Everything was ashes in the end—at least if you planned it right. And this time, she was going to get it right. Nicole stirred the fire, watching as the clothbound cover inside the trash barrel finally caught. Despite her commitment to her wife Angie and to this weekend, regrets swirled like smoke as the book’s pages flared. Nicole would never use it again, not in praise to the Old Ones nor in sacrifice.
Though really, the two were often the same.
Her melancholy was interrupted by a crunch of gravel, punctuated by the slam of a door. She turned toward the driveway, wiping the ash from her hand against her pants as Libby called out, “Goddamn it, mom, I’ve told you before to stop burning your garbage! Whatever that was, you could have recycled or composted it!”
Libby’s exasperated sigh was something Nicole had been hearing since her daughter’s teenage years. It felt nostalgic here at the end.
“How’s Angie?” Libby asked, as though they’d had the same thought.
“The doc is about finishing up,” Nicole said, leaning the metal stick against the barrel. “Angie called it… a final consult. The rest of the guests will come tomorrow. Not many—some old coworkers, a few friends. She decided to keep it small.” She swallowed thickly.
Nicole had worked so hard to make sure she and Angie would have more time, and it hadn’t mattered. Tears welled up again. What good was unspeakable dark power if it couldn’t be used to save your loved ones? Years of potential life together, all those future parties and laughter and joy had collapsed down to this last gathering. The knowledge was a coal in her throat.
Libby nodded, reaching out to squeeze Nicole’s arm. “What can I do to help?”
“Bring your bag in—and then the spare room needs fresh linens.”
“Do you have lunch figured out?” Libby asked, turning back to her car as Nicole wiped her eyes with a hasty knuckle.
“I called Capellini’s,” Nicole said.
“You always did like them the best for weddings,” Libby said, following her up to the house. Inside, Nicole took in the warm glow of the living room lamps and the couch she and Angie had spent so long choosing. The one they’d spent so many evenings on together—Nicole with the event binder from her latest client on her lap or Angie’s head, both of them watching the snow fall over the pines. Their house in the middle of nowhere, an hour from the nearest town. Love and anguish washed through Nicole again.
Libby left her shoes on the rack by the door, then dropped her bag beside it. “Let me know what I can do once I’ve got the bed made up,” she called. A tiny tendril of warmth curled through Nicole, and she resisted the urge to follow her daughter and pull her into a hug. But Nicole didn’t want to worry Libby, so she stayed put.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” Nicole said, full of dark promise. Libby chuckled. As Libby vanished through the bedroom door, Nicole sighed. She was going to ask more of Libby than was probably fair, but there was nothing for it. It was Angie’s last weekend on earth, and there was nothing Nicole wouldn’t do to make things right for her wife.
And that started with confiscating her daughter’s phone. Nicole rummaged through the backpack left by Libby’s shoes, turning the phone entirely off before hiding it. Then she went into the kitchen to do one last count on clean plates and the good napkins. Capellini’s would drop off the food and chafing dishes, and there would be staff to pack up leftovers. Nicole had booked them for after the funeral, as well, grateful that the owner understood dealing with hard practicalities.
Then Nicole went upstairs. The doctor was laughing at some joke Angie had made, though the tight lines around his jaw suggested it was for Angie’s benefit. He nodded at Nicole and then beckoned her out to the hallway.
“I’m not sure how she’s hanging on,” he said softly. “I would say it’s a miracle except I think those are supposed to be kind. At this point… it would be best to let her know it’s okay to go.”
Nicole nodded. “We’re on the same page. That’s what this weekend is for.”
He squeezed her shoulder, then took his leave.
Coming back into the room Nicole sank to the floor next to Angie’s chair, reaching out even as Angie did. They breathed together for a moment, fingers entwined. “Did I hear Libby?” Angie whispered.
Nicole said, “She’s making up the bed—everything’s in train.”
“Everything?”
There was a wealth of feeling in the question. Nicole raised her gaze to meet her wife’s, steady as her love even as her heart cried. “Everything. It will all go the way we planned, I promise.”
Angie’s eyes were bright and wet. “You’re such a good planner,” she said, and it stung because of all the times it had been true and the one time it hadn’t.
“I’m so sorry,” Nicole whispered back, throat raw with feeling.
“How were you to know? How were either of us?”
When Nicole had brought Angie back from the dead a few years before, she hadn’t wanted to chance anything. That drunk driver had almost separated them forever, so Nicole was careful. She read the necromantic grimoire several times to make sure. The ritual she conducted tied Angie to Nicole and vice versa, which meant they’d have the time to grow old together.
But then the cancer. Nicole remained in the pink of health, because cancer wasn’t catching. Angie sickened, worsened, but so long as Nicole was healthy… Angie couldn’t die. She hung on, the way the doctor had mentioned, because Nicole’s treacherous health kept Angie here.
Nicole had gone back to the tomes she’d collected, feverishly read through – but she’d been thorough. She’d been careful. She’d tried to think of everything.
Except, apparently, hereditary illness.
