Epilogue
Alice
Eighteen Months Later
A gorgon baby is chewing on one of my hair ribbons.
And honestly? He might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
He’s got Gideon’s amber-colored eyes and a mop of dark curls that are unmistakably Verity’s, though the curls are... active. Wriggling. Three tiny snakes have sprouted and are currently tangled up in the fabric of my ribbon like they’re reenacting a toddler soap opera. One hisses at me with all the menace of a baby dragon learning to sneeze .
“Oh, no,” I whisper, grinning as I lean closer. “Are we fighting over the ribbon? I should warn you, I have magic now, and a mean right hook.”
The baby blinks. Then sneezes so hard that one of his snakes flops dramatically off his shoulder.
Verity, radiant as ever in a birthday cake-splattered dress, plucks him up with practiced grace and plants a kiss on his chubby cheek. “Sorry, Felix is teething. On everything. That includes shoes, chair legs, and the ceremonial staff Gideon’s ancestors passed down through seventeen generations.”
Sitting on the arm of the couch in his usual brooding-poet-meets-reformed-stone-warrior posture, Gideon smirks. “He has excellent taste.”
“And zero boundaries,” Verity mutters, gently wrestling the ribbon away before the baby can wrap it around a suspiciously sharp fang.
Gordy appears behind me and slips his arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder like we’re carved from the same block of something warm and unyielding. “He’s a menace,” he says fondly .
“He’s perfect,” I reply.
And he is.
Today is a milestone: Felix’s first birthday. Little Felix, the miracle gorgon-human baby with a gummy smile and mood snakes that wiggle like enthusiastic pom-poms, is more than just a baby. He’s a symbol. Of hope. Of healing. Of the kind of love that survives curses, stone, and the occasional magical mishap involving levitating ancient tomes.
The afternoon sun filters through the windows of our new home—technically still above the bookshop but now expanded and blessed with an extra bedroom and an espresso machine that no longer hisses threateningly before 9 a.m. (Thanks to Gordy’s intense diplomacy and one oddly specific incantation involving vanilla beans.)
My enchanted custom art and book covers are officially part of the shop now— The Sibilant Shelf Bookstore has been renamed The Spellbound Shelf . Gordy still insists it sounds like a children’s fantasy novel. I insist that’s exactly the vibe we’re going for .
And today?
Today, we celebrate more than Felix’s birthday.
It’s a celebration of everything we’ve survived. Everything we’ve built.
Two years since everything changed.
Two years since I kissed a man with snakes for hair, fell in love with him, got turned into stone, got better , and then got married in a sun-drenched grove with enchanted vines and a flower girl who may or may not have been a dryad in disguise.
Our wedding was perfect. Wild, magical, slightly dangerous. Very us .
And now, surrounded by our found family—Verity and Gideon, Wren and Mags from Ink and Intent (Wren with her enchanted tattoos, Mags with her apothecary teas), even cranky old Mr. Penumbra from The Cartographorium , who gave Felix an enchanted toy that now floats ominously in the punch bowl—we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.
Even Rapha and Drusilla made it—Drusilla in a slinky black dress that seems to defy gravity and Rapha looking like he just stepped off a brooding villain magazine cover. (He brought soul-infused cupcakes. We didn’t ask.)
There’s still something shadowed in the way Rapha watches her when she laughs, like he’s afraid the moment might vanish. They’ve gone from “terrifying power couple with mysterious vibes” to “ our terrifying power couple with mysterious vibes.” They’ve become close to all of us—sharing quiet dinners, chaotic magical misadventures, and the kind of friendship that forms from dark pasts and dramatic reunions.
Drusilla raises her glass to me in a silent toast, her dark eyes twinkling. “If that cupcake blinks at you, don’t feed it after midnight,” she deadpans.
“Good advice.” I grin. “You two behaving?”
Rapha flashes a smile, fangy and unapologetic. “Define behaving.”
Gordy snorts from behind me. “If they’re not summoning ancient chaos, I’m calling it a win. ”
“We’re reformed,” Drusilla says airily, looping her arm through Rapha’s. “Mostly.”
And I believe her. Because whatever darkness they’ve faced, whatever shadows still trail behind them, they’ve chosen us. And we’ve chosen them right back.
