Coming here on an empty stomach wasn’t the brightest idea, I chide myself.
“They’re waiting for you outside.” Myrddin opens a screen door leading out to the back porch, and we walk through the laundry room in single file. “Watch your step! That last stair is barely hanging on.”
Outside, sitting across from each other, are Morgan and Mordy. Both are dressed in black T-shirts and jeans. It’s the first time I’ve seen them wear anything other than the color white. I rush to Morgan, practically bowling her over with excitement. My arms slide around her waist and I hug her tightly.
“Wait, is it already over? Did you make it?”
Morgan laughs, patting the top of my head. “Yes, friend. Iyaworaje has ended.”
My gaze shoots across the fire and lands on her brother, who is sitting with his legs crossed, looking sedated, exhausted. I’d had no idea their year in white was about to end.
Damn, I wish I had known. Because I’d made the both of them flannel sachets of sage, anise and lavender the other day, to celebrate this moment, and I hadn’t thought to bring them. They’re sitting on Arthur’s dresser. I’d put a lot of effort into sewing them by hand, pricking my finger repeatedly, like I was trying to go to sleep for the next hundred years.
“Tío Myrddin,” Morgan says. “This is Gwen, Lance’s sister, and Arthur, Lance’s roommate.”
Morgan hadn’t outed us to her uncle. I squeeze her shoulder in approval, and she winks at me.
Now, crouched down beside his nephew, Tío Myrddin inspects Gwen and Arthur through the smoky pile of sticks, not with scrutiny or malevolence, but out of curiosity and wonder. Perhaps he is just as interested in them as they are in him.
Arthur is wearing a dirty white T-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, muddy work boots and a backward ball cap. None of us had thought to change into actual decent clothing. Standing beside him, Gwen is dressed in a pair of pink Daisy Dukes and a green tank top that reads in glittery lettering Real Men Are Feminists. She must be nervous, because she’s tonguing the stud in her left cheek with a sort of furious determination, and I’m not sure why I didn’t realize it before, but she isn’t wearing any shoes.
I can see why the face Myrddin’s wearing might be a little heavy.
“Mordy has told me a lot about y’all. Your meemaw is a hell of a woman, Arthur.”
Arthur laughs. “Thank you, sir. I know.”
“Used to run around with her when we were kids.” He chuckles. “Has the purest of hearts, that one.” By Arthur’s beaming, I can tell that he agrees with Tío Myrddin’s assessment of his grandmother. “Have yourself a seat. Gwen, you too. I think it’s fair to say that we have all become family in some way or another, whether we willed it or not. Mordy, your marshmallow’s gonna be too black to eat, boy.”
No one argues with Tío Myrddin, because he’s right, and we all know it. Even the fire knows it, its flames dancing along to our responses, shrinking and growing with our emotions, our laughter.
Morgan leaves the fire, enters the laundry room through the back porch, then returns moments later with a tremendous amount of bagged leaves. High above the bonfire, the moon hovers directly overhead, offering lustrous streams of silver light. When Morgan tosses a bag to each of us, I smell the clean, crisp fragrance through the plastic immediately. Oregano.
“Damn,” Arthur says. “That’s strong as hell. What is this?”
“It better be,” Morgan replies with a shake of her head. “For all the shit I went through to get it. Tío Myrddin had me sneaking around on all fours, looking for this shit in the cemetery. You ever been chased at night with a shovel? I’m surprised that dude didn’t call the cops.”
“Shew, you ain’t kiddin’,” Tío Myrddin agrees. “He was madder’n a porch full of rattlesnakes and rocking chairs.”
Everyone starts laughing after that—except for Mordy. Other than an initial nod, he’s not communicated with anyone yet—other than his uncle, that is. I wonder if he’s okay.
When Mordy catches me staring at him I don’t look away, smiling instead, but he turns away from me and swiftly grabs a fistful of oregano. I don’t get it. Something’s pissed him off. He doesn’t normally act like this. In fact, I’ve never seen him angry.
Is it me?
“Mordred,” Morgan whines. “Calm down.” At that, Mordy jumps up from his seat, alarming all of us, and starts throwing leaves into the fire. The oregano fizzes and produces a shrill, human-like whistle while turning to ash. “Goddamn it,” Morgan says. “I said calm down.”
