I scoff. “What? You’re lying to me.”
Gwen shakes her head. “No, I’m not. He said that he talked his mamaw into getting a pool pass just so that he could come to the pool, and hopefully muster enough courage to talk to you.”
“You’re a goddamn liar.”
“And how he never did,” she continues. “Because he was still too shy to talk to people. That when he came back every summer to see his mamaw, he would hope to run into you, so that he could finally introduce himself.”
I sink back into the black cushion. “I never knew any of this. Why didn’t he tell me?”
Gwen looks at me like I’m the dumbest person in the world. “He also told me when his family moved here to help take care of his mamaw, he was relieved to find out that there was only one high school, because that meant he might actually get to talk to you.”
“But that’s like crazy,” I say. “He didn’t even know me. Dude, that was literally almost ten years ago.”
“Sometimes the only logical explanation out there is illogical.”
Here’s my opportunity—a perfect segue into what I need to tell Gwen.
“I know you think all of this Arthur shit—er, King Arthur shit—is ridiculous and fantastical. But I need to tell you about some things, about some kids I’ve been hanging out with, about Emmett and Camelot Crafts, about what happened to me a few days ago. You’re not going to believe me, or at least, you won’t want to believe me, because it’s all so fucked.”
For the next few hours Gwen and I talk about everything—the text from Mordy at the party, running into Morgan and Mordy at the party, Emmett threatening the twins when they were in the store, Morgan shattering glass everywhere afterward, Emmett Crabtree answering to Emrys Caerwyn, Morgan attacking me at the farmhouse and the bizarre abductions of several children years ago.
At first Gwen argues with me, stating facts and rational explanations as if I hadn’t already thoroughly explored those avenues. But then we discuss how her powers had begun manifesting themselves after she’d started working at Baubles & Books, how Olivia had started asking Gwen to help her with morning blessings, how Olivia had given her a black crystal to wear for protection and how adamant Olivia is about always having two people close the store at night, even coming in if someone has to leave early.
“Does Emmett ever come into the store?” I ask.
My books are scattered all over the floor now, and I’ve located a scrying bowl, a five-pound bag of sea salt, two white candles, a bottle of holy water, a green crystal and several sticks of Palo Santo.
“No, but he’s always looking in when I’m working, watching me like it’s the first time he’s seen me every time. I don’t know anything about that old fucker, but I bet he’s a pedo or something. And he’s like twenty-five years older than Olivia. That’s fuckin’ nasty, dude.”
I open a cabinet over the sink and grab a bag of pretzels, then get us some juice. Arthur will be home soon, and Gwen has to leave for work in forty-five minutes, so we have to squeeze in as much cleansing as possible.
“Here,” I say. “Eat this while you read.”
Gwen takes the glass of juice and says, “What exactly are we looking for? I don’t see how we can do anything without knowin’ the full story.”
I shove a couple of pretzels in my mouth. “Arthur,” I say, crunching loudly. “The other day he pulled that Death card.” Gwen rolls her eyes at me. “And no, he probably isn’t going to drive his car off a bridge or have a heart attack any time soon, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t being sought after by God knows what.” I think back on the incident in his bedroom and choose my next words carefully, in case something—or someone—is listening to our conversation. “If there’s a demon here, or if someone has put a curse on Arthur, or hasn’t yet, but will attempt to, we need to fortify his home and his truck.”
“Okay,” Gwen says, slowly. “But what about that bitch who attacked you at her uncle’s house? She was possessed, and you still agreed to hang out with Mordy this weekend. Don’t you think it’s about time to consider protectin’ your ass as well?”
A large Celtic cross on the wall behind us, the one Arthur’s mamaw gave to him, begins to shake violently. I see Gwen’s eyes dart across the room as if trying to materialize whatever it is that’s pulling the cross.
“L-lance,” she stammers. “What the fuck is happening?”
When I don’t answer her immediately, the cross swings back and forth until it’s nothing but a big gray blur, as if it’s trying to communicate with me, trying to agree with Gwen.
