Epilogue

Epilogue

A nother ten years later

Maple

My husband towers over me with a look that means one thing and one thing only.

“Is it ten p.m. already?”

He gives a short nod, a severe look in his dark eyes.

Just like the first time I locked eyes with this man, a thrill rolls over me.

That day, over twenty years ago, when I accidentally switched bodies with Hollis, was the day I started to realize what I really am. I used to roll my eyes at Magda and her beliefs.

Now, my husband and I carry on the magic that was awakened in me. Every full moon and new moon, Hollis and I come together on the three-season porch to get up to no good. Tonight, we’re going to spy on our oldest girl, Georgia.

Hollis sweeps his silvery hair from his eyes. The dark waves are long gone, but his hair remains enviably thick, and the gray color complements his matching beard. My guy is hands down the sexiest resident in our witchy little village, though my opinion is entirely biased.

I put down my knitting and stand up, taking the offering of his hand around mine. As we pass through the kitchen on our way to the porch, I snatch the mostly empty French press. If the coffee grounds don’t work, I’ll add them to the compost heap outside.

We head into the moonlit room at the back of the house overlooking the woods. It is surrounded by windows on three sides, and it’s where we keep all our magical supplies. Hollis takes our favorite protection crystal down from the shelf where it charges and begins gathering the usual suspects: candles, incense, matches, and Magda’s copper bowl. A lump forms in my throat when I see the battered, centuries-old bowl. I put some of the coffee grounds in the bowl, then reach for the jar of full-moon water.

This room was convenient to keep dangerous elements away from the girls while they were growing up. Now that they’re adults, we don’t feel like relocating all our supplies into the kitchen. We’ve grown attached to this particular room. Especially since it was blessed by Magda shortly before she crossed over. She had an impressive, long life.

I unscrew the jar’s lid as Hollis silently lights the incense, then the candle. Carefully, I pour the full-moon water over the coffee grounds and swirl the copper bowl clockwise.

When finished, I unfocus my eyes and gaze at the bowl.

“Remember, try not to look for patterns; let the patterns come to you,” I remind Hollis.

“Got it.”

“Don’t be disappointed if you don’t see anything. Most witches don’t get the hang of it for decades, and normies may never?—”

“There she is!” Hollis cries, pointing.

“Who? Where?” I ask stupidly. Obviously, he means he sees our daughter in the bowl.

I peer at the bowl, expecting to see something, but there’s nothing there. The coffee grounds aren’t telling me anything, and I’ve developed a pretty good knack for scrying over the years. How is this man seeing something I’m not? Did the Halloween flip give my husband some magical powers, too, and we never knew it until now?

“Georgia,” he says, naming our 22-year-old daughter. “She’s there. I see her.”

I swallow down my jealousy. I’m not salty about this. I’m really not.

I move closer, and Hollis circles his arm around me. At the moment of contact with my husband, I see it. The rush of energy has me gasping for breath. I close my eyes and see what he sees: the familiar blazing red hair—that would be Dawn, Georgia’s girlfriend. Smiles. Crying. Laughter. A candlelit dinner, a bottle of champagne, and petals shaped like a heart. Finally, I see a ring.

And then, I hear the resounding “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”

My eyes open, and Hollis’s crinkly eyes sparkle with magic in the darkness.

“Our first baby’s engaged,” he laughs, hardly believing the words.

I’m shaking. “Finally!”

The sound of footsteps has me turning from my husband. Our second oldest, Portia, who is visiting from college, stands in the doorway. “And your youngest baby could feel you guys spying on Georgia all the way upstairs. Try to be more subtle; it messes with my internet connection.”

I almost blurt out the news. “Georgia—” is all I get out before Hollis covers my mouth with his big hand.

She holds up her hands. “I know, I know. Why don’t you let Georgia tell me herself?”

I give a muffled “Fine!” through my husband’s fingers.

Portia adjusts a bag over her shoulder. “I’m going out. Some of us are meeting down at the brewery for a full moon ritual. I’ll be back before sunrise.”

Hollis removes his hand from my mouth. “Don’t you want to be here when your sister and Dawn come home?”

Portia wags her eyebrows. “Those two aren’t coming here tonight,” she says.

Sometimes, I forget Portia’s an advanced clairvoyant. At 19, that’s a pretty impressive feat to be able to tell us that. Or it could be an educated guess. Of course, those two would want some alone time.

“Right. Well, have fun. Be safe, kiddo,” Hollis says.

Portia waves goodbye and heads out, but not before grabbing the coffee grounds and the leftover moon water. “Feeding the garden on my way out,” she says breezily, the screen door slapping shut behind her.

My husband massages the back of my neck as we watch Portia go, then listen to her car engine disappear down the hill. All that’s left is us and the crickets.

