Breaking Normal (Dream Weaver #3) (28 page)

Epilogue

Nick

             
Even after over one hundred years of life, the death of someone you love never gets easier. But Sabre was right—Emari became a treasure to the Caphar. She gifted many of us with the ability to share our powers with others, though none, even now, has come close to the abilities she possesses with the aid of the spider, Ari.

             
Thomas wasn’t the last Rephaim we had to eliminate. But with his death, the target engraved on our chests vanished, and life grew much more peaceful. Together with other Caphar, we eradicated all of the Rephaim from the face of the Earth. Though none carried the brutality of Thomas. I suppose even in such a small population there’s bound to be one sociopath.

             
Adrian and Celeste still live in their Tudor mansion on the South Hill. Emma finally looks like a young adult, all grown up, and works with the county ASPCA. I am sure her crafty, endowed fingers work their magic on some of the animals that come into her care. Peter joined the Air Force and is stationed in Japan. Despite Emma’s innate abilities, Peter’s genes are thankfully normal.

             
Ivy and Molly are still close friends, but Ives couldn’t handle the stress associated with Molly’s line of work. She still drops by on a regular basis, and drags Emari to midnight showings of Rocky Horror, or the latest vampire movie release. Em still sees Molly when she goes into town to consult on a case.

             
Jesse has become the chink in Emari’s armor. Doctors diagnosed him with Early Onset Alzheimer’s. Despite all my rationale, the woman still believes the disease was caused by her fledgling abilities at restoring his memories. I’m not sure even Sabre, with his vast stores of knowledge, would be able dissuade her from her hypothesis. She works almost daily digging in the dusty leather-bound tomes from Asa for a remedy that will save his life.

             
The magical spider, Ari, rested upon Em’s breast until the final Wraith was destroyed. Now, she nests in her bejeweled mahogany box on Emari’s dressers. Em won’t allow a single dust mote to light on the spider’s titanium and ruby body, and takes the creature out each week to maintain a fresh link to the magic. The occasional blood sacrifice still makes me squeamish—not because of the blood—I’ve seen plenty of that to last several lifetimes. But even after all this time, she still seems to glory in the pain. It answers some deep, dark fascination within her that I’ve never been able to understand.

             
Sabre’s home and all his worldly belongings were willed to me—the closest thing to family in his life. He’d made some sound, long-term investments over the years, and I was a bit surprised to discover the wealth the man had acquired. We turned the house into a Caphar training center and crash pad. Caphar from all over the Inland Empire know the facility is open to them anytime. It’s become a haven to some, and training arena to others. Weavers come from around the world, as news spreads regarding Em’s gifts, to be taught by her and acquire new abilities.

             
Between Emari’s inheritance and mine, we live a comfortable life, as normal as it gets when you’re an immortal with, as yet, mortal children. We still live in her cottage in the woods, though we’ve had to expand a bit to accommodate the kids.

             
I watch her, on those rare times she sleeps. Still so beautiful. Still, in so many ways, so innocent. Even after all she’s been through. She’s always been my little Caphar warrior—even when life had beaten her down so low she preferred death over life. Little more than a child when I first met her, now she is a strong, intelligent woman who’s captured and enthralled my heart. Anything she asks, I will do. I love her beyond measure. She is my soul mate, my life source, my lover and my friend. I can do nothing less than honor my mentor’s wish, and cherish her all the days of our lives.

*          *          *

Emari

              Two strawberry blonde-haired children race through the Spring sun, dodging tufts of wild grass and towering Ponderosa pines. Their laughter echoes back to the deck of the little cottage in the woods where their father and I lean on the rail watching their play. The girl, seven, and the boy, five, play a game of wild horses running free on the range. A new beagle pup gallivants about at their heels. The old one, so brave and so strong, lays sprawled at my feet. His muzzle is grizzled and his eyes milky. He’s protected me for all the years of his life, in ways that go far beyond a simple guard dog. He warned me of the Rephaim whenever they drew near, defended against prowlers around my little cottage in the woods. And now, the son of his son will roam his sire’s pawprints across the twenty wooded acres—and our hearts.

             
We named our daughter Janey Jewel—after my mother—but Jane was the name that stuck. Her friends at school have started calling her J.J. I think I’m okay with that. And when Zecharias Sabre came along, the name was too big of a mouthful for the toddling girl, so Sabre stuck to him—though he answers to his sister’s taunts of ‘snot bucket’ on occasion.

             
Long walks down to Dead Man’s Creek are still a common occurrence. Sabre swears he’ll be a herpetologist when he grows up. Each time he captures a tiny green frog in the cold mountain run-off and plunks it in a gallon mayonnaise jar that boils with the critters, or captures a yellow-striped garter snake at the railroad tracks, he is ecstatic beyond measure.

             
Nick’s arms slide around my waist and he nuzzles my ear. His soft hum of satisfaction is proof, he’s never in his life been happier or more content. There have been no Wraith to destroy our tranquility since before the children were born. Their devastation is a distant memory buried beneath an avalanche of good fortune.

             
“Do you think they will manifest as Caphar?” I ask him, though my eyes never leaves their play.

