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Jem wakes up with his parabatai mark throbbing. It is Will’s death anniversary- 71 years since he died, sitting next to Tessa and holding Jem’s hand. When Jem meets Tessa on the ground floor of their hotel for breakfast and sees the tired look in her eyes, he begins to tell her how he and Will met, how he taught him to throw a knife.
“His aim was terrible,” Jem says, shaking his head, and Tessa laughs.
“Tell me more.”
And so they exchange their stories about Will, stories of killing demons and writing bad poetry, of quaking in fear when faced by ducks.
“And then he took me to the Whispering Gallery and continued to act most politely. He even drew away from me when I tried to reach for his hand. He said he did not bring me there to maul me.”
Jem stares. “Did you not fear for the state of his mind?”
“Oh, I lost my temper. I demanded that he stop being so very polite and that he be himself. I even threatened to hit him with my umbrella.” Jem choked at this matter-of-fact mention of her threat. He vaguely recalls Will telling him that, when he had first met Tessa, she had thrown a jug at him. Jem has absolutely no doubts that Tessa would have actually hit Will with her umbrella if he vexed her.
“And what did he say?” he asks, fascinated.
“That he was trying to court me,” she replies, trying to stifle her laughter.
“He said what?” Jem looks so surprised, Tessa begins to laugh.
“Only you could ever prompt such behaviour from him,” says Jem in an awed voice, shaking his head. “I never thought Will would actually attempt to court someone. His ego would not have allowed it.”
This makes Tessa laugh harder, and she almost falls off the park bench.
Jem smiles, watching her, and thinking how they came to be here.
It has been a few weeks since he met Tessa on Blackfriars Bridge for their annual rendezvous, having been cured of his dependence on yin fen and shed the Marks of the Silent Brothers. They are now sitting on a park bench in a jardin in Paris, a city Tessa insisted they visit.
“I told him Mr Rochester never courted Jane Eyre, to try and knock some sense into him,” Tessa continues, getting over her fit of laughter. “He offered to dress up as a woman, and declared he would be stunning.”
“Now that,” Jem says, raising an eyebrow, “sounds like Will.”
“He pointed out where you fed poultry pie to the mallards by the Serpentine,” she says flatly and he is surprised into laughter.
“There are ducks by the Seine, Jem,” Tessa tells him, smiling. “And I believe there is a café nearby which makes an excellent poultry pie. You should go feed some to the ducks.”
Jem looks at her for a moment, trying to gauge if this is a serious proposition. It is.
“Only if you come with me.”
Tessa is surprised by this request- after all, the experiment was one Jem had shared with his parabatai- but agrees.
An hour later they sit at the edge of the Seine, laughing at how the ducks in Paris were like the mallards of London. “Bloodthirsty little beasts,” Jem said, imitating Will.
“There really is no need to breed a cannibal race of ducks, Will,” Tessa says to sky, laughing. “They already eat poultry pie. They did over a century ago, and they do now.”
Jem smiles. “Did Will ever tell you about how…”
They sit by the Seine and continue their storytelling, bringing up the good memories to heal the pain they both still feel somewhere deep inside. They laugh and the light of the setting sun dances on the water, on the pearl bracelet from Will, and on the jade necklace from Jem.
Somewhere behind them, on the banks of the Seine, watching unseen, Will’s ghost smiles.