Epilogue

"Where is everyone?" I yelled, my fingers trembling as I gripped the door handle. "You have two minutes!"

"Arf!" Oscar added. He was sitting patiently beside me, squashed between my two large suitcases. It was difficult to pack for a surprise honeymoon when it could be anywhere the shop had existed throughout time. But at least I was packed, unlike Morrie, who was still tossing clothes out the door of our bedroom, or Heathcliff, who?—

"I'm here. I've got everything I need." Heathcliff sauntered into the hall. He held up his flask before sliding it into the pocket of his woolen coat beside a battered paperback book.

"That's all your packing?"

"I've got this as well." Heathcliff opened the other flap of his coat, showing me the large sword strapped to his belt. "And I've got you, my wife. That's all I need."

"Mina, you have your toothbrush?" Quoth bustled in, dropping a backpack in front of the door. He consulted the list he'd made.

"I do, thanks, Mum."

"What about your bathing suit? Just in case Morrie's right and we somehow end up on a deserted island?"

"The bathing suit is packed."

"And what about that new toy I gave you as a wedding present?" Morrie asked as he came up behind me and slid his arms around my waist, his breath tickling my ear.

"Yes, ‘Big Red' is safe in here." I patted my suitcase.

"I wish your father had given us more instructions," Morrie complained as he kicked his own enormous suitcase. "It's rather difficult to decide which suit will match the decor when one doesn't know where one is going. Did he say anything about what we'd encounter on the other side?"

"All he said was that if we stepped through the door at exactly 10:17AM, we'd have an experience we'd never forget."

"If I get eaten by a velociraptor, I won't forget," Heathcliff muttered.

"Arf," Oscar agreed.

"I'm sure that Homer wouldn't send us to our doom," Quoth said, not sounding sure at all.

"Is that the same Homer who wrote the Iliad, which rightfully should be retitled ‘Achilles Fucks Shit Up'?" Morrie asked sweetly.

"Or perhaps, ‘Hello, You Naughty Trojans, It's Murder Time,'" Heathcliff added.

"Or ‘There is No Heterosexual Explanation for What Happens Next.'"

"On second thought, I think I'll just stay behind. I forgot that I left my birdcage open." Quoth sounded terrified.

I burst out laughing. This whole situation was ridiculous, and my three husbands were the most ridiculous. I wouldn't change a thing. This was what being married to three fictional villains meant – endless bickering, crazy adventures, and literary references that made your head spin.

My life would never be boring with them.

Heathcliff placed his hand over mine on the handle. He turned our hands together and leaned against the door, pushing it inwards a crack. "Are we ready for this? We don't know what we're walking into."

"I know," I grinned as all five of us stepped inside. "That's what makes it fun."

THE END