Fantastical

Epilogue Commotion

Nine months later…

I heard the commotion outside, my head came up from the book I was reading and I saw Clarabelle holding my sleeping, dark-headed three month old son, Hayden Noctorno Hawthorne of the House of Hawthorne, heir to the Kingdom of Hawkvale and the city-state of Bellebryn.

I totally dug my son’s title as any proud mother of a future king was wont to do.

I saw Clarabelle’s head tipped to the side and her sightless eyes were aimed at the window facing the sea. My eyes went there too but I could see nothing but emerald green waters and large galleons floating.

The commotion was coming from the street which was on the opposite side of the house, a location we could not see.

Aggie hopped excitedly on my knee and I looked down at him.

“Chirpity, chirp, chirp,” he said which meant, “Something’s happening, Cora.”

“I know, Aggie,” I whispered then I looked at Clarabelle who instinctively had pulled my son protectively closer to her chest and her head had turned to me. “Is something happening today, Clarabelle?” I asked.

“You are princess of our city, my dear,” she reminded me with a kind smile. “Do you know of something happening?”

I shook my head and since she couldn’t see me doing it, I said, “No. I –”

I stopped speaking abruptly when I heard the door downstairs fly open, crash back on its hinges and then loud, heavy footsteps intermingled with light, clumsy ones were running up the stairs.

Standing as I gave Aggie my finger and he jumped on it, I turned alertly to the door while positioning myself between it, Clarabelle and my son all the while adrenalin flooded my frame.

Since my return, we’d had good times… no great times, months of them. Sunny days, family, friends, the safe delivery of the next heir to the throne which heralded parties and revelry all through Bellebryn and Hawkvale (of which I didn’t partake, seeing as I’d just had a kid and was exhausted) but it was all good stuff.

The only pall was that I didn’t get to share it with Mom, Dad and Phoebe but the rest was so good, I could live with even that.

Still, whatever that commotion was that led to someone racing up the stairs didn’t bode good things and I hoped I didn’t have to assume warrior princess mode considering I had no weapon, limited experience, some time had elapsed since I’d wielded daggers and therefore I was a little rusty.

On this thought, Blanche (fortunately not a threat) suddenly filled the door, her much bigger now toddler at her hip (in fact, the kid should be on his feet, he could walk, just not steadily which was why I figured she was hauling him around, due to her haste), her five year old’s hand clutched in hers. Such was her dash, he was swinging in her grip, unable to stop himself as his mother came to a dead halt.

“The sergeant at arms is heading this way, my princess. You’re needed at the castle,” she announced, my heart clenched because I was never “needed at the castle”. My son needed me, my husband needed me and Perdita, every once in awhile, needed me. I had a good life, a beautiful life. My time was my own. I was a princess who did my princess gig the way I saw fit (which was the way Tor had finally quit bitching about and just let me be and that was to say, friendly and open and often out amongst “my people”).

I highly doubted Perdita needing to discuss the week’s menus (which we’d agreed two days ago) was what sent Algernon off to get me. If Perdita needed me, she usually waited until I got home if I wasn’t home already.

Therefore, I wasted no time, turned instantly to take my son from Clarabelle, lifting my hand so Aggie could perch on my shoulder.

Confirming Blanche’s announcement, a loud banging could be heard from downstairs with a shouted, “Princess Cora! Your prince requires you at the castle immediately!”

Algernon.

And it was Tor who needed me.

Hells bells. What was happening?

Clarabelle lifted Hayden to me, I took him from her and he fussed in his sleep for about two seconds as the transfer was made before he settled.

My baby was a good baby, quiet and content most of the time, he let it be known in a weirdly commanding way when he was hungry or wanted to be changed (he got this from his father, I decided). But mostly he was happy to take in his surroundings, although, that said, there was a weirdness about that too considering, since birth, not kidding, he was alert, almost watchful, as if he could see, sense and process all that was going on around him.

Like I said, it was weird but still, it was cool.

I tucked him close to me, bent quickly to kiss Clarabelle’s cheek, murmuring words of farewell, and then straightened and hustled toward Blanche to whom I did the same thing.

