Epilogue

The pheromones were understandably intense as I strode into Piscary's right before sunrise. There was no waiting line this time of day, night, whatever…But with three undead vampires below perfuming the air with their presence, it had been busy. The air exchanger hadn't yet caught up, and I doubted it had even been turned on. Most vamps enjoyed the subliminal pheromones given off by the undead, used them like a passive drug to heighten their nightly activities.

The jukebox was playing something both sultry and grungy, and the drinks in hand held their last swallows. A few tables were still occupied by those in the know, and my shoulders eased when their soft conversations hesitated at my entrance, then resumed after a respectful moment of silence and the lift of a glass. Even though I'd been back for several weeks, it still felt very good to be home.

And Piscary's, despite all the drama that had taken place here, did feel like home. From the six varieties of ketchup openly on the table to the tiny tomato lights over the bar to the picture of a rat and mink standing on the gas tank of an X-wing 2000, whiskers pushed back by the wind, Ivy driving.

And one urn of ash we can't identify, I thought as I glanced at the surprisingly small blue and gold jar. It was Johnny, and Ivy had put it in a place of honor over the bar beside the Mixed Public License. Not that Piscary's needed an MPL other than to serve alcohol. Offering tomatoes kept the humans out all on its own. John Doe Vamp or not, he had helped save Kisten's undead life, and that needed to be acknowledged. A lock of his hair might point me to his relatives, but I wasn't ready to dig up that grave quite yet.

"Hey, Rachel." Ivy's low, sexy voice was obvious over the piped-in music, and I shifted my path, eager to talk to her.

"Busy night?" I asked as I got closer to the bar, looking for a place to wedge myself in. Unlike the tables, the bar was full. A sidelong glance, a sultry smile with half-lidded eyes, and someone moved to give me space.

Ivy leaned in, her attention on the door as two sexy thangs behind her in lace and leather continued to take the last-drink orders between cleaning up. "About usual. Hey, was Trent supposed to help you tonight?"

I shook my head, a small smile quirking my lips. "No. Why?"

Her gaze went past me to the tables. "That bounty hunter, Laker, showed up a few hours ago. He's got some chops, trusting the MPL will keep him safe."

I turned, smirking as I locked eyes with the clearly uncomfortable man nursing a chipped cup of coffee. "Tell him to go home. Trent is safely in the ever-after."

"That's what I thought, but I let him stay. He's more entertaining than the paid band." Ivy's faint smile vanished. "I closed the upstairs. Pike is up there with Brad. And the coven," she added sourly.

The plastic bag with my spelling supplies rattled as I grabbed the shot of tomato juice she slid across the bar to me. "All of them?" I tossed the spicy drink back, downing it. Breakfast of champions or nightcap. You decide.

Her expressive eyebrows bunched. "Just one. The sixty-year-old kid."

"Scott." I said the word flat and tasteless. "Is Kisten around?" I hadn't seen him apart from in passing since we'd been home. After the first few put-offs, I had decided he was avoiding me. Giving me and Trent space, I suppose. Probably a good idea until Trent felt secure, but he could at least talk to me.

"Downstairs." Ivy's gaze went behind me when someone laughed a little too loud. "He took Constance out tonight to interview a new scion, one who might survive her, and he wanted to stick around in case he's needed. He's trying to teach her how to take a softer touch, maybe pretend to love them until she believes it herself."

I snuck a glance at Ivy as I fiddled with my empty glass. Constance hadn't initially been happy about sharing the spotlight with Piscary's heir, but the less she had to do, the less I had to do. "Is it helping?"

Ivy swabbed the ring of tomato juice from the bar. "It might. He's very close to the living yet. Sometimes I think him spending two years without any bloodlust cushioned him even if he wasn't conscious. Allowed him to retain an understanding most don't have."

I nodded, not sure if she was seeing it correctly or if it was just one of the lies that the living told themselves when faced with the soulless, empty slate their lovers had become. Ivy and Nina were solid, and she and Kisten hadn't shared blood those last few years. But Ivy loved him nevertheless. Her sight might be clouded. Why won't you talk to me, Kisten?

But I couldn't admit to Ivy that he wasn't even returning my texts, and I pushed from the bar, plastic bag rattling. "Okay. I'll be upstairs. I'll shout if I need you."

Her hand on mine stopped me cold. "You'll be great," she said, going up on one foot to lean over the bar and give me a kiss on the cheek, filling my world with the scent of happy vampire. She was happy. Kisten might be an undead, but she was happy. It had been worth every last burned synapse, every moment of pain.