“She’s a good kid,” Hollis says.

I sigh. “Even when she visits, I feel like an empty nester.”

Hollis chuckles low in his chest. “Speaking of an empty nest, what do you say to an aphrodisiac spell, followed by some fun in the bedroom?”

My considerate husband is thinking about my menopausal symptoms. Sadly, even witches have them. I smile up at him. “I don’t think I need a potion tonight.”

Hollis leans in for a kiss. It’s deep, and long, and slow. Swoon-worthy.

I have butterflies, just like the first time he flirted with me at the Birchdale fall festival ages ago.

His strong hands travel down to my backside, squeezing my cheeks. My mouth accepts his tongue, and I sigh at the sensation of his rigid cock pressing into me.

“Let’s take a walk in the garden,” I say.

It takes a moment for him to register what I mean. It’s been ages since we had sex outside under the full moon. Tonight, I’m feeling frisky.

The Harvest Moon usually does that to me. Not to mention it’s a blood moon, a supermoon—so much fucking moon tonight.

He holds open the screen door for me, and we head into the chill night air.

In my favorite clearing bathed in moonlight, my Hollis meets my mouth with his full lips.

I moan into his mouth.

He pulls away, and I look up at him curiously.

“Just making sure you’re not doing an incantation that will accidentally turn me into a goat or anything.”

I laugh. “You know I get noisy. But I promise. No incantations.”

He kisses me again, then says, “Other than chanting my name when I make you scream, right?”

Oh, brother. I fist the front of his shirt and bring him down for a deeper kiss.

The kiss is so intense that I drag him down to the ground with a bit of magical help to my upper body strength. Not that Hollis ever puts up a fight when I drag him to bed.

I slowly strip down for him as he sits back on his elbows on a soft bed of dry grass.

“Glad we don’t have neighbors nearby,” he says. I laugh, remembering how long it took for me to stop caring if a fellow witch caught us in the act. Life up here in the witch colony is unique and decidedly less prudish than down the hill in town.

“Are you kidding?” I say while watching him strip off his shirt, his tanned, rigid torso glowing in the moonlight. “Nine out of ten witches are fucking someone or something out in these woods tonight.”

Hollis stands up and drops his jeans and underwear all at once. I shiver at the sight of his erection, precum already shining on the tip. “Never tell me what that ‘something’ might be,” he says.

I don’t have to. He knows full well what sort of monsters lurk around these parts, looking for a willing witch to bed on any given night.

This man is still so irresistible to me that I find myself leaping at him without warning. The tall grass catches us as we tumble together, my legs wrapped around him. He laughs his low, sexy laugh.

Soon, the laughter turns to groans, grunts, and curses.

My husband knows better than to toy with me on a full moon. He could end up with scratch marks. Instead, he sinks into me, holding me tight on his lap, burying himself in me to the hilt.

“Take it. Take all of that big cock, my dirty little witch,” he rasps.

“Hollis,” I croak.

He’s filthy and sweet all at once. “I love you, Maple.”

I gasp as he swells inside me, stretching me. I ride him, dying to feel every inch moving in me. Desperate to cover him with my honey.

His hands firm on my bottom, he lifts me until I’m almost off of him. My breasts now even with his face, he takes one nipple into his mouth, his eyes shining in the dark.

I tell him all the things I’m feeling as he worships my breasts. One, then the other, lovingly, brushing his lips over the tight tip. Suckling. Taking. Marking me.

“I’m yours, Hollis. Full moon or no full moon. Empty nest or not. Never a day goes by that I don’t want you to fuck my brains out with that massive cock.”

“Fuck me,” he groans, slamming me back down onto him, fitting me around him, right where I belong.

His hand goes to my hair, and he takes my mouth forcefully. The fingers of his other hand go around my throat, softly pressing that perfect spot that makes me insane.

The night’s energy feeds us, making us go harder, longer, deeper. We are two wild creatures celebrating under the moon, moving as one, without fear of being seen or judged.

Best of all? No more birth control. No more babies. Blessed be.

The freedom, the constriction of his hand, and the sheer friction of our movements make me come with a choked cry.

He rolls me under him, his arm cradling me as he finishes inside me, warm and wet. His scent ripens, making his skin impossibly tempting. I pepper his throat, shoulder, and chest with kisses, licking off his salt.

“I love you, Hollis.”

“I love my Maple sugar.”

“You’re still ridiculous,” I laugh, grazing my teeth over his burly shoulder.

“Ridiculously in love with my witch wife.”

One thing is certain: when someone spends a day trapped inside your body and comes out of it loving you, that’s real love.

Not a day goes by that I don’t regret that teensy little accident and all the chaos it caused. But the chaos made us who we are now, and how could I ever regret that?

THE END

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