Page 113 of Foresyth Conservatory
Aspen leaned over and spoke quietly to the doctor, his tone soft and persuasive, like the first time I’d seen him in his workshop. “That won’t be necessary. She’s already spoken to the appropriate authorities. You’ll call them off.”
The doctor’s expression flickered with surprise, but he nodded, adjusting his glasses. “So, she has. Very well, I’ll call them off.” He turned his attention to my side, preparing to restitch the wound.
“We’ll visit again soon, Dahl,” Aspen said softly. “I’d tell you to take care, but I know you will.” He added a wink, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
For a moment, the edges of him blurred, haloed by the soft glow of the room. Or maybe it was just the medication settling into my veins. He looked almost regal, like an emperor draped in twilight. The image of the Emperor card flickered through my mind, weightless as a dandelion seed on the wind, before drifting away.
I blew them both a kiss before turning my head, my eyelids growing heavy.
I had been running on purpose, on anger, on the desire for the truth. But now, in this sterile, softly-lit room, I had nothing left to give. A deep tiredness settled over me, a heaviness not just of body but of spirit. I let my head sink deeper into the pillow, allowing myself, just for a moment, to drift—to let go of the responsibility, the constant vigilance, the weight of being the one who had to see everything, question everything, fix everything.
Just before I drifted off, I noticed the journal on a cracked tray beside me, its pages withered and stained with my blood. How lucky it showed up by my side just when I needed it most.
I guess Julian had saved me after all.
Epilogue
Three months later
I’d been sneezing all afternoon, stirred by the dust blanketing the last shelves of my bookstore. I knew it was my fault for not cleaning more often, but I cursed the books for gathering it. At least it kept my eyes cloudy with dust rather than tears. Although I’d always dreamed of selling the shop, packing the books into boxes to be shipped off to the public library in Greenwich made it feel too real.
In the long afternoon light, with most of the shop empty except for one shelf, I stopped to admire my work. The sun streamed through the windows, illuminating tiny motes of dust suspended in the air. The bookstore was all packed.
The last shelf was my father’s prized collection of archaic magickal texts, which he hadn’t let me touch (though I’d secretly read through them before I turned thirteen). I trailed my fingers over the cracked leather spines, feeling a faint static build beneath my fingertips. This set was reserved for another library, one that would make better use of it than Greenwich. But the invisible tug at my core stopped me from placing them in the special black box I’d set aside.
These books were the last pieces of my father. Giving them away felt like giving away a part of myself.
I reached into my pocket, my fingers closing around the pebble my father had saved for me. I reminded myself that not everything of his was gone.
A knock sounded at the door. I crossed the nearly empty shop, expecting my guest. It wasn’t a client, as I’d closed my Tarot reading practice after returning from Foresyth. Perhaps the woman at my door would have an interest in the accounts, but I doubted she’d assign Advisors to the public.
“Dahlia,” greeted the Al-Ahmar when I opened the door. She wore no cape or ceremonial garb this time, only a polished peplum blouse and long black slacks, elegant yet simple. Her curly hair was pulled into a sleek bun, and her eyes, outlined in dark pencil, studied me with a familiar intensity. “You look well.”
“I am,” I replied, meaning it. “Come in. I have the collection ready inside.”
“Thank you,” she said.
I offered her tea, which she declined with a polite smile. “We’re grateful for your donation to the library,” she began, “but there was something else I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Truthfully, I expected as much,” I replied, walking to what used to be my Tarot-reading table and motioning for her to sit. She nodded, taking a seat across from me. My hand reflexively reached for the shawl I once wore with clients, but I stopped myself.
I no longer needed it; I no longer needed a disguise.
“It seems you’ve been busy here,” she said, noting the empty shelves. “Moving out?”
“Foresyth taught me that I can’t live in books forever. It’s time to move on from the past rather than be haunted by it. My mother, Estelle, and I are set to visit Dublin next week,” I said, crossing my legs.
With the Book finally destroyed, a new life had entered my mother, her health all but fully restored. She still had to take frequent breaks, her body not yet as strong as her spirit, but I didn’t mind. I had all the time in the world now.
Estelle was upstairs now, slowly packing our rooms as I sat with the Al-Ahmar. A conversation like this with the Meister would’ve unnerved me a few months ago, but with her, I felt calm. She seemed as at peace with the past as I was learning to become.
“That’s a significant undertaking. I wish everyone could move on as you have,” she replied, her gaze steady, almost assessing. “It’s unfortunate that the Meister couldn’t do the same. He believed old blood magick could restore the House, but really, it was draining it. Each failed ceremony only corrupted the place further.”
“I wish he’d been stopped sooner,” I said, feeling a simmering anger rise I thought I’d buried long ago. I thought I had let go of my anger toward them both—toward Julian for making me chase his ghost, toward my father for suffering in silence for so long.
But sometimes, closure wasn’t a neat conclusion. Sometimes it was a wound that needed time to scab, scar, and heal. But even then, it would always be there underneath the surface. I’d just have to learn to live with it.
“We lost several Council members who sided with him, but we’ve reformed the Council now,” she continued. “Understandably, many were afraid of his powers, but now with the Book gone, I think that type of power has been laid to rest. Our new leadership is dedicated to keeping magickal study separate from practice. We’re an academic institution, after all.”
