by Sean Cullen
“This is hopeless,” he said aloud to the empty kitchen. “I can’t do it!”
“Sure you can!” Charlie’s voice answered. He whirled, knocking his chair over. Charlie was leaning in the kitchen doorway, smiling cheekily. “What is it we’re talking about, exactly?”
“What are you doing here?” Brendan demanded. “How did you get in?”
“You left the door unlocked.” She walked over to the table and pinched a lasagna noodle between her fingers and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Tasty.”
Brendan snarled and snatched the plate away from her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I am.” Charlie shrugged. “What will you do about it?”
Brendan carried his plate to the counter. He plunked it down and turned to snap an angry retort at Charlie, but she wasn’t there. He looked around in confusion and then saw that the basement door stood open.
“No way!” Anger flushed through him. “That’s my dad’s place.” He stomped across the floor, fists clenched, and headed down into the cellar.
When he got down to his dad’s music studio he found Charlie playing a song on his father’s electric guitar. The original 1952 Gibson Les Paul was his dad’s pride and joy; he’d found it at a flea market and had lovingly restored it. Brendan would never have dared to touch the instrument for fear of damaging it in some way, but here was Charlie, uninvited, handling his father’s prized possession. She sat on a stool with her back to him, her attention focused on the guitar. Her dark hair, he noticed, was set differently today. Normally, it was teased up into a rooster’s comb, held in place by glamours or more mundane hair products. Now it hung in a curtain around her pale face as she concentrated on her fingers. Brendan was on the verge of yelling at her for coming down here and handling his dad’s stuff, intruding on his family’s space. But just as he opened his mouth, she began to sing and his anger was forgotten.
At first, he couldn’t understand the words. They were just sounds, surprisingly rich and plaintive. Brendan had always thought of her as a young girl, a teenager like himself. Now, listening to the emotion in her voice, he realized she was old, centuries old, and she’d seen a great deal of joy and sadness in that long span of time. She sang in French. Brendan had never been any good at languages, but as he listened the meaning began to come clear to him. The song was melancholy and reached into his heart, touching something inside him.
This world is not for me.
I am just biding my time.
One day I’ll be set free.
And my spirit will climb.
There’s a place I need to go.
But I don’t know the way there.
Someday I’ll find the road.
It may take a while but I don’t care.
I belong in the stars.
I belong in the sky.
Won’t be long ’til I’m up there.
Won’t be long ’tilI fly.
And I’m gonna find you.
And I’m gonna hold you again.
And I’m gonna tell you.
All of my tears at an end.
And I’m gonna find you.
I’m gonna hold you again.
And I’m gonna tell you.
All of your tears are at an end.
Charlie’s voice trailed off. She played a last lonely note that hung in the musty air of the basement. Brendan felt he could almost hear her breathing, the beat of her heart. As she turned her head, he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears.
“Oh! Allo,” she said softly, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Have you been standing there long?”
Brendan shook his head. He couldn’t trust his voice not to crack. Finally, he said, “You’re a good singer.” He felt like an idiot saying that, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He was undone by her sadness.
“You were crying … ”
“Just the song. It made me sad,” she said evasively.
She placed the guitar on the stand and arched her back like a cat, stretching her arms above her head. She looked perfectly at home with herself, perfectly beautiful. Brendan longed to be like her. She saw him looking at her and smiled again. “What?”
“How? How can you play the guitar? Don’t the strings burn your fingers?”
“They are copper wound. The harder part is not blowing out the amplifier. It takes concentration. Really, you shouldn’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.” She looked at him directly. Brendan saw her eyes were swimming with tears again.
“What’s wrong?” Brendan said with alarm. She’d always been so annoyingly confident. He’d never seen such weakness in her before.
She turned her face away, wiping at her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said softly. She ran a finger over the strings of the guitar, releasing a ghost of a sound that whispered through the room. “Just feeling a little lonely, I suppose.”
“Lonely?”
