The conclusion to my short story series about a father and daughter discussing the end of the world and her journey to save it. To start at the beginning, see A Conversation in a Cafe.

“And so it is done.”

As greeting’s go, it’s not the best. I slump down into the seat opposite my father, looking at him through narrowed eyes. So it is done. My usual cookie waits for me with a Diet Coke; he is holding a mug of tea but not drinking. Just smiling at me.

“Yep,” I say, reaching into my bag. I pull the sword out. A full blade, which should never have fit into my tiny handbag but of course it did, because, well, magic. Magic has been a constant in the last few weeks. The only certainty as the light filled the sky and the earth itself shattered. “Saved the world.” I plonk the sword down on the table. It clatters, and a couple of people look at us before quickly looking away.

“The world will never be the same,” my father says.

I laugh. “Look around. It’s been two days since the earth stopped shaking, and already people are back in the city centre having a latte and a croissant before they go to work. Life goes on. It’s only human.” He’s still smiling at me. His eyes sparkle a gentle gold. I sigh. “What?”

“You may have surpassed me in wisdom, daughter.”

“You know damn well that’s impossible.” I reach out and take a bite of the cookie. God, it’s good. I can enjoy it now. Maybe. I’m pretty sure it’s over. 

“But five of us still remain.”

I drop the cookie back onto the tray.

“The end of the world has stopped. I’ve killed eight. Eight bloody gods, and let me tell you they didn’t go easily.” 

They bled gold. I’m not sure whether that made it better or worse. When I close my eyes I still hear the scrape of blade against bone, still see the gold-splattered walls of my most recent battle. The sword gleams silver. Every time it struck a god and the god bled, it would absorb the blood, and grow more powerful. The fights got easier. The last one barely lasted a minute; it felt more like an execution.

Is that what I am now? An executioner?

“It’s over,” I say, aware my father is trying to catch my eye and deliberately avoiding him. “The end times are done.”

”But five of us live.”

”Death never really wanted the world to end; it doesn’t really have a purpose once that happens. The twins only really care about the trees, I lost them somewhere in the rainforest, but I’m pretty certain from some of the cursing I got from the trees that they’d rather the earth remained whole. And as for Loki – or Apollo, as he told me to call him, which is insane because Apollo wasn’t even a bloody trickster -”

”I believe that’s the trick.”

”He doesn’t want to lose his favourite playground. Not in the era of fake news.” I hesitate. My father hasn’t blinked. He’s still watching me. “That leaves you.”

”Yes.”

The cafe buzzes around us. Nice acoustic music is playing. Nice conversations are happening. Nice weather shines through the window. You would never guess the world almost ended, that millions died in the floods, that the hospitals were overrun with people who refused to die and the earth itself split. Life goes on. 

My father reaches out. Going for a bite of my cookie. 

No. He rests his hand on mine. His touch is warm, and soothing. It feels like safety. 

“Daughter, look at me.” I can’t help it; at the entreaty I look up, and I’m immediately trapped in those golden eyes. He’s still smiling. “I am so proud of you.”

I flush. I can feel the warmth in my cheeks. He squeezes my fingers, and then lets them go.

He grabs a bit of the cookie before leaning back in his seat. Because old habits die hard.

“I have a confession to make,” he says. 

My heart sinks. Please don’t say you’re pro-end. Please don’t say I have to kill you.

He sighs. The sound is heavy, like the weight of the world has pushed it out. “I ordered the cookies for you because it seemed ungodly to order them for myself.”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. And once I start laughing, I can’t stop. A couple whispering and holding hands at the next table glare at us; I just keep laughing. The sword gleams on the table between us. My father’s eyes, human eyes, watch me with an expression that is both amused and exasperated.

I laugh until I feel my ribs are going to crack, until the sound of my laughter is echoing louder than the music and the upstairs of this cafe is full of my amusement. Then I sink back into my chair, resting my head back to look at the ceiling, and whisper, “I need to sleep for, like, a century.”

“I’ll give you a couple of days.”

I glare at him. “A couple of days until what?”

“Until you show me how to retire and be human.” He takes another bite of the cookie and leans back in his chair with a content sigh. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I think I’m going to like it.”