“Calm down my ass!” he shouts, and shifts to face me. “Don’t you have something to tell the group, Lance?”
I look to Morgan. Her face is sympathetic, but all she can do is shrug. Somehow Mordy knows. But just how much, I’m not sure.
“What is he talkin’ about?” Gwen asks. “And why is he so mad?”
Secrets. The trade. A compromise. Death.
“Yeah,” Mordy says, launching the bag into the fire. “What could have possibly crawled up my ass?”
“Do you have any idea how difficult all of this has been on me?” I shout. “Why would I keep this to myself? Why would someone keep the fact that they’re going to die to themselves? To spare everyone the pain and suffering they’re dealing with!” Gwen reaches for my arm, but I shrug it off, and stand. “I never had any other option. All roads in my life have led to this moment. You know it as well as I do, Mordred. The cycle will be broken, and I am the only one who can do it.”
“Death?” Arthur says. “What are you talking about? Who’s dyin’?”
Mordy points at Arthur. “Lance made some kind of deal where you’ll get to live if he kills the Merlin, but in order to do that, he has to essentially sacrifice himself for you. It’s fucking stupid!”
Even though I’ve now got a hornet’s nest buzzing within my ribs, I’m oddly glad all of this shit has surfaced, because honestly, I didn’t know how I was going to bring it up.
Arthur doesn’t offer anything in response, instead keeping his eyes focused on the fire.
Gwen explodes. “What the fuck is he talking about, Lance? What do you mean a trade?”
“A life for a life,” Mordy replies, our eyes now locked. “Isn’t that right, Lance?”
Gwen inhales. “No offense, Mordy, but I need to hear this from my brother. So could you please just let him explain himself, because what I’m hearing can’t be right.” Her voice cracks. “Right, Lance?”
“I don’t know what y’all want me to say. When Morgana attacked me the first time, she mentioned a trade, and then when Mordy and I went up to Little Henge, Mictēcacihuātl said the same thing. All I know is that I’m the only one who can do this. I don’t know why. I didn’t ask for any of it. If I never came back to this fuckin’ town, none of it would have happened.” I don’t know when I started crying, but now that I am, I’m not sure that I’ll be able to stop.
Everyone is attacking me, and I don’t know, maybe I deserve it, maybe it is my fault, because I kept all of this hidden from them, but I had not come emotionally prepared for such an intervention. No one tries to stop me, either, when I walk around the side of the house, headed in the direction of the front porch.
I lay my head on the splintered wood and close my eyes, unable to cork the salty tears. The wooden floorboards beneath my arms and legs are still warm from the summer heat.
Learning how to love another human being is the hardest challenge I’ve ever had to overcome in my life. Bouncing from house to house and county to county, as a small child I’d struggled with trusting others and accepting kindness, always thinking folks had ulterior motives, something they could use against me if I opened my heart to them. Lying had always come easier than loving.
When I’d first joined the Lotte family, Fred and Anna had been so patient, welcoming me into their home and family with an understanding that I was different, that my needs would be greater than their own daughter’s, that they would have to devote more time to me than her.
During the first week, I’d stayed in bed, burrowed under my quilt like some frightened mole, afraid to interact with any of them. But then Gwen had rebelled against her parents’ advice, sneaking into my room one night with an unopened box of Popsicles, one of those twenty-four packs, and we’d eaten every single one, not uttering one word while doing this. Afterward she’d crawled into my blanket fort, and we’d fallen asleep on the floor.
That was my introduction to Gwen.
That had been our setup for the next few years. I hadn’t slept alone until I was a junior in high school.
The thought of losing any of them—Gwen, Mordy, Morgan, Arthur—the feeling is acidic, chaotic and eats away at any and all logic. Saving Arthur, saving any of them… I will do anything and everything I can to protect them. Because I realize now that it’s not just Arthur, it’s everyone—Tío Myrddin, Fred and Anna, even Arthur’s morally bankrupt father. Every living thing in Avalon.
We have to do this for every resident, because when you love something, you love the good and the bad, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. I love Avalon, and I love Kentucky.
