The restaurant hummed with conversation, clinking glass, the verse of a bayou anthem. Empty bottles testified to the heat of superb gumbo and need for distance from recent events.
Nate sopped up the last of the soup with earthy bread. “I don’t blame you for keeping it secret.”
“It seemed prudent. You hate witches. I can’t change what I am.”
“True. On both counts.”
“You had no problem with it when you needed my magic.”
“Not true.” He ordered whiskey. “So, this is our last drink.”
He clinked my glass. “For now.”
Shots done, we went our separate ways.
And so we come to end of Nate and Seth's story. This story, anyway. The boys are taking a well-earned rest. I suspect they'll come roaring back at some point, but probably not for a while. Even monster hunters need a vacation.
To all who have come on this journey with them, I thank you.