Vintage soul

EPILOGUE

When Donovan entered his apartment, he noticed several things. There was a fire burning. Cleo was curled up on his desk, eying the old crow, Asmodeus, who was perched on one of the upper bookshelves and glaring back down at the cat, and Amethyst sat in his armchair waiting for him. She was reading a book, which she put aside with a smile.

He stepped closer to her, and she stood. As she did so, she let her arms drop, and the silk robe she wore slid over her shoulders and dropped to the chair. She approached him, long red hair tumbling free over her soft skin and her eyes sparkling. There were crystals glittering in her hair and as he stared at them he somehow lost track of seconds, and she was in his arms, pressing her warm lips to his. He blinked and drew her close.

“Wait…” he said softly.

She pulled back, pouting, and he turned to the bar along the wall. He drew out the small flask and placed it reverently on the bar, and then he chose two clear crystal snifters from the rack. He unwound the gold wire carefully and pulled it free of the wax seal, which he sliced evenly with the tip of one fingernail. Then, very slowly and carefully, he slid the cork from the top of the flask.

Amethyst watched him in silence. He poured the liquid equally into the two large snifters. He laid the empty flask aside, turned, and offered her one glass. She smiled at him almost quizzically, then accepted it and sniffed.

“My god,” she whispered. “What is this?”

“Cognac,” he replied, taking a sip and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. He turned her slowly until she was pointed at the door to his bedroom. “Cognac and vintage soul.”