The Sign of Seven Trilogy (111 page)

“Dent. It was Dent in there with me.”

She brushed back his hair, traced her fingers over his face, his shoulders. “You told us a little. You were pretty weak, a little delirious at times.”

“I was going to make it—I mean finish it. I felt that. I
knew
that. But that was going to be it, that was all I had left. Then there was the light—a shaft of it, then, Jesus, an explosion of it. A nova of it.”

“We saw it, too.”

“I saw Dent—in my head. Or I think in my head. I had the stone in my hand. It was on fire, flames just shooting between my fingers. It started to—it sounds crazy.”

“Sing,” she finished. “It sang. Both stones sang.”

“Yeah, it sang. A thousand voices. I felt Dent's hand close over mine. Mine over the stone, his over mine. I felt . . . linked. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“‘It is not death.' That's what he said to me, then we punched the stone right into the heart. I heard it scream, Cybil. I heard it scream, and I felt it . . . implode. From the heart out. Then that's it until I came back. Not like last time, when the bastard bit me. This was like cruising on a really good drug.”

“The light tore through it,” she told him. “I'd have to say vaporized it. It's the closest I can come. Gage, I saw them, for just a moment—less than a moment. I saw Giles Dent and Ann Hawkins holding each other. I saw them together, I
felt
them together. And I understood.”

“What?”

“It was to be his sacrifice all along. He needed us, and he needed you to willingly offer. For you to take the stone in, knowing it would be your life. Because we did what we've done, because you were willing to give your life, he could give his instead. It is not death, he told Ann, and us, and you. He existed still, all these years. And last night, through us, through you, he was the sacrifice demanded to end it. He could finally let go. He's with Ann now, and they're—cliché time—at peace. We all are.”

“It's going to take a while to get used to. But I'm all about trying.” He took her hand. “I figure this. We stick around for a couple of days, until everything settles down. Then we'll take off for a couple of weeks. The way my luck's running, I figure I can win enough to buy you a ring the size of a door-knob, if you like the idea.”

“I do, if that's an actual proposal rather than a hypothetical.”

“How's this for actual? Let's get married in Vegas. We can talk everyone who matters into going out for it.”

“In Vegas.” She cocked her head, then laughed. “I don't know why, but that sounds absolutely perfect. You're on.” She took his face in her hands, kissed him. “Happy birthday.”

“I keep hearing that.”

“Expect to hear it more. I baked you a cake.”

“No joke?”

“A seven-layer cake—as promised. I love you, Gage.” She slid into his arms. “I love everything about you.”

“I love you, too. I've got a woman who's ready to get married in Vegas, bakes cakes,
and
has brains. I'm a lucky guy.”

He laid his cheek on the top of her head, holding on while he looked out to the woods where the beaten path led to the Pagan Stone.

And at the end of the path, past Hester's Pool, where the water flowed cool and clean, the once-scorched earth of the clearing greened again. On the new ground, the Pagan Stone stood silent in the streaming sun.