Then Hayden, Aggie and I shuffled around Blanche and her son who were moving out of our way so we could quickly leave the room. I headed down the stairs, seeing my personal guard, Geraint, standing at the side of the open door with Algernon in its frame.

Since before Hayden was born, my prince, taking no chances, decreed that if I left the castle and Tor wasn’t available then Geraint went with me.

Geraint was one of Tor’s warriors.

No, strike that, according to Tor, he was the best of Tor’s warriors, tall, broad, muscled, dark blond hair, light brown eyes and entirely forbidding. When I met him, he looked so ferocious, so capable of being all things warrior, I was thinking he would not like his new duties of looking after a woman and child.

I was wrong.

Sure, he wasn’t talkative. He also wasn’t friendly (at all). He was broody and intense.

But he took his responsibilities seriously. He was guarding the future queen and the future (future) king of the realm. This was serious business and he communicated that in every action, every move, every tilt of his head or glide of his gaze. I never saw him when he was not fully armed (that was to say, sword at his back, daggers at both sides of his waist and another knife shoved into the side of his right boot). And I never saw him looking tired, distracted or bored.

Never.

Including now.

“Is anything wrong?” I asked when I was halfway down the stairs.

“We need to get you to your prince,” Algernon answered, his eyes glued to me and mine went to Geraint.

“Geraint?” I called when I got to the bottom of the steps.

“Swift,” he growled.

Geraint, by the way, didn’t do anything but growl and when he did it was usually monosyllabic words. Sometimes he’d string two or three monosyllabic words together but this was rare.

I did not know why he wasn’t very communicative but, considering the amount of time I spent with him, I had attempted to coax this information out of him then, when that didn’t work, pry it out of him. That also didn’t work so I gave up on him and asked Tor.

Tor’s response was slightly more informative but not by much.

“War is war, sweets, and most things that need to be done during war for any soldier are not enjoyable,” he explained then his eyes held mine and I saw his were somber when he went on. “And then there are things that need to be done during war by some soldiers that are even less enjoyable. Geraint was my warrior who did those things.”

I decided, after getting this explanation, that I didn’t need further information.

Therefore, as I did whenever Geraint deigned to speak (or, more accurately, growl), I did what I was told.

I hastened out the door and saw that Algernon was not alone. There was a small guard (if twenty could be considered small) and this did not give me a good feeling since I had never, not once, had a guard of any number except one (Geraint). My feeling got worse when they moved instantly to flank me all around, Geraint taking point, Algernon walking close to my side.

I did not quibble. Instead, with the guard, my son and I moved swiftly up the cobbled streets to the castle, through the gates and I sucked in breath and pulled my sleeping son even closer to my chest as I saw what I saw filling the vast courtyard of my home.

Soldiers…

No.

Warriors.

Hundreds of them. All on horses. All with long, black hair plaited or bunched down their backs, wearing pants made of hides, shirts made of hides, swords at a slant at their backs, knives at their belts, boots on their feet, their dark eyes, fierce brown-skinned faces and immensely huge and muscular bodies all on obvious alert.

They looked like a tribe of giant Native Americans without the feathers and such.

And I knew instantly they were Korwahk.

What the heck?

We had, of course, sent several missives to Circe but we had also not had any communication in return. And nothing we said in our letters would lead to a squadron of gorgeous but frightening warriors taking up the courtyard.

As my gaze moved from the Korwahk, I saw standing on the steps to the castle a motley crew of about a dozen men wearing shirts, breeches, boots and they were also armed. Motley they might have been but they were also all handsome and well-built, just rough around the edges. They, too, were obviously on alert.

And lastly, there was a phalanx of about fifty soldiers opposite the Korwahk. These men were mounted and looked to be from Hawkvale except the colors of the Vale (as well as Bellebryn) were blue and green and those soldiers were wearing red and gold which meant they were from somewhere else.

I quit looking around as Geraint led the way to the steps. I held Hayden close, my guard peeled off and Algernon guided me up the steps to the top where Tor was striding out the front door.

My heart settled at seeing him then skipped at the look on his handsome face.

Yes, if the guard didn’t say it and the courtyard filled with warriors didn’t say it, Tor’s face said it.

