Of course, of course, Callie charmed the so-called Questing Beast. Callie and animals, always best friends. I’m surprised she didn’t make a pal out of Guinevere’s fearsome steed. I bet we’re among the few to get this far, and I’d be willing to gamble the others were bullies about it, based on those voices on the way in.
I’m not as bad as them. An unusual thought for me.
We emerge from the passage—which seals into a brick wall behind us—into a, well, castle. Not the normal drafty medieval dump either. The interior isn’t as luxurious as the Gray Keep. But there’s no plain stone walls here, no grim light. A blazing fire burns in the hearth, and tapestries depicting knights and battle unicorns and angels hang on the walls. A table is set with a feast.
A man in king’s robes with skeletal features and a crown sits at the head of it. He stands and waves us forward. This must be King Arthur.
There’s a clatter at the other end of the hall as a door is flung open and Lady Guinevere enters, having swapped out her full suit of armor for a pair of leather breeches and a chain mail shirt. The Questing Beast pads forward to meet her and gets a pat on its snaky head.
She takes the seat at the opposite end of the table from Arthur.
She doesn’t acknowledge us until she’s settled. She does so by removing a sharp knife from a sheath looped around her hips, slicing off a generous pat of butter in front of her and grinning at us as she applies it to a hard roll. She hands the treat off to the beast.
“I hear you discovered the creature’s weakness,” she says. “You won’t discover ours.”
“Should we sit down?” Callie asks, low.
King Arthur’s voice booms out, a contrast to his desiccated appearance. “Please, join us. This is the next stage in your quest.”
“So it is,” I say, well aware of the history of slaughters over the dinner table. Guest rights are violated often by our kind. What do you think inspired the Red Wedding? I sketch a bow. “Luke Morningstar, prince of Hell.”
King Arthur pauses. “I’ve met your father. A despicable sort.”
Understatement of the millennium.
“He’s my father too,” Sean puts in. “I’m Sean not-Morningstar.”
Callie does her best curtsey. “And this is Saraya the Rude, of the Guardians,” she says, indicating Saraya. Who rolls her eyes at the name, but nods. “And I’m Callie. Of, uh, Kentucky.”
“Interesting party composition, wouldn’t you say, my lady?” Arthur comments.
“Certainly, my lord,” Guinevere says. “But here to seek the Grail, as usual.”
“Some of us don’t care about the Grail,” Saraya says.
“None of us do,” Callie clarifies. “We only care about healing the wounds of Luke and Sean. They’ve gotten sucked into your story.”
There’s a pause. I realize the Questing Beast took its roll and left. I can’t begin to guess if that’s a good sign or a bad one.
“Our story?” King Arthur says. “Oh no, no. Perhaps it’s a story we got sucked into as well. We serve the Grail.”
“Damn it,” Callie murmurs. “We better sit down. Who you serve is the classic question, so that can’t be it,” she says, and I have no clue what she means.
I do as she says, pulling out her seat with the manners I’ve observed and not the ones taught to me.
I reach forward to take a slice of the roast and Guinevere snorts. “You think to feast?” she asks with disbelief.
“I thought you were inviting us to the table.”
Sean sits down beside me. “It did seem that way.”
“Oh, it did,” King Arthur says. “But this food is poison to your sort.” He pauses. “Kidding. Or am I?” He chortles with his head thrown back. I’m afraid his mandible will fall out of the thin decayed skin left over the bone.
“I’ve rather lost my appetite,” I say. “What’s the next test? Where’s the Grail?”
“Why, it’s in this room,” Arthur says, and takes a drink from his cup. He lifts his free hand and sweeps it from left to right. “You have but to discover it.”
I understand the propensity of the supernatural sorts to play games. It’s a long time to be alive. These two and their creature must be set in a pattern that is rarely disrupted. Father is always claiming boredom. Half the time I suspect it’s why he left Heaven in the first place to create Hell. For entertainment purposes.
“If you have the wounds, the Grail has chosen to give you a chance,” Arthur says. “Difficult as it is for me to countenance.”
“What polite hosts you are,” Callie says, thick with irony.
Saraya fills a goblet with ruby wine from a carafe, sniffs it, and downs it. “Not poison,” she declares and smacks the glass back onto the table.
Guinevere shrugs and looks down her nose at Saraya.
“We can figure this out,” Sean says. “Simple process of elimination.”
“Remember, it might not be a cup,” Callie says. “Despite what the beast said.”
“Could be a dish,” Sean says. “Or a platter.”
We all examine the table. The number of serving platters and dishes may as well be infinite.
I think back to the first church where Sean went looking for the Grail, how we gazed on the fancy chalice encrusted with stones and he said there was no magic present. I didn’t have the benefit of my senses then, but I do now.
I catch Sean’s eye. “Race you?” I ask, meaning which of us can detect the magic object in the room first.
His cockiest grin emerges. “You’re on.”
Seems there’s a little of Father’s gambling streak in us after all.
