“Y’know, I’ll go along with anything here; you guys are the experts.” Emily perched on the edge of the hammock, body tensed against falling back into the fabric. She pulled on her cigarette, eyes flicking to her aunt. “But this is weird. I mean, it is and it isn’t.”
Janice sighed and leaned against the porch railing, cradling a glass of tea. “You’re so dang wired, I should have dosed you with cough syrup last night so you’d get some sleep.” She pushed herself standing and looked down at her niece. Palming her forehead, Janice shoved Emily into the hammock. “Lay the hell back and tell me what you’re bringing.” She resumed her slouch against the railing. “And don’t set my damn hammock on fire.”
An arm flopped out of the cocoon of fabric, disappearing again for a moment before dangling back down, accompanied by a plume of smoke. Emily began listing the contents of her pack: clothing, food, camera, writing desk, and knife. When she finished, Janice prompted her on Sidhe policy, where to drink, and what to call people. After a while the cigarette had burned to the filter and she took it from her niece’s hands, stubbing it into a nearby ashtray. She kept drilling and lecturing until she was pretty certain Emily was asleep. As she softly opened the screen door, Emily’s voice scratched from the hammock.
“It’ll be fine, right?”
Janice knew her niece couldn’t see her, so she let herself frown. “It’ll be fine.” She waited a moment at the door. When nothing more came, she went inside.
Emily woke sweating, the fabric of the hammock sticking to the back of her knees. She blinked away the sleepiness hazing the jewelled evening sunlight. She still felt like there was so much to do, even though everything had been ready to go since the day before. Stretching her arms against the hammock’s sides to let in the faint breeze, Emily wondered again if she was forgetting something. Was there anybody she needed to say goodbye to?
She sat up slowly, swinging her legs out. The contentment of sleep shifted uneasily against the pit of nerves burning in her stomach. The whole point of this endeavour was that there wasn’t anyone to say goodbye to. Just like how at graduation there hadn’t been anyone she’d promised to write as they went their separate ways.
“I am a rock, I am an island.” She heard the porch creak behind her and a glass of iced tea was slipped into her hand.
“Have you no need for friendship?”
“Friendship causes pain.” Emily laughed and took a sip. “God, listen to that sappy junk enough and the lyrics seep in.” She glanced back. Becky stood, hand on hip, smoke trailing from the cigarette held with her glass. With a start that slopped tea down her fingers, Emily swore. “Shit, I thought you were my aunt.”
Ducking under the rope, Becky moved to sit next to Emily, pushing the hammock to sway lightly. “Well, I hope I didn’t disappoint you. Janice is helping the others build the arbour, but she gave me this to hand over to you.” She slid an envelope onto Emily’s lap.
Emily set her glass on the porch, balancing against the hammock’s swing. The envelope was unsealed and she slid the bulky card out awkwardly. Thick with construction paper flowers and shedding glitter, it had a simple heart on the front that showed the crease where it had been folded before cutting. Inside, in a clear adult’s print, was written: “We’ll miss you, good luck!” Children’s careful signatures crowded around the message; she’d been coaching the youngest ones on printing and all of them were more or less discernible. One of the older kids had even attempted cursive, written with such deliberate slowness that the marker bled into the paper at each stopping point.
Feeling her eyes tearing, Emily cleared her throat as she reached down for her glass. She concentrated on the tea’s sweetness and forced the needles of tears back in her throat. Becky laid a hand on her shoulder.
“More so than for any of us, you’re doing this for them. The ceremony is past their bedtime so they wanted to make you a card.”
Composed now, Emily smiled faintly. “I’ll make sure to add it to my pack. Even with all this glitter it shouldn’t affect the weight.” Becky chuckled. Extending her leg, she hooked one of the little porch tables with her foot and slid it closer so she could crush her cigarette into an ashtray.
“Now, I know your aunt won’t approve of this, but I thought of something you probably didn’t pack.” She held out a soft leather pouch, offering it to Emily, who took it with hesitation. Unwinding the ribbon that held it closed, Emily recognised the contents by the scent mingling perfectly with the leather.
“No shit, tobacco.” She fished a packet of papers from the soft, fragrant shreds. “I really wouldn’t have been in good shape chucked into the Sidhe suffering withdrawal.”
Becky shifted in the hammock to face Emily, leaning back against the fabric drawn taut by their double weight. “Do you know how to roll smokes? It’s just like joints, but easier.”
Emily blushed. “I don’t smoke weed.”
Becky laughed. “Okay then, give me a paper and watch how I do it. I’m sure you’ll be a pro in no time.” The sun settled like golden syrup on the court as the two women rolled cigarettes, heads bowed together.
There were fewer people this time than at the first ceremony, for which Emily was grateful. She felt intensely stupid in hiking boots and clothes too warm for the summer night, carrying a heavy pack and wearing a flowered circlet perched in the dark nest of her loose hair. She stood awkwardly before the arbour her aunt had helped make earlier that day.
Mrs. Hill was saying something, her figure shining clear in the moonlit suburban dark as she moved her flowered twig like a conductor’s baton. Emily tried to pay attention. “—and so we wish her victory as our agent, and safety as our child.” Mrs. Hill stepped up to the arbour and moved the twig at it while Emily, on the other side, tried to stand very still. With a rush of air, the arbour burst into flames.
She took a deep breath. Fire and water, midsummer magic; nothing to feel dumb about. Turning to her aunt, she hugged her, arms thrown off balance by the backpack. Becky stepped forward and held out her hand. Emily shook it, looked from her aunt on one side to the flaming arch, and then back to Becky, lit harshly by the firelight. With sudden temerity she pulled the woman into an embrace. Self-consciously, she broke quickly and stepped back.
Feeling like a badass, Emily stepped boldly to the arbour, hesitating briefly as the heat of the flames flushed across her skin. Screwing up her face in determination, she stepped through the arch of fire as Mrs. Hill heaved a bucket of water at Emily’s face from the other side.
Reflexively closing her eyes against the wet, Emily finished her step before swiping the liquid away. She could feel flowers drooping damply against her forehead. The moon lit the grass, throwing a dream-sharp edge on everything. She stood in the middle of a forest clearing, silent except for the faintest rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Emily dragged the soggy wreath from her head and held it awkwardly, not knowing what to do with it. She swallowed. “Mother fuck.”
This post is part of The Audacity Gambit – Serialised. Learn more about when the book was first published here, see the archive and overall content warnings here, and find more of my writing here. I’m over on both Comradery and Patreon, if you feel like supporting my creative endeavours. If you’d like to subscribe to this story, here’s a handy email box for you: