EPILOGUE
The two men sat on the floral couch - one rough and one kept.
“Well that went far better than I thought.” The man with the British accent spoke, but even as he said the words, his eyes seemed to tell a different tale.
“Fuck you. You and I both know that it went appalling, but it’s done - she’s married, and now there’s one less ley line to worry about.” The man who was slightly more unkempt than the Brit threw his head back against the couch, as if he truly held the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Game of chess?”
“Fine.” The unruly one answered, his accent that of a fully fledged American.
They set the board up in silence, the conversation only roaring back to life as the Brit moved his white pawn forward by two spaces. “Who is next on the agenda?”
His partner grimaced, as if he found the discussion displeasing in some way. “Either Marie or Zoey.”
“I do miss the French.” The British man grinned wickedly as he spoke, as if the very notion of this news delighted him.
“Will you be trailing her?” The unkept American asked.
“Don’t I always?”