Something was wrong.

“Your grace,” Algernon muttered, being far more formal than usual, likely due to the huge audience he had, before he dipped his chin respectfully, lifted his hand silently for Aggie to hop on (and Aggie, clearly feeling the vibe, did this without even a chirp) and then Algernon fell back soundlessly.

Without a word, Tor expertly pulled Hayden out of my arms, tucked him to the side of his chest in the curve of his own arm and wrapped his other arm around my shoulders, quickly escorting us into the castle.

It was safe to say Tor adored his son. Considering his days were filled doing prince things and mine were filled doing princess things (which was to say, whatever the hell I wanted to do and what I wanted to do was be a Mom so I spent all my time doing that even when I was doing other things too), Tor had decreed in the nights, he got Hayden. This, of course, also came with me being around (which was also a Tor edict but I didn’t quibble about that either seeing as being with my husband and son was where I wanted to be anyway) but if Hayden was awake, Tor was holding him and playing with him. When Hayden needed to be put down to sleep, Tor took him to his crib. Even if Hayden needed to be changed, Tor did that too.

He was totally a hands-on Dad.

Something which I liked, like, a lot.

I could definitely say that my hot husband went off-the-charts hot when he was with his son.

Definitely.

It was also safe to say that Tor was relieved my pregnancy was over. Although I had an easy one, some morning sickness just after we arrived back from my world, but that was it, my labor and delivery was not Tor’s happiest memory even if the end result was spectacular (what could I say? – our son was gorgeous).

Actually, it wasn’t that bad, although the labor lasted for eight hours which definitely sucked. But the midwife explained that amount of time was not unusual and the delivery didn’t take long at all (though it felt, at the time, like it took freaking years).

My prince, however, did not like to see me in pain and since he didn’t leave my side from start to finish, he had hours of it, just like me. Furthermore, his father had lost three wives, his mother had died while having him, my mother nearly died while having my sister and my sister did die. Therefore, my cries, moans, whimpers and, eventually, shouts were pure torture to him and he did not hide it. Through it, I did my best to make him understand it was all natural but considering I was going through labor and having a baby without fun stuff like drugs, I wasn’t very successful in these endeavors.

I didn’t like that he so clearly suffered right along with me (maybe, if it could be believed, he’d suffered more).

But still, I loved him all the more for it.

And although relieved my pregnancy was over, that didn’t mean at his earliest opportunity after Hayden made his entrance into this world, Tor didn’t go about another attempt, or, I should say, spectacularly going about a number of regular attempts (as usual) to get me that way again.

When we were out of earshot and up the first four of the curving, marble stairs, I whispered, “Honey, what’s –?”

He cut me off, eyes forward, arms still engaged in cradling his son and holding me close, “We’ve had disturbing news, my love.”

Damn.

“What’s that?” I asked and Tor didn’t answer until we were at the top of the stairs and several feet down the wide hall.

There, he stopped me and curled me into his front so my son, my prince and me were all in a close huddle.

This, normally, would make me feel great. At the troubled look in Tor’s beautiful blue eyes, I didn’t feel great.

I lifted a hand and rested it on the wall of his hard chest just as I slid my other arm around his waist in a successful effort to make our huddle closer.

“Frey Drakkar and Apollo Ulfr of Lunwyn and King Lahn of Korwahk are all here,” he told me and I blinked.

I knew of Lunwyn and I knew of Korwahk. In fact, I knew quite a bit about both considering much had happened in Lunwyn (the icy country to the far north of the continent where Hawkvale was), the former Middleland (which had been its own country until a recent war meant it reverted back to Lunwyn) and, obviously, Korwahk. Tales had spread widely of what had gone down in Lunwyn, Middleland and Korwahk and all of this had something directly or indirectly to do with the now deposed and really not well-liked King Baldur of the former Middleland who was currently in exile on some island somewhere.

I also knew of these places because, obviously, Circe of my world was the Korwahk Queen.

“Why are they here?” I asked.

He took in breath through his nose but didn’t lose eye contact before he started, “Firstly, I have just received the news that Frey, who is a long time friend of mine, is wed to the Ice Princess of Lunwyn.”

