that ditzy smile and offer a broad, historicalwelcome to Wilde House as I beckon the group inside. I launch my well-rehearsed spiel about when the house was built, charmed with the usual spell, so that the humans just hear dry human history while the witches hear about the flight from Salem, the search for a place where three rivers meet, and the founders’ decision to hide one of the rivers to protect this place that must stay hidden.
I’m halfway through when I realize that Carol is not only not paying attention, she’s studying the chandelier in the entrywaywith suspicion. Like she’s worried that the mermaid is free and helping us out.
Ohshit.
I don’t glance back at the dragon newel post, even though I want to. We fixed it and glamoured it back to looking how it should,but will she know that he’s not in there anymore?
I think you have to get in the newel post, I shout frantically to Azrael in my head, putting my hand around the necklace he gave me like it’s some kind of safety blanket,tangled there with the one I usually wear. No doubt he’s already at Tea & No Sympathy, but his voice is in my head almostimmediately.
I think you have perhaps lost your entire mind. I blame the sex.
Carol is here.
He says nothing to that, and I have to stop worrying abouthim, and start worrying about the crowd of people I’ve just ushered into Wilde House.
I go deeper into lecture mode. I talk about the history of the house. What’s original—like the woodwork, some of the flooring—andwhat’s been added on over the years—like the chandelier, the glass, the modern amenities. Luckily, it doesn’t seem unnaturalfor me to stand in front of the newel post while I do this with everyone crowded into the foyer. I can see Carol trying toangle herself so she can look at it more closely, but I do everything I can to block her while also trying to make it looknatural.
