Epilogue
Two days later, on Mount Funk, Tennessee, Beltane…
By noon, the Tennessee mountain had turned itself into a full-blown pagan flirtation festival.
The L.A.W. mansion sat in a clearing on Mount Funk like a grande dame who had decided clothes were optional, but flower garlands were mandatory.
Ribbons streamed from every porch post. Wreaths of fresh greenery hung on the doors.
Somewhere in the distance, somebody had started drumming like they were summoning the Goddess herself, and from the back meadow came the cheerful shrieks of about thirty invited guests trying to Maypole with wine in their systems and coordination nowhere in sight.
Joell stood on the back terrace with Crowe beside her, looking smug in that deeply irritating way of a man who had recently become both human and even more convinced the universe revolved around him.
“It’s official,” she said, surveying the chaos.
“We’ve crossed the line from sacred sabbat to woodland dating show. ”
Crowe slid an arm around her waist. “And yet somehow it suits you.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Careful. That sounded sincere.”
“It was. I’m trying this new thing called emotional availability.”
“Disgusting.”
Out on the lawn, the Maypole had been planted deep into the earth, towering over the guests in a storm of ribbon and spring flowers.
Crystal had somehow turned the whole event into a fashion statement.
She stood near the base of the pole in a pale sea-green dress that fluttered around her legs like she’d ordered the breeze in advance.
“I’m just saying,” Crystal announced to no one and everyone, “if one more guest tangles my ribbon, I shall take it as a personal attack.”
“You say that every year,” Victoria called.
Victoria lounged on a blanket in sunglasses, looking like a glamorous action hero on holiday. Reginald, her raccoon familiar, sat beside her with both tiny hands wrapped around a sugared bun he had absolutely stolen from the feast table.
“It’s true every year,” Crystal shot back.
Magda appeared carrying two pitchers of something pink and dangerous. “Who wants Beltane punch?”
“Nobody who values consciousness,” Sahara said.
Magda grinned. “Coward.”
Sahara stood under the shade of an old tree, elegant as always, her dark hair pulled back, her expression dry enough to dehydrate nearby plant life.
Beside her, Lioness was sketching the guests and adding unflattering details with the ruthless joy of an artist who feared neither criticism nor lawsuits.
“You made that one’s thighs too small,” Sahara murmured, glancing at the page.
Lioness didn’t look up. “I’m not drawing what she has. I’m drawing what she believes she has.”
Rayna barked a laugh from the steps. She had one hand around Payne’s arm and the other around a goblet of cider, and she looked entirely too pleased with life in general.
“Please tell me you’re doing one of Joell next,” Rayna said.
Lioness finally looked up. “Already did. The page burst into flames.”
Joell put a hand to her chest. “That could mean so many flattering things.”
Brianna came out onto the lawn carrying a tray of honey cakes, looking harried in the very particular way of a woman who had volunteered to help and immediately regretted having a generous spirit. “Can somebody take these before I drop them and we all decide ants are part of the ritual?”
“I’ve got them,” Rayna said.
Payne took the tray from Brianna before Rayna could, because he was smart and presumably wished to stay alive.
Brianna exhaled. “Thank you. I nearly sacrificed my wrists to Beltane.”
“Honestly,” Crystal said, “that would have been dramatic, but not in a sexy way.”
“Everything here is in a sexy way,” Brianna muttered. “That’s the problem.”
“It’s Beltane,” Magda said. “Sexy is the theme.”
“Then the theme is exhausting.”
A sudden ripple passed through the guests. Heads tilted upward. A few people pointed.
High above the lawn, an owl glided over the clearing in broad daylight, silent and pale against the hard blue sky before landing on the lower branch of a maple at the edge of the meadow.
Everything paused.
Well. Not everything. Reginald kept eating.
Crystal frowned. “Why is there an owl out during the day?”
Sahara followed everyone’s gaze. “That is unusual.”
Magda went still. “Bit ominous, isn’t it?”
Brianna’s face changed. Not dramatically. Just enough.
Joell caught it at once. “Why do you look like you just remembered a body in your trunk, Brianna?”
Brianna folded her arms. “Because I’ve seen that owl before.”
Rayna turned. “That exact owl?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?” Victoria asked.
Brianna made a vague motion. “A few.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then everyone spoke at once.
“A few?” Crystal repeated.
“You never mentioned this?” Sahara asked.
“Why would you ignore an owl stalking you?” Magda demanded.
“Because,” Brianna said, now clearly regretting having opened her mouth, “seeing an owl during the day is supposed to be bad luck.”
Lioness snorted. “That is your defense? You’ve been getting haunted by a bird and your response was basically la-la-la, not listening?”
