Pointedly avoiding Warren’s gaze, Rachel holds her glass aloft and says earnestly, “To new beginnings.”
Kate, who’s almost entirely back to her old self, other than the side effect of calling up flowers whenever she touches the dirt, goes next. “To the ancestors who came before us.”
“To the ancestors who planted the cannabis patch out back,” I add. “It’s a thing of beauty.”
“Lizzy, be serious!” Rachel’s got another eye roll, just for me. “We’re having a moment!”
“Okay, fine, fine.” I’m laughing as I take it all in, looking over everyone seated around our table. Thinking about all the twists and turns life took in order to set us on our paths—paths that ultimately converged right here, in the Bonnivarde ancestral home, in Graves Hollow, New York.
For the first time in my life, I finallyfeelit. Like I’m part of something real.
Part of a sisterhood, bonded by blood and history—a bond that nearly shattered, but one that we continue to rebuild.
Part of a crew of magical demons and an ancient familiar, new friends and allies who fought our battles with us and helped us all come out stronger on the other side.
Part of something that I chose… and they chose me back.
I raise my glass. Smile, bigger and brighter than ever. And I know, in this moment, I’ve finally stopped running. “To family.”
“To family,” everyone echoes.
The house is truly the gift that keeps on giving, and after a raucous feast, we’re served up a spread of tea and pastries that put all the world’s bakeries to shame and completely reroute poor Rachel’s conveniently forgotten metabolic health journey.
We load up our plates and head to the living room with our tea and goodies, the fire already crackling, where we come upon a strange delight.
A door, just to the left of the hearth, that wasn’t there before.
“Here we go again,” Kate says. “Shall we see what’s behind door number three?”
Ever since we connected with the ancestors for the epic hunter flameout, the house has been… different. Happier, if such a thing can be said about a house. Helena thinks it’s rejoicing, reconfiguring itself to meet our needs and slowly revealing its secrets, especially now that my sisters and I have decided not to sell.
Have decided, as a matter of fact, to make this house our home.
We’ve spent the weeks since the attacks reconnecting. Truly reconnecting. Studying magic together, yes. But also doing all the sister stuff we missed out on before. Going out for lunch. Gossiping about celebrities. Walking in the woods. Talking, after so many decades of pretending, about the past. It hasn’t always gone smoothly, but it’s honest, and right now, that’s our medicine.
I haven’t felt hopeful about anything in so long, it’s hard to trust the feeling.
But with my sisters, with Merrick, with my demon friends, with Helena… our newfound little family… I’m finally starting to believe it’s real. To nurture that feeling, that little seed waiting to bloom into something big and bright and magical, knowing that together, we can face whatever comes our way.
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” I say. “Crack ’er open.”
Kate opens the door, revealing a small library with a few well-stocked bookshelves, a table set up with a Scrabble board, a cozy seating area by a window that looks out onto the woods out back, and a fully stocked bar cart.
“Ooh! Something for everyone.” I head inside, the whole gang piling in behind me. Finding a nice bottle of bourbon, I add a little splash to my tea. “Anyone else?”
Oliver takes me up on it, but the others are too busy scoping out the books.
“Oh, my word!” says Merrick. “Is that a first edition Jane Austen?” Pulling his sleeve over his hand to act as a glove, he slides a leather-bound book from the shelf and gently opens the front cover.
A photograph slips out, landing face down on the floor.
Goosebumps ripple along my arms. Photos were the one thing we never found in this house. It was as if my mother had systematically destroyed them. She didn’t even have any selfies, nothing with Helena, nothing from her plant store. None from our childhood.
I bend to retrieve it—a black and white shot of a man standing in front of a motorcycle, his dimpled smile on full display. Handsome, in a rakish sort of way. He’s laughing, one hand stretched forward as if to reach for the camera. For the person behind the lens. Someone it seems he likes, very much.
I shrug and turn it to show Merrick. “Some guy. No idea who.”
Merrick closes the book, all but forgotten as he takes the photo between his fingers. His face pales.
