them what had happened—or what she thought had happened. She wasn’t really surprised to hear the same thing had happened to all of them. “But you all found a way to— To fight back, right? To tell the, the whatever-it-was that what it showed you might be true, but it wasn’t the whole truth,” Spirit said.
“I heard an angel speak to me,” Burke said solemnly. “I prayed for strength and guidance, and it said I was worthy.” He looked sheepish and awestruck at the same time.
“Worthy to be consecrated to the Hallows,” Loch said softly, nodding. They’d all heard the same words at the end. “I don’t know if it was an angel or not, but … it was something big. Something powerful. And it wanted to know that I understood the difference between right and wrong and to know that when I’d done wrong, I turned around and made up for it. It wanted to know if I … I don’t know … was mature enough to say that since we know we’re the only hope Merlin has, that I wouldn’t let him down.” He sighed. “I don’t like fighting. I’ve always run away, and when I couldn’t run any more, well, things never went that well. But I’m not going to run. And I’m going to fight.”
“Me, too,” Spirit said.
“And I—I’m going to stop being nice, ” Addie said firmly. “Um, well, you know,” she added awkwardly.
Everyone laughed. Loch nudged her and grinned. “‘She is intolerable curst, And shrewd and froward,’” he quoted (it was Shakespeare), and Addie stuck her tongue out at him.
“So … where are these ‘Hallows’ we’re all worthy of?” Spirit asked. The box that had started all this was too small to hold a cauldron, let alone a sword or a spear.
“Here,” Addie said. She dug around in the box for a moment, and withdrew a set of car keys. The tag was a battered old GM logo on a plain steel split ring with a set of worn keys. But somehow—Spirit blinked as she looked at them—they were more real than anything else around them. “This one’s mine. I don’t know what it has to do with a cauldron or cup, but I know it’s mine. Your turn,” she said, nodding to Loch.
Loch approached the box much more tentatively than Addie had, as if he suspected whatever was in there might bite. He picked through it gingerly. Spirit saw a couple of refrigerator magnets, a battered deck of playing cards, some poker chips, a litter of pens and pencils, plastic Mardi Gras necklaces, worn action figures, six-sided dice.… Nothing but junk. Finally Loch plucked out something too small to see.
“Phone charm,” he said, holding it out on the palm of his hand.
It was a tiny plastic arrowhead, no longer than his thumbnail, with the usual long loop of cord to attach it to a cell phone. “Presenting … the Spear. Fitting, I suppose, given my name,” he added. “Although if I’m going to use it, I may need a slingshot. Now you,” he said to Spirit.
“No, I.… Could.… Burke, could you?” Despite her vow in the grey space, despite having been pronounced “worthy” by whatever the Voice had been (Burke said it was an angel, but Spirit lacked his easy faith), she felt strangely reluctant to find out which Hallow was going to be hers.
“Sure,” Burke said, smiling. He rooted around in the box for longer than either of the others had, and finally came up with one of the pens. It was a cheap ballpoint, the kind businesses used to give out, but whatever name had been on the white plastic body had been worn away. He held it for a long moment, then frowned. “I think this is yours, not mine,” he said, offering it to Spirit. She took it automatically. As she did, there was a single bright flash in her mind, and she knew Burke had been right. This was the Sword. This was hers. She knew that beyond doubt.
What she didn’t know was how to turn the pen into the Sword, if that was what she was supposed to do. She stared down at it in puzzlement.
“Well? What is it? Or which is it, I
“I heard an angel speak to me,” Burke said solemnly. “I prayed for strength and guidance, and it said I was worthy.” He looked sheepish and awestruck at the same time.
“Worthy to be consecrated to the Hallows,” Loch said softly, nodding. They’d all heard the same words at the end. “I don’t know if it was an angel or not, but … it was something big. Something powerful. And it wanted to know that I understood the difference between right and wrong and to know that when I’d done wrong, I turned around and made up for it. It wanted to know if I … I don’t know … was mature enough to say that since we know we’re the only hope Merlin has, that I wouldn’t let him down.” He sighed. “I don’t like fighting. I’ve always run away, and when I couldn’t run any more, well, things never went that well. But I’m not going to run. And I’m going to fight.”
“Me, too,” Spirit said.
“And I—I’m going to stop being nice, ” Addie said firmly. “Um, well, you know,” she added awkwardly.
Everyone laughed. Loch nudged her and grinned. “‘She is intolerable curst, And shrewd and froward,’” he quoted (it was Shakespeare), and Addie stuck her tongue out at him.
“So … where are these ‘Hallows’ we’re all worthy of?” Spirit asked. The box that had started all this was too small to hold a cauldron, let alone a sword or a spear.
“Here,” Addie said. She dug around in the box for a moment, and withdrew a set of car keys. The tag was a battered old GM logo on a plain steel split ring with a set of worn keys. But somehow—Spirit blinked as she looked at them—they were more real than anything else around them. “This one’s mine. I don’t know what it has to do with a cauldron or cup, but I know it’s mine. Your turn,” she said, nodding to Loch.
Loch approached the box much more tentatively than Addie had, as if he suspected whatever was in there might bite. He picked through it gingerly. Spirit saw a couple of refrigerator magnets, a battered deck of playing cards, some poker chips, a litter of pens and pencils, plastic Mardi Gras necklaces, worn action figures, six-sided dice.… Nothing but junk. Finally Loch plucked out something too small to see.
“Phone charm,” he said, holding it out on the palm of his hand.
It was a tiny plastic arrowhead, no longer than his thumbnail, with the usual long loop of cord to attach it to a cell phone. “Presenting … the Spear. Fitting, I suppose, given my name,” he added. “Although if I’m going to use it, I may need a slingshot. Now you,” he said to Spirit.
“No, I.… Could.… Burke, could you?” Despite her vow in the grey space, despite having been pronounced “worthy” by whatever the Voice had been (Burke said it was an angel, but Spirit lacked his easy faith), she felt strangely reluctant to find out which Hallow was going to be hers.
“Sure,” Burke said, smiling. He rooted around in the box for longer than either of the others had, and finally came up with one of the pens. It was a cheap ballpoint, the kind businesses used to give out, but whatever name had been on the white plastic body had been worn away. He held it for a long moment, then frowned. “I think this is yours, not mine,” he said, offering it to Spirit. She took it automatically. As she did, there was a single bright flash in her mind, and she knew Burke had been right. This was the Sword. This was hers. She knew that beyond doubt.
What she didn’t know was how to turn the pen into the Sword, if that was what she was supposed to do. She stared down at it in puzzlement.
“Well? What is it? Or which is it, I
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