Page 82 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
But I’d fight her now. With everything I am.
And it’s not that Azrael is more important to me than she is. It’s not because everything is changing. It’s not because Ifeel left out.
It’s because this is the most basic truth I know: Wehaveto do this.
I feel it in my bones.
“It wasn’t too risky when Ellowyn and Zander and the ghosts fought off the blackness. Or when Frost sacrificed his immortality.Or when you dived into the middle of the confluence when it had been compromised by black magic.” I am growing more heatedwith every example. “You had to do it. They had to do it.Ihave to dothis.”
Emerson stares at me, that same thread of hurt in her expression that was there when Corinne disagreed with her, even if Corinnewas right.
It’s like I stuck a knife in her, and I can’t stand it.
“I have to do this,” I tell Emerson, not as my friend. As a Historian speaking to a Warrior. “I wouldn’t insist on it if Ididn’t believe it.”
For a moment, there is only silence. And it feels like the entire room, the entire decision, is hanging there between us.Emerson and me.
Her leadership against my needs.
But I know that even if she says no, I’m going to find a way to do it anyway. No matter what it takes.
Maybe she sees that too. “Should we go to the cemetery to do it?” she asks quietly. “Azrael—”
“This is just us,” I say firmly. Because I am pretty sure he would not approve of this, and anyone who’s not in can get out,as far as I’m concerned.
And I can’t let myself sag in relief that Emerson has agreed. I have to keep charging on.
We read through the book and arrange ourselves just as it says.
Me in the center, Ellowyn in front of me.
We sit, cross-legged, knee to knee. It reminds me of the ritual we did at Confluence Books back in the spring. When we discoveredEmerson was a Confluence Warrior.
I don’t let myself think about how the dark magic reached in and nearly got Emerson that time. I won’t let myself think thatway.
The rest of the coven arranges itself around us. The indoor familiars fill in any holes. I can feel Octavius at my back.
“First, we all need to relax,” Ellowyn tells us. “This is a very calm spell. We’re not trying to change anything or stop anything.We’re gathering information, and we need to go in with an objective observer’s mindset.”
I think this isn’t aimedjustat me, though it feels a little pointed. But I’m not the only one on edge. I can feel it all around me. It’s been aday, and now I’ve convinced everyone we can do this thing. Or that we have to, anyway, when we’re witches who have always beentaught that there is a clear progression from life to afterlife, with very few alternatives.
Past liveshave never been on the witch’s menu of possibilities.
I feel a moment of regret then. Or maybe it’s a hesitation, because I suddenly feel all the things my mother has tried toimpress upon me my entire life. WhydoI think I’m the only one who knows these things, feels these things,isthese things?
Why can’t I be content just being a quiet Historian witch from a long line of Historian witches?
Because I’m not a fucking Pendell, I think savagely.
Because the dragon is real. The necklace he gave me full of crystals that didnotburn me sits around my neck, because he is mine, and I am his.
Because the book keeps changing, and I know what I feel.
I always have.
So I follow Ellowyn’s instructions.
“Spirit, moon, air. Past, present, wild, tangledbefore, open to us,” Ellowyn murmurs. She places her hands over mine on my knees.“Find a well-traveled soul, and show her well.”