Callie and Saraya watch as we push back from the table. Sean wanders around slowly with his hands lifted. I close my eyes and cast my senses out.
“There’s … nothing.” Not a single magic thing sings more loudly to me, despite this entire place clearly being steeped in it. I turn to Sean, who nods agreement. “Same here,” he says.
“You’re cheating,” I say to Arthur.
“Did you truly think it would be so easy? The Grail’s magic is hidden, but it can be discovered.”
“You can do this,” Callie says with a pleading note.
The entire place is magic. Just like Hell, where I grew up. Since the Grail is hidden, maybe that is what will make it visible.
“Let me try something,” I say to Sean.
Guinevere and Arthur lean against the high backs of their chairs, grinning death’s head grins.
I ignore their expectation of failure. I’ll have to face that from Father soon enough—assuming we get out of here.
The table is too obvious, isn’t it? It’s laden with objects that might be the Grail, meant to tempt someone into the wrong choice. No one has to explain that we get one chance at this.
I walk the perimeter of the room, my leg like a dowsing rod, aching sharply. Instead of looking for the magic thing, the thing that emanates power, I look for the thing that feels different, a blank spot. I trace the tapestries with my fingers—a unicorn standing with angels against dark knights, a forest scene with a pale-haired beauty who might be Guinevere before she traded dresses for breeches. And there’s one depicting the table of a lavish feast … Not unlike the one on the table right now.
I study it closely, comparing.
Sean appears at my shoulder. “It’s this table, isn’t it?”
The number of dishes and platters seems to match. We take the time to compare, starting at either side. The scene matches almost exactly.
“What is it?” Callie asks, worried.
I reach out and touch the lone spot on the tapestry that doesn’t mirror the actual table. It’s blank. I wouldn’t be surprised if my hand sank into the reality of the image and came back out with the Grail. But it’s going to be simpler than that.
“I see,” Sean says, and nods to me.
King Arthur is wily, but so am I, the prince of Hell.
“You almost outsmarted us,” I say and turn back to the table. I believe I know exactly where I’ll find the object that doesn’t match with the illusion of this place.
I pass Callie on my way toward Arthur. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m retrieving the Grail,” I say.
Sean goes the other way around, so that we end up flanking King Arthur.
“Are you going to let that go or do we have to take it?” I ask.
The simple cup of aged, battered metal is gripped in his hand. My wound strains toward it.
“It is yours now,” Arthur says. “You have shown yourself able to see it, and that makes you worthy.”
He sets the Grail down and pushes it toward me. With a greedy glance at Sean, I pick it up.
“Take a drink,” Callie says.
There is liquid inside. My leg throbs, hopefully for only a moment more. I put it to my lips and drink. Its magic bursts forth, shining like a sun. How it was hidden given the amount of power it holds is for a wizard or witch to guess; it would take a magic almost as powerful as its own to conceal it.
I wait for my wound to heal. For the pain to stop.
Nothing changes.
“You try,” I say to Sean with a frown.
He circles behind King Arthur, who sits with hands folded, observing us.
Sean picks up the cup and takes a sip. He waits a moment, grimaces, and shakes his head.
“What’s wrong?” Callie asks.
“It’s not working,” Saraya says.
“It is the Grail,” I say, “but it’s not healing us.”
“Ha.” Guinevere snorts. “Healing from your wounds can only come from within. From a question and an answer in the Grail’s presence.”
“But they must be the correct question and answer,” King Arthur says.
Sean strokes his chin, then lowers his hand. “There’s only one question I care about,” he says. “I’ll ask that.”
“Usually the person with the wound is asked the question, not the other way around,” Callie says.
“I’m asking this one,” Sean says, “no matter what. I got some decent advice that suggested it.”
Sean crosses to where Saraya is still seated at the table. “It’s a question for you,” Sean says.
She stares up at him, unreadable.
“I’ve been thinking about what Callie and Luke started this trying to do, to give people second chances. It seems like the most important thing in creation, that possibility. So my question is this … Can you give me a second chance?”
Saraya gives the wine carafe a long look, as if she might drain it. Then she rises and extends her hands to Sean. He takes them and the room is heavy as we wait.
“Yes, you can have a second chance,” she says. “Fool.”
Sean’s smile spreads and he straightens visibly. “It worked,” he says, and hugs Saraya and picks her up off the ground to demonstrate.
I expect her to stab him for the liberty, but she only smiles back and then says, “Put me down.”
He does, still smiling. He finds me. “What is your question, brother?”
I have no idea. All my questions are about how I could ever possibly have what I want—a life with Callie, escape from my father’s control, the pain in my thigh gone though I suspect I deserve it.
“I think I know what to ask,” Callie says.
“But Sean asked me,” Saraya counters.
“It matters only that the question and answer meet the Grail’s approval,” Guinevere says.
Callie reaches out and I put my hands in hers. I stare into her eyes. What happens if this doesn’t work? What if I’m supposed to ask the question?
But I still don’t have one. I’m the question mark here, the one least likely to come out of this breathing easy.