I nodded, knowing this including the fact that Frey Drakkar was a friend of Tor’s and also knowing he sounded like one seriously cool dude considering he commanded dragons (awesome!) and elves (also awesome!) and he was like a Viking or something to boot. Further, everyone had heard of him and the Princess of Lunwyn considering their love match was a tale told far and wide seeing as their marriage was arranged and yet, within months, they were clearly, obviously and unguardedly head over heels in love.

Tor went on, “That isn’t the news, Cora, the news is, I learned from Frey that Princess Sjofn, he calls her Finnie,” his arm gave me a squeeze and his voice dipped low, “she is of your world.”

I blinked and felt my lips part.

Then I whispered, “No joke?”

Some of the intensity in his eyes shifted as his lips twitched and he whispered back, “No joke, love.”

“Wow,” I breathed.

Cool!

He gave me another squeeze and the intensity came back into his eyes as he continued, “You will meet her very soon. As you will meet Circe, who came with Dax Lahn. They’re all in my study.”

This time, my mouth dropped open.

Cool!

Tor kept talking, “They do not come with good tidings, Cora.”

My mouth snapped shut and my heart squeezed.

Then I whispered, “What?”

His head dipped closer as his arm held me and our son closer and he said gently, “Those who hold magic in Korwahk and Lavinia of Lunwyn, a very powerful witch, received word from the gods. These were promptly communicated to Dax Lahn and Frey with all due haste.”

Word from the gods? The gods of this world talked to people?

I had no chance to ask this but Tor answered it anyway. “This is highly unusual, in fact, I have never heard of this happening before, my love, not ever.”

Oh boy.

Tor kept going. “Not knowing the others had received like communications, due to what was communicated, they all immediately moved to come here to meet with me to form an alliance at the same time sending out several scouts to ascertain if the information the gods communicated is correct.”

“What information?”

Tor did not hesitate to reply. “The information that Baldur has escaped his island and aligned with Minerva and two malevolent witches of Hawkvale. They have seized Cora, the Exquisite for reasons we do not currently know and they are very close to instigating some nefarious plan, the results of which they hope to achieve, we also do not know.”

I stared at him as my body got tight.

Then I asked, “Was the information correct?”

He held my eyes and said carefully, “The one scout who returned, a Korwahk warrior, confirmed it was.”

The one scout?

Oh my God.

“Tor,” I whispered, pressing closer to him and our still sleeping son.

“These witches are known, Cora,” he told me softly. “They are not good women. They have been watched and it is known they have been amassing power for decades. We are not unaware of this situation.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes, love, it is. What is not good is that we have been taken unaware by their recent movements which were entirely covert. Further, we have no idea what they intend to do, we have no idea why they have taken Cora, the allegiances they have made are more than a little concerning, including Baldur, who was not a good man before by any stretch of the imagination but who now more than likely has vengeance on his mind, and, lastly, they hold massive power.”

I closed my eyes.

“Sweets, eyes,” Tor whispered so I opened them. “Lavinia of Lunwyn is also very powerful. So is Frey, the power at his command is beyond anything considering he controls the dragons and commands the elves. And lastly, Lavinia has called to a witch of your world, a woman named Valentine, a woman Lavinia says is the most powerful witch she’s ever seen. She is also a woman who has agreed, for payment, to help.”

“Well that’s good too, isn’t it?” I semi-repeated.

Tor nodded.

I slightly relaxed.

Tor kept going, “Over the months since our return from your world, I have also received many reports that Minerva is weakened, significantly. The power it takes to move beings between the different worlds as well as the armies of vickrants and toilroys she was forced to create when she was playing with us has reduced her to her weakest in centuries.”

I relaxed a bit more and whispered, “Good.”

“Further,” Frey continued, “my warriors have had years of peace but they are warriors. Even in peace, they train and keep sharp. And they know battle, they also know triumph. They, too, are formidable.”

I relaxed more and nodded.

Tor wasn’t done. “And Frey’s men are also highly trained in a variety of ways, including using daggers, bows and swords but also cunning and stealth.”

I sighed, relaxed even more and nodded yet again.

Tor still wasn’t done. “And Frey’s cousin, Apollo, is a revered strategist.”

