EPILOGUE
Two weeks later
It was a beautiful night, cool and
fresh and filled with fireflies and magic. There was nothing better
than evening in upstate New York in the summertime. Sitting in the
porch rocker, sipping a bottle of Finger Lakes Chardonnay with the
man she loved by her side, watching Sam and Jace walk hand in hand
through the fields in front of Father Paul’s house in the setting
sun—it was almost possible for Emma to forget this had ever been a
place of sadness for her.
It helped, of course, that her demon mark was
under control, fed by love instead of violence, and as dormant as
it had ever been. It was also nice that the few kids presently in
Father Paul’s care—twelve-year-old twin girls and a five-year-old
boy—weren’t particularly depressing cases. The girls suffered pain
associated with their demon marks, but only when they were apart
for too long, and the boy—an energy vampire much like herself—had,
amazingly, learned to feed on plants. His hunger resulted in dead
trees sprinkled throughout the forest behind the house, but the
group home needed wood for the stove anyway.
Andre and Jace had already felled some of the
trees for the aging Father Paul, putting up enough firewood to last
the coming winter and beyond. And Father Paul . . . he’d been as
amazing as ever. He’d welcomed her back without any anger or
resentment, bringing home that “Prodigal Son” Bible lesson he was
so fond of in a decidedly personal way. Once Sam and Jace had
joined them there—Jace deciding it would be wise for the remaining,
loyal Conti bounty members to lie low until the police finished
their investigation of the arson at the Conti offices and the
“disappearances” of half the Conti staff—the time upstate had felt
almost like a vacation.
Suddenly, the front door slammed open and an
angry Ginger in a borrowed blue dress stormed out the door and down
the porch steps. A second later, Michael Conti slammed after her.
“Ginger, wait. I’m ... I’m sorry!”
Almost like a vacation, if that vacation
involved purging one of your best friends of a minor aura demon
possession with disgusting things like saltwater cleanses, mud
baths, and a strict vegetarian diet that had Emma jonesing for a
big hunk of meat.
“Just leave me alone. I want to go for a walk. By
myself!” Ginger called over her shoulder, freezing when she saw
Emma and Andre on the porch. “Oh . . . sorry, guys. I . . .” Her
blue eyes glazed for a moment before sharpening once more. “I just
need to take a walk. Will you tell Big Brother over there that it’s
okay if I take a walk?”
“It’s okay if she takes a walk, Mikey,” Emma
said.
“But it’ll be dark soon, and she always gets lost
in the woods,” he said, driving a frustrated hand through his dark
curls. His hair was even wavier than Andre’s. “I’m only trying
to—”
“Then I’ll walk in the field! Just give me some
room.” Ginger was much stronger and saner than she’d been when they
arrived, but Michael was still extremely protective.
“Fine! But if you pass out, don’t expect me to
come carry you back to the house.”
“Fine!” Ginger yelled.
“Fine!” Mikey yelled back before spinning on his
heel and storming back into the house. Ginger stared after him for
a second, regret in her big blue eyes, before she turned back to
Emma. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Save me a glass of that,
will you?”
“Sure.” Emma watched Ginger turn and head into
the gently waving grass. Beside her, Andre laughed beneath his
breath. “What’s so funny?” Emma asked, turning back to him,
marveling again at how handsome he looked in jeans and a slightly
wrinkled white button-up with rolled-up sleeves.
He was beautiful, perfect, and he was hers.
Tonight he’d sleep in her bed, make love to her until she was sure
she’d never come down from the high of being with him. And then
they’d fall asleep tangled up in each other. They’d wake up just as
tangled, and the first thing he’d do was smile, a grin so bright
and full of hope that she knew he felt the same way she did: that
his life had become a beautiful dream and he didn’t ever,
ever want to wake up.
“I think they’ve got a thing for each other,”
Andre said, nodding toward Ginger. “Her and Mikey.”
Emma cocked her head, skeptical. “Really? They
seem . . . mutually annoyed.”
“First sign of infatuation.”
“Really?” Emma smiled around the edge of her
glass as she took another sip of liquid deliciousness. Andre was
right; wine was way better than beer.
“Pretty soon he’ll be telling her that her nails
are filthy,” he said, nearly making Emma snort her drink through
her nose. “And she’ll be telling him he’s a vain asshole with an
eyebrow-waxing obsession. Next thing you know ... they’ll be
engaged.”
“Is that how it works?” she asked, laughing as he
brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to each
of her not-quite-as-filthy nails.
“Yes.” Andre squeezed her hand, a promise that
his kisses would continue at length as soon as they were alone.
“Just wait and see.”
Emma turned back to the field. Ginger had caught
up with Sam and Jace. The three of them stood at the far edge of
the property, where the hill sloped down and the valley opened up
in a view Emma wished her sister could see. Still, Sam didn’t seem
to need anything else to make her happy—even sight. She had Jace,
and she had a secret of her own, one she hadn’t told anyone but
Emma. Emma had promised she wouldn’t tell anyone, but surely
“anyone” didn’t include her future husband.
“I have secret knowledge, too, you know.” Emma
leaned in to whisper her next words near Andre’s ear. “Sam thinks
she’s knocked up.”
“Knocked up?”
“Pregnant.” Emma rolled her eyes.
“I know what it means,” he said with a laugh,
“but you don’t call it ‘knocked up’ when the man and woman are
married.”
“Sure you do. It sounds sexier that way.” Emma
leaned back in her chair, smiling. It felt like all she did was
smile these days. But it was hard not to. She’d never been so
happy, couldn’t believe this was her life and she was going to
spend the rest of it with the best friend she’d ever had. A best
friend who was also an amazing lover and maybe, one day, would be
the father of her own children. The thought made her smile grow
even wider. “When I’m pregnant I’m going to tell everyone that my
old man knocked me up.”
He snorted. “Sounds like I beat you.”
“Does not. It’s nice.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m awesome,” she said, pleased when he laughed
even louder and pulled her into his lap. “You’re just too
old-fashioned.”
“If I were that old-fashioned, you’d be sleeping
alone, little girl.” He nuzzled his face into her neck, kissing her
bare skin, making her shiver.
“If Father Paul catches you sneaking into my
room, I still might be, old man.” She turned and kissed him,
licking the buttery sweetness of the wine from his lips until he
moaned.
“I love you,” he whispered against her
mouth.
“I love you, too. Want to go for a walk in the
woods?”
“But everyone else is walking in the field,” he
said, pulling back to gaze up into her eyes.
“Exactly.” She winked, and he smiled, and in
minutes they were racing each other to the trees, eager to continue
conquering their demons together.