“Who?” I ask, still not fully recovered from my nap. “Why?”
“They’re doing the final words,” she says, a little more seriously. “It’s time.”
The frivolity vanishes, replaced by a sense of duty. Trina stands up, and I take her hand, getting up to follow her to the top of the clearing and the infirmary.
It’s been four months since Trina and I banished the curse, and in that time, the area around the infirmary has been turned into a picnic ground. The building itself now houses sports equipment, tables, chairs, and cooking supplies.
Instead of being a place of death, it’s a haven of hope.
At the back of the building, I see Merle as well as a couple of other healers. Sylvie and Thorne are there, too, holding hands and smiling.
Thorne has never been on side with witches or humans, but I’d say he’s turned the corner for good now.
“There you are, Owen,” Sylvie says. “We’re ready now, if you are.”
“Of course,” I reply.
Sylvie calls out to the crowd, and anyone not already gathered comes over to join us. The kids continue to play noisily in the background, the sounds of their joy patterning the air, complementing the late afternoon sun.
I love these picnic days. It’s so wonderful to see the pack together—and so happy.
“Thank you, all,” Merle says. “As requested by the pack majority, we have gathered to say a final farewell to the dead. We’ve come together every Sunday since the curse was broken, but some people have found it difficult to celebrate after suffering through such a tragedy. Today, we honor those we’ve lost and pledge to move forward in their name.”
A murmur flows around the crowd, and we lower our heads.
“Pledge to the fallen,” Thorne says, his strong voice echoing through the clearing. “We mourn each and every one of you, those lost too young and those who already stood near the threshold. Your deaths were not in vain, and we promise to move forward in truth, hope, and joy to honor your memory.”
“Here, here,” Merle says, and the crowd takes up those same words.
One by one, people in the crowd stand up and speak about those they’ve lost. I see tears trickle down Trina’s face as she listens to their heartfelt words, and I know she feels every loss as keenly as she does that of her own mother.
She has become mother to the entire pack. Not a day goes by when someone doesn’t ask her advice, or come to our house just to be with her.
After the affirmations and farewells have been said, Trina steps forward. A ripple goes through the crowd, people showing appreciation, love, and even awe.
So many people were angry with her, but seeing the entire pack recover within seconds did something to them. Not just from the recovery, but from watching Trina work tirelessly in the weeks after to rebuild the pack. They truly see her as one of them now.
“I bless this place with new life,” Trina says, turning in a slow circle. Her long white dress flows around her, and a stream of butterflies appears, spiraling down from the sun to form a colorful cloud around her.
Gasps break out in the crowd, and some of the children come running over, leaping around Trina in the cascade of bright, shimmering wings. The sight deeply moves me, and I know I’m seeing true magic.
And it has nothing to do with her ethereal power. This is all Trina, and the strength of her love.
Trina finishes her blessing, and the cloud of butterflies flits across the park, the children chasing them. People get up and move around, some heading back to the barbecue or following the kids. A lot of them come forward to speak to Trina.
I wait until the crowd finally dissipates and go over to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. She leans into me, looking out over the park with contentment.
“I think we've done well,” she says in a hokey voice.
“We sure done did,” I laugh, building on the joke.
She giggles and turns around to hug me, kissing my cheek. I reach down and grab her butt, giving it a quick squeeze. She jumps into my arms, letting out a little yelp.
“Don’t go starting things you can’t finish, mister,” she says, waving her finger at me.
“Who says I can’t finish?” I ask, grinning. “Try me.”
“I’ll do more than try,” she says, tickling me a little.