To my left I hear the sound of movement and promptly pop up, scrambling for composure. The collar of my shirt is soaked, and when I wipe my face black marks that were once my mascara streak my hand. Arthur steps into my line of vision, holding two water bottles, one resting in the crook of each elbow.
“Hey,” he says. “Thought you might need some water. It’s hot as hell out here.”
“Oh, hey. Yeah, it really is.” I accept the water and bring my knees to my chest. “Thanks,” I say. Arthur takes a seat next to me. “Sorry about all that.”
“About what?” he asks. “Oh, you mean that whole sacrifice thing? Yeah, I gotta admit…things got a little out of hand back there. Are you okay?”
I remove the plastic cap and take a long swig of water, drinking more than half of the bottle’s contents. For the past few weeks I’ve felt drained, unable to take care of myself. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch today, and it’s past nine o’clock. I feel like passing out.
“I’m alive,” I squeak. “Did you come out here to yell at me too?”
Arthur reclines his body, using his elbows to prop himself up on the floor. “Nah,” he replies. “If the roles were reversed, I’d do the same thing. Wouldn’t think twice about it. For you or Gwen. Besides, I can’t stand to see you cry. I hate it more than anything in the world.”
“I didn’t keep it from y’all because I was intentionally trying to be deceptive. I just didn’t know how to tell you. There’s no way you would have believed me if you hadn’t found that sword. You would have been like ‘Oh, that Lance, he’s snapped. I knew he was a little off, but now he’s past the point of no return’. I mean, just think about it.”
“You regret comin’ back, don’t you?” His voice is a well, deep and full of sorrow. “You implied it back there.”
I take a deep breath. “I just didn’t expect to come back to this, you know? The worst thing that I thought could happen was comin’ back to you bein’ in a relationship, not this—not killing a druid that’s been around for eons. Certainly not multiple visits from ghosts, ghouls and goddesses. It sucks, man. All of it.”
Arthur remains solemn for the next several minutes. “We could leave here,” he says. “I have a few thousand dollars in the bank. You, me, Gwen, we could leave tonight. You don’t have to fight Emmett. I know rent is high in Lexington, but we could live somewhere shitty for a while until we get on our feet.”
I drop my water bottle on the porch and slink toward him. He doesn’t budge from the porch, but his eyes follow my movement with careful precision.
“I regret a lot of things,” I say. “Mostly I regret keeping these feelings to myself for so long.” My hands glide across his paint-stained shirt, and I pull myself up against his body, then rest my ear against his chest. “I just want to be able to do normal shit with you. For a while there, it actually felt like we were dating, but now it feels like we’re racing against time.”
“Hey,” he says, twirling my ponytail in his finger, his breath hot against my overgrown undercut. “You’ve made me so happy these past couple of months. I’m not ready to just give up, and you shouldn’t either. I’m not going to let anything happen to either of us.” I slump farther into his stomach, head-first, desperately wanting to believe him. “I don’t get it. You always put people before you. It’s like you don’t love yourself or something, like you think other people are important, and that you’re not.” I draw away from him, afraid he’ll see my tears again, but his gentle hands stop me. “You know, you don’t have to love yourself in order to let other people love you. It doesn’t work that way. I know you struggle with that stuff.”
Now, looking at Arthur’s backward cap and his dirty work clothes, I absorb his words, his energy, his being, and think to myself how lucky I am to be right here, in this moment, with this man.
“I love you.”
“Say that again,” he replies, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “I never get tired of hearing you say that.”
“I love you,” I say, before my lips attack his. “I love you.”
Tío Myrddin and Gwen are sitting side by side when Arthur and I return. Mordy tries to stand up immediately, but Morgan yanks on his hand, jerking him back to the ground.
“Ah!” Tío Myrddin exclaims as he acknowledges us, his palms juggling a stack of brown bowls.
Arthur and I are holding hands, and when I try to drop his, he squeezes mine tighter. If the sight bothers Tío Myrddin, he’s doing a helluva job hiding it.
“You two are just in time,” he says. “We are getting ready to have some black beans and rice. Morgan’s got the knife, if you want some bread. She made it. Her first attempt!”
