Dragon Fires Everywhere, page 29
Emerson knows it. She’s grinning as she stands up.
“We did it, you guys.” But she’s being generous. Sure, being a witch means that putting together events is a breeze, but it’s still her wedding, and no matter how we helped, she did the bulk of the work. Just like with everything else.
Zander arrives, dressed in his wedding finery. He hesitates in the doorway, though he smiles. “You look great, Em,” he says.
But there’s something in his eyes, in his expression. Kind of a forced cheer.
“What’s that look about?” Ellowyn demands, narrowed eyes of suspicion arrowing in on him. “You’re not supposed to be here. The guys are supposed to meet us at the bookstore.”
“Yeah, and we will. I just wanted to give you a little heads-up.” He tries that smile again. “Uh, well. Jacob is just, uh, running a little . . . late.”
“Then you need to go make him not late,” Ellowyn is saying, with just enough malice and threat even I’m inclined to believe she might shank Zander right here, right now.
“There was another black magic attack last night,” Zander explains apologetically to Emerson. “It was brutal. A couple Healers tried to handle it themselves. No one wanted to bother you or Jacob this morning, but . . . it was bad, and they needed him.”
Everyone is quiet at that. Our happy, excited wedding bubble is officially popped.
But Zander steps forward and puts his hand on Emerson’s shoulder. “We’ll head on down to the bookstore just as planned. He’ll get there when he’s done. It’ll all be good. Maybe we start five minutes late, but that’s not the end of the world.”
“Have you met your cousin?” Rebekah asks, and I think maybe she’s trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t land.
Emerson reaches out and takes Zander’s arm. “Will you go be with him? Just in case he needs help after?”
“Of course.” He pats her hand, then disappears.
All of us are frozen for a moment. This was unexpected. I think maybe if it had been an attack on Jacob, it might feel more run-of-the-mill. We’re used to that.
But this is a happenstance we weren’t prepared for. It isn’t evil, per se. Sure, it’s black magic, and that’s evil, but it’s not at Jacob.
It’s not aimed at us.
As far as we know.
“Come on, Em,” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist. “Zander wouldn’t make that up. Five minutes late, tops. Let’s head over to the bookstore and get situated.”
She nods, and so we magic ourselves over to the bookstore. Emerson doesn’t even try to look outside to make sure everything is set up the way she wants it, which is how I know she is Not Okay.
“We’d feel it if something was really wrong,” I tell her, giving her a squeeze.
“The black magic attacks getting worse are really wrong,” Emerson says, pulling away from me. She goes to stand behind the bookstore counter. Like that gives her some kind of strength or makes her feel more in control.
“Okay,” Rebekah agrees. “But that’s not something we can fix right this second, so let’s focus on what we can. Don’t you want to see the chairs? They look great.”
She points toward the outside.
Emerson shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
We all exchange terrified looks. But after another minute or two of painful silence, Zander and Frost appear.
With Jacob, thank Hecate.
They’re all dressed in the wedding suits Emerson picked out, but Jacob looks awful. Like he’s barely standing, and with the way Zander positions himself behind Jacob, I wonder if he’s holding him up.
Emerson magicks the big comfy chair over and pushes him into it. Ellowyn magicks him a tea and keeps shoving the mug at him until he drinks.
But he smiles at Emerson. “I’m not supposed to see you before the wedding.”
“That’s a human tradition, and we are not human,” she says to him sternly. Then she kind of crumples into a kneeling position next to him and presses her forehead to his knee. “You have to stop giving so much of yourself, Jacob.”
“You first.” He runs a hand over her hair, careful not to mess with any of the pins. “I’ll be okay. Promise. But, Em . . .”
She looks up. We all look at Jacob because of the grimness in his voice. “It was Evie.”
It’s a blow. Evie North is a Healer, and attacks on Healers are the lowest of the low. And Evie is also Jacob’s sister.
