sinister aspect of their own. Paths turned and shifted in the darkness. Merle kicked at a dirty little blanket. It was in her. All he had to do was touch it and the darkness took on a life of its own inside. This particular shade of shame was different. There was no fear in her eyes, only questioning. Startle become calculation. Thieves needed the night.
'What are you doing?' Nine asked.
'I had to make a phone call,' Merle said.
'You had to contact them.'
'Send them on their way.'
'Ever the nudge. Push them in the right direction, did you?'
'You're a skilled manipulator. You tell me.'
'Promise me you won't do any of that on me,' Nine said.
'I so swear. I'm cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.' Merle squatted on the ground and scooped up a handful of gravel. Sniffing it and apparently satisfied, he dropped it and clapped his hands together. 'Hopefully they're off to fetch God's pimp cup.'
'You sent them after the grail?'
'It was my penultimate act in service to King.'
'Penultimate?'
'I have one more trick up my sleeve.'
'That counting what I want you to do?'
'What is it that you want me to do?' Merle knew the answer but wanted her to play out her role.
'I want you to make a place for us. A magical place. I want to learn how to build it.'
'A place of joy and solitude. Never undone. I will teach you.'
'Why?'
'I am impelled by a fatal destiny.'
Merle knew that his fate was in her arms. And it would not be pretty. Having fallen asleep beneath a bush of white thorn, laden with flowers, while resting in her lap. As the story went. Like how children fall for one another; find one another without introduction, he was hers the moment they met. Beauty reduced to a blues ballad. Not content with his devotion, hers was a mission to isolate him, to get him alone. Nine was dual-natured, both girl and ancient. She would kill him if she could, to satiate the hunger. And still, he cleaned up his alley, his secret place. He swept the broken glass, and picked up the cans and bottles before he brought her here.
'I am but one of the Guardians of the Totems.'
'One of the Lords of the Wheel?'
'Coo coo cachoo.'
Bored and restless, Merle panted after her worse than an adolescent in love. Truth be told, by now, he probably was an adolescent. He went where she went, jumped when she asked, begged for her company like an old, well-trained dog. And, as girls often were with old men, she was wary of him, impatient with him. And he frightened her. For all of his seeming feebleness, he was the devil's heart, she thought, and she feared when he might turn his powers on her.
For all of her craftiness, her agenda was obvious: she wanted his knowledge and traded it for time spent with her. When the 'inborn craft of women' met the 'inborn weakness of men'. For many, it passed as love. Helpless before her, he was unable to break out of the girl's spell. He wanted to teach her, be her tutor. Show her wonders. To show her his house.
'Show me, mage. Teach me everything.'
'The magic is deep and the magic is old. But there is little room for magic in this age. In this world. So little faith. Magic is pure faith. A wellcast magic circle isolates you. The spell is just you and creation. You are cut off. One with…' Whatever image he chased after, the words escaped him.
'Perfect communion.'
Merle nodded. 'Look around you. What do you see?'
'A thin copse of trees.'
'This is my home. My true home.'
'A glamour?'
'No,' Merle sighed. 'Look. Even when you were young, you thought you knew so much. In all your travels, in all your accumulated knowledge, in all your years, you still overlook the basics. The primal forces.'
'The dragon's breath.'
'Forget the dragon's breath. You forget how powerful you are. You have it at your fingertips to shape that energy into reality. It requires a boldness to repurpose reality. You have to be careful. Concentrate. Block the energies. You tap into it. Can you feel it?'
Old, deep, eternal, a call. The ley line. Lush, thick, green. Candlelight flickering in the night. The delicate hum of whale song. The gentle fragrance of rose petals. The scent of a newborn. A lover's embrace, the feeling of home. The thrum of life. Intimate, deliberate. Intentional. Knowing, probing, wanting. A whisper. A caress.
'Here we are, male and female, in perfect balance. I know that is the final key. Co-equals. Co-heir. Communion.' She circled behind him and stretched her arm along his. 'Tell me the words.'
'The spoken word is the final tool. You have to form your own path, not walk someone else's. What you fear shapes the experience.'
'And what do you fear?'
'You. I'm a foolish, foolish old man. Besotted with age and drunk on the promise of the charms of the young's fickle embrace. I know this and I am powerless to stop myself.'
'Tell me the words.'
'Et Verbum caro factum est.'
'Et Verbum caro factum est,' she repeated. From her lips, the power carried different images. Tiny skulls crushed under boot heel. The slow spill of intestines from a gutted animal. Graveyard dirt spilling overhead. Old bones grinding together. The splintering of joints. A selfish voice. Proud. Shrill. Chaotic. A living fear. Doubt. Insecurity. Violence. Death. 'The home you created. The home you will stay.'
The fabric of space bubbled out. Created a slit and then resealed as if swallowing the home in a single gulp. When the light faded, the trees remained as they were. The camp cleared out.
Only Nine stood in the clearing.
In her hands a green orb shimmered. Merle's face flickered across the surface, bewildered then resigned.
'Our time is done, my love. Let the children have their end game.'
CHAPTER TEN
Bo 'The Boars' Little was known for his propensity for violence. It came to him naturally, he believed, as if God Himself gifted him for violence. By his freshman year at Northwest High School, he had the sculpted physique of an African Adonis. Well over six feet tall and 250 pounds of solid bulk; skin a lighter shade of onyx, his head shaved bald, yet nursing a full beard, he had a grown man's body. Playing left tackle, when he hit someone, they stayed hit. The stands chanted his name when he was on the field, the students parted in the school hallways as he strode down them, girls were quick to offer themselves to him, talent scouts up and down the east coast knew his name, but none of that was enough. He wanted his name to ring out in the streets. Navigating the complexities of office politics proved more difficult than he would have imagined. He attached himself to Garlan, positioning himself as his second-in-command, not really out of any sort of corporate climbing move — for that he would have sidled up next to Nine or perhaps to Dred directly.
They didn't come up as boys but had been thrown together to put work in. They got high on occasion. A couple of times while high, they spoke of things they rarely mentioned. Not especially close, the only thing they had in common was the ache, the one they only spoke of when high. They spoke of missing their fathers, of not belonging anywhere, they let breathe the dead areas of their souls and gave voice to their pain.
'I'm tired of being poor,' The Boars said.
