Page 123 of Big Little Spells

Us.

“I suppose if I am indebted to you forever, my puny mortal life in your hands,” Nicholas says in that lazy drawl of his that I suspect will always make my toes curl, “you will have to forego the pleasures of your childhood home.”

“Will I? How will I tear myself away?” I look up at him—an immortal no more and yet still somehow my immortal. My immortal love. Mine. My life as much in his hands as his in mine, for as long as we have left.

And this time, when given the opportunity to look into all those futures he blocked from me or I refused before, I let myself. Because Diviner is who I am, and we still get to choose.

No matter what I see.

The visions flow through me. Varied, intense, different. So many choices. So many paths. There are challenges ahead, sacrifice and pain, but that is life. And worth it, when you allow yourself to love—fully, wholly—those who love you, and even yourself.

The best kind of recovery I can imagine is love.

There are so many options winding out in front of us, but the one thing that is clear is whichever fate we find, it will be together.

“It is unavoidable,” he says once he senses I have put the visions aside. “You will have to make Frost House your new home so that I may worship you accordingly, with all my many riches. All yours to use at will, of course.”

“Well.” I blow out a breath and pretend to think it over. “If riches are involved...”

He laughs. Nicholas Frost laughs, and the more he does it, the more easily it comes to him. The more it seems to kick up in us both. I smile up at him, so much and so hard that my cheeks hurt.

And I think, I will hold on to this moment forever.

Because tonight, all that matters is this. Us.

Nicholas Frost is a mortal. And he is mine.

I am a Diviner, officially. Chaos Diviner, if you’re being specific, and you can be sure my sister will correct you if you’re not.

There is darkness ahead, but I focus on the light.

On hope. And the beating heart of the people we love, who love us too.

And him.

Always him.

When he sweeps me into his arms and kisses me, there near the place where the three rivers meet, I whisper, “Take me home, Nicholas.”

And he does, my man out of time, just as I was promised long ago.

You can call it a prophecy if you like—a good one at last.

---