Enjoy!

Erik

Epilogue

One Year Later

As Christine carried our daughter Marie in her arms, I carried the letter from Ibrahim and Raoul.

But I wasn't focused on the letter now. I was entirely enraptured by Marie's bright blue eyes that stared up at me. Her mother's eyes. The only feature she'd inherited from me was my black hair, thank God.

We didn't live far from Nadir and Azizah - the Khans - in fact, we lived closer, now. It had been almost a full year since we'd moved out of my father-in-law's apartment and into Ibrahim's former living quarters. He and Raoul had left very shortly after Nadir married his current wife, and it had been a mere two days after this that Vincenzo gave the letter from Philippe de Chagny to the paper.

Gustave, of course, had been sad to see us go. But we were about to have a child, and I had a means to fully support a family - it was time we moved away, though we visited often (just this morning, in fact). The increasing amount Vincenzo visited also meant that living with Gustave was becoming rapidly uncomfortable, as he was yet to feel fully comfortable around my brother. I was hopeful that he'd one day warm up to him, but I was at least grateful to have my brother in my life. And I was happy for him, as well - yes, he still kept his empire of thievery and continued trying to fight against tyranny of the Parisian elite, but he was also using the medical knowledge he was learning from Dr. Beyle to help those of his Alley-Cats who would otherwise be unable to afford a doctor.

We arrived at the Khan household. I knocked on the door. Nadir answered, allowing us inside. On the rug, Reza currently played with a horse toy that had been gifted to him by Grace. And Grace, I'd learned, was doing well. Though Franklin still loathed to send her away for any length of time, she was performing well in school.

Reza, according to Nadir, was learning an additional language from a tutor. English.

He grinned widely when he heard that we had arrived. He asked me to sit on the floor with him to play with his toy. "Give it the voice!" he exclaimed.

I projected my voice onto the horse to make it sound deep and husky. He laughed, and then proclaimed that he would be getting the toy I'd given him in Persia, the violinist, so that I could make the horse sing while the violin played. I felt immense warmth to know that he'd kept it, and still had it now.

We were here for two reasons. First, for Azizah and Christine - and thus Marie and Dilara - to spend time together. Azizah could speak broken French now, and was teaching Dilara to know both languages. The two women helped each other raise the girls, and was overjoyed to know that my daughter would have a friend since birth. She'd have a family who loved her. And she would be spoiled.

So, so spoiled. Christine would grumble and groan at the amount I spoiled Marie. I couldn't wait.

The other reason we were here was because Ibrahim and Raoul, now living in England as roommates in a moderate, unassuming apartment, with different names and changed facial hair (Ibrahim shaved his beard while Raoul grew one), had written to Christine and me. They alternated between sending a letter to the Khan and Perrault household, and we all met once a week to read what they sent. I missed him often, and so did Christine. At least England was closer than Persia - at least, if we visited, it wouldn't be a months-long process in getting there. Nadir said Azizah missed him too - but she, like us all, was happy that he was happy.

The letter detailed a play they'd gone to see, how Ibrahim was progressing with his English, and the fact that they'd taken a page from my book and adopted a cat. Nothing special, really - but I could see how special it was to Ibrahim, just in the way he wrote.

Raoul, of course, was not the only de Chagny to leave France.

Comte Philippe de Chagny did not face legal trouble. He did not go to prison. His lawyers were able to convince the court that, despite the disappearance and therefore presumed death of his brother, there was no way to prove that it was him that wrote this letter. He could not out the assassin without proving that he'd known him, and there was no one else he could truly pin this on who had thousands of francs to spend at a moment's notice. Except, of course, for Ibrahim, who'd also disappeared into thin air.

But there hadn't been quite enough evidence for that, either.

So it was dropped by the courts.

It was not dropped by the papers. Nor was it dropped by common gossip.

Vincenzo's wishes came true: Comte Philippe de Chagny's reputation nosedived overnight. He'd sold the estate and moved across the sea to the Americas. Still wealthy, and therefore still powerful. But no longer in Paris.

My dreams had come true as well.

All of them.

Family.

Normalcy.

Home.

All I'd ever wanted. And it seemed here to stay.

As for the ghost in my mind, he was there. He always would be. But we left each other alone, for the most part. Every once in a while, I would blame him for the pain of my past, and he'd throw a vision my way. But it was tolerable.

It was more than that.

It was freedom. It made room for love.

I no longer felt haunted.

Thank you so much for going on this journey with me! I loved writing this duology, and hope you had as good a time as me!