Almost

Epilogue

"Professor Crawley?" a young woman in lime green robes said, pulling Katherine's attention. She had a badge that said "trainee" on it pinned to her chest. "He's free if you'd like to go in."

Katherine nodded and smoothed down the skirt of her dress as she stood.

"Thank you, Jane. The others—"

"They're waiting down the hall," Jane assured her. "I'll go back there once you're settled."

"Good. I don't want to overwhelm him if it works."

Jane smiled kindly, reaching out to squeeze Katherine's forearm. "I have a good feeling about today, Professor," she said. "You've been working towards it for so long."

"Hopefully, long enough. And please, it's just Katherine now. You aren't in school anymore."

She followed the healer back through the hallways until they reached the fifth door on the left. Jane gave another reassuring nod and continued down the hallway, checking on other patients.

Katherine took a deep breath, wishing she'd have bothered to pop into a bathroom and check her hair in the mirror. Make sure her makeup hadn't settled into the lines appearing on her face. But she couldn't stand to do it now, not when he was on the other side of the door. So, instead, she knocked.

"Yes," a voice called out, sending chills down her spine like it always did. She plastered a smile on her face before she opened the door.

"Healer Johnson," he said, barely glancing up from his reading.

"Browsing the Syllabary again, Mr. Crawley?" she asked lightly. "Isn't that a bit like reading a thesaurus?"

"Just as captivating as one would expect for sitting in this room all this time."

Katherine took a deep breath, coming up by his bed. He was normally in the chair across the room. If he was still in bed, a teal crocheted afghan across his legs, he must be in a mood.

"Do you want me to open the window?" she offered.

"Is it still London outside?"

"Yes."

"Then, no thank you," he bit back, not looking up from his book. "Not if there still isn't anyone who can explain why I'm here and not in America."

Katherine sighed as quietly as she could. "Okay. Then we'll just get right to it. What's your name?"

"Ezra Crawley."

"And your parents?"

"Tom and Bonnie."

"And where did you go to school?"

She asked him question after question as her magic seeped up into her eyes, other strands of static reaching his temples. This wasn't like the fragmented threads that had been in Bonnie's head—the tiny particles of dust required very careful, precise removal. Otherwise, she'd take some of his memories with it. It had made the process painfully slow.

"Where did you work?"

"I'm a member of the Major Investigation Department," he answered bitterly. "I can get the worst dark wizards in the States to spill their deepest darkest secrets, but ask for my travel itinerary and—"

"Were you good at your job?"

"I am good at my job. The best. Record in the training room, undefeated dueler. Youngest recruit in Investigative Team history. Overall badass."

There was just the outer ring of dust now. She could count the remaining particles, left intentionally for the end so that it wouldn't come in drips and drops. She knew that would make it worse for him—he'd hate having only parts of it back.