Now, Angie squeezed her hands. Then Libby waltzed through the door, as bright and dark as a starling. “Mom, it’s so good to see you,” she said, and her voice was full of warmth.
Libby set about filling the house with stories and laughter, ridiculous work tales that left Angie wheezing with hilarity. The first time it happened Libby darted a glance at Nicole, but she flapped a hand to let Angie continue.
Their closest friends arrived for dinner, and the merriment continued. The food was an eclectic mix of anything that Angie’s tastebuds would still tolerate after the radiation treatments, set out buffet style in the kitchen. Nicole helped Angie move through what felt like a conga line of chatting people with overflowing plates.
The conversation ranged similarly, the way it always had, the way Nicole had looked forward to it rambling for decades to come. Settling on the couch, Nicole took another spoonful of mac and cheese and swallowed around the fiery despair in her throat. She tried to sop up every last moment of this meal, of these people, of this last time together.
“We’d better not find you a grave man tomorrow,” one of the friends said on the way out the door. The room fell silent. It caused a cold shock to ricochet through Nicole, but Angie only smiled.
“If you find me a man tomorrow, something will have gone terribly wrong indeed.” Her light, easy laugh saw their company out the door.
The next day it began to rain, so heavily that the world beyond the windows was obscured by silver and white. Angie hadn’t had a good night, and so Nicole asked if she wanted to accelerate their plans.
Angie stared at the floor, her fists crumpled in the bedsheets. “No. I want all of this last weekend. I want to say goodbye.”
And so the day progressed—breakfast in the kitchen, not on the porch, with the absurd baked French toast that Angie had always loved. Reading together for the morning, a light lunch with other friends. For several hours it was a rotating cast of ex-coworkers, friends they saw all the time and ones they’d always meant to see more often.
By midafternoon, only the three of them remained. Angie looked up as though it were an idle whim and said, “Could you make me a coffee?”
Nicole felt her heartbeat like a funeral bell. Libby stood, brushing off her pants and said, “I’ve got it—you two hang out up here.”
“No, no, sit down.” Libby followed Nicole to the door anyway. “I just… I need a moment, okay?” Nicole let her jaw tremble a little.
Libby’s eyes went dark and deep and she tucked her hands into her armpits, swallowing. “Okay. I’ll come help in a bit, then.”
Nicole turned on the coffeemaker and then took the kitchen shears to the living room. She reached around the table by the wall to cut the phone cord and then snipped the power cable for the modem.
Then she got out the heavy whipping cream and the sugar, setting out the delicate teacups they saved for special occasions. The rat poison went in the one on the left. She had just enough time to pour the mugs when Libby appeared in the doorway.
“Can I carry that for you?” she asked, and Nicole agreed.
Nicole took one of the cups first and downed it, fast. At Libby’s surprised glance, she said, “I need a little courage, right now.”
“Mom, you’ve got so much courage. You’re doing so well.”
The cup shook a little as Nicole replaced it on the left, filling it again. “Here, let’s go back.”
As they went up the stairs, something in Nicole’s shoulder seized. Her left arm clenched all at once. She took a deep breath. Just a little longer.
They came into the room and Nicole curled up beside Angie’s chair. Tucking her legs under a handy blanket meant it wasn’t as obvious when they spasmed and tightened.
Libby handed Angie her coffee and then the refilled cup to Nicole. More of Nicole’s body was shaking now, her heart racing. Tears filled her eyes as panic tightened her chest. She fought the feeling back—she knew what it was to sacrifice, even if she hadn’t seen it from this side before.
Angie reached out and took Nicole’s free hand. Angie’s gaze roamed from the mug trembling in Nicole’s grasp to the gentlest, most loving smile Nicole could manage.
Angie’s smile in return was radiant.
And then Nicole’s back arched, and the pretty teacup handle broke in her grasp, and she couldn’t take a breath.
“Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”
Nicole couldn’t answer, the strychnine running riot, everything turning rigid as her world darkened around the edges. Her only anchor was Angie’s face and the love in it. Libby grabbed the landline phone in the room, realizing there was no dial tone. Realizing she didn’t know where her cell phone was, somewhere in this cozy house an hour from the nearest town.
It was perfect. Nicole had finally fixed things.
Libby demanded, “The book! You used a book when Angie was hit by that car – where is it? I can fix this!” Their daughter’s face hanging over hers was haunted, determined, focused. Nicole had worn that same expression often enough to know it inside out.
Nicole pointed at the magazine rack next to Angie’s chair. “Binder,” she gasped. It was turned backward so no one would find it early, but she’d labeled it with Libby’s name.
Their daughter leaned over Angie to snatch up the binder, opening it so fast the pages snapped like canvas. “Mom, these are funeral instructions! I don’t need one of your event binders, I need…” She trailed off, obviously getting to the details about the double funeral. For Capellini’s, after. For Angie and Nicole’s matched desire for cremation as soon as possible. “Mom…” she whispered. “Why? I don’t understand.”
Nicole smiled, feeling something inside her flicker the way the last embers in the trash barrel had. “Sometime love means letting go,” she managed. Then, as Angie’s hand slackened in hers, Nicole sank into the quiet dark.