#tscauthors

[julescarstairs]

If Aught but Death: Epilogue

Aaaand…Finished. Julian stepped back to study his work. It was a painting, one he’d completed after several tubes of white, blue and grey paints, and hours of work. It wasn’t exactly how he’d initially pictured it in his head, he thought, but… in retrospect, his original idea wouldn’t have put across the message he wanted it to. His initial plan was more despairing, not something you’d want to be hanging on the wall of your new home, as a part of your fresh start. The final product, the painting before him, had the hopeful, warm tones he wanted to convey. It was better, he decided. Not perfect, but better. He was pleased.

It only took a few more moments of staring before Julian decided he wasn’t pleased. Muttering to himself, Julian reached for his paintbrush. It could use another coat of white—

“It’s good,” Emma’s hand looped around his wrist, stopping him from grabbing the brush. He looked up at her with a bashful smile as she placed her other hand over his, too. “It’s perfect. If you put another layer on she’ll be able to cut it like a cake. Besides,” she added, gesturing to the crumpled and flattened tube of white paint beside his palette. “You’ve squeezed all possible signs of life out of that tube of paint. It’s time to leave it to rest.”

Julian chuckled, but put his paintbrush back. He looked back at the painting he’d produced. Such was the life of an artist: you never could really see your work through the eyes of someone else. What you thought was awful may be a masterpiece in someone else’s eyes. Such as Emma’s eyes, though Julian had the suspicion that Emma loved everything he drew, even if it was a doodle on the corner of a napkin. Still, he knew she was right. Upon second glance, the little parts he felt needed touching up just added to the humble nature of the piece. That sleight of hand movement he accidentally did on the first coat? A reminder that he was the one that made it. His own touch. “I guess you’re right.”

“… which assumes there are times I’m wrong?” Emma elbowed him playfully. “When am I ever wrong, Julian?”

Julian raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Do you want the honest answer? Or the answer you want to hear?”

“The one where you tell me I’m always right,” Emma laughed, and he laughed too. It was nice, having their banter back. Having Emma back. It had been a couple of weeks since his trial, since Emma had been reunited with him, and since he had explained the whole story to his brothers and sisters (which had gone down relatively well, save for a few lectures from Helen) — and finally things were settling down again, going back to the way they had been.

Well, save for a few obvious changes. Los Angeles had a new High Warlock: Eris Flake. Julian had been surprised to hear that the Consul had passed his suggestion to make her High Warlock — which he had made to Mark — as reasonable, and was even more surprised to hear that Eris had taken up the position so eagerly. She’d moved from her apartment in Vegas to a small rental in Santa Monica in a matter of days, and visited regularly. On her first visit to the Los Angeles Institute, she had sought him out, reached out, and grasped his shoulders with such tenacity that he swore he could feel her nails penetrating his blood vessels.

She had said, “Boy, you’ve saved my life more than once. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.”

It had remained in Julian’s mind for days, weeks, after that. He knew he’d saved her once, with the suggestion to make her High Warlock, but the second time had been something he couldn’t figure out. Until he remembered Cesar, and the things she had said when she had interrupted his trial. She had spent most of her life, short of 300 years, trying to raise Cesar from the dead using dark magic. She’d compared it to a plague.

He hadn’t realised that when she said it, she meant it literally.

It was that revelation that prompted him to produce the painting before him now. It doubled as a housewarming gift and a reminder to never go back. At least, he hoped it would.

“Is Eris still here?” Julian asked Emma after a moment. He stretched, and peered out of the window of his studio. The sun was beginning to set below the horizon, painting the sky a dark orange hue. Emma nodded.

“She’s watching a movie with Dru. I think,” Emma rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Well, she was with Dru. It’s been a while since I was with her. She could be anywhere. But I know she hasn’t left.”

Of course not. Eris usually made the rounds to say goodbye to everyone before leaving, unless “important high warlock duties” called her, and she only said goodbye to those she ran into on her way out. And, besides, it was rare that Eris left before dinner when she did visit, whether she simply hung around for something to eat or was industriously taking notes on what was being done. Eris, despite being alive for a very long time, apparently knew nothing of how to cook her own meals. Which was why Julian didn’t mind her watching over his shoulder as he cooked. Everyone had to start somewhere. Julian wished he’d had someone to learn from when he was younger. The least he could do was be that role model for her.

“Do you want me to go get her?” Emma’s cut through Julian’s thoughts. With one last glance at his painting, he shook his head, and took Emma’s hand in his.