I can see Emerson’s grip on Jacob tighten. “She’s okay,” Emerson says firmly, like if she says it, it will make it true.
“Mom’s with her. She wouldn’t even stay put. Said she had to come to the wedding. She’s okay, but . . .” Jacob trails off, as if he can’t finish.
“But it’s worse. It keeps getting worse,” Emerson finishes for him.
Jacob’s expression is grim. “She said the attacker was almost familiar. That the face of her attacker looked like some grotesque mix of Felicia and Maeve.”
But before we can deal with this—really deal with these attackers who resemble missing Joywood members—someone clears their throat over a loudspeaker. A magical loudspeaker that treats each of us like we’re our own sound system, like what comes through is directly in our faces.
We set it up ourselves.
“Good afternoon, St. Cyprian.”
It’s Carol’s voice. We all move to the door to see Carol on the little stage in the middle of Main Street, with the perfect light dusting of snow framing her. Right where Jacob and Emerson are going to say their vows.
“I have received the most disturbing news that I’d like to share with you all while we . . . wait,” she says, and she draws out the word wait like the wedding isn’t on time because Emerson has set out to insult us all.
I’m outside before I know I mean to move. I can hear Emerson tell Jacob to stay put, but when I look back, he’s followed her out of the shop too.
Zander is still behind him, no doubt trying to be a very conspicuous wingman while downplaying Jacob’s injuries to Emerson.
“I have had news of a terrible attack done to one of our own.” She surveys the crowd. “Poor Evie North, a Healer, was clawed, burned, and nearly murdered.”
An echo of surprise and concern moves through the crowd. Carol’s gaze finds the little knot of us in the crowd. She smiles. It isn’t kind.
“I’m so glad Emerson can engage in a wedding while we’re all being terrorized by a dragon,” she says, making sure it echoes through that speaker so she’s saying it to every single magical being alive.
“That attack was not done by a dragon, Carol,” Jacob says in a dark, if tired, voice, but he also uses the same magical speaker. And Healers aren’t known for lies.
Unlike her.
But she is unfazed, as ever.
“Oh?” she returns, with a raised eyebrow and fake surprise all over her freakishly younger face. “That’s funny, because I heard that it was done inside the cemetery. Where, you might have heard, a dragon is imprisoned.”
30
There’s a murmur in the crowd. The kind of murmur Carol loves to stir up, especially when it comes to us. Fearful looks pass like a long, slow, insistently dark ripple across water. We can see it happen from where we stand.
On some level I get it. The problem is that Azrael and other magical creatures are the unknown. We’ve been taught not to believe in them, so any sign of their existence can easily feel threatening. No one needs to trust what Carol says to worry that a dragon might be a problem—a sign of something bad and scary that might also eat them.
She made sure to put on a show and build a scary statue.
And she’s still entirely too good at what she does.
I worry the votes will turn back, and we’ll have to imprison him again. I worry that’s exactly why Carol is doing this.
Jacob moves past me, ignoring all of our protests. He’s still pale, still so obviously hurting, but he is moving on his own two feet, and his voice is strong when he speaks.
“I was there. I healed my sister. It was no dragon attack.” He turns to face the crowd. “My sister. I’d know if she was attacked by a dragon.”
I realize I’ve only ever seen Jacob this furious twice before. Once ten years ago when Emerson was suddenly unable to remember anything magical in one fell swoop. And once again earlier this year, when Emerson was directly attacked.
“Why are you all so desperate to protect this dragon?” Carol asks, eyes wide and full of feigned innocence, like she simply can’t understand this need of ours to consort with predators. “It does speak of a coven not entirely in touch with their community’s needs and fears, I have to say.”
“You imprisoned him, Carol. How did he have the magic to attack Evie, and what was she doing in the cemetery?” I demand. “Last I checked, Healers can’t fix the dead.”
“Who knows what these monsters are capable of?” Carol lifts a shoulder. She doesn’t need to answer any of these questions. She’s instilled the fear she wanted to. “Now, what are we going to do about it?” she asks the crowd.