“Hopefully, cleansing the house and truck will do the trick!” I practically shout at the cross. “Besides, I never take my amulet off, and tonight I can leave the rune that I made at Mordy’s outside, to absorb energy from the moon. I’ll keep it in my pocket at all times!”
The heavy cross stills a moment later.
“What was that?” Gwen asks, her voice shaky. Gwen doesn’t deal with ghosts or spirits very well. How she’s able to hold drunken séances every other weekend, I’ll never know. Blacked out on frozen daiquiris, probably.
“A ghost, I think. But not a demon.” My eyes return to the cross, which is now slightly tilted to one side. “What are you reading?”
Gwen puts her hand on mine, never moving her eyes from the book now resting in her lap. “What about this? Limpia de Huevos? Have you ever tried it?”
“An egg cleansing? That sounds really familiar. Here, let me see what it says.”
The book states that an egg limpia can be helpful in removing negative energy and impurities from the mind, body and soul, among many other things. Arthur just bought a carton of eggs yesterday, and while I’ve never tried to cleanse anything with an egg, there’s a first time for everything. The book also states that only a powerful shaman should attempt the ritual—I’m not a shaman and I’m not powerful, so we’ll have to be very careful and just hope for the best.
“We’ll do me first, and then I can do you,” I say. “If that works.” She nods.
Gwen and I repeat different prayers during the cleansing, but the rituals are similar in every other aspect. She takes an unopened egg and touches my forehead with it, making a pentagram on the skin, and continues to do this on my neck, shoulders, hands, hips, knees and feet. Afterward, she cracks the egg into a bowl of holy water that I have left over from a Christmas Mass I attended earlier this year. I’m not a practicing Catholic, but that’s neither here nor there. Magick is magick, regardless of the channel or source.
We deviated from the ritual slightly because we were pressed for time, but like all spells and forms of witchery, intention is key. I hope ancient shamanic magick operates on a similar philosophy, anyway.
After the cleansing is complete, Gwen and I take handfuls of salt and sprinkle it around the outside of the trailer. Children outside stop playing basketball to come over and watch us perform this spell, but I’m more concerned about the group of teenage boys marveling over the fact that my sister isn’t wearing a bra.
Gwen leaves a few minutes before Arthur gets home, and when he walks into the living room, the trailer smells like I’ve been burning funky incense. Palo Santo has a very strong, particular scent, and while I love it, I know it can give people headaches.
Arthur doesn’t mention it though, instead spotting a stack of my clothes on the kitchen counter and pointing at it.
“Those are mine. I had Gwen drop off some of my stuff earlier today.”
“I know those are yours,” he says. “I couldn’t fit into that shirt if I tried.”
“I just figured that if I’m going to be staying here, I should have a change of clothes, or something.” I haven’t figured out if staying here means living here, and I don’t want to freak Arthur out, so I don’t say it.
“Oh,” I say. “Here.”
The green crystal in my hand will bring the person wearing it protection, luck, prosperity, wealth, all kinds of shit—it’s what we in the magick world re
fer to as a catch-all crystal. Arthur stares at the gemstone, and after I drop it into his hand, rolls it in his palm several times.
“Jewelry already?” The humor in his tone makes me want to kiss him, because I haven’t seen him all day, and because his freckles are just so damn cute, but I can’t get caught up in my feelings, not now, not when I have so much research to do. “You sure move fast.” He laughs.
“Well, you are my boyfriend now. And this is a crystal, dummy, not jewelry.”
“Say that again.” He closes the distance between us and kisses my hand.
“What? Dummy?” I ask, savoring the scent of his sweat mixed with the smoke in the air. “Crystal? Jewelry?”
“Boyfriend.”
“You are my boyfriend,” I say. “Now go take a shower. You smell like a bologna sandwich.” Arthur bites his bottom lip, and I know he wants to kiss me, because I’ve seen that look a hundred times now, but I have so much to do at the moment that I can’t let his twinkling brown eyes enamor me.
