Page 1 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
1
The number of crows everywhere would be a little bit alarming—since there are far more than a mere murder, in every tree,strutting in the roads, wheeling lazily in the late November sky above all the shops—if I wasn’t so close to home.
And so happy to be back on the pretty bricks of St. Cyprian.
It feels like I’ve been away longer than I have. I’ve spent the weeks since Samhain traveling around the world, gatheringthe magical keys to the witchlore archives that poor, deceased Happy Ambrose (spoiler alert: he was never all that happy)left littered about.
The Joywood—the ruling coven we basically dethroned, who would like to make our ascension into rulers as difficult and challengingas possible—claimed it was amistake. Anaccidentcaused by poor Happy’s unfortunate fate at Samhain.
Because otherwise, he totally would have gathered the keys himself and handed them over to me once the Joywood well and trulylost the ascension trials in October.Sure.
I liked traveling, I won’t lie. But I missed home. I missed my friends and coven. And as much as I’m primed and ready to beGeorgie Pendell,Historian of the Riverwood Coven, it still feels a bit like a costume I’m wearing. A little too special for the likes ofme.
It’ll feel real once we fully take over at Yule.
I’m almost sure of it.
I could have transported myself anywhere from my last stop in Merry Olde England when it was time to come back home, but Icame to Main Street first. I wanted to take a moment to fully bask in this town I’ve always loved, no matter how difficultthe last year has been.
After weeks of not hard, but tedious, work put in place by the pettiest witches I know, I wanted to remind myself why, exactly,we all fought so hard to save this place from the evil coven that came before us.
The evil coven that had no intention of stepping down until we forced the issue.
I wanted exactly what I do now—to walk down the street that I would know if I was blind, with all the magical bricks and historichouses that are now shops and restaurants that draw in witches and humans alike.
St. Cyprian has been the center of the witching world since witches decided that Salem was the last witch hunt they plannedto live through and came here, to a then-frontier town at the magical intersection of three mighty rivers—only two of whichare visible to human eyes—to build a safe place where magical folks could hide in plain sight, safe from the burning torchesand Puritan fantasies that had come for too many of our forebears.
And speaking of those Puritans, it’s Thanksgiving. A holiday with its own questionable roots, but still the one I love bestas it plays no favorites. No rituals, no gifts. Just food and the people you love.
I miss my people. My best friends, who are like family to me because my family of origin is complicated—whose isn’t—andwho are now the coven known as the Riverwood. The new ruling coven. And everyone is aware of that, I think, as people on the street catch my eye and nod or smile greetings in a way they definitely didn’t do before we went through the ascension trials and were officially voted in.
Clearly things have shifted here at home while I’ve been away.
I walk faster.
And remind myself that I also miss my boyfriend. Obviously. I’ll go see Sage, of course. Maybe tomorrow.
But first, I’m headed to my people, the Riverwood. They’ll be excited to know I gathered all the keys quicker than expected.The Joywood told us I’d be lucky to find them all before I’m supposed to open the archives at the Cold Moon Ceremony at thestart of December, next week. I therefore decided I would be so lucky, I’d do itfast.
This ceremony is meant to kick off the Yule season and our last weeks into full ascension. Though we won the ascension trials,that isn’t the end of our fight with the Joywood. They’re evil. And are no doubt planning to unleash their usual terrifyingnonsense on us between now and our full ascension on the winter solstice.
No one can remember the last time there was a transfer of ruling coven power, suggesting to anyone who’s paying attentionthat the Joywood really are as bad as we’ve pretty much alwaysknown they are. Playing with collective memories is just one example. Even now, after we beat them fair and square, everystep we take toward assuming power seems to lead to more steps. I know this annoys my friends, and it’s not that I’mnotannoyed, but I’m a Historian. We’re used to the twists and turns and hidden paths of history and lore.
No doubt the Joywood will continue to try to obscure things, hide important information, and outright thwart us. Weknowthey have access to black magic—our Healer has beenbusy cleaning up black magic attacks since Samhain—so even though we’vewon, there’s no certainty it’sover.
But they never really have understood who they’re dealing with when it comes to us. My friends and I grew up under their rule.We watched them steal our friend and leader’s power and memory. Her sister’s freedom and magic. We watched them lie and changethe lore. We fought back when they attacked us again and again and again, straight on and in secret. We tracked their offenses—andsometimes I think we only know the half of it.
The secrets tucked away in the archives only the leading coven has access to will tell me the truth, and then there won’tbe so much uncertainty. We’ll know the exact steps we need to take. We’ll know how to protect ourselves, what unsettling dreamsabout crows might mean, and a whole slew of other things.
I can’t wait.
This thought brings a smile to my face as I decide to head to Wilde House first. I want to drop off my things and magic theminto place. It might notappearlike I’m organized, but I certainly am. One witch’s mess is another’s system. I also want to check to see if my cat familiar,the delightfully lazy and gloriously orange Octavius, is about.
Wilde House is dark and empty when I transport myself in right at the front door. For a moment I just stand in the foyer andbreathe.
Home.
Of course, Wilde House isn’t reallymyhome, even though I’ve lived here since I was eighteen. Truth is, I don’t know how much longer I can justify staying here.I’m not a scared teenager moving in here to support my best friend who no longer remembers the truth about her magic anymore.I’m not the girl who lied to said friend about my family life so she wouldinsiston me moving in. I’m not even a Wilde. Emersonand Rebekah, who are, spend more time with their significant others these days than in their ancestral home.