             
“With two Caphar parents, it’s likely.”

             
“They’ll have to die.” The words constrict my throat.

             
“When the time comes, are you willing to kill them?” he breathes in my ear. The thought clenches my heart like a vice.

             
“No. I can’t.”

             
“Would it be so bad to have them with us for centuries to come?” he argues.

             
“Could you?”

             
This time, his heart thunders against my back. “No, I guess not.”

             
“Should we tell them their heritage?” Parenthood brings more questions than answers.

             
“When the time comes.”

             
The boy tags the girl in a game that evolved from wild horses to a game of tag. She topples over a clump of spring flowers, taking her brother to the ground with her. Our feet are in motion before the cry leaves her lips.

             
“Mama! Sabre knocked me down,” she cries.

             
“Jane, it was an accident and you know it,” I scold her but scoop her into my lap anyway to examine the abrasion on her knee. The pup, Atticus, nuzzles up under her arm and licks the blood from her knee.

             
Jane’s eyes twitch to and fro, like reading a book. Her lips move like a silent prayer. Softly, softly the words get louder. “Accident,” she whispers as though she’s working to convince herself. “Accident. Accident. Accident. Accident.”               My breath catches in my chest.

             
“Janey? What are you doing, honey?” I ask.

             
“Accident. Accident. Accident. Accident,” she continues. I give her a little shake.

             
“Janey?”

             
“What mama?” she asks, so sweet and innocent.

             
“What are you doing? Why do you keep saying ‘accident’?”

             
She’s caught in a memory loop.
Nick murmurs in my mind.

             
My heart vaults with panic.
Is this what I want for my children—for them to be like us?

             
“Nuh uh! I only said it once!” she protests.

             
I gaze up at my husband, still with the question of their heritage burning in my mind. Should we tell them what we are? Is this life of semi-immortality really what we want for them? Can we stand by and watch them grow old and die, while we age a year for every decade of their lives?

             
A knowing, convoluted smile plays at the corners of Nick’s mouth.

             
When the time comes, he assures me. When it comes.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It would be impossible to name all the amazing people who have supported this crazy dream over the last few years. To list so many names would take pages and pages in the smallest font possible. But alas, I will list a few that have had an impact on my life and writing. Again, to the incredible
Kandy Kay Scaramuzzo
, the Super Horse Woman of Texas; to
Christoph Fischer
, who always has an encouraging word; to
Khalid Muhammad
, for all things geek speak; to
Jennifer Del Visco
, without whose help none of the Dream Weaver books would be getting the attention that they are; to
Jim Moser
who is the voice of logic; to
Mark Wilson
who was brave enough to spam my email box and has become a fast friend. If I forget anyone please forgive me but know that the appreciation still overflows me.

And always, always, thanks to my family: my husband, Ben; my beautiful daughters,
Aundraic and Sarah; and my ornery sons, Jack and Josiah. My greatest support and cheerleaders have been my mom and dad, Jane and Aubrey Williams. Their encouragement and support in uncountable ways has been a true blessing to me and I cherish them above any treasure. To my sissy, Linda and her amazing husband, Bob, who have supported this project so long in so many ways.

A Note from the Author

             
My name is Su Williams. I live in Spokane WA, with my husband, Ben, two kids, Sarah and Josiah, and have two grown kids, Jack and Aundraic. Our family also includes our beagles, Dyson (yes like the vacuum) and Kooper the Poophead; two cats, Friday and Necco, and a crested gecko named Reid (like Spencer on Criminal Minds.)

             
As always, my ‘playlist’ for Breaking Normal is included in the book, you just have to find it. It’s not really hidden.

             
Thank you again, for purchasing and reading my work. Please, if you enjoyed this series, tell your friends and leave a review. Reviews are like currency for indie authors, so please take a moment to write one on Amazon.com and/or GoodReads.com. Positive and constructive input will help me improve my writing and I welcome your emails.

              Upcoming projects include: Devo (a devolution zombie story); 2024, (a twist on the novel 1984); Sunshine & Daisies (a feel good anecdotal book to remind us what’s important in life); a butterfly effect book entitled ‘What if I Don’t Have Tomorrow?’; and an, as yet, untitled book for new indie authors.

For author questions or comments, please email me at:
[email protected]
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You can also visit me on my website:
www.dreamweavernovels.com
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On Twitter at:
@DreamWeaver526
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http://pinterest.com/tyrowritersu/
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http://dreamweavernovels.blogspot.com/
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And as always…

Dare to Dream!

A NOTE TO SURVIVORS OF RAPE AND ABUSE

I’ve known from the beginning that the subject of rape would be a sensitive matter with a lot of people. Because, unfortunately, 60% of Americans have been assaulted in one form or another. That is truly a staggering statistic. It was NEVER my intention make light of the subject, but maybe to draw some attention to it.

The facts given in Emari’s interview were obtained from the website
RAINN
– Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network. This is a great site for anyone whose life has been affected by rape or abuse. I encourage you to visit this site and make use of the information and services they make available.

I wish you healing and health, and all the best for your future.