Epilogue
Epilogue
A year later...
T uesday dusted a long rosewood shelf lined with seashells of all shapes, sizes and colors. She could hear the ocean echo out at her, and wasn’t at all surprised when a tiny giggle sounded from within the spiral of a nautilus shell. With a bounce to her step, she moved on to the next shelf, where a triton fashioned of more shells and some kind of metal that gleamed green was kept under glass.
This was the mermaid room in the Archives, and she’d been assigned to tidy it up today. And tomorrow. And for however long it took to clean the small and crowded room.
Certainly Jones had offered her the job after she’d decided to stay in Paris with Ethan a year ago. They’d gone back to his place from the airport, talked and...had a lot of hex. Blood-bone-spirit sex. Soul-deep stuff. They were really in love. And that was something neither of them had felt in a long time.
They’d wanted to ride that feeling and follow it wherever it would lead them, so she’d made a quick trip home to Boston, had rented out her property for an indefinite period of time and packed up her clothes and magical accoutrements. Now Ethan’s place was a bit more untidy and he’d had to relegate three quarters of his closet to her wardrobe. And Stuart now answered to her commands, as well as Ethan’s.
And every morning Ethan either woke her with croissants and orange juice, or left them on the counter because he’d gone in to work and hadn’t wanted to wake her. She’d never felt happier.
With the curse completely gone it was now easy to recognize love. Small things, such as the sun shining on this snowy February morning, had lifted her smile and given her a bounce to her step as she walked to work. She had a purpose now, and a fantastic lover.
Life was about as fabulous as it could get.
Bending to inspect a glass container filled with some kind of sparkling jewels, Tuesday realized the thin diamond-shaped items with one curved edge were possibly mermaid scales. Cool. She’d never in her lifetime met a mermaid, and wasn’t sure she wanted to. They were supposed to be vicious.
When a man’s hands suddenly covered her eyes from behind, she sprang upright. She hadn’t heard anyone come in. And Certainly Jones, her boss, would never do such a thing. So...
“Is it lunchtime already?” she asked with hope.
“I’m a little late.” Ethan leaned in and kissed the side of her neck, sending a visceral shiver over her skin. “Had some business to deal with. Can we have a quickie?”
“Did you lock the door?”
“Always.” His hand slipped around her waist and glided under her gray T-shirt that snarkily declared in block letters Don’t Be A Richard.
Lunchtime sex had become a norm, and they were pretty sure no one was aware of their stolen liaisons. CJ would say something if he knew. That witch was a stickler about work ethic and protocol. So they were careful, but never quiet.
“I missed you,” he said, turning her around to face him.
“It’s been three hours since we drove here together from home.”
“Three hours too long. I’m going to have to bite you again, and soon.”
Their blood connection lasted about twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The shared sexual gratification that developed with a bite gave them the ability to hear one another’s thoughts and to feel their emotions and sexual sensations. Love was a wondrous emotion that shimmered off Ethan like a warm summer sun. And yes, when they argued they could feel one another’s anger, even fear, but that made the need to make up quicker. And they never quarreled much.
Tuesday tapped her neck. “Right here, big boy.”
The vampire pierced her neck with his fangs, and while he did so, he slid down her leggings and she unzipped his fly. Behind her rose a nineteenth-century desk that he set her on as he licked at her blood.
Tuesday moaned as he slid his erection inside her and pumped slowly yet deeply. She enjoyed when they went at it fast and furious, but even more so when he prolonged every move, seeming to luxuriate in the depths of her.
“I’ve got another job you might be interested in,” he said.
“For Acquisitions?” She had helped him with one case regarding retrieving a grimoire from a crone a few months ago. All it had required was some sweet talk and a commitment to drinking the bitch under the table. Tuesday would never touch moss liqueur again. Oh, the hangover! “Does it involve another washed-up crone?”
“Faeries.”
“Why me?”
He shrugged and licked her neck to seal the wound. He thrust inside her still. “It’s a magic thing. Faeries are trafficking in humans, accept without the usual changeling to replace the stolen baby.”
“And why, exactly, does Acquisitions need to get involved? What do you need to acquire, Monsieur Director? And would you tell me if an angel were using us as pawns in his stupid game of playing with the inhabitants of the mortal realm again?”
“I would tell you, and Raphael has not been seen or heard of since his selfish ploy. Did I tell you the book with the Final Days code suddenly appeared on a shelf in the angel room a few weeks after our adventure?”
She gripped his ass, pulling him deep into her. “You did not. But good to know. I hope it’s chained, warded and bespelled to Kingdom Come. Mmm, lover, pull out and slip your cock over my clit. Yes. Like that.” She bowed forward, putting her forehead to his shoulder.
“The faery thing will be fun for us,” he said. “Maybe?”
She knew that tone. He was diving in to adventure once again. For a man who had worked a desk job for so long, he’d been taking on more jobs himself. And fieldwork suited him. As it did her.
“I do like trying new things,” she said. Grinding her body against his erection, she mined the humming orgasm that whispered up to her core. “You think we’ll ever get back to America?”
“Do you want to return?”
“It does carry memory of a lot of good times.”
“Like witch hunts and torture?”
“Yes, Richard, just like that. You know me too well.”
He hilted himself inside her, and that was all it took to fly. Tuesday’s head fell back and she pulled her lover down to bite through her shirt at her breast. He didn’t break skin. They’d save that for later.
“I’d like to keep the witch in Paris for a while,” he said as he watched her face move through the joy and elation of orgasm. “Deal?”
She pulled herself back up to stare into his eyes. “You do have a lot to offer a witch who has been without love for centuries. Deal.”
* * * * *