chose to see it.
Maybe even a gift from a dragon.
Demian had made a mistake when he’d set the deadline for getting the Philosopher’s Stone on Imbolc. Donna had looked up the holiday in one of Quentin’s many books—alchemists were never short of books, that was for sure—and discovered that “Imbolc” meant “in the belly.” Traditionally, it meant the time of year when life begins to stir in the belly of the earth. A time of new beginnings … the spark of life … possibility whispering in the cold air. Yes, frost might still lie on the ground, snow can still fall, but spring has its first glimmerings. Maybe it’s not quite knocking at the door, but it’s very definitely on the horizon. When the deepest day of winter passes, a time of cleansing begins.
Imbolc was the time of the dragon, and the dragon had awakened. The Demon King hadn’t anticipated that. Perhaps he wasn’t aware, when he’d chosen his “impossible” deadline, that a power even older than his own slept beneath the Ironwood.
Donna thanked the gods for boring alchemical texts, good friends, and being born different. All that reading while shelving for Miranda had been worthwhile in the end, as she’d slowly pieced together her plan to thwart Demian. She hadn’t known that there was a plan to build—not even when the British Museum was reduced to rubble and Demian faced down the other three races at that charade of a masquerade. Things had seemed hopeless—which was what Demian had intended.
Robert—who had relished both his role in the battle and coordinating communications in the aftermath—had told Donna that the Philosopher’s Stone was now being looked after by the Order of the Lion. It seemed appropriate that the most secret of all the secret Orders was safeguarding the most powerful artifact in the world. A new elixir could now be created, but nobody was rushing to complete the process. Maybe they never would. Rachel and the other alchemists had agreed on one thing: alchemy belonged to the past. The future involved new directions, and a whole new purpose. They just had to figure out where they fit in the modern world, and immortality wasn’t something that humanity was ready for.
Taking a deep breath, Donna glanced at Xan. He’d de-cided to return to his birth father’s home. It had been a … surprise when he’d first told her about it. Donna had hugged him and nodded enthusiastically, but inside, her heart had broken just a little.
She leaned toward him now, with a sigh, and kissed his warm cheek. He moved to her side of their little nook and wrapped his arms around her, holding on tight.
They spoke about it again, up there on the roof: Xan’s intention to spend some quality time in Faerie at Queen Isolde’s personal invitation. Cathal was the queen’s new first knight and would be needed there for the foreseeable future. Donna couldn’t help feeling that they were saying goodbye forever, although she hoped that wasn’t true. Forever was a long time.
“I’ll visit,” he said.
“I know.”
“Probably not a good idea if you try to visit me.”
Donna shook her head, a wry smile on her face to match his. “Probably not.”
They sat quietly for another few minutes.
Donna snuggled in closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Do you think you’ll come back here? To live permanently, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s like … I’ve only just found myself. Where I’m from. Who I really am. I need to explore it—at least for a while. Beyond that? I honestly can’t say. Not yet. I promise you though, Donna, you’ll be the first to know. I won’t keep any more secrets.”
She nodded, trying not to focus on the sadness that stopped her from speaking. At least he was being honest.
“You won’t miss me,” he said, in a tone of voice that said he clearly hoped she would. “You’ll be too busy traveling the world with Sharma.”
“Oh, just shut up and kiss me,” she told him.
Xan grinned and his green eyes flashed. “Your wish is my—”
Donna pressed her lips to his as the sun finally broke through the clouds.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
“So,” she said as she pulled back, flushed and breathless.
“So.” Xan’s expression was difficult to read, but there was the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Do you come here often?”
“Not often.” She swallowed—why did saying goodbye have to be so difficult? “The guy who lives here is kind of