Page 49 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
He’s around, I assure everyone.
Witches are gathered in little clusters, murmuring to each other. Emerson, as always, steps happily into the unknown and startsdirecting people where to stand. There are specific rules for this ceremony. Rituals often have extensive requirements—that’spart of the price of magic. But no one remembers the last time this was done, so we all require a little guidance.
One more thing we lost, I think, gazing over at the Joywood as they too assemble here as the outgoing ruling coven. I’m certaintheyknow what to do, why we stopped doing it, and when.I’m equally certain they’re thewhy. I also know that, despite their strange appearances, they’re here to witness the failure of their successors. A failurethey set up a long time ago.
They stand here on the bank of the river they tried to use to flood the whole town last spring, looking incredibly smug. Andare still without Felix.
They’re also ignoring Emerson’s instructions. She rolls her eyes at me.
Let’s not belabor the point. Let them huddle at the river’s edge, Jacob says in our heads, clear and calm, as usual.
Maybe it’ll sweep up and take them under.Zander’s suggestion is dark.
A girl can dream, Ellowyn offers.
Rebekah laughs, out loud, as Emerson takes her place in front of us and addresses the crowd.
“Welcome,” Emerson begins, her politician smile in place. “We’re so glad to have you here, witnesses to the first Cold MoonCeremony in some time.”
Maeve titters at that, like Emerson offered some great joke, and the sound carries through the air and the trees. Some peoplelook at her, but Emerson doesn’t give her the satisfaction.
“It makes sense to us that the first step in our final ascension is acquiring knowledge,” Emerson says. “Knowledge that hasbeen difficult to come by for some years.”
She still doesn’t look pointedly at the Joywood, but others do.
“And since this is about knowledge, about facts, about our history and all that will inform our future, I will not be leadingthis ceremony. It will be the Riverwood’s incomparable Historian, Georgie Pendell.”
She gives me a nod, and I smile at her, then the crowd. I’ve never minded public speaking. It’s another lecture, essentially,and I’ve always been good at a lecture for academic purposes. If people get rowdy, I only need to smile blankly at everyonelike I don’t notice and it doesn’t faze me.
Ditzy Georgie has her uses.
But new sorts of nerves are thrumming through me tonight, and for so many different reasons. I don’t see Azrael, or feel him,and I don’t like that.
I notice my father in the crowd, smiling up at me in that new, sad way. My mother is nowhere to be seen, which feels odd,considering this should be a big moment for her. For the Pendells. Then again, it isn’t a major ceremony—because no one canremember it ever happening before, thanks to our evil predecessors, and no one’s attendance is necessarily required.
Still, when I meet my father’s gaze, his words from earlier come back to me.Facts are not always the whole story.
For a moment, I forget everything I’ve practiced saying. What I’m supposed to do. My mind goes completely blank.
I might panic.
Just a little.
But then I see a little gleam of gold up in a tree.
Azrael.
He’s letting me know he’s here. He’s okay. And that means I’m okay too.
I pull in a breath and address the crowd. “As many of you know, I was tasked with gathering eight keys housed in some of themost remote or bespelled archives in the world. By collecting these and completing the Cold Moon Ceremony, we will formallytransfer access to the full witchlore archives from the Joywood to the Riverwood.”
There are some more mutters from where the Joywood sit, but I don’t allow their words to penetrate. I focus on the crowd ofpeople I know support us. Ellowyn’s mother, Tanith, and her partner, Mina. Holly Bishop, who has the coffee shop on Main Street.Corinne, who runs the Lunch House. Emerson and Rebekah’s mother, Elspeth, who I thought was still in Germany, on what I considermyleather armchair.
“At every stop, I found a key. Eight in total,” I say to thecrowd. I lift my hands, close my eyes. I picture what I need, whisper the words to bring it to me.
A large, ornate box where I’ve been keeping everything magicks its way into my hands.
I keep going, murmuring the spell to have the box hover there in front of me so I can pull out all the keys, one by one, andkeep the unicorn horn hidden until last. I know there’s the possibility that some people willfeelthat magic and wonder what’s going on, but they won’t be able to guess.