I was smiling when she eased away, and I gave her hand a squeeze before it slipped from mine. "Great," she'd said, but I had my doubts. The coven didn't play fair. Neither did demons, but they, at least, didn't play dirty.

"Be down in twenty," I said as I turned to the stairs. It was getting close to dawn, and Brad's curse worked best in the hour before and after the sun broke the horizon.

But as I put a foot on the wide stairs, something shivered through me, a ribbon of desire from a hint of recollection, a wafting of scent on the brimstone-and-vampire-scented air.

I hesitated, tasting the emotion-charged air as it soaked into me with the warmth of a puddle-warm memory.

"Rachel…"

The whisper pulled me around as a quiver rippled over my skin. Black eyes found mine, freezing me where I stood even as a heated warmth soaked into me. Kisten waited at the swinging doors to the kitchen, his hand gripping the old wood as he half hid behind it, not wanting to be seen. His gaze fixed to mine, the faintest rim of brown showing as he held himself at a quiet stillness—waiting for my reaction. I took a slow breath, and it seemed as if the world melted away, leaving only the two of us. A small part of me wondered if maybe this was why he had been putting me off. He knew I loved Trent, and he was…irresistible.

I turned, my foot slipping from the first step.

And then a wash of alarm coursed through me, scouring every last hint of desire from me. It was too close to sunrise for him to be aboveground.

I came forward, my libido gone and plastic bag rattling as I put a hand on his biceps and pushed him into the kitchen. The staff looked up from their cleaning, then went back to work, ignoring us with a practiced oblivion as I hustled him unprotestingly to the small alcove that held the stairs and elevator. My grip on him was featherlight, but little zings of sensation prickled through me. It had been two years, but my body remembered. Ached for it. I don't want this.

But I couldn't let him go.

"You need to be belowground," I said as the door to the stairs shut behind us.

"I need to talk to you."

His voice melted into me, and I took my hands off him to rub the tingles away. He had always been attractive—that was how Piscary had bred him. Death had made him sex incarnate, and I shifted to keep the door behind me. " Now you want to talk? This close to sunrise? I've been trying to see you all week."

He winced, looking entirely alive, and a spike of something struck me. "It wasn't you. It was me. I had a lot to think about."

His voice was soft, but it filled my world, and I shoved the emotions away. They weren't mine to enjoy anymore. "You need to go downstairs," I said. "Come on. We can talk there."

"No."

I rocked to a halt at his single word. It was getting easier to ignore his pull. But maybe that was because he was refusing to do what was good for him. "No?" I echoed, and he shifted from foot to foot. But his very uncomfortableness made him all the more charming. Damn, it was as if he was still alive—only better.

Kisten looked at my hands but didn't take them. "I don't want you going downstairs. Ever. Not if I'm there."

That took me aback, and I hesitated. "I've been in Piscary's old apartments before," I said, trying to figure out where his concern was coming from. "I can handle myself. Nina—"

"It's not you I'm worried about," he interrupted. "Or Nina, or Constance."

If he wasn't worried about them, or me…

Fear was a quick flash. Kisten felt it, and I stiffened as his pupils widened. He was worried about himself. That's why he had been avoiding me. Not to give Trent and me some space. Oh…shit.

I took a breath. Held it. Let it go. Took a step back. He was worried about himself, and here I was, pushing his buttons. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my gaze on the white ceiling as I forced myself to relax.

Kisten glanced at the huge clock on the wall across from the elevator. The threat of the approaching sun seemed to calm him, and his eyes returned to their usual brown. "I wanted to talk to you," he said, his gaze flicking to my hands. "Say thank you for not letting the sun burn me. Keeping me safe. Not letting me starve."

I licked my lips. It was Kisten. He'd never hurt me. Would he? I can't touch you ever again. "You're welcome. I'm…sorry. It was a day for you."

"And two years for you." He smiled, his lips closed, and my heart seemed to break. "I'm trying to get my car back. Do you know who bought it?"

The world was out of balance, and I felt unreal. "No, sorry. I have your pool table, though. It's cracked again. Needs a new felt." Wincing, I met his gaze, once again a sedate, calm brown. "I used it for a spelling table."

He chuckled, and I relaxed. "Keep it," he said, smile fading as he realized the distance between us would never change. "I'll come over some night and play pool." He grinned, becoming my Kisten again. "Once you get it refelted."

