Epilogue.

Construction on my son’s family cottage was well underway by the end of the summer, and both Ami’s and Sara’s training in both external and internal magic was… well coming along. Not nicely, but still coming along. Three different teacher’s all teaching the same subject was pretty comprehensive, but not always on the same page.

No one ever mentioned what had happened to Constance, and as long as she didn’t show up again. I didn’t care.

The mid summer werewolf blowout didn’t turn out to be expensive as I thought. It had always been more of a potluck type of thing rather than making the host pay for everything. I still cooked up a whole pig in a buried cook pit, mainly because I could and had always wanted to try it. I also had several grills that people volunteered to bring. All of them cooking up more traditional burgers and hot dogs. As well as sausages, corn, steaks, chicken, and chili.

I did pay for the ice cream truck that passed out traditional frozen treats and I set up a Tiki bar. I wanted to treat everyone that came running when I was in need somehow or another.

The whole thing was a bit of a dry run for Sara’s fourteenth birthday which was coming up a few weeks before she began attending high school. Which was also going to serve to introduce her family she grew up with to the rest of mine.

Since everyone for the family get together had committed to staying at least overnight. The next day was going to be about revealing everything supernatural to them, and offering them the choice to train with my son to become a mystical type, get bitten by me, or stay normal.

Drew wearing shorts that showed off both of his legs would be their first hint of what the weekend held in store for them.

The End.

“Well, there it is brat. I finished a book.”

“You skipped some stuff old man. Like how you were crying when you were talking to grandma in the gazebo.”

“Hrmph. She didn’t need to tell you that part. Besides, it didn’t add anything to the story. There was no need to mention it.”

“Right, or to show that you ever lost your self control?”

“Nevermind. You know it’s your turn now.”

“I know. But my book is going to have a lot more action and some fight scenes.”

“Wait, what? When were you getting into fights?”

“When wasn’t I getting into fights? You sent me to school with werewolves. Hyper competitive hormone crazed teenage werewolves with something to prove against the grand daughter of the sheriff's new main squeeze.”

“I’m... I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t be. It. Was. Great. I kicked furry ass.”

“Mind your language. Did your parents know about this?”

“Yep. Dad sighed. Mom wanted details in case she can ever get you to practice with her.”

“I am not fighting your mom. There isn’t any way that comes out good for me. If I win, I beat up a woman half my size, if I lose I got beat up by a woman half my size. Not going to happen.”

“Chicken. Brawk. Brawk.”

“I hate you brat.”

“Hate you too grandpa.”