Marjorie Liu: Within the Flames

Around them, the Cruor Venator ’s dying soul thrashed and oozed with murder and filth — but that stain did not touch them.

We’re forever, whispered Lyssa’s voice.

And ever after , murmured Eddie.

Then, together, their souls consumed the last dark remnants of the Cruor Venator. . erasing even her memory.

Until it was as if she had never existed.

There was nothing prettier than New York City in the winter, especially around Christmas.

It was especially nice, Lyssa thought, when you had someone to share it with.

Eddie’s arm was warm around her waist as they slogged up Fifth Avenue to Central Park. It had snowed the night before, a massive, record dump — and the city felt quieter, a brief reprieve that would only last a couple hours. Or maybe longer. . since it was supposed to snow again that afternoon.

“Let me carry that for you,” Eddie said, taking her backpack and portfolio. They had returned to her old underground haunt to see if any of her paintings had survived — and to look for her laptop, if it was still there.

Amazingly, it was. Her wallet was gone (“Call it rent,” Eddie had said), but Albert had stashed her computer amongst his things, just in case she came back. He’d done the same with the paintings that hadn’t burned, stacking them carefully in a neat pile away from anything that dripped.

“You sure you don’t want to meet your editors?” Eddie asked her for the hundredth time.

“I’m sure,” she told him, exasperated by his persistence. “Baby steps, right? Besides, e-mail’s been fine this long.”

He flashed her a quick grin, and she shook her head at him.

San Francisco was now home for Lyssa, but she and Eddie were looking for someplace with a little more privacy, where they could build a room that would hold a raging fire. Because that sort of thing had a life of its own. . and not even a lot of love could chase away every nightmare.

New York City, however, was a nice getaway. They were staying at the Four Seasons, which, for a girl who had lived in a tunnel for three years, was odd and cool in the best way possible.

Lannes and Lethe had told them they could use their home in Greenwich Village, but Lyssa knew that the gargoyle still had reservations about her trustworthiness. Never mind that he and his wife were up in Maine. She didn’t want him to feel as though she’d gotten her Cruor Venator cooties over everything.

It would serve him right, whispered the dragon. Gargoyles are so self-righteous.

Hush, replied Lyssa, and said out loud, “How much time before we meet Ursula for lunch?”

“We still have two hours,” Eddie said. “Do we need to shop for Jimmy and Tina?”

She bit back a smile. “That sounds so normal. Shopping for Christmas presents.”

“I know,” he replied, and kissed her left hand, which didn’t have a glove because she liked feeling his skin on hers.

A golden ring glinted around her finger, a match to the one on his left hand. Simple. Nothing fancy. No ceremony, except something on paper to make it official and legal. Not that they needed that, but it felt good. Married for little over one month.

“Tomorrow,” she told him, tugging him closer. “Right now, let’s walk through Central Park.”

No one was out. The snow was too deep, and the paths hadn’t been cleaned. Drifts, however, melted easily around them — and they didn’t mind getting a little wet. Deeper and deeper they went, into the woods, getting lost in the middle of the city.

Finally, when it seemed as though the tangle had become part of a fairy tale, and the trees were thick and loomed like stark soldiers, they stopped and put down their things and lay together in the snow.

“Life is strange,” said Lyssa, pulling off the glove of her right hand. Golden claws gleamed, and her scales were blood red. Even regaining the ability to shape-shift had not healed that part of her body. She would always be caught.

But that was okay. She was okay. The last of the Cruor Venator , for now. Watchful, ready, waiting. Because one day, she knew, it would not be enough simply to leave her alone. Someone would come. Perhaps Long Nu. Maybe another witch. And she would have to fight again.

Not to save her life. . but to save the lives of the children she planned to have. . and to keep her mate, her husband, safe. Just as he kept her safe, in so many ways.

“I’d rather have it strange,” replied Eddie, in that low, thoughtful voice that she loved so much. “It would hurt just as much. But this way, there’s magic. And you.”

She rolled over and kissed him, hard. Then, she laughed, and began to strip.

Eddie sat up in the melting snow. “What are you doing?”

“Magic,” she said, as golden light danced across her skin and mixed with threads of fire. “Has there ever been a dragon in Central Park?”

“I don’t know,” he said, catching her clothes and grinning. “But there’s one now.”

Heartfelt thanks to my lovely editor, May Chen, and all the hardworking souls at HarperCollins who have been so very kind and supportive. I’d also like to thank my wonderful agent, Lucienne Diver — as well as friend and publicist, Elena Stokes.

To my readers, who are delightful and magical, a mighty thank you.