“Are these runes? Are you making runes?” I ask.
“Sort of,” Mordy replies. “These carvings symbolize the Orichás.”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “The gods from Santería, right? Aren’t there like four hundred of them, or something like that, though?”
“Four hundred plus one,” Mordy corrects me. “And I can’t afford that many stones, so I am going to make twenty or so, and hope the spirits have mercy on my wretched soul for reducing their numbers, or whatever.”
I laugh. Here we are talking about gods and runes and spiritual mercy, but there’s no need for awkward laughing or full explanations, because we both believe in magick, and it flows through our bodies like blood.
“I hope I’m not bothering you by being here,” I say. “I probably need to leave soon anyway.”
Mordy hands me a red stone. “Here,” he says. “Why don’t you carve one for yourself?”
It takes me longer to carve a skull into the stone than Mordy, and honestly, I’m almost too embarrassed to show it to him because it looks more like a red monkey than anything, but he forces me to place it in with his stones.
“Let us pray for protection, and a favorable outcome. I think it’s clear that something is out to get us, or at least you and my sister.”
After Mordy cleanses each stone with fire from a green plastic lighter, he places them down on the glass coffee table and waits for them to cool.
“So,” I say, finally mustering enough courage, “I think it’s awesome that your family is so cool with you being trans or gender-nonconforming, or whatever it is you call yourself.”
Mordy chuckles. “They weren’t always so accepting. Except for Morgan. I feel like she knew before I knew, and I’m not even talking about her visions, either.”
“Gwen is the only person in my family who even makes an attempt to call me Lance, and to use the correct pronouns.”
“Wait, what?” Mordy turns to me, baffled. “You’re transgender, too?”
His surprise is genuinely shocking to me. “Yes, I am a trans man.”
“Are you kidding me? I thought you were just short, or like, younger or something.” Mordy slaps his leg and yells. “Holy shit! In this little ass town, there’s not one, but two Brown trans dudes sitting in a fucking farmhouse. Get out of here!”
With all of his hooting and hollering, I can’t help but share his excitement, even if I don’t want to.
For the next thirty minutes or so we let the stones cool and talk about testosterone, my top surgery, and if I plan on coming back to Avalon after I graduate. The conversation leaves me elated, the heavy feeling in my chest slowly but surely exiting my body.
“I graduated this past May,” Mordy says. “BA in fine arts. Not sure what I’m going to do with it, just kinda playing it by ear. Might go to San Fran for grad school—probably not though, seeing as how it’s expensive as fuck and gentrified as all get out. Who even knows anymore?”
When Mordy talks I’m automatically hypnotized by his words, like he’s casting a spell over my mind and body, and I’m willfully accepting of it. Embracing it with open arms, even.
“I hope Morgan didn’t scare you off with that forest-spirit-witch-shit.”
I shake my head. “Nah, we’re cool.”
“Okay, awesome,” Mordy replies, then reaches for his phone. “Are you free at all tomorrow?”
The prospect of hanging out with Mordy, someone who can empathize with me, with what I go through, with what I’ve gone through, is exhilarating. I have a hard time concealing my joy and excitement, and feel a smile forming in the creases of my mouth.
“Yeah, of course.” I pick up my stone and blow on it, trying to expel some of this new crazy energy that I’m now feeling. Mordy is watching me like a fly on the wall.
When I turn and smile at him, he leans in to kiss me, and I’m so confused and discombobulated that I place my hands around his neck. I assume he takes this for a sign, because he pulls me close and kisses me deeply, parting my teeth with his tongue. But after a few seconds of concentration and intentional focus, I pull away from him. He leans in again and tries to kiss me for a second time, but I put my hand on his chest, and gently tell him no.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I can’t do this.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Mordy says. “Your boyfriend-that’s-not-really-a-boyfriend.”
“I hope you’re not mad at me, because I’m very flattered, and very honored. Like for real.”
Mordy leans back on his elbows and says, “But you dig me, right? I mean, it isn’t all in my head, is it?”
