Epilogue
“Can I interest you in some chicory coffee and beignets?” I pushed my sunglasses up and opened my eyes, staring up at Phillip, who loomed over me holding a grease-covered bag and two paper cups. I sat up on the beach towel, pulling my cover-up over my shoulders, and took the cup gratefully.
“That smells heavenly,” I said, taking a sip of the dark, rich coffee. Phillip sat down beside me, directly in the sand, and reached into the crumbled bag, pulling out a huge beignet glistening with sugar. My mouth began to water.
“It’s vegan,” he said, holding the delectable pastry up to my mouth as I took a huge bite, closing my eyes in sheer bliss. “I bought every last one they had. Reinforcements for today.”
“Good call,” I said, my mouth full. I smiled as he sat back and picked up his dog-eared copy of Prince Lestat . He had borrowed the entire series from Beth, who had been only too happy to talk all things vampire with him every chance they got, which it turned out was often, since she was now on tour with the band. Beth, the Bloomer Demons hooper, now famous in her own right, even had her own line of merch.
“Have you heard from anyone? Jason or the guys? Lee? Benny?” I knew vaguely that Jason had visited Clara, who hadn’t really been interested in getting to know him, something that didn’t surprise me. Between her hangup over Benny, and her burgeoning, not-a-little-bit toxic relationship with Sloan, she likely didn’t have the bandwidth for anyone new. Jason had gone back to Boston, licking his wounds, but I knew he’d be okay.
“Not a soul,” Phillip said, laying back onto the sand, propping himself up with one arm, opening his book. I marveled how he just made himself comfortable anywhere. “They know not to contact us under threat of death.”
I sat my coffee down and lay back with him, though thankfully, I had a beach towel under me. Phillip might like roughing it, but I didn’t feel like digging sand out of my bikini bottoms for the next two weeks. I glanced over at him as he began to read, plonked in the sand as if he’d sprung out of it fully formed, skin pale white against his black swimming trunks, his hair pulled back in a messy half-bun, and began to laugh. He certainly made a picture, lying there devouring The Vampire Chronicles—he’d managed to catch up on the entire series over the past two weeks and only had one book left, with plans to binge the TV series next—without a care in the world. Being a man of leisure suited him.
Every day since we’d arrived home after our wedding, Phillip and I had gone to the beach. The beauty of living in Brunswick meant we were close to Jekyll, but Tybee Island and St. Simons Island were reasonably close too, so we’d decided to alternate between all three, waking up every morning and just heading wherever the wind—or our own whims—decided to take us. We’d surfed on Tybee (well, Phillip had; I’d mainly taken pictures of him and jeered when he’d fallen off his surfboard), sketched the horizon out on St. Simons, and laid around the cool, muted beaches of Jekyll. When we weren’t on the beach, we’d gone bird watching, had taken a helicopter ride and a boat tour, and we’d even managed to spend one sizzling night in the jacuzzi at a local motel (and left to go back home later that evening because the both of us were genuinely sick of motels for the foreseeable future). It wasn’t a real honeymoon, but it’d been the perfect thing for us. After all, Phillip and I had spent the first several weeks of our relationship traveling all over, dodging threats, chasing others, and doing everything but the normal stuff new couples do. We hadn’t gotten to date, spend days together in bed, or have long talks where we got to know each other. We’d never gotten to grill out together, go flea marketing, or see a movie.
More than any expensive trip or cruise or the like, we just wanted that. Normalcy.
I glanced down at my phone, blissfully happy to see that I had no new notifications, missed calls or texts. Everything was quiet on this front. That was down to our wonderful friends at the Wolfden, who knew how badly we craved privacy and alone time, and were making damn sure we got it. I knew, though, that once we were ready to be “back in the world” again, they’d be there for me. For us.
Lee hadn’t called once with news about the upcoming tour, though tickets were already sold out and that the press was dying for Phillip to do publicity. So far, Nate, Ollie, and Benny were handling things, but soon enough, Phillip would have to re-emerge.