Morgan turns a soft red in the firelight. “It better taste good. Kneading that dough was a bitch!”
I accept a dish from Tío Myrddin and walk over to where Mordy’s sitting. The aroma of lime hits me instantly, and I realize just how famished I am. He reaches into the large metal bowl sitting in front of him and spoons an enormous amount of beans into my bowl, then looks up at me.
I hurt him most of all by keeping all of these things a secret. We don’t break eye contact for several seconds, and probably wouldn’t have, if Arthur’s warm hand on my shoulder hadn’t urged me to move so that he could get some food too. Gwen doesn’t say anything to me as I find a seat next to her. She keeps her head glued to the large piece of bread in her hands.
I press on her shoulder with my free hand. “Do you hate me?” Gwen shakes her head, but doesn’t speak. “Okay, because I love you, and I’m sorry that I’m your older brother who seems to be the world’s biggest fuck-up.” She abruptly places the bread on a plate in her lap and crushes me with her arms, nearly spilling the rice from my bowl all over my legs. “Jesus, Gwen!”
“We’ve already discussed it.” She snuffles, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re not going this alone. And if you don’t like it, tough shit.”
* * * *
After dinner, Morgan hands me a bag of oregano.
“We’re burning oregano tonight, to reverse or end any hexes placed on any of us within this circle,” she says. “Tío Myrddin has had several chickens turn up dead recently. All in bloody, gruesome ways. Lance, I’ll spare you the details. But we believe someone is targeting this land.”
“And because I’ve been having vivid dreams lately,” Mordy chimes in. My heart is relieved to hear him speak. “Dreams about you, Lance.” I swallow. “Queen Mab over here came to me last night and showed me all of this fucked-up stuff, told me you already knew about it. I’m sorry for blowin’ up at you.”
Morgan nods. “I have mini-pouches full of oaken ash to give you all as well. In preparation for the days to come.”
“Oaken ash?” Arthur asks. “Do you mean like ashes from an oak tree?”
“Yes,” Tío Myrddin replies. “It
is believed that Emrys Caerwyn was conceived in an oak grove, and because of this, druids have worshiped and revered oak trees for centuries. Now, I’m not one for cuttin’ down trees and burnin’ ‘em, but I believe this ash will help us draw power from the Merlin.” Morgan hands us little canvas bags with drawstrings. “My suggestion to you is to keep them on you at all times, even when you’re at work, Lance.”
“Oh,” I say meekly. “Emmett basically fired me today.”
“Well,” he replies. “That solves that problem, I reckon. Morgan, do you have the swords?”
Mordy had asked Arthur while he was at work to bring Galantine, Excalibur and the Xiuhcoatl to the fire. I guess when I had been off throwing myself a pity party, one of them must have gone to Arthur’s truck to retrieve the weapons.
“Good,” Tío Myrddin says. “So what we’re going to do tonight is cleanse and bless the blades. This will happen by igniting the blade and then dousing it in holy water. But there’s an important component of this ritual that I need to get out of the way right now…and that’s the belief portion.” He turns his eyes on Arthur. “Everyone here is a witch, aside from you, Arthur Pendragon, and that could be a problem. Do you understand why?”
“You’re right—I’m not a witch,” Arthur agrees. “But I’ve been around them for the past few years, and that’s never stopped anyone from performing a ceremony when I’m present.”
“Right, but this is different, because it is elemental in nature. We are calling everyone and everything inhabiting this land, all of the tree spirits, ghosts from slave plantations now long gone, and quite possibly demons, if they live here. We require total land devotion.” His eyes shift to Morgan. “Now, I need you to state before everybody here that you believe in magick, that you will continue to believe in it and that you will use it if called on to do so.”
Arthur sits real still for the next few moments, taking in everything Tío Myrddin’s just said.
He clears his throat. “Uncle Myrddin, I believe in God, and good and evil—hell, not so much, but spirits and ghosts, sure. I guess belief in those things is similar to your belief in magick. And no, I’m not a witch, as you stated before, but I do believe in everything I’ve seen and heard these past couple of months, and they have all been directly related to witchcraft. If you’re asking me to believe in the power of this circle, there’s no need, because I’ve believed in it since I met your niece and nephew.”
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