The answer Mordy wants is not the one I can give him, and I have to be mindful of this when telling him how I feel, because I don’t want to lose or fuck up our friendship.
“You and Morgan are the two coolest people in Avalon at the moment,” I say. “Your style is on point. You drive a cool fucking car. And you’re both initiates. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t immediately drawn to you, but what you’re looking for in this friendship is not the same as what I’m looking for. I’m sorry if I was giving off mixed signals.”
Mordy runs his tongue across his silver tooth and clicks his teeth. “So he is your boyfriend.”
“Yes,” I finally admit to Mordy—and myself. “Arthur is my boyfriend.”
Mordy balls his hand into a fist and taps mine with it. “You’re all right, you know that?”
Gaining Mordy’s acceptance means a lot to me, so I’m relieved when he says this and changes the subject.
“What kinds of shit is there to do around here?”
“Well,” I say, “I guess that depends on what you like to do. There’s a lake nearby where folks drink and party and swim. And there’s a joke of a mall fifteen miles away. It’s not much, but it has a pretty cool bookstore.”
“What about sex shops?”
I laugh. “You mean like a Hustler, or something?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “Or something similar, I guess.”
“Hmm. There’s a Lion’s Den on the way to Monticello. About fifty miles from here, I think. I’ve never been there, though.”
“Dope. You interested in a mini-road trip next weekend?” he asks in all seriousness. “I’m drivin’.”
Chapter Seven
The Promise
Later that night, Mordy drives me home, asking me all kinds of questions about Arthur and Gwen along the way. Morgan stays behind because she used all of her energy healing my busted nose, ignoring my pleas and insistence that it wasn’t that big of a deal because you couldn’t really see any swelling. Besides, it made me look kind of tough. When she was through with the healing ritual, my face was back to normal, though, no bruising, no blood, no deviated septum—my disappointment is obvious.
“You’re telling me,” Mordy says, pulling into Arthur’s neighborhood, “that a reincarnation of the greatest warrior-king that’s ever lived is now some teenaged, redneck construction worker that lives here, in a trailer park?”
“Hey,” I object. “I never said that he’s a redneck. And he’s really sweet. I think you’d like him. I know he’d like you.”
“You sure about that, smalls? I mean, if my sister is channeling some aggro medieval witch spirit who harbors ill-will toward your man, and I’m a possible reincarnation of their supposed love child, I think we should hold off on meeting each other. For a while, anyway. Until we know more about what the hell is happening in this town.”
After we make plans to hang out this coming weekend, we tap fists, and I climb out of his enormous vehicle. The door to the trailer is unlocked, which seems kind of weird to me, so I open the screen door cautiously, only to find Arthur sleeping on the pulled-out futon, some movie still playing on the TV.
Yin and Yang come to greet me when I enter the kitchen. They are by far the sweetest, gentlest, most perfect angel babies I’ve ever seen, so I scoop both of their little vibrating bellies into my arm and creep over to Arthur. I turn off the TV with my free hand and c
arefully place the kittens on the mattress. Arthur could sleep during a hurricane, so I’m not surprised that he doesn’t stir or move when the floor creaks beside and behind him.
My phone battery had drained within minutes of our arrival at Mordy’s uncle’s house despite being fully charged, and I didn’t have a charger in my bag because I hadn’t known I was walking into some weird energy vortex. Gwen had told me she would call me earlier in the evening to see about possibly going to the lake on Sunday, but my phone has been dead for several hours, so I have no idea who else could have texted or called me.
After I wash my face and brush my teeth, I climb into Arthur’s bed, somewhat leery of what might be lurking in the shadows of the trailer. But I close my eyes anyway, and try to fight the red and black images that eventually lure me to sleep and haunt my dreams until I wake.
* * * *
In the morning I get up and walk into the living room, only to find the futon upright, a blanket folded on the coffee table and a few dishes drying in the dish rack. A lukewarm pot of coffee that was made a few hours ago beckons me, and I help myself to a cup.