“I’ll come get her,” he said with a smile. He’d been hiding from her all day, so she wouldn’t come see the painting before it was finished. He wanted to be the one to show the art to her. Together, the two of them left the studio, in search of Eris.

They found her in Tavvy’s room — more specifically, in the tent inside Tavvy’s room — sitting with her legs tucked beneath her. Tavvy was clinging to Eris’s side, his cheek mashed into her shoulder, as she read to him from a book. “That’s my favourite part,” he was saying as Emma and Julian entered the room, and was pointing at a page in the book. Eris leaned forward to look at the part in question, and nodded her head with a soft smile.

“I think it’s my favourite part, too,” she agreed, ruffling the little boy’s hair. Tavvy lit up, a sweet little grin rising up on his cheeks.

“Really?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t say it was if it wasn’t, silly,” Eris blew a raspberry on Tavvy’s cheek at that, which made him squeal and giggle, and push her face away.

“Stop!” Tavvy was protesting, before he took notice of Julian. The small boy then grinned and shot to his feet, running over and hugging Julian’s leg. “Jules! Eris has been reading to me all afternoon.”

“Has she?” Julian looked over at Eris with an eyebrow raised, and Eris nodded. Julian only then noticed that there was an elaborate pile of children’s books stacked up beside her. But she didn’t look to be particularly upset about it. If anything, she looked quite comfortable where she was. He crouched down to his brother’s (and Eris’s) level. “Can I borrow Eris from you for a little bit? There’s just something I need to talk to her about. I’ll bring her back as soon as I’m done.”

“I’m right here, you know. Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Eris said, but it wasn’t without affection. Still, at Tavvy’s assenting nod she got to her feet and clambered out of the tent. She handed the book over to Tavs and pat his head fondly. “Make sure you don’t lose our page. I want to finish Clifford Gets a Job before I go home.” At her request, Tavvy nodded and lifted his chin as though Eris was bestowing a great responsibility over him. He kept the page with his tiny thumb and forefinger as he climbed back into his tent.

“Not going to ask me to raise someone else, now, are you?” Eris asked Julian as they began to walk back down the hall. She quirked a fair eyebrow, and grinned cheekily. “You know I’m on probation, Julian. You little devil.”

“It’s not that,” Julian rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t thought of asking Eris for one last favour in the past. Because although Emma was returned to them, there was still one seat at the table that still remained empty after everything settled. Even now, he still felt a hole in his heart where Livvy had been. He looked across at Eris, whose eyes were shifting minutely as she read his expression. Julian added, “I just have something for you.“

“Thank the Gods for that,” Eris chuckled, shoving her hands in her pockets. Julian looked over at Emma as she let out a jarring gasp and hurried over to his other side, where Eris was walking. For a moment Julian thought something was seriously wrong— that was, until Emma gestured wildly Eris’s bare shoulders, which were red and raw.

“Is that sunburn?” Emma touched the patch of burnt skin, and Eris hissed and slapped her hand away.

“It might be,” the warlock hunched her shoulders with discomfort, and possibly embarrassment, too. Julian could see now that her cheeks and nose were also bright red, and suppressed a small smile of his own.

“Enjoying the sun, then?” He asked, which granted him a dark look from Eris. Her tail flicked about in jittery moves that matched her agitation. He found keeping an eye on her tail made it easy to discern her mood even when she was wearing a mask over her expression.

“I had been,” she said indignantly. “Until it burnt me. Though I guess I had it coming. I fell asleep outside. It was so warm, you know? After years of hiding in a dark office you kind of find yourself craving the sun. Maybe a little too much.”

“Understatement of the year,” Emma laughed, and pat Eris’s arm where it wasn’t burnt. “I have some sunburn cream in the bathroom. I’ll go get it. You go with Jules.” Emma exchanged a look with Julian, and he nodded. She was giving them privacy. Emma knew what this painting meant to him, and how much it would mean to Eris. And though Emma was the bridge that had connected their two words, she didn’t want to invade the moment. Because Eris hadn’t helped Julian because of Emma. She had helped him because of himself. She knew that now, and he did, too.

Eris and Julian continued up the hall towards his studio as Emma broke off to duck into the bathroom in search of sunburn cream. “So this thing you want to show me better not be a fridge full of bodies. I had to put up with that last week, and I’m telling you, it was possibly the worst thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve been dealing with the dead for the best part of 400 years. I was almost sick.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” Julian laughed despite himself— despite the fact that the statement gave him an odd sense of deja vu. When had he heard that before? That’s right. Emma had said something similar right before he had showed her his collection of paintings of her. “Why does everyone think it’s a fridge full of bodies?” He asked aloud, but found more humour in it than anything.

