Epilogue
Amélie Elizabeth Wildblood Delacroix comes into the world as lovely and headstrong as her mother, and on her own terms—three weeks early. She is a ball of fire with the softest crown of flaming red hair and bright golden eyes. I find myself completely and utterly under the spell of both mother and daughter alike.
Willow gave birth to our little girl two months ago today. She was born in our house, and the occasion is another marking of time, one that is significant for the change it brings. For the joy it brings. Up until the day of Amélie’s birth, I realize that the anniversaries I’ve noted have been sad occasions and losses. Those losses will be remembered, and the lives of those we lost will be celebrated. But this—Amélie—her arrival is a line of demarcation from a past of shadows to a present and future of light and life.
I still remember what I felt the first time I walked into the Wildblood house on the night of the Tithing. How vibrant it was, how colorful. How happy and full of life and love.
I kiss my sleeping wife’s forehead and climb out of our bed. From inside the nightstand drawer, I take out a sheet of paper, unfold it and set it on my pillow for her to find when she wakes, then I walk into my daughter’s room just as the sun begins to rise on the horizon.
A carousel of animals make their rounds in a light show across the pastel colored ceiling and walls. I smile, because I didn’t stub that vibrance out. Instead, we brought it here, into our home. Willow and I—our impossible love—broke an ancient curse and opened the door to joy. This house, which only ever knew darkness, suffering, and loss is now a home of light and possibility and happiness.
Our love was, and is, greater than any curse, any demon-angel.
Benedict and Fiona raise their heads momentarily but close their eyes and go back to sleep once they see it’s me. The two of them have been inseparable since Benedict was hurt, although I’m pretty sure the power dynamic leans heavily in Fiona’s favor. I swear that cat has some witchy power in her. The two of them are as protective of Amélie as Willow and I are.
Amélie, expecting me, coos in her crib. My chest swells at the sight of her little hands reaching up into the air, and when I see her sweet face, a smile brightening it the instant I come into view, I think how the love I feel for her has somehow grown overnight. Every day since her birth, I’ve thought I cannot love any more than I do now. It’s not possible because my heart will burst if I do. Yet, every morning, I am in awe.
“Good morning,” I whisper, leaning down to collect the warm little bundle of her.
Amélie and I have a date. Each morning just as the sun rises, I come into her room, where she wakes to greet me as if she cannot believe her luck at seeing me. It’s overwhelming to see the love in her eyes, as if I am her entire world. She has the same with Willow and Bec and Emmanuel and all of the Wildbloods.
She can make anyone feel like they are the center of the universe.
I hug her to me, inhaling her sleepy scent deeply as she nuzzles my neck. I sit down on the hideous but most comfortable rocking chair ever and watch her excitement when she sees her bottle. One of the staff warms the milk and leaves it right here for me to feed my baby each morning. She reaches tiny little arms out for it and greedily takes the nipple into her mouth, immediately soothed as she draws deeply of the warm milk.
This is our moment. Only ours. Willow’s body is working hard to produce the milk, and after watching her give birth, I have no doubt the woman is superhuman. I don’t need as much sleep as she does and don’t mind getting up to do the nighttime feedings but this, the sun rising outside the windows as Amélie’s tiny fingers curl around two of mine, her eyes, so like mine, locked on me, there’s nothing like it.
She drinks the bottle more quickly than humanly possible. She’s always ravenous in the mornings and in the beginning, when I didn’t think to have the bottle of milk warmed and ready, she’d wake the house to let everyone know it. Willow found my cluelessness amusing as hell, and I’m still not sure my wife and our tiny little witch aren’t in cahoots.
But I learn fast.
Once she’s finished with her bottle, I burp and change her. I bundle her up, as is our routine, and we quietly slip out of her bedroom, down the stairs, through the house and out into the garden. The morning is warm, and it will be a clear day. Amélie watches all the birds with curiosity as I step onto the path. We usually walk for a little while until she starts dozing, then I head back and lay her in her crib to sleep the morning away.