My phone is fully charged now, and I’m not prepared for the amount of texts I received from both Gwen and Arthur. The last text is from Arthur, and I can tell from the words he has chosen that he’s upset about something. He knew I was hanging out with Morgan and Mordy yesterday, and while I hadn’t anticipated being there until well past midnight, I honestly hadn’t thought it would be such a big deal if I came home late.
Arthur and I don’t normally fight, because he’s so calm and collected most of the time, that I usually just hope for a peaceful reconciliation. Something about this feels different, though. Arthur has been grumpy lately, and I haven’t been able to cheer him up, no matter what I do. Maybe my shitty personality is finally rubbing off on him. I hope not—there’s not enough room in the world for two Lance Lottes. Hell, there’s barely enough room for one.
After I step out of the shower, I hear the front door spring open. Arthur didn’t mention his landlord stopping by, and I hope to god that it’s not another otherworldly visit, not after last night. I need a break. So when I see Arthur standing in front of the open refrigerator, my heart thrums with relief and something else, and I want to wrap my arms around his torso.
“Hey,” I say. “What are you doing home so early? You could have texted me and I would have made us some lunch.”
He laughs, head still basking in the artificial fridge light. “Gettin’ you to answer a text these days is nearly impossible.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. “I answer texts. Sometimes.”
Something about my comment digs at him, because he spins around with an exasperated look on his face, and replies, “Did you get my texts last night? Any of them?”
I sit down on the futon and remove the towel from my damp hair. “My phone died,” I say. “And I forgot my charger. The last thing I read from you was about canceling lunch.”
When he shuts the refrigerator door and turns around again, I see that he’s gotten a haircut. Most of his long, sun-bleached blond hair is gone. I point at what little hair he has left in awe.
“Wow,” I say. “I’ve never seen you with short hair.”
Arthur runs a hand over his new buzzcut and says, “Yeah, I know. I’m still getting used to it myself.”
“It looks good, though. I really like it.” The brown freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks are darker today, too, probably because he doesn’t wear sunblock when he’s out working. I’m not sure if I’ve actually looked at him like this in a while. Arthur is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen or met, and at times, his presence can be intimidating.
“Are you datin’ that Mordy guy?” he finally asks, his tone an odd mixture of agitation and sorrow. “Because if you are, you can just tell me.”
“What? No,” I say. “Why would you even think that?”
“I dunno. Why wouldn’t I? You hang out with him every day, and now you’re coming home during the middle of the night. What else could I possibly think?”
Now, Arthur has been with a lot of girls, so many girls that I stopped trying to keep a tab on them years ago.
During his freshman year, he dated two girls, one during the spring semester and the other during the summer. Their names were Jenna and Ashleigh. After that, Arthur had been surrounded by girls. His voice had dropped, he’d continued to gain inches on everyone, and his popularity had grown among the students. I’d witnessed only two years of this lunacy while in high school with him, but his ability to instruct and influence others was uncanny and unmatched. Even the teachers had gotten tired of his bizarre leadership skills.
But I’ve never mentioned any of this to him. Not once. Nothing about how seeing him holding hands with Ashleigh had all but broken my heart in two. Nothing about how I’d cried when I’d seen his prom pictures that year. I’d just sat back and watched girls cycle through his life these past few years, and said nothing. Dates, dances, prom, everything and anything involving school spirit, or the fencing team. Cheerleaders. Dance team. None of it. All static, no deejays.
I stand up, fists balled at my sides. “Arthur Pendragon, are you telling me who I can and can’t hang out with?” I ask.
“What?” Arthur’s hostility cracks, along with his voice, and he says, “No, I would never do that.”
I pick up the wet towel and do my best not to stomp into the bathroom, but the trailer is so small that any movement other than tiptoeing rattles the damn thing like an aluminum can full of rocks. When I return to the living room Arthur is fumbling through his wallet, looking for something. He slings a key down onto the coffee table and looks up at me, eyes brimming with tears.