And talking of choosing… Even my parents chose to come today. I know. I’m shocked, too.
They arrived twenty minutes late, looking like they were bracing for a magical inspection, clutching a store-bought lemon tart.
Mom hovered near the punch bowl like it might sprout tentacles. Dad made awkward small talk with Gideon about weather spells, which is hilarious because my father still flinches whenever the espresso machine hisses.
But they’re trying. Uncomfortably. Haltingly. Honestly.
Gideon pours tea. Gordy kisses my temple. Verity gently removes a snake from her son’s mouth.
And me ?
I clear my throat and say, “So… we have a bit of news.”
Verity gasps, eyes going wide. “Wait?—”
“I’m pregnant.”
Gordy grins against my cheek like he’s been holding that smile in for months. Which, to be fair, he kind of has.
There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then chaos.
Verity screams and throws her arms around me, somehow managing not to drop her baby in the process. “Oh, my gods, Alice, that’s incredible! How far along?”
“Ten weeks. Just out of the magical hazard zone, according to our very chatty midwitch.”
Gideon offers Gordy a firm handshake and one of those deep, proud nods that men exchange when emotions are too big to say out loud without setting something on fire.
“Alice,” Verity says, pulling back and cupping my cheeks, “I’m going to buy so many tiny, enchanted onesies, you don’t even know. ”
“Please make sure none of them have tentacles this time,” Gideon mutters. “We still haven’t figured out how the last one opened the spice drawer and summoned that chili demon.”
Felix lets out a high-pitched giggle as if that was absolutely his idea.
Verity holds up the baby and waves his little hand toward my stomach. “Say hi to your future best friend.”
Felix burps.
I laugh until I’m crying.
My parents smile and congratulate us on our news. Mom even seems a little smitten when Verity hands her Felix like a prize turnip.
And when Mom hugs me as they leave and whispers, “You’re going to be a wonderful mother,” I don’t need magic to feel the truth in it.
It isn’t perfect. It isn’t polished.
But it’s a start.
Gordy slips his hand into mine as the guests trickle out, our fingers fitting like they were made for each other. Across the room, I catch Rapha and Drusilla lingering by the door. He’s whispering something in her ear that makes her laugh— really laugh, the sound bright and unexpected. There’s still a shadow in Rapha’s eyes, a flicker of something haunted beneath the charm. But tonight, it’s quiet. Contained. And when Drusilla brushes a kiss to his jaw and pulls him gently toward the street, I know they’ll be okay.
Something tight and warm coils in my chest. Not anxiety. Not magic. Just… hope.
“They’ll be next,” I murmur.
Gordy hums, kissing my temple. “You think?”
“I know.”
Because if those two—centuries of pain, demonic deals, literal hellfire baggage—can find a way back to each other?
Then anything is possible in Screaming Woods.
Love blooms here in strange soil. Sometimes, it comes with fangs. Or snakes. Or a backstory that requires three scrolls and a glossary. But it’s real. It’s messy. It’s ours .
Later, Gordy and I are alone again, curled up on our rooftop balcony. The city glows below us, the sky streaked with stars, and our snakes are coiled lazily together like a sleepy little storm cloud.
“I didn’t think I’d get this,” Gordy says, voice quiet. “You. A family. Peace.”
“You got it all,” I whisper, resting my hand on the gentle swell of my belly. “And I got you. Snakes and all.”
He turns to me, brushing his fingers along my jaw. “You’re going to be the most powerful, radiant, chaos-wielding mother the magical world has ever seen.”
“I hope so,” I whisper. “Because this baby’s going to inherit the drama gene.”
“One hundred percent.”
We sit in silence for a while, the breeze teasing our skin, the air humming with quiet magic.
And as his snakes curl protectively around my shoulder and my fingers link with his, I realize something.
The curse wasn’t being turned to stone .
The curse was living like I didn’t deserve love. And the blessing was breaking that curse with laughter, with hope, with cake and ribbon-fanged babies and a reclusive gorgon who looks at me like I hung the stars for him.
This is our life now.
And I can’t wait for the next chaotic chapter.
Thank you for reading!