38. Epilogue
Epilogue
Riley
I walked into the tiny Springdale post office and waved to the postmaster behind the counter.
“Hey Riley, it’s been a minute. Let me grab your mail.” She handed me a large stack of envelopes and junk mail, all bundled with a rubber band.
“Thanks.” I absently flipped through the stack as I walked back to the Pack SUV with Freda trailing behind me, scanning the area.
It was my first day back in my office. Most of the bundle was trash, but I spotted a plain white envelope with my name and P.O. Box written in scrawling calligraphy. The return address was from Wyoming.
I stopped and stared, then slowly lifted the envelope to my nose, detecting a faint whisper of witch hazel and lavender. The paper smelled like Zaria’s cabin. I turned it over, then tucked the envelope back in the stack.
The Zion administration offices were housed in a low-slung building of red stone and timber. My tiny office sat at the end of a hallway, the blinds closed and the room stale. I cranked open the window, letting in the cool desert air, and slowly sat behind my desk to open the letter.
It was written in black ink on linen paper and dated two days before Zaria died. Her lovely, old-world cursive had bold flourishes in the capital letters. I let out a shaky breath and started to read.
Dearest Riley,
I have had premonitions for weeks that my time is drawing near. One of the perks of being a witch, no? So I am writing in case you haven’t already pieced it all together. You are your father’s daughter, after all.
Elijah and I met in Grand Lake, Colorado, and married in a small ceremony not long before he died. We danced around each other for several years before then. But that is a story for another day.
When we found our wedding bands, he had a small ring made for you. I saw it around your neck when I met you, and my heart broke and rejoiced. We planned to petition for full custody, and I would have become your stepmother. But it was not meant to be. Life is cruel sometimes.
My breath caught as my implant hummed through me, trying to regulate the sudden spike in my heart rate. But it couldn’t fix the hollow ache spreading through my chest. I touched the small ring hanging beside Parker’s tracker.
Your father was the best person I have ever known.
He loved you and wanted to raise you, but then Viggo came to us with a fantastical tale about a facility deep in the Rocky Mountains, similar to the one you will find in Mary Mountain.
Your father understood that he would not live long enough for us to take custody.
The hardest decision he ever made was not to walk away from the knowledge Viggo gave us and pretend he never knew.
He could have. We could have taken you and disappeared somewhere safe, but that wasn’t who your father was.
When he walked into that facility, his life was measured in minutes, not years.
The letter blurred as I recalled my father’s tan face and the laugh lines around his eyes. Him kneeling to talk to me, his patient voice, and the scent of pine and campfire on his shirts. The last time I saw him alive, he stood waving from the porch of his small cabin.
The night the Fern Meadows fire started, your father was shot in the back and killed by an Apex soldier.
Viggo barely got out alive. He came to me afterward, his hands burned, and told me what happened.
Viggo and your father destroyed that evil place, and fate took his life as payment.
Eli died protecting the people he loved. Like you and your shifters.
I could not introduce myself afterward. Apex Mentis always suspected my involvement, and I was afraid I would lead them to you and your uncle. So I stayed away.
If it is possible, I have a cousin and her daughter in Colorado who can care for Edwina. They live in Kirkham Falls, and Edwina is acquainted with them. She would be happy there, and I would be grateful. For all her grumbling, she is an excellent cat.
Since your father died, I have lived a half-life.
I do not fear dying. The only thing I fear is that I did not do enough with the time I had.
It was a pleasure to meet you, if only those two times.
To look into your lovely violet-blue eyes and see Elijah looking back at me. To hear his dry humor in your voice.
If I had it to do over again, I would make certain that the people I loved knew how I felt, and not waste a moment in fear or hesitation.
Your loving stepmother, Zaria
I carefully set the letter down and turned to the window.
Outside, the red peaks rose against the blue sky, glowing in the sun.
Beau had mentioned the burns on Viggo’s hands and arms, injuries that occurred the same night Dad died.
The office was quiet as I wiped my face and tucked the letter into my backpack.
The next morning, I woke just after dawn and lay there thinking about my father.
Then about my father and Zaria being married.
Conall slept beside me, one arm flung over his face, his breathing deep and even.
I admired the view for a moment before sliding out of bed, grabbing my phone, and pulling on his shirt.
Then I walked across the hall and peered over the side of Seraphina’s crib. She slept soundly with her little thumb tucked in her mouth. I didn’t pull it out. That was a problem for Owen.
In the kitchen, I made orange jasmine tea in the early morning quiet, then took my mug and phone out to the back patio, wrapped myself in a blanket, and watched the sunrise light the red cliffs.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text as I soaked in the peace and sipped my tea. Glancing down, I saw an unknown number with a Wyoming area code. The message was short.
You were right. The recipe on page 129 was delicious with fresh trout. Eli would be proud. V. J.
In Wyoming, my dad’s friend was probably eating leftover fish stew for breakfast in a dead witch’s kitchen. I reread the message, then gazed back up at the mountains, the cliffs blazing crimson in the early-morning light.
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