“So we’re good,” I whispered and I felt him still so I instantly went back to not relaxed.

“I fear, sweets, we face war and in war, until victory is achieved, you never make the mistake of thinking you are…” he hesitated then finished, “good.”

Damn.

His head dipped so his forehead was touching mine and he murmured, “I do not wish to concern you but I do need to prepare you.”

I sucked in my lips and nodded again, my forehead rolling against his, his arm gave me a squeeze and he lifted his head an inch but held my eyes.

“It does not escape me, Cora, or the men in my study, that we are all married to women from your world, our feelings for our mates run unusually deep and the loss of any one of you would be devastating not only to us, your husbands, but also to each of our countries. For the gods of the countries of Korwahk and Lunwyn to speak to the witches of these places and warn them of what is happening in Hawkvale, instruct them to come to our aid…” he trailed off.

I held my breath.

Tor finished, “Frey, Lahn and I, as well as Apollo and Lavinia, feel this is not a coincidence.”

I let my breath out on the guess, “Minerva isn’t done with us.”

He confirmed my guess. “Minerva isn’t done with us. In fact, sweets, I would assume our victory over her and her carefully laid plans, the amount of power she had to use and still not win, is sticking in her throat. And Baldur is not done with Frey, Finnie, Circe and Lahn, all of whom he holds deep antipathy for for a variety of reasons. But there is more, this is larger than both Minerva and Baldur, we just do not know how large it is or what, if anything, it has to do with you, Circe and Finnie.”

Great. Just great.

“So, what now?” I asked.

He studied me a moment.

Then he said, “Now, you meet your compatriots, their husbands, their children and then you amuse the women, as only you can do, while the men prepare for war.”

Great. Just great.

Still, on the bright side, I was looking forward to meeting Circe and this new chick, Finnie. Spending time with folks from home would be awesome.

And anyway, I was a princess and, someday, I would be queen, I was also a warrior’s wife (and a part-time warrior princess not too long ago) so I had to suck it up.

Not every minute could be a fairytale even in a fantasyland, I’d learned that the hard way.

So, I sucked in breath, pulled slightly away from my husband, bent to kiss my (still! he was such a good baby) sleeping son’s forehead, squared my shoulders and through this, I held his gaze.

Then I said, “All right, baby, let’s go do this. I’ll amuse the girls so you boys can plan to kick some bad guy ass.”

Tor stared at me a moment before his eyes warmed with a light that could only be described as proud right before he started to chuckle.

Then he leaned in, brushed his lips against mine, turned and guided me to his study.

The double doors were opened and we walked right through, took two steps in then we stopped.

And, for my part, I stared.

And I did this because there were three men in that room that were hotter than hot. Tor, of course, beat them all in the hot department (mostly because he was my husband) but not by much.

Lahn was huge, dark, fierce and, I will repeat, huge. Frey was only slightly less huge and fierce, dark-haired, brown-green-eyed (or green-brown-eyed, I couldn’t say which, exactly, but I could say I could happily spend some time trying to figure it out, up close, if I already didn’t have my own hot guy who ruled a city-state and would eventually rule a nation) and g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s gorgeous. And Apollo was also slightly less huge but no less fierce looking than Lahn, green-eyed (definitely green, gorgeous green, unbelievable green) and h-a-n-d-s-o-m-e handsome.

And there were also three women and considering their men held two of them closely, protectively, the same as Tor was right then holding me, I knew which ones were Finnie (white-blonde hair, ice blue eyes, stunning, wearing breeches, boots and an old-fashioned shirt, her husband cradling a baby just like mine was doing with ours) and Circe (gold hair, gold eyes, beautiful, wearing a kickass sarong (a sarong!) sandals, a thin-knit, short-sleeved sweater type thing, really cool jewelry and she and her big husband were cradling babies, his swaddled baby had blonde hair, hers had black).

And after taking them all in, including Lavinia of Lunwyn who wasn’t claimed in a close cinch by a hot goy, it was Circe whose eyes I caught.

And when I did, I smiled and whispered, “Harold says hi.”

