The Spiritualists

Chapter Fifty-Seven

I love you, Stella.

I gasp.

Daisy offers me an image: a phoenix. A majestic bird, rising from the ashes, soaring high above the flames. Daisy perished in flames and now she rises.

Revived. Regenerated. Renewed.

And then, beautiful white light.

Love, love, love.

Pax kisses a tear off my cheekbone. He’s here, after my very worst, and I’m here, after his.

Love, love, love.