“Why don’t you join me?” He grabs my waist and pulls me into embrace, leaving a trail of feathery kisses all along my neck and collarbone.
“In your dreams, Pendragon.”
“You have no idea,” he whispers into my ear, then he kisses the side of my head.
Flirting with Arthur like this feels so weird and foreign, because I’ve spent so much time wrestling with my feelings that having him reciprocate them makes me uneasy. I’m still not sure what to make of everything Gwen said, about the pool, high school, and hoping to run into me every summer. That adds a layer to our relationship I hadn’t even considered—the possibility that Arthur has been infatuated with me since we first met, maybe even longer than that.
Insane.
“Hey,” he calls from the shower. “Can you bring me a towel? I think there’s a couple folded up on the bed. The scratchy red one please—if it’s clean!”
When I enter the bathroom I can make out Arthur’s shape behind the frosted sliding shower door. Something about his movements and the sound of running water hypnotizes me, and I watch his hands go up and down his body. I’d said ‘in your dreams’ like I don’t share those same dreams, the freedom and confidence to be naked in front of another person. Not just another person, but him.
“Is that for me?” he asks, breaking the spell. Water drips off the tip of his nose.
Our eyes meet, and even though I’m sure I look extremely stupid, he says nothing when I hand him the towel, smirking at me instead. The truth is that I’m so afraid of being hurt by Arthur that every time I remove a brick, another one takes its place within seconds, and the wall becomes even greater, even stronger.
I turn around and leave the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The last, and therefore most annoying, barrier that I will have to overcome is also the most difficult. Arthur keeps reassuring me that he doesn’t want to rush into anything, that I don’t have to share a bed with him, that he’s content with what we have, but goddamn, I want to his body, too.
The struggle is real.
Maybe if I set goals for myself I can push past the veil, destroying any last vestige of Linda for good—and finally accepting who I am—while hopefully welcoming Arthur’s love as Lance. The person he’s loved all along, or so I hope.
Right before bed, I take my phone into the living room and look for the charger. It has less than five percent of its battery left, but still manages to vibrate in my hand before I can plug it into the wall. The screen lights up and I see that Mordy has texted me, asking if I’m still up for the morning trip to Monticello tomorrow.
Thanks to Emmett’s last-minute changes, my next shift isn’t until Sunday afternoon, and Arthur is doing something with Gwen all day tomorrow. Besides, hanging out with Mordy is refreshing, a break from the usual, and we have much to discuss since the last time we hung out.
I tell him yes, that I will see him tomorrow, and mentally set my first goal.
Buy a dildo.
Chapter Nine
The Plan
Mordy and I get back from the Lion’s Den right around lunchtime. We’d left super early in the morning because he’d said it might make me more comfortable if it wasn’t so crowded and busy. Seeing as how there were like a hundred truckers in there buying all kinds of interesting things, I’d decided it didn’t matter in the end, and paid for my purchases with ease.
On the way back, Mordy and I had discussed my fears and hopes about having sex with Arthur. Talking to another trans man about sex is like drinking a glass of water after a hardy jog—you don’t know how much you need it until you need it. Morgan is lucky to have such an open, chill brother. I wouldn’t trade Gwen for the world, but I wouldn’t mind adding Mordy and Morgan, if she allowed it, to my family.
We decide to have a light lunch at Baubles because Gwen is working today, and we need to discuss meeting up later. Gwen has never met Mordy before, and I know how Morgan feels about white witches. I hope he doesn’t share her sentiment.
“You must be Gwen!” Mordy shakes Gwen’s hand with vigor. “My name is Mordy, Mordy Lafayette. Ooh, girl, that looks like it hurt.” He points at the fresh cheek piercings she must have gotten earlier today.
“Oh, they fucking hurt all right. Not so bad right now, but when I smile, it’s like this puffy, tight feeling. My face feels like it’s on fire.”
I groan. “Please tell me you paid someone to shove needles in your face, that you didn’t do them yourself.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Gwen takes our order and leaves.