"Deal." He wasn't touching me. I didn't think he would ever again. And it hurt even as I silently thanked him. "I didn't mean to fall in love. I thought you were gone."

"I was. I am." He looked at my hand as if wanting to take it. "This is better for you. I only want you to be happy." His gaze lifted to mine. "Tell Kalamack that if he makes a mistake, I will be there. Always."

I remembered how it felt when his hand held mine, and an odd feeling trickled through me. "That's kind of what I'm worried about," I half joked, and he chuckled.

"Me too," he said, then sighed as if actually needing the breath. "I said it in the bar, and I'll say it again so you believe me this time. I limit you. Kalamack doesn't. This is a good thing. Don't worry about me. I'm still getting auras from that spell. I don't need a scion, but I'm finding what I think is peace in caring for Pike, and he in caring for me. He has had a difficult life and deserves as much joy as he can find." His attention flicked to the clock. "I have to go," he added, taking a step back.

I nodded, sensation spilling to my extremities as he turned his back to me.

His steps were silent on the stairs. "I mean it, Rachel," he said over his shoulder as he descended. "Do not come down here. There are too many memories to confuse me, and I'm still trying to parse out the flavor between instinct and love. Don't make me ruin what you can be, what you already are."

"You could never do that," I whispered, knowing he could hear me with his new, undead senses. But we both knew it was a lie, and I lingered until I heard the door at the bottom shut before I turned to leave. Head down, I made my way through the kitchen, the space now humid with hot water and soap as the counters and grills were cleaned for tomorrow.

My mind whirled with everything I had forgotten to tell him: how I'd felt seeing him in that cruddy little strip club, that I ached for leaving him even as I had brought him home, that I was glad he was here. That I was sorry for having fallen in love again.

But clearly Kisten already knew.

Vampires sucked.

The main floor had a few patrons left as I passed through to the stairs, but the feeling was decidedly one of closing up. Head down, I went up the stairs, the thump-thump-thump of the bass becoming softer with each step until it was hardly noticed, a subliminal heartbeat of the world. The coven had been dogging me for months. It was all going to end tonight at the top of a vamp bar.

"Hey, Pike. Hi, Brad." Still trying to shake off thoughts of Kisten, I took in the upper room with its black-painted windows covered in thick drapes and its informal seating. Pike was at the rear behind the tiny bar, and I went to talk to the elegant, scarred man before we got started. He was caring for Kisten? In hindsight, I shouldn't be surprised. Both of them had been betrayed by those whom they had trusted, who should have loved them, whom they had loved.

"Scott," I said flatly as I passed him, thinking he looked uneasy in his ten-year-old visage, his primary-colored sneakers dangling as he sat at a low, round drink table. Brad was next to him, the older living vampire hunched over his handheld game, utterly absorbed. The witch took a breath to say something, but I just kept walking, ignoring him with a surly annoyance.

Pike smirked as I set my plastic bag on the smooth bar top. "Hi, Rachel. Almost dawn. What can I do to help?"

I pulled in the fuddling fumes rising up from the basement. They were better than a shot of tequila, and I glanced at Scott, wondering why he was here and what was in the tightly rolled paper bag at his feet. "Ah, I could use a bottle of ice water," I said, and Pike turned to the tiny fridge. "You good with this?" I added. "Brad is going to be pissed when he regains everything. What if he makes a go for you? I can handle the coven. I doubt Kisten will let any harm come to you, either."

Pike's eyes flashed black, then cleared, his sun-brown face creasing in a smile as he stood before me with a misted bottle of water. Now that I knew it was there, I could see traces of Kisten lingering about him like a second shadow: his scent, his calm, his touch. "Don't worry about it," he said softly. "I want my brother back, the consequences be damned."

"Your call." I took the cold bottle as he extended it. "Give me a few minutes to prep. It's a fast curse." Fast because I had been doing it for months as I tried to find a substitute for a mist-fogged mirror, not knowing what it actually was.

"Sure." He glanced at the bottle. "You want a glass with that?"

"Um, no." Turning, I studied the quiet space. The table was as good a place as any, even if Scott looked as if he was about to throw a tantrum. "Ah. I'm glad you and Kisten are hitting it off."

"You can't have him."

It was a fast utterance, and I could almost see his thoughts plinking through him like diamonds shining in the moonlight. A hint of threat, of possessiveness, flickered in his suddenly black eyes, and I shook my head, satisfied that a bond had been formed. They would die for each other. How had it happened so fast? "I cannot," I agreed, making it a promise. "Ready?"

