Eric turns to go, preparing himself for the shift that will take him out of the cave, knowing that this time will be the last time.

He stops. He has one last question.

“Hey,” he says. “You remember when you taught me the rules of magic?”

Merlin looks at him wearily. “Of course.”

“First, magic always costs, and the price is always more than you are willing to pay,” Eric says, reciting from memory. This is why Merlin is wrapped in tree roots. The bill he’s been paying has lasted centuries. “Second, never use magic for evil, for selfish gain, or to harm an innocent. Third, never make a deal with a demon. And finally, remain chaste, or risk losing your power forever. Chaste. Which I took to mean, never have sex.”

“That is the generally accepted definition of chaste,” Merlin says.

“So was that true? Did I really have to stay a virgin all through high school?”

There might be a hint of a smile on Merlin’s lined old face. “Was that a problem for you?”

He only manages to hold a straight face for a second, then bursts into laughter.

“You unbelievable bastard.” But Eric smiles, despite himself.

Merlin breathes, exhales, and the sound of his lungs is like old paper being touched by a match.

“I didn’t want you to be too attached to this world. If you’d had something to live for, I thought it would make it harder for you to make the sacrifice,” he says.

“Yeah, well, that clearly worked out.”

“And I wanted you to be better than me, boy. I still do.”

Eric does not know what to say to that.

Merlin closes his eyes. Goes still. Eric does the same.

When he opens them, he is alone in the ruined glade again.

The sun is going down, the woods are full of shadows, and the mud around him smells of diesel and fumes from the Porta-John.

Eric is the last living practitioner of white magic in this world, and somewhere out there is a boy like him, only a servant of The End now; a boy he will have to kill.

He decides he could really use a drink.

9

Even Less Fun Now

Carrie cannot believe she has to drive her Geo Metro again. It’s been sitting in her parents’ garage for years, mostly idle. The front fender is still dented from where she hit that guy holding the shotgun on her friends that one time, and the stereo still has a cassette slot, but the goddamn car will not do the honorable thing and die.

It wasn’t exactly a happy homecoming when she arrived from the airport. She showed up as her parents were leaving the house for her mom’s Music and Memory class, like they do every Thursday.

Her mom scolded her for being out all night. “Honestly, Carrie,” she said, “I would expect you to be a little more responsible.”