15. Arthur
Chapter fifteen
Arthur
I lied. I did not have it
T he growling of my stomach woke me as the smell of something rich and savory filled the air.
The clock told me it was early, just after five in the morning. After pulling on a pair of gray pants and shoving on my slippers, I padded over to the window and glanced out and found the sky just starting to lighten.
Will snored softly, still deeply asleep, though how he could sleep through the delicious smells wafting through the house, I didn’t understand.
Choosing to let him rest, I slipped out of the room and tracked the scent all the way down to the kitchen.
Vincent danced in front of a large, open, metal box. It was too small to be a room, and when I came closer, I realized the inside was filled with food.
A muted woman’s voice crooned from his phone on the counter, singing about being hot to go. And I raised an eyebrow when he swung his arms straight above his head, then out to the side. He did this several times while he sang along to the song, but it wasn’t his odd body movements that left me gaping in horror. It was the fact he held two blades in his hands during it all.
That couldn’t be safe.
He must have heard me because he glanced back over his shoulder at me, his hands raised high with his knives pointed up toward the kitchen ceiling. Dropping his arms to his sides, he took me in from head to toe and smiled warmly. “Arthur, good morning! How’d you sleep?”
“Not well,” I admitted, cocking my head at the box. “Vincent, what is that?”
Glancing around to figure out what I meant, he chuckled. “I sometimes forget how confusing this must all be for you. This,” he said, waving at the open box with a knife, “is a refrigerator. Or fridge, for short. It keeps food cool and dry so that it lasts longer.”
“How?”
“How what? How does it keep food cool and dry?” At my nod, Vincent frowned at the fridge. “You know, I’m not entirely sure.”
“Magic,” I muttered, taking a tentative seat on one of the stools in front of the large stone table built into the center of the kitchen. It was an odd place to build a table.
Vincent laughed again and set the knives down by his phone. He retrieved a package of thinly sliced meat from the refrigerator and set it down on the counter. Without glancing back, he waved a hand toward the fridge and it shut with a clack.
I’d seen him and the rest of the family cast several spells the night prior, but their magic hadn’t felt familiar like Will’s had. It seemed that even though they were related, their magic was not the same. “You’re not of Merlin’s blood,” I deduced.
“No,” he said, and sadness washed over his face. “That was my first wife, Lydia.”
“What was she like?”
Vincent’s gaze went distant with a dreamy smile. “Bright. Like sunshine, and always full of life,” Vincent said, coming back with some eggs. “We’d grown up in the same conclave, though her adoptive parents didn’t come often to the gatherings. But on the rare times they joined us, Lydia and I always got up to no good.”
His grin widened with the memory. “She was so much like Will. Always tripping over nothing and casting all the wrong spells.” He snorted and counted the eggs as if making sure there were enough to feed everyone. “She was a troublemaker, for sure, being a sorceress with so much magic and so much bad luck. But that never mattered to me. She breathed life into me, and it didn’t matter how many times she accidentally set my pants on fire. I felt like the luckiest man alive when she married me.”
“But then she got pregnant.”
Nodding slowly, Vincent eyed me thoughtfully and set down the eggs. “Growing up, Lydia didn’t know she was descended from Merlin, nor did she know Morgana was hunting down anyone with a drop of Merlin’s blood. She’d been abandoned as a toddler on the doorstep of her adoptive parents with nothing but her name, a bunch of gold, a ring, and a letter warning them to never let Lydia take off the ring. It wasn’t until she was pregnant that she started looking more into her ancestry. When she learned of the curse and how her predecessors had been hunted down and killed by Morgana and the other queens, she worried what it would mean for any children she bore.
“She just wanted our baby to be safe. But the only way she knew how to secure his safety was by shedding hers.”
“And there weren’t any spells to keep them both safe?” I asked, trying not to be insensitive.
“There were.” He pushed away from the counter and moved to the little window above the basin. On it was a little rock with a symbol carved into it that he picked up. “We placed protective spells around our home, which worked well for a while. But it meant she was confined to the house, and her fiery spirit dwindled. And eventually, the spells weren’t enough to guard against Morgana’s expansive search and powerful sorcery. I still remember the day we found a raven made of shadows sitting on the windowsill of our living room, watching Will play with some building blocks.”
Setting the rock back on the ledge, Vincent looked my way. Tears shone in his eyes, and his voice came out raspy and thick when he spoke next. “That was the day she decided to leave. Because with the ring, Will’s safety was assured. But if she stayed, there was always the possibility of Morgana finding him again.”
I didn’t ask him what happened to her because I was pretty sure I already knew, thinking back to the vision of a woman attacked by birds. I had a sneaking suspicion that had been Lydia.
