Lycans and Legends

Chapter 13: Back to Avalon

Taking a deep breath, I set off into the night. The ruins boasted arching towers that had once been part of the abbey walls, half-decimated buildings, broken columns, and other interesting features. One partial wall still held the shape of what must have been an ornate stained-glass window shaped like a rose. Now, only moonlight shone through the empty space. Dotted all around the grounds were apple trees, their limbs full of blossoms. The scent was heady and filled the air with its rich perfume. The smell hung in the heavy mist that enveloped the place. Jericho was right. This place did feel loose.

Of course, I knew the stories about Glastonbury Abbey. They said King Arthur and Queen Guinevere had been buried there. Given everything I knew about the oddities of the realm, I’d be stupid not to believe in the legends. At this point, I pretty much took any weird or obscure fact as truth. It saved me time. And then there were the other older, more profound myths about Glastonbury Tor. Many believed it was a gateway to the Otherworld. Or, at least, to Avalon, the enchanted land of the young and home of the mythical Lady of the Lake. Of course, those were the druids’ secrets. And so far, I was hitting a wall in that regard.

As I moved through the ruins, my mind was alive, all my senses on edge. Everywhere I looked, I saw fairy globes and spirits. The place was a haunt-fest.

But the voices that always called to me were silent.

Eerily silent.

I didn’t need to hear their voices.

I could feel their eyes on me.

My heart beating hard in my chest, I walked through the ruins, hunting for…well, I didn’t know what.

I came to a water well. The wooden bucket rocked in the soft breeze. I stared out at the horizon. From the top of the Tor, I could see for miles. I spotted glimpses of light on the landscape, lanterns or candles in homes or on transports. I gazed into the sky overhead. Here, away from the city, there were no airships, only stars.

“Hello?” I whispered.

Nothing.

What did I expect? Did I think my long-forgotten mother would just pop out of the mists and say hi?

Yeah.

That was exactly what I expected.

I sat down at the side of the well.

And then, I waited.

And waited.

The moon crossed the sky, and it grew cold. Mist enveloped the place, and soon, the lights in the windows of Abbey House grew dim.

Wonderful.

I was getting nowhere.

Stonehenge?

Miss.

Glastonbury?

Miss.

I hoped Harper was having more luck. Gothel owed the agency a favor. If she was at Willowbrook Park, or if Miss Pendragon was able to contact Gothel, maybe Harper could find out more than me.

At this point, I was cold, thirsty, and oddly damp from all the damned fog. On the one hand, I could stay a bit more and hope something other than fairy globes passed by. Or, I could go back to the house and see what mischief Lionheart had in mind for us.

Warm and fleshy images flashed through my mind. Snuggling up beside that old werewolf would be better than sitting in the dark feeling disappointed. And cold. And dewy.

I was foolish to dream there were ever going to be any answers for me.

It was time to focus on the future and leave the past behind.

“All right, then,” I said aloud to no one in particular. “I’m cold. It’s late. And there is too damned much fog. Enough faerie tricks for one night. I’m done.”

I headed back in the direction of Abbey House. Hopefully, Lionheart would still be awake. I imagined him sitting by the fireplace poring over some old manuscript, a glass of brandy in his hand.

I headed across the lawn toward the house, passing through the ruins once more. Using the lights in the upstairs windows of Abbey House to guide me, I made my way.

But as I walked, the lights grew dimmer.

The mist grew thicker.

The arching ruins began to fall away, replaced by a thick grove of apple trees.

I kept moving forward, but my skin had turned to gooseflesh, the palms of my hands and soles of my feet itching, my hair feeling alive with static.

I took slow, measured breaths and moved purposefully toward the lights, but the fog gathered.

Moonlight shimmered down, casting a blue glow on everything.

Ahead, I saw shapes. I moved toward them to discover they weren’t ruins at all.

They were standing stones.

I swallowed hard and looked toward Abbey House. It was still here, on the horizon, where it had always been. On the horizon. But no closer.

It was still there.

But not in this world.

“Clemeny. Clemeny Louvel,” a voice called from behind me.

I inhaled deeply then turned and looked.

Moonlight shimmered down on the apple trees, coloring the limbs blue, the blossoms shimmering silver in the moonlight.

Walking along a path through the apple trees and monoliths was a figure wearing a hooded robe.

My heart slammed in my chest.

“Clemeny,” she said.

“Who are you?”

The woman pushed her hood back. She had long, black hair and a petite frame. “Welcome home, Clemeny.”