He came out from behind the bar, his motion edging into a vampire quickness. My fingers were cold, and I made a fist, shaking my hand free of it as I sat down to put Brad and Scott across from me. Pike stood at my back, making me feel safe despite the stairway behind me.

"Where's Elyse?" I said, plastic rattling as I began to unpack.

Scott laced his hands over his middle to look like a mini-me villain. "It was thought that we should have an unbiased opinion as to whether you break the curse or not," he said, voice high.

I set an unmarked scrying mirror down beside a plate, the soft scrape grating. The two would nestle together nicely. "I'm not going to teach you how to break the curse."

"I have seen the instructions," Scott said dryly, but I was more interested in that paper bag at his feet.

"Technique is more important than a to-do list." He must want something, and I wadded the plastic bag up and checked my phone for the time. "You can watch. That's it."

Scott stared. "No blood? No wax? What kind of a curse is this?"

"A good one." A common misconception was that complexity made a curse strong. Will made a curse strong, and that's all this curse was—will and mist on a mirror. And a dollop of raw power, I thought as I reached my awareness out to a ley line and pulled the living energy in.

At my nod, Pike shifted to sit by his brother. "Hey, Brad. Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Busy," the cursed man said, brow furrowed as he put his arches on the edge of the table.

The chilled water chattered as I poured it onto the plate. Water spilled, overflowing when I set the pristine scrying mirror atop it. "Give me fifteen seconds, then make him look up," I whispered.

"What the Turn?" Scott said, and I glared at him to shut the hell up.

For eight seconds, I held my breath, warming it in my lungs before bending low over the chilled scrying mirror and breathing on it. Like magic, the glyphs that I'd scribed there at sunset appeared, the oils from my touch keeping the glass from beading up.

The spiderweb I'd used to adhere the curse to the glass was long gone, but the intent remained, and I glanced at Pike, worry furrowing my brow.

"Yo, Brad, look at what the witch wrote. It will make you laugh."

With the innocence of a child, Brad glanced up from his game, going utterly still as his eyes locked on the mirror. A shiver ran through me, and my hold on the line strengthened. My eyes closed, and I fell into the demon collective. The countercurse was there. I only needed to access it. And the mirror was the key.

"Sic semper erat, et sic semper erit," I whispered, eyes opening. Thus it has been, and thus it will always be.

A shudder rippled over Brad as the mirror cleared, the words gone, and with it, his curse.

The man took a rasping breath as his feet slipped from the table and he stared at the floor.

"Did it work?" Pike put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Brad. Are you okay? Brad!"

Brad stared at his shaking hands, slowly curling his fingers in as if he'd never seen them before. When he looked up, his eyes were pupil black. "Is it real?" he said. "This feels real."

"It worked!" Pike yanked Brad into a back-slapping hug, right there on the couch. "You're okay. Brad, you're okay. Look at me. You're okay!"

He was okay, and I blinked fast as Brad's pupils slowly shrank and he numbly gazed over the room. "I remember," the older man said, and then his expression caved. "Oh, my God," he moaned, pushing Pike away as he dropped his head into his hands, overcome. "The fog. It was eating me. Every thought I had. I couldn't hold them."

"I'm sorry, Brad," I whispered, and he lifted his head.

"It came in like the tide every morning. It was you." He stared at me. "You brought it in!"

Brad gathered himself to stand, and Pike put a hand on his shoulder. "And she pushed it out. Brad, she pushed it out for good. You're back."

The distressed man sank down into the couch, his haunted gaze going from me to Scott.

"She pushed the fog out," Pike said again firmly. "She risked her life and the well-being of Cincy to dissolve it. It's gone."

Brad licked his lips, slumped and exhausted. "I know that. I was there, listening. I remember everything now. Everything you did. Everything you tried."

His head snapped up, and I jerked, startled when he reached over the table, pulling me into an awkward hug. I froze, then relaxed as he began to cry, huge racking sobs. "I remember," he said around his gasps for air. "I remember everything. Thank you. Thank you."

"Okay, big man," Pike said, and I patted Brad's shoulder when he let go, clearly embarrassed as he sniffed and wiped his face.

"I'm sorry," I said as Brad sat before me at a complete loss. "I didn't know what it was when I invoked it."

His wet eyes met mine. "I know." Brad took a shuddering breath. "I remember." He turned to Pike, a new wonder lighting his expression. "You kept me safe. You were more kind than I deserve. Oh, God. Pike. I tried to kill you. For money. Because that's what the family wanted."

