Artos, for his part, reacts to her imminent threat of extreme violent by making the strategic choice of someone who has been in this situation before. He raises me up in a way that both draws attention to my presence and also conveniently uses me as a shield. “Wait! Hold on! Gwen, let me explain!”

  She falters as she finally notices me and my less than ideal condition, her eyes softening with the kind of immediate concern only genuinely kind people have. She then straightens out of her stance and plants the butt of her spear firmly on the ground, her expression firming as she goes back to glaring at her unwanted guest. “What did you do?” Ah, so she knows him well then. “And that’s Gwenivere to you.”

  “Me? I didn’t do anything.” I can practically hear him blink innocently, his voice full of guileless surprise at the “unjust” accusation. Being used as a prop to scam someone is certainly a new experience for me, one that leaves me feeling vaguely embarrassed. “But this little one does need your help.”

  Gwenivere’s gleaming gold eyes speak silent volumes of her opinion in regard to Artos. The way her hand clenches around her spear shaft makes me suspect that she very much still wants to stab him a few times, and then maybe kick him off her mountain via the balcony. Instead of doing any of that however, she takes a breath and in the next moment her spear vanishes. “Put him down and tell me what happened.”

  I half expect Artos to take her at her word and just drop me on the ground. Instead he walks over to where Gwenivere is standing and sets me gently down on one of the chairs by the bonfire before taking a polite step back. Gwenivere immediately kneels down beside me, placing one hand on my chest, unaware of the way Artos continues watching her.

  It’s the way he looks at her that finally makes me certain of my guess about why I’m here.

  He likes her. In a big, probably somewhat toxic way. But since she very obviously would rather set him on fire than talk with him, I’m the excuse he’s using to see her. It’s like when you have a crush on your neighbor, but they don’t know you exist. So you steal their mail, pretend it was delivered to the wrong address and use that as an excuse to see them on the regular. It’s something that happened to me so many times the mail carrier started delivering to our door.

  Thinking about it, I can’t help but look at Gwenivere with a measure of sympathetic pity. It’s tough being liked by normal maniacs; I suspect the divine variety are no picnic either. She must’ve had a hard time of it, poor thing.

  I’m not sure what it is she does when she touches me, but almost immediately I can feel the pain ebbing as something else corrals it and soothes the damage it caused. I have no idea what’s happening within my “body” right now, but as long as it stops hurting I can get behind that. Gwenivere, however, seems perturbed by whatever she encounters.

  “What is this?” She mutters half to herself before sending Artos a suspicion laden glance. “And why do you have such a young soul? The afterlife is rightly kept well outside of your purview.”

  “I normally wouldn’t, but you know how it is. There are always people who dedicate themselves to their chosen god upon their deaths.” I don’t remember choice having much to do with it, and “dedicate” seems like a strong word. It sounds like that witchy girl accidentally signed me up for indentured divine servitude. I fix my eyes on Gwenivere and try to send her silent messages with the force of my gaze alone. Don’t leave me with this guy Gwen Kenobi, you’re my only hope.

  “I don’t know why they do that, most of them aren’t of any use, so I get left with a bunch of mind muddled souls I can’t do anything with. I mostly keep them in my closet since they hardly have any consciousness and won’t be able to get up to anything. This little one however, is a bit more coherent than most.”

  “A bit?” Gwen gives him an incredulous look before giving my glowing self a meaningful glance and getting back to work. I'm not entirely sure what she's referring to, but if shine is related to soul coherence than it’s a massive understatement considering I’m lighting this place up more than the bonfire next to me.

  “Hey, you’re the one who didn’t even notice he was here at first.”

  Gwen looks mildly embarrassed by the reminder, addressing me for the first time with a slightly guilty look. “Sorry about that sweetheart. Bad guys give me tunnel vision.”

  She says it in the way you might try to soothe a pet you accidentally kicked because you didn't see it by your feet, which is what clues me in that she also doesn’t think I’m altogether there. That’s fine. I don’t think I would mind being a cute but stupid little ghost for her if it means I get to stay. I don’t want to go back to the closet. “As you say, he’s not a normal soul, so how did he end up in that sort of place?”

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  Artos shrugs, the picture of helplessness. “I’m not really sure myself. There must’ve been some error during the process.”

  I’m willing to bet literally anything that souls dedicated to him get sent to the closet by default, just like unwanted emails to the spam folder.

  “My closet is still my closet, however. I’ve been storing random things in there for so long even I’m not sure of what’s in there. I don’t know what exactly he got into.” I glance at the shameless liar, but he smoothly avoids meeting my gaze. Maybe there was other stuff in that dark place, but all I saw was dead people and mushrooms. “Got into” my shiny bright ass. “And you know healing isn’t one of my strong suits. If I tried to figure it out by myself then I don’t know how long it would’ve taken. Coming to you was the best solution I could think of.”