“You’re lucky,” she said, wandering around the studio, letting her fingers trail over the instruments on the wall and the unfinished artwork. “You have a family. You have a place you belong. I wish I could say the same.”
Brendan was about to protest that he was as much of an outsider as she was, but he realized that was wrong. His Human family loved him … even Delia in her own weird way. He could count on their support. He tried to imagine Charlie, young and without full knowledge of who she was, being forced to leave the only family she’d ever known and sail to a world of strangers.
“I wish I knew my real family. Who they were and why they left me. Was I such a disappointment? Was I so repulsive to them?”
“Charlie, I’m sure that they had their reasons … ”
“And why did they never come for me? All these years? All these centuries? Why did they leave me alone?” She sat on a stool and began to sob, her face in her hands.
Brendan froze. He didn’t know what to do. This was such a turnaround. He was the weak one, the emotional one. He was the confused little boy. Seeing her like this dissolved something inside him. He took a step closer and gingerly wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into his chest and wept some more. Brendan, not knowing what to do with his hands, gently stroked her hair. He didn’t know how long he held her like that: minutes, hours. Finally her sobs lessened and she regained control. She tried to push him away.
“You shouldn’t be so kind to me,” she said fiercely. “I don’t deserve this from you.”
“Why not? Everybody needs help sometimes. I know I do.”
She stood and looked into his face, her eyes red and her cheeks streaked with tears. “Oh, mon cher.” She wrapped her arms around him. At first he stiffened but she didn’t let go. She kept on holding him and he relaxed. “You have a good heart. I was sent to help you, but you are the one comforting me. Forgive me.”
“It’s okay.” Brendan shrugged.
“Oh, Brendan. Whatever happens, remember I never wished you harm,” Charlie whispered softly in his ear.
“Why do you say that?” Brendan asked.
She was silent for a moment. “I just don’t want you to misunderstand me in the time to come. You have such difficult days ahead. So much for one heart to bear. It’s not fair, is it?” Her breath on his neck was soft and warm. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Be true to that good heart. Promise me!” She held him so that she could stare into his eyes. Her face was deadly earnest.
“Relax, Charlie … ”
“No! Promise me!”
“Okay! Okay! I promise!”
“Good. And you aren’t alone.” She smiled and leaned forward, kissing him softly on the cheek, gentle as a feather fall. “You have a lot of good friends.”
“Like you.”
She smiled sadly and nodded once.
Brendan’s whole body felt light as air. All of his fears and worries receded. He looked into Charlie’s face. He’d never felt anything like this before. He felt hot and cold, light and more substantial, powerful and weak at the same time. He gazed into Cha
rlie’s eyes and found he had nothing to say. Not a single word.
DOUGHNUTS
Brendan lay on his bed that night trying to tune out the terrible ache of his muscles and quiet his thoughts. He was already confused by the coming Challenges. Now he found that his mind kept twisting around Charlie. She was annoying. She was infuriating. Her visits to his house threatened to expose his secret to his family. Despite all that, she could be totally disarming and attractive. He found he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“Hey,” Charlie’s voice suddenly whispered in his ear. “Penny for your thoughts.”
Brendan sat up so fast that he slammed his head on the angled ceiling above his bed.
“Ow!” he grunted, clutching his forehead. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Can you keep it down?” Charlie whispered. “You’ll wake everybody up.”
Brendan bit back a retort, partly because he didn’t want to make any more noise, and partly because he felt oddly nervous. It was as though by thinking about Charlie, he’d somehow summoned her.
“Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Now?” He looked at his watch. He must have fallen asleep. It was past 3 A.M.
“Oui! Now!”
“Can I at least put on some real clothes this time?”
Charlie giggled. “Just hurry. I don’t like to keep this fellow waiting.”
“Who is he?” Brendan asked, reaching for a sweatshirt.
“You’ll see.”
Brendan hesitated before taking off his pyjama bottoms. “Do you mind?”