As usual, I walk her toward the chapel as the rising sun brightens our path. During the renovations, we also cleared some of the forest to allow more sunlight to penetrate the darkness. It’s been incredible to watch the transformation both inside and outside the house.
Amélie blinks up at me when I come to a stop at the place Shemhazai once stood, darkening it like he did our lives. He is long gone, his evil with him. Now, when I come to stand before the statues that have taken his place, I only feel possibility. A future. Light.
“I think you will grow up to be as beautiful as your mother,” I tell Amélie as she gazes up at the statue of Willow as if she recognizes her mother’s face. I’m not sure that’s possible for someone so young, but my daughter is no normal infant.
Her gaze shifts from the statue of Willow to the one of me and she reaches out to touch my cheek and again, I think she understands what she’s looking at.
“May you inherit all the gifts of your ancestors and none of the darkness,” I tell her, taking in the wings so protectively shielding Willow. I say this to my daughter every morning, making it so.
Amélie was born with both the crescent moon on her chest and the marks of the angel’s wings on her back. I wonder if the next generation will have either or both but when she begins to wriggle in my arms and reach out over my shoulder, I don’t have time to ponder the thought because I see who she’s reaching for.
“Is this where you bring her every morning?” Willow asks, taking our baby in her arms and cuddling her.
I watch them, mother and daughter together. Amélie plants a wet kiss on her cheek and burps up a little milk.
“Nice,” Willow says, wiping it away from Amélie’s chin and her own face as her daughter gives her a wide, gummy smile.
“You should sleep in. You need your rest,” I tell Willow as I tug her robe higher over her shoulders.
“I’m fine. I’m great actually.” She reaches up to plant a kiss on my lips. “What did you say to her?” she asks. “I heard you whisper something.”
“Oh.” I feel a little embarrassed and glance away. “I told her that she will grow up to be as beautiful as her mother.”
“That’s all?”
“Were you eavesdropping?”
“Azrael, tell me.”
I glance away from her. “Nothing. Just wishing her to inherit only the best of us.” I only look at her after saying the words quickly.
Willow studies me for a long minute as Amélie coos. She smiles warmly. “You don’t have to worry. Look at your daughter, Azrael.” I do, smiling as she struggles against the closing of her eyelids. “She would banish any darkness that dared try to touch her. She’s as stubborn as you, after all.”
At that, I shift my gaze to Willow to find her grinning mischievously.
“Stubborn as me? You mean stubborn as a Wildblood. One Wildblood in particular,” I say, setting a hand at Willow’s back to lead the way back toward the house. “Look at that hair. It’s scientifically not possible.”
“Science has nothing on witchcraft,” Willow tells me with a wink as we reach the stairs. She climbs two and stops to face me. She’s almost at chin level now.
“Like I said, stubborn,” I repeat and take her into my arms, careful not to disturb the now sleeping Amélie as I kiss her, believing her entirely that our daughter would banish any darkness that dared try to touch her. She is the product of an impossible love, and that can only breed strength.
Willow stands back and looks up at me. Keeping hold of Amélie in one hand, she reaches into the pocket of her robe with the other and takes out that sheet of paper I’d left for her. She raises her eyebrows.
I smile and take it from her. Opening it, I look at the sketch the tattoo artist made after much trial and error, but I think it’s perfect. It’s a willow tree, standing tall and strong and beautiful. Through its branches shines the golden light of a crescent moon.
“It’s about time I overwrite Shemhazai’s image on my skin, don’t you think?” I ask her. The tattoo is too large to remove, but this is a better alternative anyway. Good winning over evil. Love over hate. Willow’s eyes grow damp. “Don’t you like it?” I ask, suddenly worried.
She climbs up on tiptoe. “I do. I love it. And I love you so very much. Do you know that?”
I hold her to me, that swelling in my chest somehow impossibly more.
“Come, Little Witch. Let’s get this little one to her crib and go back to bed ourselves.”
“I’m not sleepy anymore.”
“Who said anything about sleep?”