60. The Conclusion of the Very Strange Tale
CHAPTER SIXTY
THE CONCLUSION OF THE VERY STRANGE TALE
A lthea insisted on returning to Barmiston Hall to oversee the resurrection of the kidnapped girls. It was a work of awe-inspiring magic that took several months to complete, and she was there to receive every one of the newly risen, to talk them through the situation. Each reacted differently to finding themselves in that strange house, but all were thankful in their own way to have her there. Althea made it her business to get them home or wherever they wanted to go, sparing no time or effort or money to make sure each was settled back into the world in a better position than they had left it.
Leo worked by her side, a master of logistics, and he got her whatever she needed. He knew better than to ask Percy where the money came from. He always checked in before he made any major purchases, but any concerns he raised were waved away.
Percy had money. A lot of it. And it flowed plentifully, with unprecedented ease.
Barmiston Hall was tidied and polished and returned to its former glory, only warmer and more full of life than it had ever been before. Percy and Joe stayed on and on with Cleo, as did Althea and Leo, and Molly and Puss, who now looked, and painted, exactly like Degas. It was a marvel, and many late nights were spent between Puss and Percy, enjoying too much wine, discussing art and Hellfire and dark magic.
Molly and Althea never did heal their rift entirely. Althea developed a solid sympathy for her, honed some quiet evenings when Molly would talk about her past over dinner, recalling, as best she could, the time when she was the owner of Barmiston Hall, back when it was a small cottage. Recalling the very short, very different life she’d spent on the small island. But there was too much blood under that bridge. The two had a tacit understanding that they would never be alone together, and Molly played her part by leaving any room Althea unwittingly entered, unless there was a group to cushion the sharp-edged tension between them.
And after all, Molly had plenty to do elsewhere in the house. Specifically, in the basement.
The work of the mass resurrection took unrelenting energy and labour, and it took magic. Blood magic. And one of the reasons it took months to complete was the need to wait for the supply of blood to be replenished. Daily. For there is only so much blood one man can make in a day. Even strapped into a chair with intravenous fluids being pumped into his veins. And Cleo’s husband, Prince of Jordan, was no exception to this rule.
Percy and Joe had abducted him, then brought him into the basement under cover of darkness, two days before Cleo was due to return to the house. They soundproofed the area and sealed it. Cleo was never told he was there. All she did know was that she suddenly had unfettered access to any money she requested from her lawyers, and not the slightest interruption to her freedom. No phone calls came from her husband. No instructions for her to do this or that. If she suspected anything was amiss, she never said a word. Nor did Percy. Nor Joe. Nor Molly. Letters were written and official documents were signed by the prince, and all the rest of the world thought only that he had taken a long holiday.
When he finally returned to the public eye, months later, all who knew him remarked how changed he was. They were surprised when he quickly granted the divorce Cleo had been seeking for years. Even more surprised when he gave her an enormous parting settlement. But nothing astounded them more than when he suddenly declared his undying love for a mysterious French gentleman, some thirty years his senior. The court hushed the scandal up as best they could, and when the prince disappeared to live his years out with said gentleman, it was thought best to let the fifth in line to the throne fade into obscurity.
A close observer might have noticed the string of murders—namely those of objectively unpleasant men—that seemed to follow the couple wherever they went. Happily, no one was observing them that closely.
The time of the prince’s disappearance was around the time a woman called Ana?s became Percy’s new personal assistant in Paris, which was around the time Leo was accepted into Cambridge University. He eventually earned a PhD in Art History. He was never lonely or out of place there, not least because Althea soon joined him. She studied International Relations and Criminology, specialising in human trafficking and modern slavery, and went on to do a lot of very real, very legal, very good work in the world.
She and Leo married shortly after graduation, had four children, and lived happily ever after, no one ever discovering their mutual penchant for necromancy and extreme violence.
All the while, Giordano had chosen to remain in Paris, in Percy’s empty apartment, with Tareq. He got a job as a barman, at the Ritz in Paris, not long after everyone left for Scotland. He was hired on the spot on account of his vast experience and fine forearms.
Tareq, knowing no one in Paris but Giordano, made a fast habit of coming into the bar at the end of Giordano’s shift each night to walk home with him, via some cafe or other, for a late dinner. This went on for months, and the two grew closer, measure by measure.
One of these nights, when Giordano was required to stay back at work to do a stock take, he brought Tareq down to the cellar for company. It was there, deep in the dark and secret recesses of the hotel, with Giordano high on a ladder calling numbers down to him, that Tareq finally realised he could never do without that voice again. And when Giordano climbed back down, Tareq let himself touch Giordano’s hand for the first time. Giordano asked if he could kiss him, and Tareq said yes.
Two nights later, Tareq experienced his first ever blowjob holding tightly to that very ladder. Not long after, the two committed to remain together, as boyfriends, permanently. They stayed in Paris, happy and in love, for the rest of their lives.
Waleed went back to his job as a security guard in Libya.
THE END