“Don’t worry.” Charlie smiled. “I won’t laugh.”
“Just turn around!”
“Fine.” And she did.
Brendan pulled on his jeans, grabbed his jacket, and slid open the top drawer of his dresser. BLT was curled up in a nest of socks and underpants. He gently lifted the little Faerie in his palm.
“Wha?” BLT mumbled. “What’s happening?”
“We’re going out,” Brendan whispered.
She shook her head. “Wake me when it’s summer.”
When he was ready, Charlie eased the window open. Brendan scooped BLT into his coat pocket and leapt out into the night.
The city, muffled under a fall of new snow, was as quiet as it ever got. The yellow light of the street lamps shone down on the pair as they trotted easily through the streets. Tweezers ran ahead, leaping and rolling in the soft snow, pausing every few seconds to stare back at them, whiskers twitching. They made their way through the park again, passing the outdoor skating rink, its glassy surface glimmering faintly with reflected moonlight.
“Where are we going?” Brendan asked.
“Not far,” Charlie answered. She smiled cryptically and picked up her pace. Brendan matched it easily. He was beginning to discover how close to the surface his power lurked, like water flowing under the ice of a frozen river. He could break through more easily now. Was it just practice? Or did the presence of Charlie make it easier?
He looked over at her face as she ran, her prominent nose and pale cheeks flushed with the cold and exertion. Her profile was strong and angular, like one of those portraits from the Renaissance painters.45 She was smiling slightly, breathing through her open mouth, sending out gusts of frosted air and running through them. She sensed him looking at her and turned her blue eyes toward him. “Are you all right?”
He nodded and smiled.
She smiled back. “I’m sorry for my moment of weakness.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Brendan laughed. “My whole life is a string of them.”
She grinned.
They left the park and turned onto Queen Street. Charlie slowed and came to a stop in front of the steamy window of a twenty-four-hour doughnut shop. Brendan had often passed it but had never gone in. The shop had always looked a little seedy in the daylight, but now, glowing with warm yellow light, it appeared cozy and inviting. The window was painted in swirling letters surrounded by shooting stars.
COSMIC DOUGHNUTS
OUT OF THIS WORLD
24 HRS A DAY!
“Here we are.”
“A doughnut shop?”
She opened the door, sketching a mock bow. “Après vous, monsieur!”
Brendan stepped past her into the warmth of the shop.
Before him a glass counter with metal racks displayed a few lonely fritters. More racks held an assortment of doughnuts. Two pots of coffee simmered on burners, one decaf and one regular. On a stool by the counter, a man wearing an oldfashioned paper busboy’s hat sat reading a newspaper. He looked up when Brendan and Charlie came in.
“Hello.” He set aside the paper. “Pardon me, but ain’t you two a little young to be out and about at this hour?”
“They’re with me!” a voice announced from a booth near the window. Brendan looked over and saw an old man in a woollen suit with a herringbone check pattern. A flat cap lay on the table beside an open box of doughnuts and a steaming cup of coffee. On the bench beside him a dark overcoat was folded neatly. A walking stick made of polished wood leaned against the seat.
He smiled when Brendan looked at him.
“I know you!” Brendan cried. “I saw you in the Hot Pot!”
“Yes.” The old man nodded. “I couldn’t help myself. I had to get a look at you.”
His face was a nest of wrinkles over strong cheekbones. A neatly trimmed grey beard brushed the front of his worn linen shirt, and his sky-blue eyes were clear and sharp. They held Brendan in their grasp and didn’t let him go as he crossed the floor and slid into the bench opposite.
Brendan had never seen an old Faerie before. Certainly, Ariel was ancient. Ariel had an aura, a gravity, as though the years crowded around him, but in appearance he seemed no older than Brendan’s dad or mum. The Faerie sitting across from him was elderly. Thick purple veins crawled over the backs of his liver-spotted hands. His white hair was thinning on top, and his shoulders were slightly stooped. But for all his aged appearance, the man didn’t seem the least bit frail. Somehow, his age was his power, and Brendan felt the weight of it bearing down on him.