“Enough,” Jacob says. He grabs Emerson’s hand and marches her up the aisle. She’s whispering things about how he should sit, be careful, calm down—but he’s not having it.
“I’m fine,” Jacob says firmly. It’s his brook-no-argument voice, and even Emerson doesn’t try her luck with it. “We are getting married, Emerson. Now.” He pulls her up onto the stage and stares Carol down, reminding everyone that Emerson might be powerful, but he is the man she leans on. The man who is not intimidated by her like every other person around. “We have something to do. If you’re concerned about the dragon, perhaps you should be in the cemetery. Not here.”
I hate that he would suggest such a thing, but Carol only smiles. Like she hoped he’d respond this way.
“Of course, your needs should come first,” Carol all but purrs.
Emerson is unfazed, even as I’m huffing and puffing in outrage. She doesn’t look at Carol. She turns to the crowd. She’s ready to give a speech, even in her elegant wedding dress.
She’s always ready to give a speech, Hecate love her. “I have outlined our feelings on the dragon, on magical creatures in general,” she says calmly and even cheerfully, as if she sees no cause for concern here. “I have spoken with all of you about the important and hidden historical information Georgie found for us that proves the strongest covens have a fabulae by their side. We have shown you the facts.”
“Facts?” Carol demands. “Georgie and facts?” She turns to me then, and I feel the gazes of many of the crowd on me too. “Anyone who knows Georgie knows that she’d rather believe in a fairy tale than facts. Princesses and dragons and crows.”
The way she sneers those last few words at me makes me certain that she knows about the book. That it’s some kind of threat toward all those things. But how?
“We let you imprison Azrael, even though we didn’t agree with it,” Emerson continues calmly. Her hand is still in Jacob’s. “We have let your vote on the matter govern how long he stays, and just yesterday . . .”
I see it dawn on Emerson that Carol’s timing is very specific.
Because the vote went our way. And Carol shouldn’t know that since we haven’t announced it. So she can’t come out and say the dragon was free when Evie was attacked without ruining her case.
Emerson changes tactics immediately. “Solstice is coming. Does this not seem like questionable timing that stems from bitterness over losing a bid to keep ruling over witchdom?”
There are more murmurs in the crowd, but they seem less dark than before. Families and friend groups talk amongst themselves.
“Let them have their wedding, Carol,” Holly calls out. “We can deal with the dragon after.”
“After?” Carol screeches. I swear it seems like her eyes might bulge clear out of her head, but at least she’s still intact, despite the condition of the other Joywood members the last time we saw them.
A lot of people in the crowd murmur their agreement. Maybe they don’t trust Azrael, but they came for a wedding. They also trust Jacob beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s helped so many of them, or his parents have.
The last remaining member of the Joywood doesn’t have the stranglehold on the crowd she used to.
Maybe no one ever trusts people in power completely, and they shouldn’t. But they trust us more than Carol right now.
I’ll admit that it feels sweet.
After more and more vocal support for the wedding from the crowd, Carol stalks off the stage. I watch her go since I don’t trust her in the least. Particularly when she doesn’t go far. She stands off to the side, arms folded, glaring at Jacob and Emerson on the stage while snow falls all around her but doesn’t accumulate on the bricks.
I can’t get past the fact that none of the other members of the Joywood are here. Not a single one. Have they all really died off? Crumbled apart or rotted away or drowned horribly like that dream I’m delighted I didn’t share?
But then, why does Carol look so good? How can she wield so much power alone?
As I watch her, I notice something else. She is standing very close to a certain Desmond Wilde. He’s seated, but not up front with Elspeth or any other member of Emerson’s family. He’s off to the side, in the middle of a group of people Emerson would likely tell me are deeply important to witchdom, but who seem random to me.
Maybe Emerson sat him there because she knows how much he likes to feel important—and it also keeps him away from her—but it just feels off.
