Now, the fire was nothing but a few dying embers, glowing with throbs and pulses of scarlet radiance that reminded me of a dragon’s heart – which was supposedly pure and fiery, like a gem.

Raine was still looking through poems.

One quick look at the clock told me it was late, but I was too tired to go upstairs. I was already terribly comfy, and besides, I didn’t want to move.

Scooter had moved all the way down to the corner of the couch; he was hugging a pillow like it was his lifeline, and I couldn’t help but think about what he was dreaming of.

“What is this…?” Raine’s voice was very quiet, but I still heard his inquiry.

“What’s what?” I said, moving over to see what he was talking about.

“This,” he said, pointing to the back of the book.

“That’s something my mother drew,” I said gently, running my hand over the old drawing.

A small hippogriff snapped up at us; underneath the illustration was a name in carefully written cursive.

”’Nicodemus’,” Raine read.

“God, I miss her.”