Then I watched her remarkable eyes get bright and her big, badass, hide-shirted, hide-pants wearing, sword bearing, knife belt sporting husband pulled her even more protectively closer as she smiled back.

Valentine

“You are here,” she heard the deep, appealing male voice say, her body turned and her eyes went from the beautiful vista of the glassy dark sea and its tall-masted ships to the beautiful vision of the tall, dark man who formed out of the shadows of the castle beyond him.

“I am here,” she agreed to the obvious.

He stopped on the balcony six feet from her.

“I have waited some time,” he informed her and the witch Valentine Rousseau knew by the tone of his voice he did not like waiting.

“I know you have,” she said softly.

“And I have heard no word,” he told her something else she knew and something else it was clear he did not like.

“Ulfr,” she whispered, not believing she was going to do this but she was going to do this so before she could stop herself from doing it, she said quickly, “I will return your payment.”

He stared at her, his green eyes gleaming even in the dark night illuminated only by the soft lanterns of the city.

Finally, he guessed, “She is dead in your world too.”

Valentine shook her head.

Ulfr’s brows rose. “Then you have not found her?”

“I have found her,” Valentine said carefully and she watched his big, heavenly body grow taut which made it even more heavenly.

“Then, what –?” he started.

“In my world,” she quickly interrupted him, “Ilsa is married.”

It must be said, as she watched his heavenly body grow more taut, Valentine found it a fascinating show.

He remained silent and it wasn’t until he spoke again that she understood he did this to consider his options.

Then he declared the one he’d chosen. “This matters not.”

It was a surprising, dictatorial choice but Valentine couldn’t help but think he was right, it didn’t matter. With her eyes beholding the specimen of man before her, Valentine knew a woman could love a man in her world and be taken from him and offered to this man and she’d eventually forget her other man existed. She knew this even though she knew very little about Apollo Ulfr. What she did know was the depth of his capacity for love and her experience was only three men had its equal and they were all of this parallel world and they were all currently residing in this castle.

Unfortunately for him, the one woman he wanted, it was Valentine’s considered opinion, was the one woman in both their worlds he had no hope of winning.

“It does,” Valentine told him cautiously.

“It does not,” he returned immediately.

“Ulfr –” she started.

“Bring her to me,” he ordered.

“Ulfr, it’s my understanding you are at the cusp of war,” she reminded him.

“This is my concern, not yours.”

Valentine took in a delicate breath.

Then she told him what he needed to know.

“Ulfr, Ilsa of my world is married –”

He cut her off, “You have already told me that and –”

She interrupted him in turn, “To you.”

Ulfr’s body again grew tight and she heard him pull in a sharp breath.

Then he whispered, “To me?”

“To the you of my world,” Valentine explained.

Ulfr made no response.

Valentine continued, “This is not unusual. In fact, it’s highly usual.”

Ulfr’s eyes moved to study the sea but she knew he didn’t see it.

Then they came back to her. “This also matters not.”

Love.

Goddess, but this man could love.

Blinded by it.

“Ulfr –”

“It matters not,” he repeated.

“Ulfr,” Valentine leaned in, “it does. And it does not because she is deeply in love with her husband as you are with your dead wife. It does because the you of my world is not a good man. He is a bad man. A very bad man. Foul. Selfish. Criminal. Cruel. And the reason I had trouble finding her was because she is on the run from him. She will not want you, Ulfr. She will not want anything to do with you. If you bring her here to spend time with you, she’ll –”

“Bring her to me,” he demanded again.

She took a step toward him and, uncharacteristically losing control in defense of a fellow female (or at all), she hissed, “You must allow me to explain. He, the other you, who looks just like you and sounds just like you has not been good to her and when I say that, Ulfr, I mean in every way a man cannot be good to a woman. She fears him and she hates him with an intensity it will be impossible for her to grow to –”

“Bring her to me.”

“Ulfr!” she snapped and he leaned in threateningly, so threateningly, even Valentine reared back.

She might be a witch, a powerful one, but he was a man, a large one and a powerful one and she was human, not immune to being hurt and he was a man who knew what he wanted and would do anything to get it.

“This is my concern, not yours,” he growled. “Bring… her… to me.”

Valentine held his jade eyes.

