Epilogue
The last client of the day left The Silver Thread smiling and carrying three pages of notes she’d written while I talked.
I considered that a successful reading.
I wrapped my deck in its black cloth, slipped it into my bag, and pulled on my wool coat before stepping out into the Victorian Quarter.
Christmas had attacked the entire block.
White lights climbed the old brick storefronts. Evergreen garlands looped over doorways, metallic ribbon flashed beneath streetlamps, and every shop window seemed determined to prove it could fit more gold, silver, crystal, or sequins into six feet of glass than the one beside it.
That made the strange flashes I’d been getting all afternoon especially useless.
Silver.
A burst of white light.
Something faceted catching it.
Then it was gone.
I had no headache or nausea, not even enough pressure behind my eye to make me worry.
I stopped outside a jeweler’s window where diamonds glittered under tiny spotlights and stared at the display.
“Very helpful,” I muttered.
A woman passing with shopping bags glanced at me.
I smiled.
She walked faster.
Apparently talking to invisible forces was less charming when I wasn’t sitting behind a tarot table.
Snow drifted through the light as I headed home, fine enough to melt against my coat. By the time I reached our front door, my hair was damp from the flakes.
Our Christmas tree glowed through the window.
That still did something ridiculous to my chest.
I stepped inside, kicked the snow from my boots, and heard Geo moving somewhere beyond the entry.
“Before you say anything,” I called, “I’m blaming Christmas for whatever my second sight has been trying to show me all day.”
Geo appeared from the living room in a dark shirt and jeans.
His gaze settled on me.
“That seems scientifically rigorous.”
I smiled.
“There you are.”
I stripped off my gloves and tucked them under the bag strap.
Geo crossed the entry, took the bag from my shoulder, and leaned down to meet my mouth.
One large hand settled at my lower back while the other somehow managed the bag, my gloves, and the receipt from the bakery downstairs from The Silver Thread that had worked halfway out of the zipper.
Living together had taught me Geo could carry an unreasonable number of things without noticing.
It had also taught me he greeted me like that every time I came home.
I liked that considerably more.
He lingered for another second before lifting his head.
“You’re cold.”
“It’s snowing.”
“I noticed.”
“Another successful investigation.”
He set my bag and gloves on the entry table, tucked the receipt back into the zipper, then took my coat and hung it beside his.
I stepped out of my boots and nudged them beneath the hooks beside his heavier pair.
His jacket was draped over the back of a chair because apparently almost two months together hadn’t turned him into a man who used every hanger available to him.
My tarot books occupied one end of the living-room shelves. His things occupied the other. A deck I’d used the night before rested beside the lamp near the couch, close to the glass of water he’d brought me and forgotten to move.
Very little matched perfectly.
Everything looked like ours.
The Christmas tree took up the corner near the windows, covered in warm white lights and the ornaments we’d been collecting since the beginning of December. Wrapped presents filled the space beneath it. Evergreen stretched across the mantel, and tiny lights glowed through the greenery.
I pointed toward the tree.
“You finished without me.”
Geo looked offended.
“There are six ornaments still on the table.”
“I counted eight this morning.”
“One was broken.”
“That leaves seven.”
“I put one on.”
I stared at him.
“You decorated without supervision?”
“I survived.”
“Barely, apparently.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
I walked into the living room and spotted the ornament he’d added.
It hung at approximately eye level on a branch strong enough to support a small animal.
I turned toward him.
“You selected that location using engineering principles, didn’t you?”
“It won’t fall.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It’s a Christmas tree. The ornament is on it.”
I grinned and reached for the remaining box.
Geo came up behind me and slid an arm around my middle.
“Tell me about the flashes.”
“They weren’t much.”
“Silver?”
“Yes.”
“White light?”
“Yes.”
“And the stones?”
“Something faceted. Maybe crystal. Maybe glass. Maybe diamonds. Maybe the Victorian Quarter has finally overloaded my brain.”
His thumb moved once against my side.
I looked back at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“That expression says otherwise.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You once agreed to tighten a Halloween security plan because two tarot cards made me nauseous.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Geo brushed his mouth over my temple and let me go.
I gave him a suspicious look, but it probably didn’t mean anything.
I took a silver star from the ornament box and hooked it onto a branch.
“My last reading went well.”
“The woman with the notes?”
“You saw her?”
“You texted me that she’d written three pages.”
“I forgot.”
“You also said she might need a second notebook.”
“That was before page three.”
Geo picked up a dark glass ornament.
“And the Network call?”
“That went well too.”
Between tarot appointments, I’d spent twenty minutes talking to one of the newer escorts who wanted advice before accepting her first primal booking. She knew what she liked in fantasy and wasn’t sure how to translate it into terms another person couldn’t misunderstand.
That was exactly the kind of question Locke had hoped I could help with when he offered me the consultant work.
“She had good instincts,” I said. “She was worried that adding more limits would make her sound difficult.”
Geo’s expression hardened slightly.
“What did you tell her?”