Charlie stooped and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “Mon Seigneur, bienvenue.”
The old Faerie reached up and ran the back of his fingers against her rosy cheek. “Ma belle Charles. I’ve missed you.”
Charlie sat down beside Brendan. “Here he is. Brendan Morn.”
“Hello there, my lad.” The man turned his smile on Brendan. Those blue eyes looked him up and down before resting on his face. “I see old Briach in you, and your mother, too.”
“You knew them?”
“Oh, yes. He was a handful. She was a sweet thing.”
“Uh … ” Brendan suddenly felt awkward. “You know who I am but … ”
“But who am I?” The old man smiled. “Forgive me. Very rude. My name is Merddyn. At least in the Old Tongue, that is my name. It means ‘hawk.’ You might know me by a more popular name: Merlin.”
“Merlin?” Brendan croaked. “You’re Merlin?”
“Yes.”
“The Merlin? The wizard Merlin? Sword in the stone Merlin?”
“Guilty! Though it wasn’t a stone, really. It was an anvil. Still, that was me.”
“I can’t believe it,” Brendan said softly. “You’re the Ancient One Greenleaf was talking about. Charlie’s teacher.”
Merlin nodded. “Would you like a doughnut?”
Never in his wildest imaginings had Brendan ever thought he might be sitting in the presence of the legendary Merlin. Never in his most bizarre dreams had he ever imagined that the greatest wizard in history and counsellor of King Arthur would be offering him a doughnut.
“Uh,” Brendan finally managed. “A doughnut?”
“You do like doughnuts, don’t you?” Merddyn asked. “I mean, as a pastry, they are quite delightful. Consider their variety: so many types to choose from. I am partial to the Hawaiian, myself. All those different-coloured sprinkles. Truly spectac
ular! Though I don’t see why it’s called Hawaiian. There’s no pineapple in it at all. Or poi. Or roast pig, for that matter. Still, one shouldn’t question perfection. And consider its shape.” He nimbly plucked a plain doughnut from the box and held it in his long fingers. “A circle: the symbol of eternity. One wonders if the Humans realized this when they chose the shape or whether they stumbled upon it by accident, as they so often do. Creatures of instinct, are Humans. Why not make doughnuts square, one might ask? They’d certainly fit better in a box.”
Merddyn shrugged and, chuckling, bit into the doughnut with his strong white teeth. Brendan didn’t know what to say. He watched as the old Faerie chewed happily, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin.
“Are those doughnuts?” Brendan had forgotten all about BLT. She was hanging out of his pocket, eyes wide as saucers. He could practically feel her blood fizzing with desire.
“Oh no you don’t … ” Brendan began, but Merddyn waved a hand. He broke the doughnut in two and gave half to BLT.
“Sweet!” BLT saluted cheekily and sped away with her prize. The man at the counter opened the door for her and she rocketed out into the darkness. Tweezers scampered out of Charlie’s jacket and dashed after BLT.
“They get along pretty well,non?” Charlie laughed.
“Is he … ?” Brendan asked, pointing at the counterman.
“Edgar’s one of us, yes.” Merddyn waved. The man smiled, displaying an even set of green teeth, and went back to his newspaper. “Now, forgive me,” Merddyn said, placing the rest of his doughnut back in the box. “You must have many questions, and I’d hazard a guess that none of them are about doughnuts.”
Brendan had a million questions, and he couldn’t begin to choose just one. He decided to start with the simplest. “Why me?”
“Why you?” Merddyn’s eyebrows rose like bushy caterpillars. “That’s fairly broad. Can you be more specific?”
“Why are you here, right now, talking to me?” Brendan asked. “I mean, I’m hardly the only Faerie in the world and you must be a busy guy. You’re Merlin, right? Come on!”