Then she leaned back.

Then she whispered, “So be it.”

Apollo Ulfr leaned back too, his body relaxed and he stated, “Tomorrow. I will tell you the time and the place.”

Valentine nodded.

Ulfr did not nod back. He turned on his boot and walked away.

It was a good show and, even after that scene, Valentine enjoyed it.

Then, when she lost sight of him, she sighed delicately and turned back to the sea. Moving to the balustrade, she rested her hands on it and felt rather than saw the other presence who had been hiding in the shadows move out of them and come to her side.

“He will not succeed,” Valentine informed the sea.

“Love is powerful,” Lavinia of Lunwyn whispered in return.

“Indeed, love is everything but hate is the other side to that coin and it holds equal power.”

“Mm,” Lavinia murmured then asked softly, “But the distance around that coin is not far, is it, Valentine?”

This was true. The coin of love and hate flipped and it did so regularly.

Still.

Valentine stared at the sea and, again uncharacteristically, she felt unease therefore she shared quietly, “Ilsa is broken.”

“As is our Apollo,” Lavinia replied and that was the truth.

“But he does not love the Ilsa of my world. He loves a dead Ilsa,” Valentine reminded her friend.

Valentine knew Lavinia turned her head to look at her when she spoke again. “Three times, Valentine, three, love has spanned universes. You’ve seen it happen once and you know of the other two times. He loves a dead woman, he mourns her, unabated. But that does not mean he cannot find love again, a different love with a different woman who is yet the same. He has known beauty but his full story is untold. And she has not known beauty. Who is to say that he cannot guide her to beauty? A man such as him is capable of many feats, even those that seem impossible.” She paused and whispered, “Love has its own magic, Valentine, you know that too.”

Valentine looked to the other witch. “You don’t know how bad it is. I don’t see good things. He pines for a dead woman. The Ilsa of my world will not thank him for tearing her from her world, no matter that that world holds nothing but terror and flight, and forcing her to live with a man who physically is, even though he is not, a man she fears and detests all the while he wants nothing but his dead wife back, not her. She is not the Ilsa he loves and that is all he will see, until he comes to understand she is not the woman he so desperately wants returned and then what? Disappointment, if she is lucky. Anger, if she is not.”

“There are other possible outcomes,” Lavinia returned.

“Indeed, but there are also those two.”

Lavinia held her eyes.

Then she smiled and whispered, “We shall see.”

That was the truth too.

Valentine sighed and wondered why she cared.

She came to no conclusions; it was simply that, unfortunately, she did.

Then she looked back to the sea.

Then she said softly, “I have work to do.”

“You do, indeed,” Lavinia agreed. “As do I.”

She did. Troubled times lay ahead and if Valentine was not taking back trunks of jewels and gold, she would have nothing to do with it.

Valentine did not have a good feeling about what was to come for this universe.

Not at all.

And she’d been trapped in that universe during war and she had not enjoyed it even a little bit.

That said, the work she had to do at that moment didn’t have to do with the troubles this world faced. It also didn’t have to do with Apollo Ulfr and his blind devotion to a dead woman.

It had to do with something else.

Something she was not doing for payment.

Something she was doing just for fun.

And also, since she seemed to be growing soft of heart recently (also unfortunately), something she was doing for love.

Then again, love was everything so she forgave herself her soft heart… this time.

Valentine turned back to her friend. “Until tomorrow.”

Lavinia lifted her chin and smiled.

Valentine lifted both hands then, moments later, in a mist of green, she disappeared.

She reappeared not in New Orleans, her home.

No, she reappeared in a living room in Seattle.

“Jesus, fuck! What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?” the man walking out of his kitchen carrying a bottle of beer and spying her in his living room burst out.

Valentine allowed herself an indulgent moment to study the extremely handsome Noctorno Hawthorne of her world.

Then she said words he would undoubtedly understand immediately.

“Cora needs you.”

His powerful body went statue-still and he glared at her but behind his blue eyes he was alert and he didn’t even attempt to veil his concern.

Then he transferred his glare to the ceiling.

Then he muttered, “Fuck.”

At that, finally, Valentine smiled her cat’s smile.

####