Page 91 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
Today, I’m focusing on St. Cyprian. On afestival. I alwayslove this time of year and all the different holiday festivals Emerson manages to pack into a few short weeks. How no matter the weather, people come out and support this little town of ours. How the Yule season—regardless how a person or witch or magical creature might celebrate it—is one of togetherness. Of braving the dark winter march toward the lighttogether.
Emerson grabs me before we all head out for the parade. “Where’s your sash?”
I look down. I could have sworn I put it on, but it is indeed missing. I try to magic it into my hands, but it doesn’t appear.I frown a little, but quickly give Emerson a bright smile. She’s on edge for a lot of reasons, hyped up on caffeine and whatshe always callsfestival adrenaline. Best not to worry her.
“I’ll be right back,” I assure her, and magick myself upstairs to my bedroom. The sash is on my bed, tucked under a book.
The fairy tale.
Always the fairy tale.
“Do you have something to tell me, finally?” I mutter at it. I snatch it up and see that the cover has changed, but no matterhow I stare at it, I can’t make sense of it.
The princess is still in the foreground. The dragon is off in the back. Still there, still clearly watching, but not a partof the narrative.
“I’m not a fan of that,” I tell the book, but I focus on the princess. And the parts I can’t make sense of.
There are nowcrowseverywhere around the princess. A circle of violet-eyed ones surround her, and it looks like a few of them are putting anecklace over her head.
I peer closer, at the princess and the necklace in one crow’s beak. I blink, because it’s... familiar.
I think—Iknow—I have a necklace like that. A swirling mix of purple, blue, and green in one teardrop-shaped crystal.
I drop the book and walk over to my jewelry box. Since time is limited, I mutter a quick spell to reveal the necklace to me. Itlifts up out of all the other crystals and jewelry, so I grab it and slide it over my head.
The book has not led me astray yet, and this necklace has been in my collection so long I don’t even remember how it got there—ifsomeone gave it to me, if I bought it, if I found it somewhere, the way I sometimes do. It’s just... always been here.
I decide—Ihope—that means it’s only made of good magic and supportive energy. Even though I’m a little leery about trusting in my crystalsagain.
I hurry up and tie the red sash around my waist, then transport myself downstairs so Emerson doesn’t become totally unglued.She immediately grabs my hand. “We’ll magic ourselves over to the assembly area.”
She doesn’t even give me a chance to help. Propelled by her own magic and one of Ellowyn’s energy teas, she’s got us all tothe courtyard, where the parade people are assembling and getting ready to start.
Emerson immediately marches away, but I stay where I am, facing the river. It’s a bright, sunny day, making you think thesun mightjustfight off the frigid air. The snow from last night’s storm clings to the trees and rooftops, and there are lingering patchesof snow and ice on the bricks. Across the icy river, I can just barely see the archway of the cemetery. And the new dragonstatue that glints in the light, like a threat.
That pokes at some of my cheer. Something about what the Joywood did to him that day has changed everything, and I hate it.If he wasn’t imprisoned, he’d be with us. Though he’d have to be pretending to be a human still. Pete from London.
I wish he was part of this, butreallya part of it. Not as a dragon hiding in a human spell, but as himself. Dragon or man form.
Free, and safe to be who he pleases.
But I don’t want to be mad at him, worrying about him, pining over him today. I want to enjoy this damn parade.
“Where’s Gil?” I hear Emerson ask.
I turn to look at the Joywood contingent. They’ve got their own float, a whole Charles Dickens thing, though several of them are missing. Not just Gil Redd, who normally helps at things like this. And I recoil a little bit as I look at them, because every single one of them except Carol looks liketheyshould be residents of the cemetery.
As in six feet under.
“Gil isn’t feeling well,” Carol says tersely. Her hair is a honey shade of blond in a beautiful, wavy twist—instead of itsusual frizz ball, but considering the rest of the Joywood all look like dressed-up zombies, I wonder if that means both Gil’slegs disintegrated or something equally problematic they can’t magic their way out of.
I make a mental note to see if black magic can rot a witch from the inside out. It seems not just plausible, but more andmore possible. Especially considering they’re now missing three of their coven members.
Maybe we don’t need to defeat them at all. Maybe we just need to wait them out. I eye Carol’s youthful appearance.
Or not.
We assemble on our float, taking our places as explained to us in the usual intense detail—complete with charts—by Emerson.The parade begins at the exact time she planned. The floats begin to move. We sit and wave as we slowly proceed down the street,while Rebekah and Frost walk a little ahead of us, handing out their pamphlets.
