Page 122 of Blackwicket

My brows furrowed, and I moved closer to Victor, his body an anchor in this turbulent moment.

“You two,” he nodded between us. “There’s something strange there. Can’t pinpoint it, but word’s going to get around, and there’ll be people after what you have. Here.”

He motioned to the Narthex.

“There. Anywhere you go. But I promise if you come with me, I’ll do what I can to make sure whatever’s waiting doesn’t jump you in the dark.”

When we didn’t respond, he sighed.

“Alright. I’ll give you a chance to figure yourselves out and leave the Narthex open for a few minutes. If you come, you do. If you don’t, well…” He shrugged his shoulders. As he was about to step in, he stopped to offer a parting word, specifically to Victor.

“Barrick had one of these too,” he said, delivering his news as delicately as he could. “One exit. He was planning on using it with you, son, before everything. He cared for you a great deal, just as you were. I thought you should know.”

I could feel the rise of Victor’s emotions. Our connection had weakened, reduced by our exhaustion, both curses and magic bearing no strength to present themselves. But this moment, the deep gratitude of love, the ache of loss, it reached me before Victor could repress it. He nodded his thanks.

Ramsey took a last look around, like an old man departing his favorite pub for the last time.

“It’ll recover,” he said, without knowing, imparting one last hope. “Magic always finds a way.”

He stepped through the Narthex.

I regarded the rocky cairn of my sister’s grave, awash in the pink glow of the sunset occurring on a horizon that didn’t exist, then admired the beach and the cliffs, the home that had made and broken me. I didn’t want to leave Fiona, but I knew I was going to. Echoing through my thoughts, swirling along the spindrift of the waves, was her voice.

Oh, Ellie, my love.

A reassuring hand found mine. Victor. Our fingers interwove as he made the same survey I had, before raising my knuckles to his lips, kissing them while holding me in a gaze filled with rare tenderness, the kind he hid from others.

“Don’t tell me, after everything, you’re afraid of walking through a door, Curse Eater,” he said, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.

“I’m not,” I replied, though we both knew it was a lie. I stepped closer to him, closer to the Narthex. “I have you to walk beside me.”

“Until my dying breath.”

With my sister’s voice still on the wind, we stepped together into whatever future awaited us.

Call me back with your sorrows, and in spirit I’ll stay.

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