Epilogue
“It’s crooked,” I said, motioning with my hands for Finlay to straighten the new wooden sign we’d ordered.
“It’s not,” he insisted.
I hmphed in response but didn’t argue. I’d learned in the past few weeks that I didn’t have to fight everyone on everything.
I could save my battles for when they really counted.
Besides, being a full business partner with Bri meant I had to compromise often.
That, apparently, was a large part of what it meant to be a true friend.
I still wasn’t sure I liked it, but I had learned to accept it.
“There,” Finlay said, hammering in the final nail. He climbed down from the ladder Bri was steadying and they both joined me.
Since that fateful day with the wolpertinger, so many things had changed, and yet everything finally felt right.
Mr. Wexley had been arrested following our statements regarding my father’s death, in addition to the confession by Fromme, who was given a lesser sentence for cooperating with the new Ardmuir constable.
My mother’s stolen ring was returned, and I now wore it on my thumb, a daily reminder of my parents and how much they’d loved me.
There was going to be a trial in the new year, but truth be told, I didn’t care what happened to Wexley anymore, whether he spent the rest of his life rotting in Blackbay Prison or he was let go.
One thing was certain: he wouldn’t be moving back into his house or spending any more time immersed in his collection.
It turned out Wexley owed money all over Achnarach, and people had decided to call in his debts.
The house was sold to my landlord, who, to my surprise, had agreed to turn it into an orphanage if I promised to pay him rent at a discounted rate.
Now that he knew I was good for the money, he wasn’t nearly as miserly as I’d believed.
Wexley’s belongings had gone to auction, and we’d used what money we had left to bid on the magical objects. We had won some, lost others, but most importantly, we had gotten The Oxblood Book back. It belonged to the Hargraves, and it now had a home on the shelf in Bri’s bedroom.
I’d only wanted one thing for myself: the dragon tooth.
I’d purchased it with hard-earned money, and it stood on my own shelf in its golden stand under a glass cloche.
I’d probably sell it one day, but for now, it was a reminder of how far I’d come, from the girl scuttling around the docks in the dark to a real businesswoman and a respected member of the Ardmuir community.
Bri had finally written that letter to her parents, explaining that she had embraced her magic and would not be returning to Carterra, at least for now. She would wait for her parents’ response before she decided if there was anything to return to.
In the meantime, Bri had fully settled into the cottage, which I now thought of as properly ours.
Someday, she said, she’d like a place of her own, maybe the apartment above the shoppe, but for the moment, we made remarkably good roommates.
Every day, I got to learn a little bit more about the person Bri was beneath the person she’d had to become.
Argyle alternated between sleeping in my bed and Bri’s at first, and I tried not to let my jealousy show.
I was learning to have enough faith in my relationships, and in myself, to know that no one was going to abandon me.
If something happened and we parted one day, I’d be all right, because I knew who I was. More important, I liked who I was.
Still, I reasoned that every witch should have a cat of her own.
I surprised Bri with a cream-colored puff of fur that she named Tweed, and it wasn’t long before Argyle was back where he belonged in the crook of my neck.
At night, Bri played her violin for our quirky little family, the kittens caterwauling in harmony while I sang the few words I knew.
It was times like those I was grateful we didn’t have neighbors.
Finlay’s mother had made a remarkable recovery in the past few weeks, and she was now able to get out of bed and help around the house.
Which also meant Finlay had a little more time to spend with me.
Once a week, we had dinner in his apartment, and every Saturday, they came to our house.
Mrs. Barrow couldn’t walk the entire way, but Jack Turner seemed more than happy to lend us Fergus and his new cart.
Sometimes Jack even came along, and unless my eyes were deceiving me, he and Mrs. Barrow had developed a real friendship of their own.
Whether that friendship would blossom into something more, time would tell.
“What do you think?” Finlay asked as we stared at the new storefront.
We’d repainted, and Bri had discovered a latent talent for window displays.
Currently, there was a holiday theme as Yule was only days away now, with magical ornaments and unmagical silver tinsel framing the window.
We’d left the original painted words on the glass—EDWARD STOKES’S CABINET OF MAGICAL CURIOSITIES.
But on the new sign, we’d changed our name to something a little more fitting.
STOKES & HARGRAVE’S CABINET OF (MOSTLY) MAGICAL CURIOSITIES
The carpenter had done an excellent job of adding the one detail I’d insisted on: a wolpertinger, antlers curving around the word Curiosities, pheasant wings spread below its rabbitish head.
The shoppe was filled to the brim with anything that delighted us, magic or not.
Customers came every day to see what new objects Bri and I had added to the collection.
We had a trip planned for after the holidays, our first journey to find more magical objects, with Torion to captain the ship.
We knew we’d be in good hands with him, and he’d agreed to bring along more of Freya’s stomach-settling herbs when he came.
In the meantime, there were weekly classes with Marcail, where Bri and I were slowly learning just what it meant to be a witch. My affinity was for spells and spellcasting. Not only could I decipher grimoires, but Marcail believed I might be able to write them myself one day.
Bri had more than just a knack for detecting magical potential. Marcail was confident she could become an artificer herself, meaning she’d be able to create her own magical objects. Our magic made our jobs that much easier, and decidedly more exciting.
As I looked at the sign, a little voice in my head insisted, It’s crooked, but for once in my life, I managed to stifle it. “It’s perfect,” I said instead, wrapping my arms around Finlay and Bri.
“Perfectly us,” Bri agreed.
Finlay cocked his head to the side, hesitating. “I hate to be a bother, but … Is it just me, or is it a bit crooked?”
“Like Bri said,” I whispered, kissing his cheek. “Perfectly us.”