“That anyone worth booking won’t have a problem with clear limits. We went through her boundaries, her stop signal, what she wanted negotiated before the scene, and her exit plan if the client started trying to change terms after she arrived.”
“That’s the right advice.”
“I also reminded her that she can decline the booking completely.”
“That’s even more important.”
I smiled.
“You’re very invested for someone who doesn’t work for The Network.”
“I’m invested in people being able to leave when they want to leave.”
I hung another ornament.
My own Network profile was still there, but I hadn’t reopened it for sexual bookings after Halloween. I still used the app, still talked to Locke, still cared about the women working through it.
I simply wasn’t taking clients anymore.
Geo picked up another ornament and handed it to me instead of attempting independent placement.
That was progress.
“You know,” I said, “I think you’re learning.”
“I learned not to put anything on the tree without approval.”
“That’s not the lesson I meant, but I’ll accept it.”
We finished the last few ornaments together.
By the time the box was empty, snow was falling harder beyond the windows. The room had gone darker around us, making the tree lights brighter against the glass.
Geo stood behind me and wrapped both arms around me.
I leaned back against him.
His mouth brushed the side of my neck.
“That’s distracting.”
“You’re finished decorating.”
“That doesn’t make it less distracting.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
I turned in his arms.
“No.”
His arms tightened slightly, and warmth moved low through me.
I slid my arms around his neck.
“You can do better than that.”
I leaned in, and he met me halfway, slowly at first and then not slowly at all.
I pressed closer until his body was solid against mine and his fingers spread over my lower back.
When we finally pulled apart, I was breathing harder.
“That was better.”
“I’m glad I met the standard.”
“You’re improving.”
“I’ve had practice.”
“You’ve had almost two months to improve.”
His gaze stayed on mine a beat longer.
Geo let go and stepped back.
“Stay here.”
I blinked.
“That sounded ominous.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You’re making it worse.”
He walked toward the other side of the room.
I watched him open a drawer in the narrow table beneath the window.
The strange flicker from earlier returned.
Silver.
White light.
A flash so quick I couldn’t hold on to it.
My breath caught.
Then it vanished.
Geo turned back toward me.
His hand was closed around something.
My attention dropped to it.
For once, my second sight had apparently decided subtlety was hilarious.
Geo came to stand in front of me.
I looked from his hand to his face.
“Geo.”
“Almost two months ago, after The Exchange, you told me to take you home.”
My throat tightened.
He kept his eyes on mine.
“I did. Then we decided the safe house wasn’t going to be our home, and we chose this place together.”
He opened his hand.
A ring rested against his palm.
White light broke across the stone.
There were my useless flashes.
Geo’s voice stayed steady.
“I know what I want, Stella. I want this life with you. I want every ordinary day that comes with it.”
My eyes burned.
He stepped closer.
“But the decision is yours.”
Then Geo DiNero, who could stop armed men without hesitating and had once required several conversations before admitting tarot might be more than cardboard, went down on one knee in front of our Christmas tree.
“Will you marry me?”
I didn’t need cards.
I didn’t need a flash.
I didn’t need the universe to tell me anything.
“Yes.” I reached for him. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
Geo stood so fast I laughed.
He caught my face between his hands and kissed me before I could say anything else.
I held on until I remembered the ring was still in his hand.
“Geo.”
He pulled away just enough.
“What?”
“You forgot something.”
His eyes dropped.
For the first time since I’d met him, Geo looked annoyed with himself.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
“I was distracted.”
“That’s going to be one of my favorite memories for the rest of my life.”
“I can start over.”
“Absolutely not.”
He took my left hand.
The humor disappeared from his face as he slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit.
The stone caught the Christmas lights.
Silver.
White.
Faceted brilliance.
And the room disappeared.
Candlelight.
White flowers.
I lifted my hand in front of me, the engagement ring joined by a narrow wedding band.
Geo stood several steps away in black.
He was looking at me.
The rest shifted before I could hold on to it.
The flowers blurred.
Light moved over glass.
For one brief second, I had the sensation of walking toward him.
Then I was back in our living room.
Geo still held my hand.
The tree still glowed beside us.
Snow still pressed white against the dark windows.
His expression sharpened.
“You saw something.”
I nodded.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“No headache?”
“No.”
“What did you see?”
I looked down at the ring, then back at him.
“You.”
“That’s specific.”
“You were wearing black.”
“That narrows it down considerably.”
I smiled and stepped closer.
“There were flowers. Candlelight. A wedding band.”
Geo went very still.
“And?”
“I was walking toward you.”
He drew me closer.
“Good?”
“Very.”
He looked at the ring once, then at me.
“You said yes before you saw it.”
“I know.”
His gaze stayed on mine.
I touched his face.
“And I’d say it again.”
Outside, snow continued falling over Cascade Point.
Inside, the tree lights reflected in the ring he’d just put on my hand.
Geo bent toward me.
I caught the front of his shirt with my ringed hand and pulled him down for another kiss.
***