Epilogue

On Christmas Day, I finally did it. At five o'clock in the morning, while Old St. Nick was making his last rounds, I yanked on my garden galoshes, slipped on my rain slicker, and tromped through the two-day-long thunder shower to the woods, ax in hand. The tree was perfect, slightly-lopsided, heavy-boughed, raindrops pearling as crystal ornaments on the needles. Calling timber to the sheltered birds and forest animals, I cut it down in ten minutes. I was halfway back, dragging my prize to the house, dripping from sweat and rain, when I decided to make a detour. The cemetery was close enough that I could see the rain gleaming on the marble headstones.

Eschewing the safe canopy of the trees, I dropped my bounty and walked out amongst the graves. Apart from the rivers and lakes of rain, the cemetery appeared as untouched and peaceful as it ever had. Thanks to baby Jesus for that.

I stood at the graveside, careful not to step on the soft mound of dirt. I'd grabbed a handful of winter blossoms on my way and placed them on the headstone, the rain rippling down it as a waterfall.

"She's awake, and normal—whatever that means for a vampire. I am relieved. I was worried she might turn out...different. Different isn't bad, but I don't really mean different, do I? She called her kids and Dave. So I guess that's a good thing. She called Neal, too. They've always been so close. They can confide in each other now that they're both...different. We've always been different, haven't we, darling?"

I wiped the tears or rain from my face, the one or both. Who knew? Eric had texted yesterday on Christmas Eve, right before dawn, that my daughter had been reborn. He hadn't called, and neither had Adele. But Neal was keeping me informed.

My eldest was doing remarkably well. Frighteningly, really. After three-days of testing, and the added big, old brain of Alex (who had remained behind to observe the supe clinic, wink, wink, in vampire speak—date my granddaughter and obey Eric's orders to track me—I'd seen him in my woods) Gile had determined that my son would transform into a "regular" were man of nondescript identity, in the same way his uncle—cross my heart—had turned into a werepanther. Everybody in the clinic room and on the water screens had jumped for holly, jolly joy. Melly most of all. Neal was a handful without some extra-extra supernatural traits. We were on tenterhooks for the full moon to see just what "nondescript identity" turned out to be—and were placing bets on whose prediction came closest. My vote was for that Beast of Belle's. Grace was less generous. She'd picked Alf. Neal didn't appreciate the joke. I was just happy to have my granddaughter back and free of a crazy witch's influence.

Neal and his family, and Julianne and her kids, would be the only ones coming for Christmas supper this year. Jennings had driven back to Atlanta to be with his girls, who were splitting the holiday between their dads. That was a valid reason, but I knew it went deeper than custody guidelines. His appearance was the same, and according to Alex, so was his scent, but my son had been impacted in other ways by his journey through a veil and back again. What that difference was, he had chosen to obscure from my mind. Disguising his thoughts had always been easier for him than for me.

To no one's surprise, Adele's husband (widower, the laws were confusing here) and their kids would be with his side of the family. His wife would be in Oklahoma. This wasn't "our year," so I was trying not to take it personally. Even though I had cherished a hope that I would see all my kids. And not for the reasons of death and gore.

This was my first anything without Sam in fifty years. Who would roast the turkey? Who would make the eggnog? Who would fill my stocking? I'd actually gone to the store last night—at one point hiding behind the bread rack from Sheriff Fortenberry—to get stocking stuffers, only to realize I didn't have anyone but myself to shop for. I'd bought enough chocolate bells for the entire Bon Temps marching band, though. I had about half of them left as of two minutes before braving the storm. Because sleep hadn't been in the cards for me for the past couple nights. Vaguely I wondered if it ever would be again.

The rain was letting up some, jetting down as mice and moles instead of cats and dogs. I squinted into the glaze of the rain. My mind must be playing tricks on me. Conjuring up things from the silly phrases I was thinking to keep myself company. As I was about to turn back to my tree, my ears played a trick on me. I flashed back around to see if I could make anything out. Despite the sun still sleeping, the sky was lighter as it sometimes is during thunderstorms. And there was no mistaking it.

I dropped to my knees and held out my arms as the sopping, wet collie bounded into my arms, yelping and licking and wagging its tail. My head rolled back as my eyes crinkled with joy, and I laughed as the dog's rough tongue tickled my skin, wicking the rain from my face.

"Good boy! Good boy!" My cheeks began to tremble from the pain of laugher and smiling. The collie yelped and licked me one final time, spinning in a little jump. His ears perked back and he sat on his haunches, and then very deliberately, nodded his head in the direction of the woods.

Curious, a smile still on my lips, I looked to where he'd nodded, and a warm, summer light washed over me. The storm around me stopped. She emerged from the trees just as she had in my dreams, as a wolf who then rises into an other-worldly beauty. Which was somewhat ironic. She was not a vampire, though her skin was as pale as snow. And yet, it wasn't. In a blink, it was as deep and dark as fresh soil. Or perhaps it was golden as dessert sand. Her gown was fur and then snake skin and then stone. It was all of that and more, just as she was.

