Vera didn’t answer. He was a good dad. Of course he’d say that. She hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks, sniffing as she tried to keep her breaths from devolving into sobs. This was too much. “Okay,” she said after a second. “I need to go, Dad.”

“I know, sweetie.” His voice was muffled.

Vera could imagine him in his hospital room, half seated in the reclined bed. She knew that his face was in his hand, that he was barely keeping it together. And the truth was, she probably could have taken a few more minutes to talk, but no number of stolen goodbyes would be enough. She couldn’t take any more of it without collapsing in on herself.

“I love you so much,” he said.

Vera’s legs wobbled beneath her.

“I love you, too,” she said, feeling foolish because there was no way to adequately say it. She leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor. “Thank you for being a ridiculous and weird and wonderful dad.” She heard his chuckle, which was mingled with a sob. “I’ll—you’ll hardly know I was gone. I’ll be back and—”

“It’s okay. We’ll talk soon, all right?”

“Yeah.” She crushed her eyes closed. “Bye, Dad.”

And Vera ended the call without waiting for him to answer. She could not stand. Every part of her trembled. She took one deep, shaking breath, focusing on facts: reality had changed. She had to go.

She took a second breath, and it was steadier than the first. Vera let Martin and Allison slip to the back of her mind. She focused on the next thing. She needed to walk out of this building. Her final deep breath filled her lungs without a hitch, and she exhaled a sigh before she stood up.

“I’m fine,” she told herself out loud. Her body seemed to believe her and carried her back to Merlin and Allison. She gave Allison the phone. “Mine’s upstairs. And I left my passwords and keys there for you.”

Tears streamed down Allison’s cheeks as she grabbed Merlin by both elbows and stared him squarely in the face. “You keep her safe.”

He nodded, patting her arm. “I will. I promise.”

Allison released him to pull Vera into a tight hug. “I love you,” she said into Vera’s hair.

“I love you, too. So much. So, so much,” Vera said. She disentangled herself from Allison’s arms. There was no room for a breakdown. She had to be okay right now. “Goodbye, Mum.”

Allison bravely tried to stifle the sob that escaped from her throat.

Merlin held the door open for Vera. She took one final look at her mum, who reached out like she was about to grab her and pull her back. There would be no storybook ending to this moment.

Vera turned on her heel, walked out the door, and did not stop.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back, Vera silently instructed herself. She did not stop until she reached a bench in front of the old church a few buildings down. She didn’t dare turn around to ensure Merlin was behind her in case Allison had stepped outside, too. He drew even with her and didn’t stop walking but merely nudged his head, inviting Vera to join him.

She didn’t know anything about him. Nothing about where they were going. She hadn’t thought to ask what the accident was that brought Guinevere to the brink of death.

It was too much. There were too many pieces. Don’t fall apart, she coached herself. Stay in it.

“Have you visited the White Spring Temple?” Merlin asked, not unlike how a visitor at the George might ask about the town. Vera softened toward him in the kindness of casual conversation. Perhaps he knew how delicate an edge her sanity balanced on as the distance between Vera and her home grew.

She nodded.

“That’s where we’re headed. It’s … well, I suppose you could say there’s a portal there, but calling it a magically stabilized wormhole might be more scientifically accurate,” he said as if he were talking about what he’d had for breakfast.

Vera nearly snorted with mad laughter. On second thought, perhaps he’d overestimated her mental capacity. Nevertheless, if there were to be a portal (or wormhole or … whatever) in Glastonbury, White Spring was one of a handful of places that fit the bill.

The temple was in an old, unassuming well house at the Tor’s base, built atop the spring to serve as a reservoir. They’d not updated the 200-year-old building with electricity, instead opting to light it with candles and tenacious bits of sunlight that could find an entrance in cracks and pinholes in the stone walls. It set the mystical mood along with the ever-present sound of trickling water and steady echoing drips from unseen sources. In every corner, shrines honoring the Lady of Avalon were erected that suited all manner of religious pilgrims. Some would call her Goddess, others the Virgin Mother, and still the rest Mother Earth.

The water that flowed from the spring had never dried up in recorded history. It provided for Glastonbury through famine and disease, and visitors devoutly attested to its healing properties, though when they’d tried to pipe it through the city in the late nineteenth century, it had blocked up the pipes. Scientifically, it was clear that the spring’s high calcite content had caused irreparable damage to the metal. Others had their own answer: modern plumbing wasn’t built for magic. Still, even if it didn’t flow from their taps, anyone could visit the spring. Visitors were advised on a sign at the entrance to step into the shallow waters or fully submerge themselves in the deeper pools.

Oddly enough, White Spring was within a few hundred meters of yet another (and more well-known) ancient spring, Chalice Well. This one flowed red, reasonably explained by a high iron content to a rational mind but seldom seen that way by spiritual seekers. Christian lore purported that the spring and its healing powers were directly related to the Holy Grail. Legend held that the Grail was brought to England by Joseph of Arimathea and, at one point, buried in a cavern beneath the spring. They’d contend that the red waters signified the blood of Christ, once caught beneath the cross in that same chalice. The pagans believed it to be the earth’s womb waters.

“I’m surprised it’s not Chalice Well,” Vera said, feeling compelled to say something. She took a right onto Chilkwell Street without even thinking about it. She’d walked this route so often that, were it not for the period clothing, she could almost convince herself this was an ordinary journey. They passed folks along the street heading in the opposite direction, but in an eccentric town like Glastonbury, where fancy dress was nothing exceptional, no one paid them any mind.

“Interesting you should say that,” Merlin said. “The waters of White Spring come directly from the Tor. And that’s where this particular kind of magic comes from. Vera.” He stopped abruptly. “I noticed you still have that bag I gave you. You’re wearing all the contents I provided, but it’s not empty. What did you bring in the bag?”

Vera pursed her lips and only half turned toward him. “A picture of my parents, some socks and underwear, and …” Should she bother lying to him?

“Yes?” he prompted.

“My running shoes.” She pulled her shoulders back and stood up straighter, daring him to argue with her about it.

He sighed heavily. “Nothing else? No electronics of any kind?”

“No.”

Merlin chuckled and shook his head as he resumed walking. “Very well. But you must promise me you’ll be careful to keep them concealed from anyone but those of us who know your situation.”

This time, it was Vera who stopped in her tracks. “Other people know? Who all knows?” It hadn’t occurred to her that others might be in on the scheme.