The tour would begin next month, and so, too, I hoped, would my writing career. I had the blog planned out, the pitch already accepted, and I also planned to start writing a memoir of sorts, just to see what panned out. I might turn it into fiction to protect the innocent (and not so innocent) or I might cast off the shackles and speak my truth. I wasn’t sure yet, but I was sure that I wanted to write.
At my feet was a notebook full of Benny’s loopy scrawl, all the research he’d done on the “lore,” what little there was, that our magic was comprised of. I’d read it a bit here and there, but I’d yet to really dive in to discover what made us us, where our magic originated from, and how it was best used. From what I’d seen from skimming through the notebook, Benny was right—there was no real rhyme or reason to the abilities that I possessed. It seemed that people like me (and Benny and Lydia and Beth) simply manifested our own abilities through coping mechanisms we’d used, little self-made recipes that we’d developed for ourselves when we’d been vulnerable and in need of protection. Basically, our own anxieties, our fight or flight, had manifested itself into a kind of real power—magic. We had adapted, or maybe evolved, depending on how you looked at it, to tap into an alternate, magical reality to defend ourselves when it was needed. And perhaps that meant that in the future, more people would have the same kind of ability. It was a thought that brought me some comfort. I kept thinking of a phrase I’d heard once, the mind is kind, and it seemed the body, when it worked in tandem with the mind, was too. Somehow, I’d managed to manifest powers into myself that ensured I’d always be protected, would always be safe, and that I wouldn’t be alone. And maybe one day, others would have that same power of protection.
I had brought Phillip into my life; had manifested him. And I would never, ever let him go.
I grabbed the rest of the beignet from the bag and stuffed it into my mouth, savoring the fried, doughy sweetness, gulping it down with coffee. Sloan popped into my mind suddenly, as she often did when I was enjoying a delicious meal or beverage, especially coffee. She and I had shared our favorite coffee spot and those late-morning brunches and early boozy dinners for so many years that it was hard to banish her from my mind, even more so when something wonderful was on the table. She was doing an inpatient rehab program at a local facility, and she was allowed visitors, the nurse had told me over the phone. I hadn’t visited her yet—I was taking my time to decide what I really wanted to do, not to mention enjoying my little local-honeymoon—but I planned to eventually. What I’d say to her, I had no idea. When I told her I forgave her, I’d meant that. But I hadn’t forgotten . I never could. Still…I knew, deep in my heart, that my story with Sloan was not over. I could not give up on her; my heart wouldn’t allow me to.
There was more to talk about. Much, much more. To work on. To work through.
Just not yet.
I banished thoughts of Sloan and the past from my brain and leaned back on an elbow, staring out at the water. It was choppy today, the wind picking up a little blue-haired boy’s kite and throwing it high into the air.
The sky near the horizon was a splotch of dark in the otherwise sunny sky. There was a rumor of storms tomorrow. Oh well, that meant Phillip and I would just have to spend the whole day in bed. My lower belly throbbed at the thought of all I planned to do to him.
Phillip chuckled, licking his finger, and then turning the page, not noticing me crinkle my nose up in disgust. I wasn’t sure if he was chuckling at the book or the illicit thoughts I’d just been having.
“You old man,” I teased, reaching out to poke him in the chest. “Don’t lick your finger then touch the book; that’s nasty.”
“Shhh,” he said in a mock whisper, pursing his lips. “I’m at the good part.” He chuckled again, then looked at me. “That Lestat sure does think highly of himself, doesn’t he?”
“Well, they don’t call him ‘the Brat Prince’ for nothing,” I said. “But why do you say that?”
“He thinks he can have his cake and eat it too,” Phillip said, pausing to look at me. “Not only is he devilishly handsome, but he’s managed to cheat death, everyone wants to be his lover, he’s got a coven of loyal friends who’d die for him, he’s been a rock star, seen Heaven and Hell, and that’s not enough for him; no, he has to become the literal prince of the vampires.” He threw back his head and laughed, his green eyes flashing under the midday sun, his black hair damp from the ocean. “He intends to have it all, and anyone who stands in his way, well, Devil be damned.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” I said, and waited to kiss the inevitable smirk right off Phillip Deville’s face.