"Sweet, Almighty Mother," I whispered.

"Precisely," she replied, her voice the wind through cottonwood leaves, a rush of tinkling sound.

I stood—remembering from somewhere that it was rude to sit when royalty—or in her case—divinity—was near. Or maybe that was just southern manners. I knew a curtsey was always proper, so I did my Gran proud.

"My child told me what you had given in exchange for your son's life."

"Yes." I scratched behind the collie's ears, who had leapt on all fours and was whipping his tail, spraying my slicker. "It was needed."

"Your Fae kin are fickle, I know. They change where the wind seeks to blow."

I nodded—it was true, and I wasn't about to contradict a goddess. Try as I might, though, I couldn't help but think of the other mystical woman, who had stood on this grass, and had also enjoyed her rimes. But that was like saying Pennywise and Rudolph are the same because they both have red noses.

With a smile on her satin mouth, she held out her cupped hands to me—for the moment a shade of apple green—and the rain poured into them as if from an unseen fountain.

"Drink the water from this storm, steeped in the blossom of my flesh, and when you die, no matter how far from now that may be, you can enter your rest with my children and me."

Words failed me. Stunned and awed, I accepted her gift, bowing my head and slurping the sweet liquid from her proffered palms.

"Thank you," I murmured. It tasted delicious." I licked my lips, now silky from her petal skin.

"You are not the first of the Fae to drink from me. Your prince once imbibed my rose water."

"My Great-grandfather?"

"Yes, it is my water which coats his blood and allows him to mask his scent. He can travel here also, but he carries his own realm. He partook in exchange for a gift I requested of him many centuries ago."

My mouth rounded in a delicate oval, and in her rushing voice she granted me permission to ask her which gift she had required.

"To bind his realm with yours, and save that realm of my earth from extinction."

"The stabilization? But that was only ten years ago." And as long as I had known my Great-grandfather, around fifty years, he had been able to conceal his fairy blood. Now I would be able to conceal my fairy blood. Eric. The single thought, that was more of a feeling. And though hundreds of miles away, I knew he'd felt it too. That was all, the melody dwindling once more into the background.

Her laugh chimed as the babble of a brook, inviting me to smile with her. "Humans are so quaint. To think of time as linear when it is circular," the goddess trilled as a jaybird. Her chrome eyes withered curiously. "Though you are neither human nor fae. You are your own. And for that reason, you are not bound to my offering, that is not my way. Capricious as your prince is, he may find another means to bring you to his rest."

"Thank you," I said with a final curtsey, grateful but uncertain that any gift was free. The collie jumped and licked my hand. I wanted him to stay—if not forever, then for the day. (I was getting good with riming.) But his Mother was leaving, and he was sure to follow.

The goddess swiveled as if to depart, her hand of silver resting on Sam's headstone. "My water will mask all gifts of other planes, including your second hearing."

Something like freedom tingled on my fingertips. "I can shut it off? Not just turn it down?"

Her jade eyes closed in a sign of affirmation and the collie barked. A lightening of my very soul rose as the divine stranger floated away and evaporated into the woods, the collie circling at her heels before it also faded into the trees. The rain crashed down upon me again, but I hardly felt the chill.

For the first time in my life I wouldn't need to be alone to know silence. I wouldn't need a vampire to embrace the quiet. My life had been nothing but noise, at times a symphony, at times a cacophony, but always, always noise. The sharp sounds of the last few weeks would echo in my mind forever. Sam had given me a greater gift than a new resting place with him. The Mother and her child had offered me a precious liberty.

Raindrops beaded down my nose, the cold rivulets wreathing my neck, spilling into my slicker. The sun was rising behind the grey mist of the storm, turning the slate to ash. I heard a car pull up in the small parking lot beside the cemetery. An old man I didn't recognize slowly climbed out of his car, an umbrella in one grizzled hand and a bouquet of holly and angel's breath in the other. Memories and grief soddened his mind as the rain soddened the grass . "Silence," I thought—and in that moment, all was quiet. Not blocked, or dimmed, or washed out. Noiseless. Absolute and still.

The man smiled sadly as he passed. I read his face, but not his mind. His loved one's grave was only a plot away from where I stood. He laid his Christmas gift on the headstone before him and bowed his head in a moment of silence. Eagerly, I joined him in his unknown prayer. We grieved together yet apart. This must be what solace feels like. And I remembered, fleetingly, what it was to know peace.

"Merry Christmas, Sam," I muttered and turned around to bring my Christmas tree home. A home I shared with none but myself.

End Part One

Note: Alrighty! Thanks again for coming along with me. I cannot say when I will start on Part Two. I shouldn't start on it until all the other craziness in my life settles down. I make no guarantees. When I'm on fire, I'm fast (as you can tell...I'm also an insomniac with a nursing baby...so most of this story has been composed in the wee hours as the wee one keeps me up.) Cheers! Stay safe and healthy, and kind.