Epilogue

Mark hurried up the stairs of the office building on Franklin Street. He skipped every other step in his eagerness to reach the law office on the fifth floor. His haste was partly fueled by his desire to tell Cole about his latest findings and to hear if he was right this time, that the story he worked on involved the strange world of magic. Ever since that night in the top-floor suite at the Wyndham, two weeks ago, the young journalist had developed a keen interest in the hidden realm Cole knew so well. He no longer cared that he was earning a living writing for one of the city's most disreputable tabloids. After all, how often does one get the chance to tell the truth about matters so insane nobody will believe the story for a second -- and not get dragged off in a straitjacket? Thus, he had visited Cole's office repeatedly, for background information or to check if one of his leads would take him once more down the path of magic. So far, nothing had panned out.

Truth be told, in most of those cases he had known the answer before he went to see Cole. But they formed the perfect excuse to visit the firm and say hello to Heather, something he thoroughly enjoyed.

Today, though, he was certain he was on to something. The story simply made no logical sense -- and that meant something illogical was involved. Something like magic. Plus, he had decided that today would be the day: today he would ask her out. And that was the other reason why Mark did not have the patience to wait for the elevator but ran up the flights of stairs until he was gasping for air.

As he approached the office, he frowned. He tried to breathe shallowly so his own gasps weren't drowning out the worrisome noises that drifted through the door. A cry, then the sound of crockery breaking. Mark ran the last few paces and threw open the door. He had but a second to take in the scene before him -- Cole standing in his shirt sleeves in one corner, shards of porcelain near his feet; Heather in the opposite corner, her face flushed and strands of hair having escaped her neat ponytail -- when something blue came hissing straight at him.

Mark ducked; but he was too late. The ping-pong-sized ball hit his left shoulder and flared in a burst of pain.

"Ow!" he cried out. His nose wrinkled at the stink of burned cloth. He peered at his shoulder. There was a neat, round hole the size of a silver dollar in his shirt. The skin he could see through the hole was an angry red. "Ow," he said again. "What the hell are you two doing?"

"Target practice," Cole said. "I'm teaching Heather how to deflect tiny fireballs." He was struggling to suppress a grin and Mark scowled at him.

"And I look like a bull's-eye?"

"Oh no, Mark, not at all!" Heather had recovered from her initial shock and was rushing to his side, full of apologies and blushing a deep red. "I am so sorry! I did not mean to hit you. It's just..." She looked at the ground shamefacedly.

"She doesn't have much control over her power yet," Cole finished her sentence. "Don't worry, it'll come in time. You did not learn to ride a bicycle on the first try, did you?"

"I guess not," Heather mumbled. To Mark she added, " I'm really sorry. Come, sit, and I'll get some lotion to put on that."

A few minutes later, she had pushed the ruined shirt down his arm, baring his shoulder, and was gently rubbing it with some menthol-scented ointment. She was standing close enough that he could smell her hair -- it scented of herbal shampoo -- and her fingers were cool on his skin. Mark closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of her touch, and decided that perhaps getting a little scorched wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Cole interrupted his daydreaming. "So, what did you want me to look at today?"

"Oh, yes." Mark reached one-handed for his notebook and clumsily flipped it open. "Something near Temple Terrace," he said, and talked for several minutes about his findings. "This is the real thing, isn't it?" he asked when he was finished.

Cole's face told him the answer before the other man spoke. "Yes. Sounds like the work of a darklighter."

"What's a darklighter?" Mark wondered if there would ever be an end to the many kinds of evil beings Cole seemed to know.

Cole explained quickly, then added, "I better go and show him it's a bad idea to mess around in Tampa."

"I?" Heather said. She put the lid back on the pot of salve and Mark sighed, pulling up his shirtsleeve. "Don't you mean, we?"

Cole blinked, a little taken aback. "Uhm..."

"That's why you've been teaching how to use my powers, isn't it?" Heather continued. "To use them against those creatures? Besides," a rueful smile lit up her face and Mark felt his heart flutter, "I'd much rather practice on those nasty beings than on your coffee mugs or poor Mark here."

Cole contemplated for a moment. "Okay," he said at last. "But only when I've determined it is safe to reveal you as a witch. Understand?"

"All right, boss," Heather agreed happily. She grabbed her purse and skipped out of the door. Mark was about to follow when Cole held him back.

"You should ask her," he said with a knowing grin. "Can't have you walking in here all the time, distracting her with excuses. Don't worry, she'll say yes."

And with those words, he disappeared through the door. With a laugh and a light heart, Mark followed.

--END--