The Phoenix Fern **PRE-ORDER**

The toast Ambrose had proposed was a simple one. To London. Those two little words and the reaction of the people Fern loved caused her vision to mist with tears. She turned to face the wall to wipe them away.
George stood by the mantel and cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “We need a plan.”
What erupted was how Fern imagined a war council to be as they strategised how to corner Lady Davies and extract a confession of her murderous crimes. There were also practical matters to settle. Like where to stay and what on earth she should wear?
They pulled the chairs and the sofas into a loose ring. George had claimed the little writing table at the top of the circle. He sat with a sheaf of paper, quill in hand, and the hard expression he wore whenever he decided that the world would not be permitted to get away with its injustices any longer.
Fern sat on a chair closest to George. Seth stood behind her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, his thumb stroking her nape. Dorothea and Millie were two peas in a pod on the small sofa. Ambrose sat across from Fern, his expression delighted as he mentioned all the things they must do in London since they would be there anyway. Rachel and her mother sat at the back, not used to the frantic activity that arose when the group mobilised with a shared goal.
“Sir and Lady Davies must be utterly ruined.” Fern leant forward as her mind provided a stream of images. “It must be financially and socially. We must force them out of the circles that have protected them and remove the wealth that comforts them. Since English laws will not put them in jail, we must instead ensure they are incapable of harming anyone ever again.” Or anything, since, to Fern, cutting down the last of a rare tree was a heinous crime against nature.
“Temper your expectations, Fern. He has built a castle with stout walls that will not be easily shaken.” George’s bushy eyebrows were drawn tight as he scribbled notes to himself.
“The horrid pair simply cannot get away with, well, murder.” Ambrose’s hands flew through the air as he spoke. “I am sure if we knock our heads together, we can come up with something deliciously devious to see that some form of natural justice is delivered.”
Fern glanced around the room at the array of clever minds at her disposal. They also had dragonfire. “We could burn his warehouses. That would hurt.”
“He will be insured. But that is not insurmountable,” Seth said from behind her.
Millie’s eyes widened. “What of the innocent workers, though? You would not harm them, surely?”
“No,” Fern agreed quickly. “I am sure there are ways to ensure his buildings are empty.”
“Before you set fire to London, we need somewhere to stay first.” George was now tallying numbers in a column.
Fern hadn’t thought ahead to accommodation; she was too busy igniting dragonfire in her mind. Renting a house would be expensive, but there were too many of them to take rooms in a modest lodging house.
“I have a property at Westbourne Green,” Seth said, and that shifted the room’s attention to him. “It sits on the edge of the city and is large enough that we can all stay there. Dragons included.”
Millie’s eyes sparkled. “Does it have a name?”
Seth hesitated.
Fern turned to stare up at him and had the absurd thought that he looked momentarily reluctant to share the name.
“It’s called Wyrmwood Grange,” he said at last, as if the words were a compromise between honesty and concealment.
“Wyrmwood?” Millie inhaled as if she might swoon on the spot. “That is the most amazing name I have heard in a long time.”
“It’s just a house,” Seth said flatly.
“Oh, no. Not with a name like that. I cannot wait to see it.” Millie bounced on her seat, and Dorothea took her hand as though she feared the other woman might rise to the ceiling.
Fern’s mouth twitched, and she swallowed her laugh. It was a little on the nose that the drake men chose a name for their London residence that was practically dragon plus trees.
“Since accommodation is sorted, I think we should divide and conquer, as they say. Lord Drakeman can work with his fellow to learn more about the holdings and warehouses of our enemy. Dorothea and I can consider the social calendar for what remains of the season and determine the best opportunities for Fern to slip something into Lady Davies’s drink.” Ambrose pointed to each person as he suggested roles.
“We will find a mouse inside his castle. Servants know more than their masters realise. The best place to unpick secrets is by starting at the bottom.” George tapped his sheet of paper that was becoming covered in his neat, tight script.
“What of me? How can I help?” Millie’s expressive eyes were drawn with concern at being left out.
Fern smiled at her friend. “You have a very important role. You can weave magic into stories, make them reach a wide audience, and, more importantly, have your words believed. You need to craft a story that will bring about the downfall of the Davieses by scaring off his investors.”
Millie licked her lips and gave a tiny shake of her head. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Ambrose reached out and squeezed her hand. “We will worry about that once we are in London. We have more pressing concerns. Like what to pack!”
Fern swore under her breath, and everyone turned to stare at her. “I’m going to need dresses!” No one would admit the gardener with dirt under her nails and stains on her knees into a parlour in Mayfair. Fern needed to look the part to sidle up close to her enemy.
Seth huffed in laughter behind her, and George’s shoulders shook.