“After learning of Lydia’s passing, I lost myself. I struggled to even get out of bed, let alone take care of a toddler. But then I met Dorothy.” Vincent’s blue eyes, so similar to Will’s, lit with joy. “She saved me from myself. Without her, I don’t like to think what sort of state I would have fallen to. She’s an angel, that woman,” he said fondly as he grabbed a bowl off the counter holding round, red-looking fruits or vegetables. He poured them into a hole-ridden bowl in the basin and twisted a nob. Water poured out, similar to the shower. It reminded me of some sort of magical pump.
“What are those?” I asked, eyeing the red balls curiously as he rinsed them under some water.
He blinked at me. “Tomatoes.”
My mouth parted in awe. “Tomatoes.”
Grabbing one of the knives from the counter again, he brought the rinsed tomatoes over to the table. He placed a board of sorts down, then tossed a few tomatoes onto it to slice. Leaning closer to inspect the tomatoes, I was surprised to see the insides full of gooey seeds.
Vincent paused midslice, staring at where I was practically climbing over the table now. “Did you... Did you want to help?”
“If it wouldn’t be any trouble, I think I’d like that, yes.” I was restless and needed something to do instead of sitting around waiting.
“Okay, well, let’s start with something simple then.” He beckoned me around the table and over to where his phone sat next to something silver and rectangular. It had a couple slots in the top. “Do you like toast?”
Vincent showed me how to place bread into the shiny box he called a toaster, taking two slices of bread and placing them in the slots. When he pressed down on a lever, they disappeared and I gasped in wonder at this magic trick. There was a dial to control how long the bread stayed inside, though Vincent still checked on the bread to make sure it didn’t accidentally burn.
When his toast was finished, Vincent grabbed a plate and a block of something pale yellow. Grabbing the toast, he spread the yellow stuff across it, and I wondered if it was butter. When he crossed the room to grab something, I dipped my finger into the yellow stuff, pleased to find it was, in fact, butter.
While I focused intently on watching the bread inside the hot, glowing slots of the toaster, Vincent switched his attention to cracking eggs over a pan on the stove. He seasoned them with salt and pepper, then covered the pan with a lid.
All the while he chatted amicably with me, telling me of a time when Will was younger and had left some cookies in the oven and they’d lit on fire. He helped me name several different items in the kitchen without me even needing to ask, too, which I was extremely grateful for.
And when my toast popped up from the slots, I startled with delight. I grabbed them from the toaster and hissed when they burned my fingertips.
When Vincent’s eggs were done cooking, he showed me what to do and let me try.
I had to scrape some pieces of shell out of the egg, but I counted it a win since I didn’t break the yolk.
“I’m surprised you want to help with this stuff,” he admitted, moving around me to press some buttons on the oven.
“I wasn’t always a king,” I pointed out as I cracked another egg open into the pan. It hissed as it met the cooking oil, and little droplets splattered over my arms.
“No,” Vincent said, a smile warming his tone. “I suppose not.”
I focused on cracking more eggs into the pan while Vincent supervised.
“Thank you.” I gestured at the prepared food. “For helping me figure all of this out, I mean. And for helping rescue me.”
He hummed, eyeing me with speculation, looking as if he was debating saying something. Finally, he said, “Did you know he paints?”
“Will?”
Vincent nodded.
“He showed me some pictures of some paintings yesterday. Of the Thirteen Treasures. He never said they were his.”
“They are. He’s got some real talent, if you ask me.” Vincent sighed and pulled out his phone. “Do you mind if I show you some more?”
I watched as he maneuvered through his phone, uncertain of where this conversation was going. Still, when he handed me the phone, I accepted it.
And froze. The picture was of a painting displayed on a wall. It showed a bloodied man, mouth open in a scream as he cried to the stormy heavens. All around him, bodies lay in cooling blood and rain.
“This is... me .”
Vincent nodded, watching as I flipped to the next picture. The next painting displayed a tower after being struck by lightning. I stood on the tower’s ledge, prepared to jump.
“For as long as I can remember, Will has been having the same vision of you. He’s been damn-near obsessed with it to the point where his room is basically a shrine dedicated to that day.” He nibbled on his lip, looking thoughtful. “I think, to some extent, we knew that vision would change everything for us.”
I stood still as I listened with my heart in my throat. Because Will hadn’t said anything. Last night, on the roof, he knew what had happened at the battle of Camlann. Had Seen it, had been Seeing it for who knew how long.
Why hadn’t he said anything?
His gaze drifted to the painting I’d paused on next. This one a close-up of my face. My teeth were bared in determination, my green eyes hinting at the beast in their depths. “I admit, I was scared when Will discovered the truth and said he wanted to take this all on. To rescue you and find the Grail.” He met my eyes and more tears formed there. “I didn’t want him to, Arthur. I’d already lost his mother to Morgana. I couldn’t lose him too.”