“It wasn’t haunting me. It was just… there.”
“Repeatedly,” Joell said.
“Yes.”
“In multiple locations?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Brianna hesitated. “Long enough that at this point it feels rude to put a number on it.”
Crowe started laughing first. He tried to hide it. Failed spectacularly. “Oh no,” he said. “This is beautiful.”
Brianna glared at him. “I’m so glad my confusion brings you joy.”
“It does. Immense joy.”
The owl remained on the branch, calm as a tax auditor. Its golden eyes fixed directly on Brianna with the expression of a creature that had tried patience, subtlety, and what was left now was judgment.
Sahara’s voice went thoughtful. “It keeps returning to you.”
Magda slowly grinned. “No.”
Crystal’s eyes widened. “No.”
Rayna pointed at Brianna. “Oh, hell. No.”
Brianna looked from one face to another. “What?”
Joell folded her arms and leaned her hip against Crowe’s. “Sweetheart, that is not bad luck.”
Brianna blinked. “It isn’t?”
Lioness shut her sketchbook with a slap. “That owl is your familiar, you absolute fluff-head.”
The guests nearest them fell silent, then immediately pretended not to eavesdrop while eavesdropping so hard it should’ve counted as cardio.
Brianna stared at the owl. The owl stared back. Then, with solemn dignity wholly unappreciated by the people present, it launched from the branch, glided down, and landed on the Maypole crossbeam like it had been invited and found everyone disappointingly slow.
Brianna put a hand on her chest. “My familiar is an owl?”
“Apparently,” Victoria said.
“I thought I didn’t get one.”
“That owl clearly thought otherwise,” Sahara replied.
Magda laughed so hard she had to hand off the punch pitcher. “You’ve been ghosting your own familiar. During Beltane. I cannot imagine anything more on-brand.”
“It was daytime,” Brianna protested weakly. “Owls aren’t supposed to be out in the daytime.”
Joell shrugged. “Neither is half this coven, emotionally speaking.”
Rayna choked on her cider.
Crystal pressed her lips together, then gave up and laughed. “Have you truly been walking around thinking the Goddess skipped you while your familiar’s been perched outside like a feathery Uber?”
“I did not ask for a judgmental owl.”
The owl fluffed once, as if offended.
“Oh, it’s judgmental all right,” Lioness said. “Look at that face. That is the face of a creature who has seen your choices.”
Brianna took two cautious steps toward it. “So… now what?”
Crowe grinned. “Now you say hello before it files a complaint.”
The owl dropped from the Maypole and landed neatly on Brianna’s forearm.
She yelped.
The guests applauded.
Brianna stared at the bird in shock. The owl leaned in and bumped its head once against her shoulder, almost tenderly.
Something in her expression softened. “Well,” she said quietly, “that’s new.”
“New?” Crystal said. “Darling, that bird has practically moved in, and you didn’t even know it.”
Joell lifted her goblet. “To Brianna, who finally noticed she’s been chosen.”
Everyone cheered.
Even Brianna laughed then, helplessly, looking down at the owl as if she still couldn’t quite believe it. “I ignored you because I thought you were bad luck.”
The owl gave her a look so withering it nearly counted as speech.
Sahara nodded. “Yes. Definitely your familiar.”
“What are you going to name it?” Joell asked.
Brianna stared into the fathomless depths of the owl’s eyes. “I don’t know. What shall we name you?”
“Hoo!” the owl said.
“Um, okay. I can see that being problematic. There’s this whole skit called “Who’s on first…”
The witches burst out laughing.
“Well, let’s think about it for a while. You’ve gone this long without a name. A couple more days shouldn’t matter.”
The drumming picked up again. Guests reclaimed ribbons. The Maypole dance lurched back to life with all the sacred chaos of spring and very little rhythm.
Brianna stood in the middle of it all with an owl on her arm, smiling like the universe had just let her in on a joke at her expense.
Joell watched her, then smirked. “Perfect. Noon revelation, light public humiliation, magical bonding, and nobody caught fire.”
Rayna lifted her drink. “Still time.”
And with that, Beltane rolled happily on toward evening.
Because the mountain was woodsier and more private, Joell and Crowe had two days of outdoor bliss, learning all the finer points of pleasing each other.
They’d tried dozens of different positions, experimented with various toys, and even some mildly kinky stuff like spanking.
Now, here it was… Orgy night. They had avoided discussing it right up until the last moment.
Thirty people had enjoyed the Maypole ritual, and now, in the ballroom, they were sharing the last remnants of the feast. Crowe was reluctant to bring up the particulars of the orgy at all. He didn’t want to burst his loving bubble. Didn’t want the honeymoon to end.