Grinning, Pike stood and pulled him into another back-slapping hug. "It's okay. You want a beer?"

Brad blinked at us, looking a little thin, a little worn. But his eyes were alive. "I want everything!" he shouted, and I found I could smile. "I want to do everything! I want to remember everything!"

"Well, let's go!" Pike said, mirroring his joy. "I've always wanted a big brother, and now I have one."

Pike draped an arm over Brad's shoulder to lead the unsteady man to the stairs. At the top, he glanced over his shoulder. "Thank you," he said, lips moving soundlessly, and I put a hand to my mouth so I wouldn't cry. It was done.

"Brad!" someone shouted as they descended, and I blinked away the tears as the waitstaff began singing, "We're glad you're back. You left too soon. Come sit at the bar. We'll all make room." It was the death day song, and it seemed oddly appropriate as he had returned from a living death. They all knew him, had cared for him. Loved him. He was loved.

"He could still press charges," Scott said, clearly annoyed.

My smile vanished. You are a troll's ass. No, you are the zit on a troll's ass. Lips twisted wryly, I plucked the mirror from the plate and shook the water off. "So…I want to hear the words," I said as I dried it on an almost useless cocktail napkin.

The ten-year-old before me took a slow, steadying breath. "You have been found exempt of the penalty of illicit magic. That you performed it will remain on your record."

It was about what I had expected, and I leaned deeper into the cushion and took a sip of water from that cold bottle. "And my vacation at Alcatraz?"

"Is off the table as long as you keep your nose clean," he said in his high voice, and I stilled my bobbing foot.

"Not likely, but okay." My gaze dropped to the paper bag at his feet. "You still haven't told me where Elyse is." Scott had made no move to leave. He wanted something. Perhaps he thought he could trick me into doing something illegal? Not happening, you little pissant.

"She's fine," he said, rubbing his baby-smooth chin as if it had stubble. "That was really fast. I take it you prepped most of it earlier?"

"At dawn." I drummed my fingers on my knee. "You demoted Elyse? That's hardly fair, considering all she did was have an opinion the rest of you don't like."

"We disagree all the time. The difference is that this time we are disagreeing about you." Scott pulled the paper bag closer, his tawny head down as he opened it. "And we didn't demote her. She voluntarily removed herself after losing her lead position."

No wonder she hadn't answered any of my texts. "You fired her?" I pushed up from the cushions. "Who's the lead member? You?"

"She voluntarily removed herself," he said again, not answering my other question.

He wouldn't meet my eyes. My gut was tight, and I forced myself to relax. "Voluntarily," I muttered. "I'll believe that when I hear it from her."

"She broke our trust." His little-boy arms tense, he struggled until he dropped a heavy book on the table. It was mine. The one I had left in the morgue when he had attacked us. I knew it. Recognized it. And he's not leaving here with it.

"I didn't spell Elyse," I said again. "She saw for herself the hell of the ever-after and the anger that escaping it eased in the demons. She witnessed firsthand the pain that every single elf alive had to endure just to survive, and that helping Trent find a cure erased that fear and pain. She learned to trust me in the ever-after, and that trust saved both our lives. That's not brainwashing. That's educating. Scott, don't kick her out," I pleaded, inching forward to sit on the edge of the couch. "The coven is her life. What is she going to do? Go back to Seattle?" She could teach, maybe. But not as a failed coven member.

"It was her choice." A flicker of worry furrowed his young brow, and he set a hand on the book, pulling away when it shot a prickling haze at him.

Arms over my chest, I reclined deeper into the cushions. "What do you want?"

"My life back."

Head shaking, I sipped my bottled water. "You ruin Elyse's future, and you expect me to break your curse?" But in truth, it was a good time. The sun had just risen and the moon was about to set, the two balancing the world between them. "Sure. I can do that," I said, gaze flicking to him. "But I want Elyse reinstated as the coven's lead and for you all to apologize to her."

Scott smiled, the conniving expression utterly wrong on his baby face. "Not happening."

And yet he had brought my book. "Elyse—" I started.

"Elyse wouldn't return to the coven now even if we offered it to her," he said. "You untwist my curse, you get your book. That's it."

Arms over my middle, I bobbed my foot. It was my book. I shouldn't have to bargain for it even if I had left it behind. "What if it takes a curse to free you? I want assurances that there will be no repercussions."

Scott confidently shook his head. "There will be no repercussions using an illicit curse to break another on a coven member."

I eyed him suspiciously. "Which you are?" I asked, having dealt with demons before.

