Page 40 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘So you believe in magic?’ Gwen said to Elaine, desperate to change the subject.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said breathily. ‘If you think about it, some variety of magic turns up in the story of every country and kingdom in the world. It goes by different names, but it’s always there. Other religions have their own magic words – their own rituals. It seems unlikely that magic never existed, and yet everybody came to the same conclusion of their own volition.’

‘So you think … King Arthur will rise again?’

‘Yes,’ Elaine said brightly. ‘When the right vessel comes along. Morgana will sort it all out. Merlin will help.’

‘Where are Merlin and Morgana now then?’ Adah said, goading her in a way that was obviously habit.

Elaine considered this for a moment. ‘On sabbatical.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Adah. ‘Glad I asked.’

‘Honoured guests,’ called the woman who had greeted them at the door, clapping her hands together importantly. ‘Gather, please. It is time.’

A wave of excited muttering rippled through the room, and everybody moved towards the fire and the enormous statue above it. Gwen wanted to get a proper look at it, to gaze into the stone eyes of Morgan le Fay and see what all the fuss was about, but to do so would have meant exposing her face; she watched Bridget’s back instead, noticing that Adah had fallen into step next to her.

‘We are gathered here to celebrate the night that our lady Morgana’s spirit claimed her body; she was born from magic, and to magic she returned. When the time is right, she shall once again grace us with a mortal form …’

Gwen felt somebody tap her on the shoulder; when she turned, Elaine nodded in triumph and mouthed, ‘On sabbatical.’

‘… but until that day,weare the guardians of her legacy, here on this plane. To that end, we present our offerings in the knowledge that we are unfinished and imperfect; that we are ever-growing and inconstant, but always striving to become moreourselveswith each passing year.’ The woman smiled around at the crowd. ‘Who will be first to honour our lady tonight?’

‘I will,’ said an elderly woman at the very front, taking down her hood; she shuffled forward without hesitation,her expression open and eager, and their host pressed something into her hand and then stepped aside to make space for her by the fire. ‘To my lady Morgan le Fay,’ she said in a clear voice, holding her slightly shaking hand out in front of her, ‘I give my vanity.’ She opened her fingers and dropped whatever she had been clutching directly into the flames; there was a brief, strong smell of something herbal, burned quickly to bitterness. ‘And I give my love for life.’

Everybody clapped, and a few of the more spirited guests whooped as the woman stepped aside.

‘Who will go next?’

Two people stepped forward at once; there was a slightly awkward moment when neither of them wanted to back down, and the woman at the front laughed.

‘There’s no rush,’ she said. ‘Everybody in this room will take their turn.’

Gwen’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. The woman’s tone hadn’t allowed for argument, but there was no way she was going up there; for one thing, they’d recognise her as the princess, and for another … she simply didn’t want to. Bridget turned around, frowning, as if she was having similar thoughts.

‘I think it might be time for you to leave,’ she said quietly.

‘What?’ whispered Elaine, looking disappointed. ‘But – but it’s the whole point of the festival! You can’t leave now.’

‘I’ll walk you out,’ Bridget said in a low voice, putting her hand on Gwen’s arm; the contact made Gwen’s breath catch. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why this felt like being claimed, and why being claimed felt so explicitlygood, but she wanted the walking-out to be extended as long aspossible – far beyond the length of the room. She tried to make herself small and inconspicuous as she broke away from the group, Bridget falling in behind her, but at that exact moment the crowd parted to let somebody else come forward.

‘Ladies,’ said the woman at the front. ‘Surely you aren’t leaving without making your offering?’

‘I wasn’t aware that participation was mandatory,’ Bridget said immediately; she had turned to face the others and taken a small step backwards towards Gwen, as if trying to obscure her from view.

‘Come now,’ said the woman, disapproving. ‘That is not in the spirit of the day. Make your offerings now, and then you may leave at once.’

‘Or,’ Bridget said, crossing her arms, ‘we could skip straight to the part where we leave.’

Now that sneaking away without being noticed was off the table, Gwen realised that the longer this confrontation continued, the more likely it was that she was going to be recognised. ‘It’s all right,’ she said to Bridget. ‘Let’s just do it, and then we can go.’

‘Very good!’ said the woman at the front, instantly all smiles, clapping her hands together. ‘Come forward into the light, ladies, and tell us what you have for Morgana.’

Gwen thought she was a bit too cheery for somebody who was press-ganging them into a magical party game, but she walked forward anyway; she kept tugging at her hood, trying to get it to cover more of her face without obscuring her eyes entirely and leading to an unfortunate fire-pit accident.

‘Here,’ said the woman, pressing a soft handful of something into Gwen’s palm when she reached the statue. When Gwen opened her fingers, she saw that it was a pile of dried sage leaves, twisted together and crumbling around the edges.

Her mind had been halfway out of the door, and now very suddenly had to snap back to where she was actually standing – in front of a crowd of expectant faces, waiting for her to impart some deeply held truths about herself that she hadn’t yet identified.