“I got a key made for you yesterday. I sent you a text about it, but you never responded, so I left the door unlocked last night. Why did you sleep in my bed?”
I rub my eyes. “Because you have to get up in the morning and I didn’t want to disturb you.” Now I’m on the verge of crying, and I hate it. “You can believe what you want, but I’m not dating Mordy. He’s just a friend. A good friend.”
“Well, that key is yours. You can have it if you still want to stay here.”
Things are not going as I had imagined they would. Arthur and I were going have dinner tonight, and we would possibly watch the latest episode of Sabrina, and I would tell him how I’ve been desperately in love with him since the first day we met. Ideally, we would then make out for a few hours and fall asleep contently on the futon.
Voilà—happily ever after.
Nothing at all like this.
“No,” I say. “I know you can’t stay, and that you have to go back to work, but I don’t want things to end like this.”
“End?” Arthur looks at me, his eyes full of wild shock. “What do you mean?”
I rush to his side and throw my arms around his waist. “Mordy is trans, Arthur.” My eyes search his for a visual response, anything. “Like me.”
“What?” he asks, sinking into my embrace. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“I’m sorry.” I bury my head into his side. “I should have said something earlier, but it’s not easy for me to talk to about this kind of stuff. And he’s also into witchcraft, it’s called Santería. I may have already mentioned that, I don’t know. It’s a mixture of Cuban and African witchcraft, and he’s been teaching me stuff, things.” The words plummeting from my mouth are barely comprehensible, I know this, but I don’t want Arthur to get the wrong idea about us, and I’m terrible at conveying how I feel.
Arthur puts his hands around my shoulders and squeezes them. “I am a fucking jerk.” I shake my head, rubbing my wet hair against his T-shirt. “No,” he says, “I am. I’m the world’s biggest ass.” I pull away from him and wipe my eyes. “Oh fuck, Lance. God, don’t cry. Forget I said anything, okay?”
Now’s not the proper time to tell him how I feel, not when there’s so much anger and confusion in the air, so
much negativity, but I have to do something, so I take his hand and kiss the back of it, brushing my lips across coarse spots of skin.
“I need you to know that I am not romantically involved with Mordy. The only person I care about right now is standing in this room.”
Arthur pulls his phone from his jeans pocket and starts dialing a number.
“Who are you callin’?” I ask. “When do you have to be back there? Oh shit, I didn’t mean to make you late.”
“Hey, Tater,” he says, after a man’s muffled voice comes through the speaker. “Let me talk to Chuck.” A few seconds later, he says, “Hey, Chuck, some asshole busted a goddamn bottle in my driveway and I just now got a flat pullin’ out. No, that’s okay. I’ll just come in super early tomorrow and stay late if that’s cool with you. All right. I know, I know—Bud runs a mad two-for-one tire deal. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say. “I don’t want you to get fired because of me.”
“Well, I’m not going to get fired. I’ve worked for that company for a while now and have never taken any additional time off, and I ain’t never been sick. Besides, Chuck has a nasty hangover, and I’m fairly certain he won’t make it through the whole shift. I’m really sorry for being a douche.”
Thoroughly deflated from our previous argument, I lean into Arthur, my muscles unwinding, and when he lifts me into his arms, I am wholly surprised. Our eyes meet and he kisses me ferociously, his mouth engulfing mine in a fury. I barely have time to breathe in between the swift movements.
With our lips still locked, Arthur kissing me like we’re trying to win some kind of contest, he carries me into his bedroom and gently lays me down on the bed. His shirt comes off, and his belt. I swallow, registering every single move that Arthur’s body makes. When he joins me on the mattress, he kisses me tenderly and deeply, a sharp contrast from his earlier madness, his seemingly insatiable appetite.
I run my hands through the blond hair on his sweeping chest, then caress his arms and back, taking note of every freckle, mole and dimple. His body is a flawless canvas, free from scars or blemishes, not a single imperfection in sight. A truly Herculean beauty.
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