"Yes. Potential standing lead."

Of course you are. "Your position contingent, I expect, on me untwisting the curse?" I added, and a flicker of annoyance crossed him. "It must be embarrassing having a ten-year-old tell you what you can and can't do."

Red-faced, he waited, already knowing the outcome. I hated being a foregone conclusion, and brow furrowed, I reached out and drew my book across the table. Little rills of power snaked up from the friction, and the ley line pressure sparkled when I took it in hand and flipped it open, the pages humming as it rested on my lap. Hi, sweetheart. I missed you, too.

"You'll do it?" Scott said breathlessly. "Now?"

I glanced at the growing light past the black-painted windows. "Yeah, why not? Ah, can you confirm that trying to follow us was the first magic you did after we vanished?"

Scott frowned in annoyance. "I have no idea," he said, and then his expression cleared. "You know what? It is. I mean, was." His perfect, smooth face furrowed in anger, and he turned to the north as if able to see through walls. "At the morgue," he whispered as things fell into place. "That third spell you hit me with. I thought it fizzled. Nothing happened."

I shrugged, head down over the pages as he made an angry huff. "What did you spell me with?" he demanded. "You said, ‘Parvus pendetur fur, magnus abire videtur.' The petty thief is hanged, the big thief gets away. What is that? What did you do to me?"

I laid a light thought into the demon collective, relishing the feeling of connection. Sure, they didn't like me, but I belonged. "I didn't do anything. You did it to yourself. They are just words."

Scott's suspicion tightened about him. "Tell me."

It wasn't as if he could do the spell just by knowing the invocation phrase. He'd have to have access to the vault. "It twists your next spell against you," I said, feeling like a demon. "So the big thief gets hanged, too." I rested my fingers on the book, feeling the spell under it wanting to be used. Not now, little one. Later maybe. "A modern translation might be ‘Go big or go home,'?" I added. "Okay, you need to say the words. My slate is clean if I do this. No repercussions."

"Clean slate," he echoed sourly, and I frowned. Not at him but at the faint scent of…cinnamon and wine?

It had to be Trent, and my thoughts darted to Laker parked downstairs, the wizard suffering the sight of tomatoes in his drive to find Trent. Which meant Trent might be here, even if I didn't see him. Some might take offense that their boyfriend was checking up on them, but it only made me feel loved.

"Hold on to your gonads," I said sarcastically, looking for Trent even as I pulled heavier on the ley line. "If she's in a mood, I might only make things worse, but it's your nickel." Actually, now that I thought about it, that Trent was here might be a good thing—especially if I messed up. The Goddess loved to leave mischief in her wake.

"What?" he barked, sitting up. "She who?"

"Your full name?" I asked, suddenly nervous. "I don't want it to affect me."

"Um, Scott Silvus Sandearo," he said, and I nodded. If he was lying, we would both suffer. One did not call upon the Goddess and leave her a loophole to do mischief.

Rhombus, I thought, settling us both in a circle. "Little pinch," I said as my pulse quickened. He had tried to twist the curse to go through time. It had gone sideways, thanks to the last spell I'd put on him. Repeating the curse as if returning through time wouldn't work. I'd have to call on the Goddess to untangle him. Putting us in a space apart from reality seemed appropriate, and I drew heavier on the line. Ab aeterno, I thought, relieved when the thumping from downstairs cut off mid-beat.

"Wait. The curse tangled while I was twisting it," Scott said, gaze fixed on the black smut skating across the circle enclosing us. "You can't just wish it away."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," I said, and he went white. "I bet the Goddess is laughing her ass off."

"The Goddess? Morgan, no!" He stood, his ten-year-old self looking scared.

Deal with it, I thought as I felt my hair lift when the mystics found us. I could almost see them if I concentrated, and I let them play in my fingertips, lighting my aura into a brilliant gold and red, my new coating of smut giving it a nice patina. Both real and unreal, the mystics passed through the book in my arms as if it was water, darting in and out, learning the spells, reminding the Goddess of when she had written them. Dangerous fire, Rachel.

I closed my hand into a fist, hoping I wasn't overstepping my bond with her.

"Ta na shay," I whispered, and Scott stared, frozen where he stood as I called on the elven Goddess. "Ta na shay, Scott. Pacta sunt servanda, Silvus. Regressus, Sandearo. Stet."

Scott gasped, unmoving as the mystics darted from me, enveloping him in a burst of silver that danced at his extremities until they soaked in. His lips parted, and his eyes found mine. Gulping, he tried to breathe.

