Epilogue • Lillith
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Iwipe my sweating palms on my leggings for maybe the forty-seventh time. Damien laughs, snatching one of my hands, and kissing my knuckle.
I cringe and he shakes his head. “What?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. I feel like my hands are gross,” I mumble. “Aren’t airports supposed to be, like, covered in germs or something?”
“Well—ignoring the obvious reason that’s not a concern,” he says, as he rubs one of the lumps on his forehead with his free hand, “I don’t really fucking care. I’m gonna kiss you every chance I get, remember?”
“Right,” I say.
Damien, of course, took the news of his new spiritual roommate in stride, when he finally recovered from the physical toll of dying and being brought back to life. He simply said we’d figure out how to save The Moon Goddess. Like it was an overdue bill and not, I don’t know, the apocalypse?
A week after that, he was playing music with the guys.
And a few days ago, he announced he’d bought us a two-month trip overseas. So we could see everything together, and I could finally get out of the city I grew up in.
It’s almost unnerving how relaxed he seems about all this.
No strange powers have surfaced. Yet. But I can sense it.
A quiet hum of innate energy just beneath the usual glow of his aura.
A sort of golden halo, ever-present around him since he came back to life.
I was honestly a little wary of him, the first few days, but for all intents and purposes he’s still my Damien. The Stag God kept his word.
“Why are you so nervous about this flight, anyway?” Damien asks me, bringing me back to the here and now. “Isn’t this way below your paygrade?”
“Damien, do you know how much an internationally prepped airplane weighs?”
“Nope!” he says, grinning. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“Hundreds of thousands of pounds.”
“Wow. Cool.”
“It shouldn’t be able to fly.”
“No?” he teases, leaning toward me. “Weird. I thought a witch wouldn’t be so overly concerned with the science of aerodynamics or the engineering of air-worthy vessels.”
“Hundreds. Of thousands. Of pounds,” I reiterate.
“Yep. Heard you.”
“Hurdling through the sky.”
“Uh huh.”
“At five hundred miles per hour.”
“And over thousands of miles of ocean!”
“Oh fuck me,” I whimper.
“I’m kidding,” he says with a laugh. “Babe, come on. Seriously. You’re safer on an airplane than you are in a fucking rideshare, alright? And do you really think my sidekick is just going to sit back and watch if the plane goes for a nosedive into the sea?”
I nibble on my lower lip and sigh. “I guess not,” I say hesitantly.
“Right. We’re safe as fuck,” he says. “Plus, I got business class, so you can sleep through most of the flight. AND there’s Wi-Fi on the plane, so you can make sure Oren isn’t burning down your shop while we’re gone. And I mean. We’re going to fucking Tokyo. Cheer up!”
He pulls me into his lap and buries his nose into the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply. I kiss his forehead and lean mine against it. I’ve been trying to soak up every moment of physical affection that I can with him. Trying to commit it all to memory.
He leans back to look at me, curling a lock of my hair around his index finger. “I really do love your natural hair color,” he says blissfully. “I’m glad you’re still wearing it.”
I smile, stealing a quick kiss. “Enjoy it while you can. I’m already getting bored of it.”
“I’m sure whatever you pick next will be even better.”
“Simp,” I tease.
“Oh, absolutely,” he says with a sharp grin.
A calm voice comes over the speakers, informing everyone at the gate that business and first class are welcome to begin the boarding process. I look at Damien, not sure if that means us. He beams at me. “Let’s grab our seats,” he says.
I stand from his lap, and he grabs both of our carry-ons, my blanket and my oversized bat plush with ease.
“Do you want me to carry something?” I ask.
“Pft. No,” he says. “You’re the guardian of the tickets, remember?”
“Right,” I say, reaching into my hoodie (his hoodie) pocket and producing the two perforated pieces of card stock.
We make our way to the gate and I hand off the tickets to a pretty Japanese woman who gestures us through the doorway with a graceful hand, wishing us safe travels.
We make the slow journey to our seats and Damien stows our bags beneath our chair...
er... bed things before handing me my bat plush and my blanket.
I thank him, taking my phone out of my pocket and responding to Bastion’s text about Fletcher being a member of the fae.
Apparently, he’s still annoyed by not being able to sus it out from the beginning, even though he was using more powerful glamour magic than we’ve ever heard of.
I respond to a question for Oren about the POS system.
Then I open the same text thread I have every day for the past two weeks.
My blue bubbles still sit all in a line. All unanswered.
I frown down at the screen for a few moments, and Damien reaches over and takes the phone from me, turning it off and stashing it in his jeans pocket.
“She’ll come around, Lillith,” he says. “Let her blow off steam for a little while. You did choose me over her, you know?”
“I don’t regret that,” I say with no hesitation.
“I know you don’t, sweetheart,” he says. “But still. I don’t want you spending the next two months obsessing over her when we’re on a bucket list trip, alright?”
My stomach sours, nose burning with another round of tears. Because that’s what this is, really. A last hurrah in case we fail next year. He’s right. I should focus on creating memories with him. Enjoying time with him.
So, I nod and settle into my seat, snuggling close to him.
“So, what are we going to do when we get there?” I ask him.
He smiles down at me, peppering my forehead with kisses. “First international trip free from your magical house arrest? We’re going to do whatever the fuck you want to do, baby.”
As the plane fills up with passengers and crewmates though, the only thing I can think about doing is spending as much time as I can, as close to Damien as I possibly can be.
Because tomorrow isn’t promised, and that’s kind of devastating.
But some people?
Some people are worth being devastated over.
THE END