Eris snorted, covering her mouth with her hands. “I was only kidding, Julian. But usually it’s because when you say I have something to show you, all cryptic-like, humans assume the worst. It’s like saying we need to talk,” she shrugged, crossing her arms. “Actually, I just think people assume the worst at the best of times. For instance, I was meeting with someone yesterday who thought I was a necrophile because I practiced necromancy,” Eris paused, and cleared her throat with a deceptive nonchalance as Julian let out a sound of surprise. Despite Eris’s aloofness about the matter, Julian couldn’t help but feel a low rush of dismay towards whoever had said that to her. They didn’t know her like he did. They hadn’t seen her stripped of all of her protective masks that she wore. They didn’t see how much she really cared about others.

Eris went on, steepling her fingers. “I had to clarify that I never once did or felt anything of the sort, and that most Necromancers wouldn’t appreciate being called such things,” at that, she sighed. The sound made Julian look at her with renewed concern. “Such is the way of redemption, I suppose,” she murmured. “It’ll take a while before people see me for who I am, not for my crimes.”

“It will,” Julian said quietly as they reached the door of his art studio, and he stopped in front of it. He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder companionably. “It will take time, but they’ll all come to see you in due time. Most people just get nervous when they’re approached with things they don’t understand, or are afraid of. Once they realise that you don’t do anything like necromancy anymore, they’ll see you for yourself, instead of your past.”

Eris smiled bitterly. “One would hope so.”

Julian sighed, averting his eyes for a moment. He found that words of comfort didn’t work immediately for Eris. Eventually she would come to see reason, though. He could only ride it out until she thought back on what he said.

Which meant it was time.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it’s not a fridge full of bodies,” Julian said quietly, and to his relief Eris smiled at him, looking amused. “It’s… a gift, actually. A housewarming gift. Something you could hang up in your home to make it more like your own.” I hope you like it, Julian thought but didn’t say, as he pushed the door open, displaying the painting he had made for Eris directly in her field of vision.

It was a painting of Eris with her twin brother, Cesar. It was not unlike a family portrait of the two of them — Cesar’s arm was curved around Eris’s shoulders, pulling her into a sideways hug, and the two of them had almost identical smiles on their faces. The only difference was that they stood on a beach-scape rather than in a traditional space used for a family portrait, and Eris was looking off over the horizon, where (implied by the lighting) the sun was setting.

But Cesar looked straight ahead: it was though he were looking back at whoever was looking at the painting. There was a smile on his face, a smile Julian knew he saved only for Eris.

And he knew that because Cesar’s ghost had come to visit him several times whilst he was working on the painting. The warlock had made himself visible on a number of occasions, pointing out little details he would have liked to see, and little details he thought should change. He was a surprisingly fussy ghost, Julian thought in hindsight. Nonetheless, Cesar spoke very fondly of Eris — he could hear the pride in his voice when he talked about how happy he was that she had moved on and started fresh — and when he did, Julian had watched him, watched the candid movements of his face. And he only smiled the way he did in the painting when his twin sister was the topic of conversation.

But Julian wouldn’t speak of Cesar’s visits to Eris. Not yet. He knew Cesar wouldn’t want that.

At first sight of the painting, Eris only gasped. She was frozen, save for the heavy rise and fall of her chest, and stood in the doorway with her fingers knitted tightly together in such an impossible way that it made Julian’s own fingers hurt. Her eyes were wide, and shining with tears. “Eris,” he said quietly, his heart sinking. Didn’t she like it? “If you don’t like it…”

Silently, Eris crossed the room with more quickly than he’d ever seen her move. She stopped before the painting, inches away, and Julian realised with a pang that she was looking into Cesar’s eyes. Before he could give Eris warning that the paint might not have yet been dry, she dropped her forehead forward, so that hers was pressed against her brother’s. Julian moved into the room, slowly, and pulled the door shut behind him; the last thing he wanted was somebody bursting in uninvited whilst Eris was so vulnerable. He watched as her shoulder’s shook with silent sobs, and she reached up to touch the painting lightly with the tips of her fingers. She still didn’t speak, only silently admiring the painting from up close. She stayed like that for a long time, the only sound in the room her quiet sniffles and sobs, and the occasional whisper of Cesar’s name. To Julian’s relief, the painting was unmarked when Eris stepped back. Thanks to the unnatural warmth of the room (more than likely Cesar’s influence) the paint had dried quickly.