“I know you’re thinking of doing something stupid. When I asked you, you were lying to me.”
“I wouldn’t call it lying.” I don’t want to disappoint her. I’m afraid I’m about to.
“I want you to think deeply about your answer. It must be true. I think … There’s only one way to be free of your wound. Only one chance we get through this.”
“No pressure?” I keep my voice light, but nothing has ever felt as serious as this.
“You’re up to it,” Callie says. “Here it is.” She swallows, then, “Whose life will you live?”
Whose life will I live?
I couldn’t have anticipated this question. My mind scrambles around the edges of the question, trying it from different directions, attempting to solve for the one answer that will be true. Faces cycle through my mind, Father’s lasting the longest. He would say the answer is his, the life he wants for me. He would expect me to answer Callie that way.
She told me to think deeply and so I do. I think about what I want. A life with Callie, yes, but what else? If I’ve gotten this far, maybe I am worthier than I assumed. If I’m worthy of Callie’s love, then maybe I’m worthy of my own.
I close my eyes and I think the question: Whose life will you live? I answer on instinct, straight from the gut.
“Mine,” I say.
Callie looks expectantly at me when I open my eyes. The Grail clatters on the table, almost as if it’s doing a dance. The pain in my leg is … gone. Just gone.
“I will live my life,” I say. “It worked.”
The barking and growling symphony of the Questing Beast returns, claws scrabbling on the floor as it races in. “I tried to stop them, but the demon had a boon from Morgan,” it says.
King Arthur rests his head in his hands. “My sister strikes again.”
Mag bursts into the room first, from the direction of the Questing Beast. “We’re here to rescue you!”
Vale leaps in front of them, brandishing a sword.
Porsoth trundles in slower, and bows to the king and then the queen. “Apologies, my lord, my lady. I did know Morgan once upon a time and, ah, she was convinced to offer me admittance.” He pulls at his scholar’s collar like it’s too tight.
Jared and Callie’s mother spill into the room next, stopping in the threshold.
“Perfect timing,” I say. “We’re healed. Which means it’s time to blow this Holy Grail Popsicle stand.”
“Aren’t you at least impressed that we got inside?” Mag asks. “Porsoth was dashing in summoning zombie Morgan the Fay.”
Porsoth shifts from foot to foot, slightly embarrassed. “I simply traded on our long-distant past together.”
“She was into him,” Mag says.
“Styx better not find out, then,” Callie says, and they grin at each other.
I knew Porsoth was a terror in his heyday, but not that he was such a ladies’ man.
“We should take our leave,” Porsoth says. “You are in grave danger of being late.”
As everyone gathers, the exit far more straightforward than getting in apparently, Callie pulls me aside. “You’re not a fool, so don’t do anything foolish,” she says. “Remember what you just said. You’re going to live your own life.” She kisses me, relief in it.
But I suspect our nightmare is far from over.
“Everything is good?” Callie’s mother asks.
Callie looks around. “I think … we did it. Didn’t we?” She directs that at Sean.
“Yes, that’s all the redemption I ever needed,” Sean says. “You definitely bested Lucifer’s challenge.”
“I can’t wait to tell Agnes that I told her so,” Callie says.
My sense of foreboding isn’t shared and I don’t know how to explain it to the rest of them. “I’m not sure you should return to Hell with us,” I say to Sean.
“That’s part of the terms,” Sean says. “I heard him say so. I’m coming.”
“Me too,” Saraya adds.
I was afraid of that.
“The rest of you can’t—the humans,” I say. “You wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“He’s right,” Callie says. “You don’t want to have to deal with Styx.”
Vale nods at Callie’s mother, Mag, and Jared. “I will see them home.”
“Good luck, sweetie,” Callie’s mother says, and comes over to touch her forehead against Callie’s and give her a quick hug. She follows it with a hug for me. “And you too, Luke. You make her happy.”
I’m so touched I can’t quite manage to respond. I’m not sure whether what she said is an order or a statement of fact.
“Go give the devil his due,” Mag says.
“How long have you been sitting on that one?” Callie asks them.
“They came up with it yesterday,” Jared says.
Callie laughs and her love is clear. She has these people who would do anything for her, even help save me. And maybe I deserved saving.
It’s a funny thought.
“You should leave this place,” King Arthur announces. “Our business is concluded.”
“What will you do?” Callie asks. “The two of you, I mean?”
“We will do as we have always done, and sleep until we are called awake by the mighty angels,” he says.
“And then, if needed, we will fight,” Lady Guinevere adds and bares her teeth.
Sounds familiar.
We may have won the bet, but Father will not be so easily swayed on the bigger prize he has his eye on—an immediate successor. I pluck the Grail from the table and find it fits snugly in my pocket.
The Holy Grail is a small, dull metal cup that has been hiding in plain sight for centuries on a ghostly table. And it’s my ticket out of Father’s clutches, if I can play it right. If not, I will live my life in one way: lonely.
And alone.