The Psychic Next Door

Epilogue

Moving into Polly's house had taken much less time than moving into my last—now destroyed—apartment. I had nearly nothing then, but this time I had even less. I only had the clothes on my back, and Luc had bought those for me today, before he had come to pick me up from the hospital. Now, all it took was me walking through the door and saying, "Honey, I'm home!"

"I know." Luc smiled, sidling up to me, carrying a heavy box. "I'm right behind you. You don't have to yell."

"Who said she was talking to you?" Polly walked across the foyer towards us.

She stepped forward and hugged me like I was a beloved family member she hadn't seen in years. I had never quite realized what a toll this ordeal had had on us until I saw Polly back at home. When we had been living at Luc's apartment, her face had hollowed, her hair had fallen limp, and she'd lost weight—and not in a good way. But now Polly was back to being fresh and full of life; her soft pink skin glowed under the evening sun that streamed in through the door, and her fiery red hair was lush and bouncy again.

I, too, had bounced back. Though I had lost most of my hair—burnt off in the battle with Lillian—I felt more confident than ever; after all, what could scare me after I had faced something out of a nightmare? Even without a single thing in my possession, I felt complete. I felt safe.

Luc looked good, too. He was more beautiful than the day I met him, which I hadn't thought was possible. The stress lines had mostly faded from his face, and there was a calmness there that could only be achieved by the literal lifting of a deadly curse. He walked passed us and dropped the box on the floor with a heavy thunk. He inhaled and looked over the layout of the house, pausing on certain things. It was spotless. There was no trace of the table or the puddles of our blood. It seemed like a completely different place, but he had to remember it from when he had been with Lillian. I wondered how he felt to be living here now. I could still tell there was a sense of discomfort that pervaded, though I was sure it'd fade in time. There was nothing to be afraid of, not anymore.

"Where should I put these books?" Luc asked, finally, tapping the side of the box with his foot. They were the books he had salvaged from what was left of our old apartment building. He had made a stop there after he had picked me up from the hospital. I had watched as he rifled through the debris and unearthed book after book. They all shared the same characteristics: heavy looking, carefully bound by hand in leather or worn cloth, and inscribed with writing I couldn't read. Important spell books, they were the only thing to survive the fire. I supposed that they, too—like the book of protective spells we'd used to finally seal Lillian away—had been protected with a spell to make them impervious to damage.

"Upstairs," Polly said, nodding towards the stairs that stood opposite from the door. "In my room."

"Your room?" I asked. "Then where are you staying?"

"I'm not," she replied quietly.

My mouth fell open in surprise, and Luc stopped mid-bend from picking up the box. "You're not?" I echoed.