“Eris,” Julian repeated again, as she stared on at the painting, tracing the outline of her own face, and her brother’s too, with wonder in her eyes. Whatever she was thinking, Eris wasn’t with him in the studio at that moment. Indeed, she was far away, possibly waist deep in memories of her past, memories of her brother. After all, the painting was probably one of the most accurate depictions of Cesar that Eris had seen in centuries. Or maybe Julian was just giving himself too much credit. “Are you alright?”

Eris’s eyelids fluttered suddenly, as though breaking free from a reverie. She turned to look at him, and a heartbreakingly joyous smile broke out on her face. “It’s perfect,” she said quietly. She looked back up at the painting before her, her fingers curling on the canvas. “Julian, it’s perfect. It’s Cesar. You painted Cesar. He’s just like I remember.”

Relief lead Julian to rock back on his heels with a sigh. It was always hard, showcasing art this way, because you never knew how people would react. This was the best possible outcome, as far as Eris was concerned. “I’m glad—“ Julian began, but before he could finish, Eris had pulled him into a tight hug, her wiry arms squeezing the air out of him. With all her thinness and short stature, Julian had made the mistake of assuming she wouldn’t be capable of squeezing so hard. Still, he reached up and hugged her back. He felt oddly honoured by the whole situation: Eris, who seldom let people come near her let alone touch her, hugging him. He pat her back gently as she let out a final, dry sob. “I— well, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Julian said, otherwise lost for words.

“They’re happy tears,” Eris chuckled softly. She pried herself away from him and wrapped her arms around herself. “I won’t lie. I wanted to hug you the first time you walked into my office. You just looked… huggable? I suppose?” She shrugged, a placid smile on her face. “You also looked deeply upset, and I felt bad— you know what? I just think you’ve made me go all soft, Julian.” Eris gently shoved his shoulder, a spark of her usual self coming through in spite of her vulnerability. “Shame on you.”

“I don’t know. I think I like soft Eris better,” Julian said, though he wasn’t sure he knew what the other Eris had really been like. “I think we all do, here.”

“Well, soft Eris isn’t going anywhere anytime soon,” the warlock lifted her chin, before sniggering quietly. “God, that sounds so stupid. Soft Eris.”

Jules laughed softly despite the atmosphere of the room. “Sorry.”

“No, no. I like it,” Eris bobbed her head in a nod. Her eyes shone with joy instead of tears, now. She looked back at the painting, and for a moment her eyes raked over it, taking in the entirety of it. The corner of her mouth then twisted down, and before Julian could ask what was wrong, she said, “You didn’t sign it.”

Not what he’d been expecting. He peered at Eris quizzically. “It’s a personal piece. Why would I sign it?”

“Because I want to remember long into the future that it was Julian Blackthorn who made it for me,” Eris picked up a paintbrush and lightly stroked its bristles against her fingertips. She looked at him once again, “Why do I want to remember you? Because you were the one that helped me break the cycle that my life had fallen into. You made me realise that there was far more to life than what I’d been doing. And,” she added, looking away shyly. “You are one of my first good friends in centuries, Julian, and I’m not going to let myself forget you.” She then handed him the paintbrush, closing his fingers around it. “Unfortunately, I will live on longer than you possibly could, and with so much time ahead of me, my memory will be challenged. So, please, sign the painting.”

Eris’s monologue made Julian’s heart ache in his chest. He had done the right thing in befriending her, but he hadn’t thought about what would happen long into the future, when he and his family, and Emma, had all succumbed to their mortality. He never really thought about that at all— because who did? But for Eris, it was important. She seldom ever let people in out of fear of how much the grief of losing them would hurt her. The least he could do for her now, to make her future just a bit brighter, was sign the painting.

So he did.

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, Eris. None of us are,” Julian reassured after he finished, and Emma had slid into the room carrying a tube of sunburn cream. He added, at the sight of her, “Well, actually, Emma and I are going off on our travel year soon, so we are going somewhere, but nowhere you can’t follow. Not yet.”

Emma grinned, nodding her head. “I’ve already died once,” she said way too casually for Julian’s liking. The concept still made him uneasy. “I don’t plan to do it again for a long time.” And the warlock burst out into laughter at that, putting her hands on her hips.

“Well, even if that does happen,” Eris said with a tone of finality, and dropped a conspiring wink in Julian’s direction. “You both know what I’m capable of.”

Indeed they did. They knew that better than anyone else.

Though, neither of them had ever really figured out whether Eris Flake had been kidding that day.

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