“You kept this? After all this time?” he asked, waving the chalice at Signa. “It’s from the night we both discovered mead. Aris was as drunk as I’ve ever seen him. By the end of the night he’d taken off his pants and was—”

“That’s enough of that.” Aris groaned, waving a dismissive hand. “I took it because I liked it, and now I’m giving it to you, that’s all. I figured you’d probably want to have a drink with me at some point after all of this.”

“That’s what you figured, is it?” Sylas mused, to which Aris lifted his chin higher. As horrible at this as he was, Blythe could see that her husband was trying so hard to open himself up.

“I will provide you with a beverage of your choice,” he told his brother with a sage nod.

“A beverage , you say?”

“Of the alcoholic variety, if you so choose. You may consider it a reward for returning Beasty to me.”

Blythe’s stomach twisted in her own embarrassment for this ridiculous man. But Sylas, to her dismay, was no better.

“And what if I don’t want a reward?” he teased, shadows winding playfully around him. He’d found a dent in Aris’s armor, and it appeared he was set to dig until he wore through it.

“Dammit, Sylas. Just have a drink with me—”

Finally having had enough, Blythe pressed a hand over his mouth. “What my husband is trying to say is thank you . Isn’t it, Aris?”

She dropped her hand, rolling her eyes as he chewed on the inside of his cheek even then, as though the words were a struggle to get out.

“… Yes,” he admitted at last, making a face at the floor.

“I suppose I would like to have a drink with you, as we used to. To thank you for Beasty… and for watching over Blythe while I was away.” Aris paused for a moment, then added quietly, “Knowing that she had all of you made it easier for me to go.”

The room itself was still. Even Sylas remained silent in his surprise for a beat too long, only thrust into a response when Signa elbowed him in the side.

“Of course,” he agreed swiftly. “I would like that. Very much.”

Oh, thank God. “There,” Blythe said with relief. “Was that really so difficult?”

“Remarkably,” Aris grumbled. “And I’d love to move on from it immediately. So, Elijah, if you wouldn’t mind opening your gifts…”

He did so, first opening a dashing navy suit that Blythe was quite fond of, and an extravagant new tea set from Sylas and Signa. Only a small box remained beside him, and Blythe leaned in to catch a better glimpse as he undid the bow and tore open the delicate gilded wrapping.

Inside the box was a key. Elijah took it between his fingers, inspecting it curiously before he held it up to Aris with a questioning look. “What does it open?”

It seemed a rare day of emotion for Aris, as when he spoke, it was with a quiet tenderness.

“I have so much to thank you for. You have always been fair to me even when I have not deserved it. I know you tire of letting Sylas and me bring you here, and so this is my solution. What you’re holding is a key to Wisteria Gardens.

No matter where you are in this world, all you need to do is enter it into any lock, and it will bring you here to a room of your own, where you are welcome anytime.

My home is your home, Elijah. Wisteria is a warmer place when you are here. ”

Blythe sat between her husband and father, fists clenched in her skirts as she watched joy swell within Elijah until she could no longer take it. She’d tried to temper her reaction for Aris’s sake, but there was no stopping her this time as she began to bawl.

All eyes turned to her, some worried, others amused.

“Blythe?” Signa asked. “Is everything all right?”

“It is more than all right,” Blythe said, the words sounding almost angry between her sobs. She swiped at her eyes, but every time she did they just kept pooling with new tears.

She was happy . Seated beneath a glimmering Christmas tree, surrounded by her family, Blythe was as happy as she’d ever been.

“J-just quit looking at me and open your own presents,” she told them sharply, sniffling again. “Hurry on with it.”

Signa exchanged a look with Sylas, her lips twitching as though she might laugh but deciding against it. Instead, she reached for a gift from the pile, one wrapped in deep green velvet tied with a ribbon of silver. She held it out to Aris.

“This is for you,” she said.

Aris raised a brow, wary. “You didn’t have to—”

“Must you always argue?” Signa pressed the parcel into his hands, and for once, Aris obeyed without further protest. Carefully, he untied the ribbon and peeled back the fabric to reveal a leather-bound sketch pad embossed with a golden needle.

“It’s difficult to buy for a family who already has everything,” Signa told him, “but I thought maybe you’d get some use out of this.

Your dresses are gorgeous, as is everything you do with Wisteria.

But since it’s always changing, I thought that maybe more of your art could be immortalized here.

Or that you could scribble away your notes or sketches or whatnot.

” Aris flipped through the thick, cream-colored pages, his expression softening as he laughed.

Beasty, riled by the sound, stretched lazily in his lap, and he scratched beneath her chin.

“I’ll be sure to put it to good use,” he said. “You should open yours, Signa.”

She did as he asked, eyes narrowed with curiosity as he did not hand her one package but three. The first was a leather-bound journal of simple black, and the second a beautiful quill with a glossy black feather.

“It’s enchanted,” he told her, materializing a matching journal of his own. “That quill can do many things. For one, it will never run out of ink. And, more importantly, whatever you write in that journal will immediately show up in this one.”

He opened it to the first page, waiting for Signa to follow suit. Curious, she wrote a quick hello on the page, only for it to appear seconds later in his journal, which he soon handed to Blythe.

“If you ever need to get in touch with either of us, no matter where you are, you may do so through this journal.”

Signa grinned, already thinking ahead to all the nights she’d spend by the fire, scribbling notes to Blythe. “This is brilliant, thank you.”

“And are we not going to talk about the third gift?” Sylas mused, arching a brow as he held up Signa’s gifted copy of A Lady’s Guide to Beauty and Etiquette.

Blythe recognized it as the same etiquette book Signa had with her when she first arrived at Thorn Grove all those years ago, taken from her mother’s belongings. This one, however, looked new.

“Really, Aris?” Blythe nudged Aris in the arm before turning to her cousin. “I apologize on my husband’s behalf for his poor sense of humor.”

Aris, however, did not appear to be teasing.

“I expect that you’ll find a good use for it,” he told Signa, and Blythe might have thought to press him on it if she hadn’t been distracted by the gift that arrived before her. Shadows slipped from it, revealing several long packages as well as a medium-sized box.

“This one’s from me,” Sylas told her, grinning as Blythe wasted no time tearing into the wrapping. When she saw what was inside, she immediately began to cackle.

“I know what we’re playing tonight!” she said, holding up several croquet mallets. Beside her, Aris groaned.

“Dear God, not again…”

Blythe gifted Sylas a small pot of perfectly bloomed deadly nightshade trapped in a small glass container, where it would live forevermore.

He seemed fascinated by it, keeping it protected upon his lap.

Signa and Blythe continued their tradition of homemade charms to be added to their bracelets—a tiny teacup for Signa, and a golden sprig of wisteria for Blythe.

The room grew warmer, brighter, as the pile of gifts beneath the tree continued to dwindle, Elijah passing out his gifts while Signa helped Gundry unwrap a new leather collar and deer antlers, on which he began chewing right away.

By the time the last present was unwrapped, they were all seated close, the glow of the fire mingling with the hazy lights of the tree.

Blythe looked around at her strange, chaotic family—at Signa and Sylas laughing, her father pouring tea from his new set, Aris cooing at his cat—and she smiled through the happy tears that welled in her eyes once more.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered to whoever might be listening, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire and Beasty’s purrs.

It didn’t matter that they’d spent days dealing with spirits and unsolved mysteries. It didn’t matter that their lives didn’t quite look the same as others’. Because having them there with her—having them well and happy and alive —was all that mattered.

It was, as far as Blythe was concerned, the perfect Christmas.