With one last look at the painting, I set the phone aside.
“I’m sorry,” he said, ducking his head as tears wet his cheeks. “If it had been up to me, I would have left you there.” A sniffle. “You must think I’m selfish.”
But I didn’t. I didn’t think that at all. He’d experienced loss, and he feared losing his son as well. No one could blame him for not wanting to risk his son’s safety for someone he didn’t even know.
Setting forward, I rested my hand on Vincent’s shoulder. He looked surprised, and maybe a little wary, by the gesture. “I don’t think you’re selfish, Vincent. No one, not even I, could fault you for putting his safety above all else.”
He met my eyes with wet ones of his own. He clasped his hand over the one of mine on his shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Arthur.”
“I think I was once,” I said carefully, dropping my hand back to my side. “I’m not quite sure if the same can be said now.”
Vincent grinned and opened his mouth to speak when Dorothy’s voice sounded somewhere beyond the kitchen.
“Vin?” she called. “Can you help me with something real quick?”
“Sure thing!” he called back, hesitating in the doorway of the kitchen. “Are you okay here for a minute? The oven will beep when the bacon is ready to come out.”
“Yes.” And as if to reassure him I knew what I was doing, I snagged two pieces of bread and stuck them in the toaster. “I’ve got this.”
I lied. I did not have it.
The ceiling wailed in warning, smoke veiled the kitchen, and water seeped across the floor as the basin overflowed.
“Sh! Sh!” I hissed at the room, waving a thick glove about to try and disperse the smoke. My stolen slippers were soaked through, squelching with every step, and I hoped Nana Joanne didn’t find out.
Feet pounded on the stairs, and then Will was there, hair skewed, dried drool at the corner of his mouth, and sleep lingering in his eyes. But his shirt.
It had shifted at some point, now baring his shoulder.
My mouth went dry.
I forgot all about the smoke. All about the persistent screaming.
Because he was just so... provocative.
Will’s gaze scanned the room, and when he found me alone in the smoking kitchen surrounded by burned food and water, he halted in surprise. His eyes moved over my frame, and something hot and tantalizing settled within me when his pink tongue wet his lips. When he took a step forward, though, he slipped on water and ended up falling to the floor.
Tossing the glove onto the counter, I rushed to Will’s aid and reached down to help him to his feet.
He stared at my chest, his cheeks warming with color. “Thanks.” Then he glanced around the room again, taking in the burned food and overflowing sink. With a wave of his hand, the water stopped flowing from the pump and the screaming coming from the mound on the ceiling ceased. His eyebrows lifted. “Were you cooking?”
I followed him as he moved over to the sheet full of blackened bacon. I frowned in mourning at the meat. “Your father left me in charge of the meal, and I failed miserably.”
Will peered down at the food before snatching one of the bacon pieces off the sheet with his bare hands. He hissed as the meat scalded his fingers, and he blew on the bacon to cool it.
Still, the corner of Will’s mouth shifted into a smile, and amusement bloomed in his gaze as he eyed me, nibbling on the bacon. “Maybe it’s still okay?” It crunched loudly, and he winced slightly. “Okay, maybe not.”
My head bowed in shame. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” he said, poking my arm with a finger to get me to look at him. “It’s okay. I suck at cooking too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, dude. One time, I even accidentally summoned a demon head when trying to make some soup. Now, I can’t seem to get rid of him,” he said, and I realized he must have been talking about Gerry. “So don’t stress about burning some food, okay? You’re doing great.” He finished off the piece and grinned at me, leaning a hip against the cupboard.
My cheeks burned warmer than the toast. “Thank you.”
“Why does it smell like a campfire in here?” Otto asked, wrinkling his nose as he poked his purple head through the kitchen doorway.
I couldn’t help the little drop of disappointment in my belly when Will shifted away, shattering whatever moment we’d been having. Clearing his throat, Will glanced at his brother. “Dad left Arthur alone with the food.”
“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense,” Otto said, coming over to inspect the food. “Maybe we can grab something on the way to Stonehenge then.”
“Well,” Will said, looking at me and giving my chest one last peek, “I’m going to shower. Otto, do you think you could help clean up in here?”
Otto groaned. “Why do I have to?”
“Are you really going to make him do it?” he asked, slapping my naked chest.
He gulped audibly and quickly dropped his hand.
Without another word, Will darted from the kitchen.
When I turned back to Otto, he was squinting at me.
“Bro, you’re fucking ripped .”
I stared down at myself in confusion, worried I’d ripped my pants.
“Not that kind of rip,” he said, mirth in his gaze as he patted my arm. “Come on, big fella. You can at least help me haul out the trash.”