  Gwen hums in response. I can tell there are things she wants to say but, to her credit, she focuses instead on continuing to heal me. For which I am appreciative. Her brows furrow as she works which make me wonder if she’s still puzzled by what was happening to me. I feel weird, sure. Like I just ate something and am a bit overstuffed, but also at the same time like I haven’t eaten in days and could eat for just as long. it's uncomfortable, and I get the feeling I won't be quite the same no matter what Gwenivere does for me. But hey, at least the pain is gone.

  That said, I wouldn’t put it past Artos to have given me something he knew Gwen would have a hard time with just so he could stay longer. He’s kind of an asshole.

  “I applaud your quick thinking.” She says eventually, her tone more neutral than chalk. “But would you like to explain how, if your “closet” and its occupants are as neglected as you claim, you just happened to be there when this child was in greatest danger?” Her eyes when she glances at him are perhaps the least friendly thing I have ever seen in my life, making her awareness of his duplicity plain. Even if she couldn't yet pick out his lies.

  I feel a bit like a spectator, and I’m surprised by how engaged I am in watching the scene unfold. I’ve seen a lot of dramatic shit in my life and I can’t say I’ve ever cared for it, but that was all my dramatic shit. Watching someone else’s unfold is a new experience. An interesting experience. I look back and forth between the two, practically able to read the dramatic history in the air. Hell, I think I kind of like this. I mean, the cost of the ticket was a bit much, but since I’m already here I might as well enjoy it, right?

  Gwenivere’s point is insightful, but Artos, however, is not so easily shaken. “Pure coincidence really. When I think of what might’ve happened if I hadn’t gone looking for- hell, I can’t even remember what I went looking for. It was just a passing whim. That’s how close he came to serious, potentially irreparable damage. If it hadn’t been for you… well, I’m just grateful you were willing to help despite our-” He rolls his eyes around as he tries to think of an appropriate word. “-differences.”

  The golden eyed goddess listened to her fellow deity’s speech expressionlessly before speaking herself. “Ah, I see.” Her voice is so cold even I feel the chill, Artos’ eyes going a bit wide as he wait for her to continue. “Then would you like to try explaining why it was your own blood that hurt this child?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. Did he seriously make me drink his blood of all things? If I could I would shake my head at him. For his part, Artos blinks at her a couple times before speaking. He doesn’t look like he expected her to notice that. “My blood, truly?”

  “Mhmm, your blood.” Apparently done with her task for the moment, Gwenivere finally lets her hand fall away from my chest as she stands to face my poisoner.

  He places a hand on his chest, eyes looking all pitiful. “I know what you think of me Gwen, but even I can bleed you know.”

  “Not for thousands of years you haven’t. We both know it would take days of work for anyone but a god to get through your skin.”

  This is all a bit messed up, but I can’t help mentally applauding the man for his commitment. Just the idea of him trying to make himself bleed just so he can poison little old me with it so he can have an excuse to see his lady love- Artos is just about as far gone as you can get in terms of unrequited, slightly crazy love. If I wasn’t enjoying how incredibly badly I imagine this is all about to go for him I might even pity the fool.

  “But I have bled in the past, and just leaving that sort of thing lying around is dangerous. I must’ve stored it away and forgotten about it.” What a quick recovery. Very impressive.

  “Oh? I would’ve sworn it was extremely fresh. As you said, you're not specialized in healing so you might not know, but the difference is fairly easy to tell if you know what you’re doing. Which I do. Would you please enlighten me,” the spear is suddenly back in her hand, her eyes all but blazing “how did something like that get inside this child?”

  Artos finally looks a bit flustered. I wonder if he didn’t expect her to be able to pinpoint what he’d given me. I guess a god bleeding is just that rare. “I don’t really know, but you know how souls can be. Especially those freshly killed, hardly cognizant at all.”

  The air seems to take on a chill all its own as Gwenivere tilts her head to the side. “Killed? I thought you said your souls were from those who dedicated themselves to you in death.”

  Artos’ eyes shift to the side briefly before making a slightly awkward come back. I can’t imagine this is where he wanted this conversation to go. “Well, most of them are. But some of them, only a rare few mind you, are… sacrificed instead.” He holds his hands up defensively when Gwenivere’s spear tip suddenly appears right in front of his throat. “I’m not the one who does that! It’s not like I can stop every superstitious backwoods hedge witch with more faith than sense! Don’t be unreasonable!”

  The Gwenivere takes a deep breath, restraining herself with what looks like monumental effort. “I’ve listened well to you Artos, now you hear what I think happened. I think you stumbled across a poor, lost little soul, newly murdered in your name, and instead of doing anything take a shred of responsibility you poisoned him so you would have a reason to come here that I wouldn’t try to kill you for.”

  Artos scratches the back of his head, almost managing to look sheepish. “It sounds really bad when you put it like that.”

  It's the wrong thing to say.