I think about the books he stole from Lillian that my father, in turn, stole from him. The fairy tale that Carol apparently knows about when she shouldn’t. I think about the archives, and the decided lack of any decent information on the Joywood.
And I am struck by a thought I maybe should have had sooner. Just maybe, the best and dirtiest secrets aren’t hidden in the archives by the Joywood or black magic or my own failures. Maybe they aren’t there at all.
Maybe Carol has a library in her house too. Like the Wildes, like my father. Maybe, just maybe, the Joywood’s evil history is tucked up in the home of its most powerful and most evil member.
And here Carol is. Away from her house and focused on Emerson, as usual.
Meaning it’s the perfect chance to find out.
I look back toward the stage. Jacob’s parents are up with Emerson and Jacob now. They are acting as the priest and priestess who will lead the handfasting that witches use in place of human religious rituals.
Everyone is getting situated. Rebekah pulls me forward so I can take my place on the stage with everyone else.
But that idea of mine is poking at me. Even as Jacob’s mother, Maureen, welcomes the crowd to this happy occasion.
Emerson. I think I need to sneak into Carol’s house and try to raid her library.
Emerson’s gaze whips to mine. Then she looks out at the crowd for a moment before turning back to Jacob. I put it out on the coven channel, so everyone heard me. They’re all sneaking looks at me, but we’re good at not reacting—though I can see the wheels turn in Emerson’s head.
Eventually she gives a little nod.
Do your reading, then sneak away. With Frost—
No, just me. Frost can stay here and keep an eye on Carol. If she disappears, he can warn me and come after me. But more than one of us gone is too big a red flag.
The best friend being gone is, of course, in no way the same big red flag, Frost replies dryly.
I’m almost touched he’s noticed that we always-mortals have different relationships. But there’s no time to study a man who’s lived forever.
So make a projection of me, I say instead. I’m the Historian. It has to be me.
I don’t think I’m being stupid or reckless. I’m warning everyone about what I need to do, not running off and doing it alone without letting anyone know, like some I could mention. The chances I’m the only one who can wield the books are too large.
But maybe I don’t have to go fully alone, I amend, as I can hear everyone’s reluctance. If Azrael was here . . . But he’s not. I’ll take my father.
There’s quiet in the coven channel. Jacob’s father is talking to the crowd about love and loyalty, devotion and steadfastness.
Trust me, I say to Emerson. Just Emerson.
She gives one last nod.
“Each of the friends of the bride and groom is going to do a reading. First is Georgina Pendell.”
We agreed that there was no need to remind everyone of our positions in the coven. That’s the power move, Rebekah said. Only weak people introduce themselves with a title.
Powerful people assume their title is self-evident, Ellowyn agreed.
I force myself to smile out at the crowd. I look down at the piece of paper where I’ve written my part of the book. Not the part that I read to Azrael—that will be Jacob and Emerson’s vows to each other. This is something different.
Something that makes me ache all the same. Because somehow these words apply to my life, my love.
“Real love blooms in trust. In yourself and in each other. Sometimes the world and its wars ask too much. Sometimes you lose sight of each other along the path, but you must always find your way back. To love without limits. To joy beyond measure. Because to do otherwise is to let fear win.”
It brings tears to my eyes as I read, even knowing what I need to do next. Because Jacob and Emerson found their way back already, after ten years of Em not knowing who she was. I have no doubts about their happy-ever-after now. Not just because they love each other, but because they’ll fight for it. Fight for each other. Both of them.
No matter what they give of themselves to others, they will always come back to their love, their home.
They fit.
And I refuse to let that land inside me like a new kind of grief.
Because I have shit to do. I don’t have time to grieve.
When my reading is done, I walk off the stage and to my seat. By the time we’re all done with our readings, Jacob and Emerson will be alone with the priest and priestess to give their vows, to bind their hands and ceremonialize what is already true.
