“Kai, can you spark me?” he asked.
Kairos’s eyes were shut tight, his tongue poking out of his tiny mouth.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Merlin said. Whined, really. “I don’t have what I need here.”
“You have all of time at your fingertips,” Morgause countered.
Merlin breathed deeply and tried to think like a proper time baby. To be strategic, like Val would want. It was true: he could create portals. But he would have to make the jump carefully. If he aged beneath five or so, there would be no breaking this cycle. Ari and Gwen and Val would be left to deal with Nin alone.
Merlin stood up carefully in the boat. The closer they got to Avalon, the more details he could see. The gorgeous caves, the windswept cliffs, the humble homes filled with hearth fires and magic. “I thought you didn’t let men into Avalon.”
“We don’t,” Morgause said, with two meaningfully arched brows.
“Oh,” he said. “Right.” It would take Merlin years to get back to the threshold of manhood—if he ever made it back at all. He would have liked to spend his childhood running wild with the enchantresses. Finally getting to know and understand them. Reuniting with Morgana—definitely using the name Kairos, since she wasn’t Merlin’s biggest fan.
But it wasn’t meant to be. Another life, perhaps.
“I’m low on power,” Merlin admitted. “Would you mind helping me?”
With Morgause’s magic added to his, he could make it a little farther and hopefully not vanish into babyhood in the process.
Morgause pulled out the same ceremonial dagger that all Avalon enchantresses kept strapped to their thighs, and drew a diagonal slash across her palm. Blood already dripping, she looked at the child in the crook of Merlin’s arm. “The time child must be kept safe at all costs,” she said. “Are you sure you do not wish to leave Kairos in Avalon?”
Merlin couldn’t hand off Gwen and Ari’s baby. He couldn’t give away the last trace of Kay on this or any world.
Oh, celestial gods. Kay was his dad.
And on that ridiculous note, Merlin took Morgause’s bleeding hand, and hummed. His skin started at the barest shine, and then built to a vivid beacon. The last shreds of Avalon mist parted around him. The lake below them shivered.
And a doorway carved of dark matter appeared.
Merlin didn’t have much time in the portal to decide exactly when he was going. He emerged dizzied and still clutching Kairos. They were surrounded by smoke, bodily odors, and figures clad in rags. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was still in medieval Europe. But then he heard the buzzy pluck of an electric guitar and saw the stages and tents beyond the freely ranging crowds.
“We made it,” Merlin whispered to Kai. “This is Coachella. There’s someone here who can help us.”
Kairos seemed blissfully uninterested in the chaos. Merlin pushed through the crowds, already on the hunt. Arthur 37 was set to play today. That particular Arthur—wasn’t his name Dan?—would become so famous that even stadiums couldn’t contain the messages of hope and love that humanity so craved, set to addictive beats. But right now, today, there was a thirty-ish Merlin around here with time and magic to spare.
He staggered around, garnering a few strange looks. Fortunately, another silver lining of being a small child carrying a baby was that people seemed determined to help him.
“Where are your parents, little guy?” a man with a monstrous mustache asked, crouching down. Merlin bubbled with frantic laughter. He couldn’t begin to explain how hilariously complex the answer was. “All right, then,” Sir Mustache said. “What’s your name?”
“Merlin.”
He nodded as if that was a fairly common name for a little kid who’d gotten dragged to Coachella. “Let’s go find security, okay?”
“No, thank you.” Goodness, Merlin’s voice was sweet. “I just need the performers’ tent.”
Sir Mustache pointed him in the right direction, and Merlin headed there on swiftly pumping legs. He kept wandering off, though. It was absurdly hard not to get distracted at six. He wanted to play in those mud pits. He wanted to breathe in this good Earth air before the planet was hurt beyond repair. He desperately needed a snack.
Then—at the back of a tent, among the roadies and managers, Merlin got a glimpse of something silvery-white and flowing and unmistakable.
“Merlin’s beard!” he whispered. “Kairos, it’s our storied facial hair. That’s going to be important to you someday.”
He ducked under the tent flap, so short that nobody noticed his presence at first. Merlin’s beard was… well, it wasn’t quite as grand as he remembered it. But it was there, hanging over a robe that didn’t look too out of place at a hipster festival, stuck atop a frowning face that could belong to no one else.
“We really did go gray shockingly young,” Merlin whispered to Kai as they grew closer. “Is that Kay’s fault? I blame Kay.”
“Are you here to ask for an autograph?” Thirties Merlin asked grumpily. “I’m afraid they’re about to go onstage.”
“I’m here for you,” Merlin said, holding out Kairos. “We both are.”
Thirties Merlin badgered them back toward the entrance. “Children at a rock concert. What kind of tomfoolery is this?”
“The kind where I tell you that I’m you, and I need your help.”
“Ah, you’re me. And who is that then?” he asked, pointing at the baby.
“Also us.” Merlin snapped. “Honestly, keep up.”
Thirties Merlin pushed him out of the tent just as the band started to play, the air reverberating with drums. Merlin expected the same disbelief that Old Merlin had thrown at him. But this version of him was no longer a crabby, lonely, obtuse old man. He’d had enough time to change. To shake off the effects of the mind-breaking magic that had