“I made something for you.” Mordy reaches into his bag and pulls out a black velvet pouch. “You can choose to accept it or not. I understand completely if it goes against your beliefs. Here. Take it.”
I accept the little velvet bag with drawstrings, and peer inside.
“I don’t know if it will bring you any joy or comfort to hear me say this, but I killed the chicken myself. I fed her a good meal, bathed her, sang to her, let her sleep in my lap while I stroked her feathers and then slit her throat in one swift move. Her death was instant. Afterward I offered a prayer and deboned her myself.”
I swallow and gape at the string of chicken bones now dangling from my fingers.
“My God, dude,” I say. “This is the nicest gift anyone has ever given to me.”
Mordy leans back into his chair and releases a deep sigh. “Okay, so you like it,” he replies. “Dope. I thought you might kick my ass and send PETA after me.”
We laugh, and Gwen surprises us by setting down three plates of food.
“I’ll be free in like five minutes,” she says. “Don’t eat my fucking pickle, Lance. I mean it.”
Mordy picks up his grilled cheese and begins eating, while I admire my new gift with unabashed awe.
“Is this for protection?” I ask.
He nods, and wipes off his mouth. “Yes,” he says, after taking a drink of soda. “Something is trying to fuck with you, man. I’m not sure what it is, or why, but I’ve never seen Morgan lash out at anyone like that. And until we get to the bottom of things, you need all of the extra help you can get.” I’m silently thankful Gwen isn’t around to hear Mordy’s warnings, because her head is already too big and we wouldn’t be able to carry it out the door.
“Gwen and I cleansed each other yesterday, and I cleansed the house and truck. To be honest, I’m more worried about Arthur.”
“Ooh,” Gwen says. “Arthur? Are we talking about sex?”
“No, dumbass. We’re talking about how he pulled the fucking Death card. What is with you?”
Mordy sets his glass on the table. “A tarot reading?”
I shake my head. “Worse. Just a single card. I was too freaked out to even consider having him shuffle the deck again and get another one, because I already knew what the card would be.”
During our lunch, Mordy launches into his Emmett-is-the-antichrist tirade, and I send Arthur pictures of the bone talisman he made for me. In resp
onse Arthur sends me a picture of himself wearing nothing but a pair of golden Speedos. I have no idea where he is or what the hell he’s doing, but my laughter causes a disturbance at the table, and Gwen snatches the phone from my hand.
“Hey, asshole, that’s my property.”
“Yeah,” she says, “but you’re family, so we share everything.”
“No.” I grab the phone out of her hand. “Not everything.”
“Did Arthur tell you someone asked him to be Rocky tonight at a showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show? We’re supposed to rehearse some of the moves at y’all’s trailer this afternoon.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I reply. “You know how I feel about that movie.”
“Are you saying that you’re not going?” Gwen asks.
I shake my head. “Hell no.”
“Not even to see your man Arthur dance around in a pair of golden underwear?” Mordy asks. “What’s the point of setting sequential goals if you can’t get past the first one?”
Gwen has no idea what we’re talking about, and I don’t care to explain Lance Lotte’s Plan for Sexual Healing with her. Mordy understands the awkward silence between the both of us and quickly changes the subject, asking Gwen what type of magick she practices.
I stare down at the picture on my phone. Arthur never says no to anyone—he’s the life of the party, the first one to skinny-dip, the first one to strip if he loses at Jenga, the first one to enter a haunted house. He moves so fast sometimes that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to catch him.
I never have been a very fast runner.
“All right,” I proclaim. “We’ll go see that dumpster fire of a movie. But I am not dressin’ up, you hear me?”
After lunch, Gwen, Mordy and I agree to meet up with Morgan at the library to discuss Tammy’s disappearance. The library is the most accessible, neutral, non-magickal place in town, and it has a quiet room for studying. Gwen and I decide to walk the two miles it takes to get there while Mordy fetches Morgan.
“I like him,” Gwen says as we round a corner. “He’s really funny. And sweet.”
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