My confidence faltered. "Scott?" I stood, head inches from brushing the top of my bubble.

And then I fell into myself as if pulled out of time itself. For a moment, I floundered. It was like being in a line. Or being a line. Or nothing like a ley line at all.

Mystics wreathed me, became me, wrapped me in a glow to keep me from flying apart as the Goddess focused one eye upon me. "S-stop," I stuttered, overwhelmed as the ley lines hummed in me, all of them, all at once. Their energies tangled as the now, the present, and the future became one and a shape rose.

It was the Goddess, and I watched in awe as the interweaving energies settled into an image of Newt. She had come to personally see to the curse. Swell.

"Oh, it's you," I said stupidly, blinking fast to clear the stardust from my eyes. I wasn't in Piscary's anymore. I was…somewhere else.

You, the Goddess said, and I felt her lift my chin. You are more than mass with will. I know you. You give me this image, this vision of being. I remember it.

I felt myself nod, though I doubted I had a head at the moment. "I need your help. Can you fix this?" I coughed, the mystics I had taken in with my words lighting through my lungs. "He twisted a curse to go through time and it went awry because of me."

I saw what happened, she thought, her fingers tracing the glow of a ley line, plucking it. My eyes were there.

"Can you—"

She let go of my chin, and I jumped at the reverberating twang echoing like whispers of forgotten conversations. "Obviously," she said aloud, and I blinked as I felt her sifting my thoughts, playing with a memory of Ivy, then Trent, then Jenks. Bis, she lingered over, mystics pulling through me to find every last moment I'd been with him, streaming like fire.

"Will you?" I gasped, pained by the sudden rush of emotions, even if they were all mine.

Her fingers within my thoughts vanished, and I sagged. "Will you?" she echoed.

I could have just taken the book. I didn't owe Scott anything, and yet here I was. "What do you want?" I whispered, scared.

The Goddess Newt sent a swirl of mystics carrying a memory of laughter to play about my hair. "It's not what I want. It's what you want," she said in typical delphic fashion. "When all is at an end and everything you love is gone. When all you have are memories, I will come. That is when you will close the loop. Promise it."

I had no idea what she meant, but it sounded like a long time from now, and if I broke Scott's curse, I could hold it over the coven and force them to leave me alone. That's all I wanted. The future would take care of itself. "Will it hurt?" I asked, and a warm hand lifted my chin.

"In every way that one can be hurt," she said. "But you will relish every sting. I guarantee it." Her touch slipped from me, mystics swirling wildly as she laughed. "You agree to close the loop if I untangle your thoughtless application?"

Thoughtless application? I wondered. "I do." Otherwise, why would I have called her?

She bent close, flooding me with the biting scent of stars. "As we will it," she said, and then I jumped, hunching over the book in my arms, cowering when the mystics burst from Scott in a silent, glowing wave to break my circle and vanish.

She was gone, and I was back in reality.

What have I done? I thought as the thump-thump-thump from downstairs resumed. But a very naked, very sixty-year-old man lay on the floor, slumped against the couch. As I had thought, his clothes had been magic based, not real at all. An ugly stubble covered his face, and seeing me staring, he reached for a pillow to cover himself.

It had worked. But what had it cost? Close the loop?

"You okay?" I said, and he fumbled for my scrying mirror, still out on the table.

A soft cry of relief escaped him as he saw his hands and then his reflection. "Is it permanent?" he said, voice cracking. "It won't break with the sun?"

What did I give the Goddess for this piece of shit? "It will hold." I exhaled, thinking the scent of moonlit nights and dancing had grown stronger. Trent, I thought. Had he seen? Had I sacrificed our future or ensured it?

Scott levered himself back up onto the chair, pillow in place as he stared at his reflection. "Take your hands off my mirror," I demanded, and his attention flicked to me. Silent, he gave it to me, and I tucked it under my book. I could smell cinnamon and wine, and I flicked a glance at the bar. Mystics had gathered over something, their glow fading as my brush with the Goddess moved deeper into the past. "Get out. Stay out," I added.

"Uh, can I borrow—"

"Now," I demanded, and he stood, pillow held tight. "Leave."

He hesitated for a moment as if wondering at my mood. Then, head high and pillow before him, he walked to the stairs, bare feet slapping the old wood. Awkward and stiff, he managed the stairs in an odd, almost sideways gait. There was no reaction from the waitstaff. But then again, the sun was up and I think everyone had joined Brad outside as he remembered the sky.

