Epilogue
EPILOGUE
THREE YEARS LATER
J oss lounged back into the pile of floor cushions, nudging up closer to Clio, feeling sated, comfortable and blissfully happy.
The Night Market was in Newquay again, where he and Clio had first met. They had married here, in fact, on a promontory reaching out to the sea, with blue sky and bluer ocean before them and the breeze blowing softly in her mahogany curls. Maret and Jarby and Droose and Karl had stood with them then, but today they had climbed down to the beach with Finn, two years old now, and spent the day frolicking in the surf and sand.
The boy sat near their feet at the moment, content to gallop his herd of toy horses up and down the pillow mountains. Beside Joss, Clio wriggled again, searching for a comfortable position.
“Shove that narrow green one behind the small of my back?” she asked.
Joss did, plumping up her other pillows as well. She sank back, groaning with relief. “Ah, that’s done it.” She rested a hand against her swollen belly and smiled at him.
His heart thumped. She smiled easily now, and he counted it one of his greatest achievements.
“Do you think we could convince the tent to leave us this little alcove after the new baby comes?” he asked idly. “I rather like lounging in here, all of us together, at the end of the day.”
“We can try,” she said, heaving a contented sigh.
Reaching over, Joss took her hand and squeezed it, basking in the aftermath of a rare day spent solely with his family. He was roused from his complacency when Finn scooted out of the alcove and made his way toward the table where the remains of dinner still waited. His bauble bobbed after the boy, as it often did. The sight sent a wave of sadness through him, as he recalled their failure to free the second one from its dark hungers. Sadly, Clio had been forced to destroy it.
“What are you after, son?” he called. They had watched the boy anxiously for signs of his mother’s awesome levels of power, but Finn appeared to be possessed with only the normal abilities of a witch’s youngster. His greatest feat so far was his ability to summon his favorite blanket when he was ready to sleep.
“Droosie’s cake,” the boy answered. He came back with a hunk of ginger cake in his fist and thrust it toward Clio.
Her face softened. “How lovely of you, my dear.” She pulled him close. “But I ate enough at dinner. I am not yet ready for cake.”
Finn offered it again. “She wants it.”
“Mama has just said she’ll wait before having cake,” Joss told the boy. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”
“Not me. Not Mama. She wants it.” Finn pointed to the bulge of Clio’s belly. “She says so. And she wants Mama to sing the bedtime song.”
Joss and Clio exchanged alarmed glances. “ Who says so, Finn?”
“Baby. Baby wants cake,” the boy said clearly.
As if to confirm it, a ripple of movement rolled across the Clio’s expanse of belly.
“Oh, dear,” Clio whispered. “Joss?” She sounded both worried and excited.
“And don’t forget the song,” Finn repeated. “I told them,” he said to her belly, aggrieved.
“What are we going to do?” Clio’s eyes had gone wide.
“Sing the song, I would say,” he answered, sitting up. He was no longer sleepy, in any case. “And I’d better write to Stuart Forth. I think we are going to need another bauble.”