Page 94 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
Complete with a dragon statue.
“What does it say?” Emerson demands.
“It’s an invitation,” I say. Carefully, as I read the words in dramatic calligraphy, and not in English. These are old spellwords. An ancient vocabulary I have previously only read in very old books. “It says, more or less, ‘The Most Holy Cornix, First of Crows, is Commanded by His Royal Highness the King to invite Georgina Pendell into the greatcompliment of His Royal Presence at the St. Cyprian cemetery. Immediately.’?”
For a moment, we all stand there very quietly. Rebekah studies the invitation over my shoulder. “Whoever made that has someserious skills.”
I’m studying that dragon statue. It doesn’tfeellike a threat, but I’m worried anyway. “We have to go.”
Emerson pauses, and I think I am either going to have to argue with her... or just fly away and argue with her later. Butshe finally nods. “Let’s go.”
So we all fly across the river and land, together, at the cemetery entrance, still in our ridiculous costumes. Azrael is standingin the archway, the statue rearing up behind him. His arms are crossed, something like a puff of smoke billowing out of hisears as he stares notatus—
But behind us.
We all turn.
Across from him, outside the cemetery bounds, sits a man.
Thoughsitsanda manare not actually accurate descriptors for what I’m seeing.
He’s tall and lean, languid and yet pulsing with power. He’s dressed all in black. His face is shrouded in shadows and thesuggestion of jet-black hair. He lounges in a tree, sprawled out on a low branch like it was made to be a bed.
“Hello, Riverwood coven,” he greets us, his voice low andpowerful. His leg swings lazily to one side of the branch. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I believe I only invitedoneof you.”
“We’re kind of a package deal,” Emerson says, eyeing the man carefully.
“I suppose I can overlook this lack of manners. You arewitches, after all.” He sniffs a little. “And you come with adragon.”
I look back at Azrael. Fury pumps off him. But he’s within the square of the cemetery, and we’re standing just out of hisreach.
I honestly don’t know what to think. I’d jump tothis is bad, but the book led us here, and well, it’s not like Azrael hating someone is fully something to go by. He hates Frost.
I look back at the new guy. He jumps off the branch and into the snow below with a kind of grace that reminds me of bird flight.
“I am Gideon Wulfram, better known as the Raven King.” He looks down at us, violet eyes glowing. “You may bow, curtsy, faint.Your choice.”
“Not real big on any of those things,” Zander grumbles next to me. He has himself slightly angled in front of Ellowyn, butEllowyn is staring at Gideon Wulfram, the Raven King, in a way that makes me wonder...
Could this have been her violet-eyed post-dream crow?
“Witches never did have anyflair,” thekingsays in a conversational sort of way that makes Frost’s languid wave of a hand seem stuffy by comparison. “Despite thesebizarrecostumes. But that is an age-old complaint with no cure, and we have real problems at hand. It has come to our attention that oneGeorgina Pendell, regrettably also a witch, can free magical creatures from the Joywood’s evil curse.”
“Don’t let your guard down until the crows are free,” Ellowyn whispers. Her eyes are wide, her hand splayed over her belly.“That was in my dream.”
Gideon gives a little nod, as if agreeing with what Ellowyn’ssaying. Then his violet eyes focus in on me, and everything in me... stills.
I know deep, ancient, unmistakable power when I see it. But there’s something else humming there. A kind of recognition. Ihave to wonder... Did I know him in a former life?
“How would such a thing come to your attention?” Azrael demands. But he’s stuck there in the cemetery, and the king smilesas if he knows this. As if heenjoysus all beingjustout of Azrael’s reach.
“Not all of us were so weak as to be killed or imprisoned by the curse of a rogue coven,” Gideon says with another bored waveof his hand. “Someof us know how to handle ourselves when black magic is about.”
“The phrasebirds of a feathercomes to mind,” Azrael says darkly.
“Be careful with these dangerous accusations, dragon.” Gideon’s violet eyes glint with malice as he looks past us toward Azrael.“You may have burned my people once, but you won’t again.”
“You deserved it,” Azrael retorts. “You’re a dick.”