"You're welcome, you stupid fart-cake," I muttered, and from the bar came a familiar chuckle. Relief, then worry passed through me. It was Trent. It could have been Quen, and that was a conversation I wasn't ready for.

"How long are you going to wait until you break that glamour?" I said, and then Trent was there, his white-blond hair half hidden under a black stocking cap. Whatever I'd given the Goddess, it was done. No sense crying over lost mystics. Not when Trent was making his way to me, his skintight leggings and shirt making him into a vision of elven yumminess. I set my book and mirror down, wanting a full-armed hug.

Grinning, Trent came closer, his feet silent in black thief slippers. "You didn't see me?" he asked, and then my arms tucked under his, and I pulled him close, a relief heady as I breathed him in, relishing the scent of the wind and magic that clung to him.

"No, but I knew you were there." His ear was next to my lips, and it took all I had not to nibble on it. "I think it's sweet. Your checking up on me." Oh, hell, why not? I thought, and nibbled anyway.

He grunted in surprise, my teeth scraping as he pulled away with a devilish anticipation in his eyes. "You invoked the Goddess," he said, his hand running through my hair to pull mystics from it.

My smile faded and I shrugged, uneasy. Invoked, then chatted with. "I had no idea what he did to get into that state. It seemed prudent."

"It worked." He hesitated. "You seem to have a unique understanding with her."

"Don't ever let me do that again," I said, very sure I didn't want to get into it with him. When all is at an end and everything you love is gone…

"Deal," he said, and I leaned forward to give him a long, luxurious-feeling kiss. His lips on mine were light, little jolts of line energy sparking as our internal balances tried to equalize.

Smiling, I pulled back, loving him. "Laker is downstairs."

Trent nodded, clearly not bothered. "I knew he followed me. I never expected him to come in. I can slip him easily enough. Even in the sun."

I drew my plastic bag from the table and put all my stuff in it. I still hadn't bought a new shoulder bag. "Good. Let's go get something to eat. Waffle House is open. Have you thanked Quen yet? For not killing me? We should do something nice for him. Take him a waffle, maybe."

Trent grinned, his arm looping in mine. "Last year, actually. I can't believe he knew. All this time. That elf can keep a secret like the grave."

"I've got no more secrets to keep." I paused at the top of the stairs and flicked off the lights. The ruby ring he'd given me glinted in the half-light right beside my pearl one, and downstairs, the music finally quit. No more secrets. It's too hard to survive them. "Trent, are you sure you don't know what this ring does? Quen was ready to kill me until he saw it."

"Mmmm." Trent eased to a halt three steps down, pulling me to a stop. It was a dangerous place to be, halfway to somewhere, but with Trent it felt more than safe. It felt right. "No idea. Maybe he gave it to her? You want me to ask him?" He held my hand in his so he could see it. "She had such small fingers."

The chatter between the waitstaff was pleasant, and I sat down on the stairs. Reaching up, I drew Trent down, feeling like a kid avoiding cleanup duty. "No. It doesn't matter," I said as Trent settled beside me with a happy sigh.

"It would be nice to know what it does, though." He ran a hand over his chin. "I know he loved her. He wasn't supposed to, but he did, and I think she loved him back. My dad was a cold fish."

I could see a sliver of the bar from where we sat, and I didn't move when Ivy shifted in and out of my view, oblivious to us as she prepped for tomorrow.

"I can get it resized. If you want. It's not really a pinky ring."

Something in his voice caught my attention. He's looking at my ring finger, I realized, and my breath caught. "Hey, is that the vamp pheromones talking?" I said, uneasy. "That sounded suspiciously like a proposal."

"No, it's me," he said, and my expression emptied. "And maybe it is a proposal." He eyed me as I stared, my heart hammering. "Is that okay?"

I tensed, scared. When all you have are memories, I will come. That is when you will close the loop…

"I'm not saying we need to set a date and start interviewing caterers," Trent blurted, both my hands now in his as we sat on the steps between one life and another. "I know you need your independence, and a lawful link to me will only cause you trouble. It's a statement. For both sides of the ley lines." His gaze deepened in emotion, his grip on me tighter. "I cannot. I will not choose anyone else, and no one will choose another for me. It's you, Rachel, that I love. It's you who I want to spend my life with. I hope you feel the same. Let me resize this ring."

He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckle, sending a shiver through me. And as Pike's solid steps sounded on the floorboards, his cheerful voice calling out to Ivy and her contented answer, I nodded, breathless and alight.

"I'd like that. Yes."