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“Oh. I thought you’d argue over it.”

“Not at all. That key is a powerful tool, but it surely came with a cost that he would ask for payment for when it suited him. Which is why it is in my possession now. And there it will stay. You have great powers, Archie, but you’re a small fish in a very large pond when it comes to making deals with those who are clever and powerful.” She gave my face a pat before rising to stride over to pay poor Eddie.

A small fish. Yep, that was me. A guppy swimming with sharks. That was the second time in twenty-four hours I’d been told in polite terms that I was a youthful idiot. There was nothing to do for being young other than to grow older.

Phil turned from the door, looking more like the lovable man that held my heart now that his sweet heart was on the mend. He held up a pizza box like it was a trophy as he started barking like a Tusken Raider. I snorted. Yeye and Monique looked at him as if he was a few sandwiches shy of a picnic. At least I had someone to be a young idiot with. We could grow, learn important life lessons, and make the old folks think we were goofballs. Sounded kind of perfect to me.

We made short work of the breakfast pizzas and stale coffee. Phil, who was glowing with the love from Yeye and Monique, finally got a run in while Monique went to find Klinger to secure them a room for the night. I assured her there would be no issue as the motel was empty save for me and Phil.

Once she had made her way to the motel office—where I prayed Klinger wasn’t found in the back watching porn lest he be turned into a warty toad—I went to fetch the paintbrush. Thankfully, the cinnabar paint seepage had slowed significantly. I presented it to Yeye, who was nibbling on a tiny bit of an oatmeal cookie that had traveled from the south with him and his gal. He handed me his cookie as he took the brush, now resting on a used bath towel, the cotton soaking up the paint nicely.

“I had a dream where Kee Huang appeared to me,” I began with as I kneeled beside him. His sharp eyes darted from the ancient brush to me. He knew there was significance in what I was about to say.

“A vision from an ancestor is a high blessing, Archie. Tell me what was said, what you saw, and what you took away from this connection. Oh! Tell me he was not cold or hungry or upset!”

“No, no, he was amazing, Yeye. Strong, handsome, powerful. He wanted to pass along some advice,” I said, dropping down to sit cross-legged at his tiny feet.

“Advice. Archimedes, you must listen to his advice. Do not push it aside!” He seemed almost frantically worried. “To ignore his help would be a great dishonor. He wasn’t angry was he?”

“No, not at all. Just…he told me to study more and curb my youthful urges. In a nutshell.”

“Pfft. Do not nutshell me. I would hear everything. Every detail!”

He held the brush with reverence as I filled him in on every tiny nugget down to how many whiskers the happy fish possessed. He sat in awe, his eyes growing dewy at times.

“You truly are a blessed boy,” Yeye whispered roughly at the end of my tale. “This brush will aid you in many ways. Do you know thunder script? We should find a vessel for this sacred brush to rest in to avoid its drippings. The fact that it is always damp with cinnabar is miraculous!” I smiled up at him. He was beaming with pride. “We should meditate. Make an offering. Will you join me?”

“Gladly.” We had no image or statue, no altar, no bowls or incense, but we did have a holy relic to guide us through our devotions. Yeye usually meditated for at least an hour. My focus wasn’t as strong as his, but he pushed me to sit for twenty minutes today, adding extra thanks and offerings: some homemade cookies to represent gratitude for life’s sustenance and a glass of water to represent purity of intention as it washed away negative thoughts. Monique entered just as I was carrying the glass of water back to the bathroom.

“My love, come look at this blessing from Kee Huang that was given to our grandson!” Yeye exclaimed, still holding the brush in the towel, his eyes bright. She gave me a tender look before kneeling beside Yeye to share in his joy.

She fawned over him, and it, as if she’d not known about the paintbrush. I sat on the bed in a lotus, smiling at their tenderness to each other, the Kee family journal on my lap. If I wished to use the brush as intended, I’d need to learn thunder script. Pages of it were listed in the old tome. I’d never tried my hand at ritualistic calligraphy, but I was willing to give it a go. What was the worst thing that could happen if I messed up a character? Would Wen Zhong, the Supreme Commander of the Thunder Court, call upon Lei Gong, the executioner, to smite me? I swallowed hard at the thought of being fried. Right. Study. Study. Study.

Good thing I liked books.

Epilogue

Three Weeks Later

“I’m too scared to open it. You open it for me,” Phil said, shoving his phone at me. The windows were down in his truck, fresh from the repair shop in Bloodroot Ridge. Monique had brought us out then made a sharp roundabout to head back home to Yeye. They were going to a flower show in New Hampshire on a tour bus with the Liverswell Senior Adventurers. An overnight stay at a pretty B&B and flowers. Yeye was in his glory as he did love growing herbs on the fire escape. We’d been told not to do anything rash while they were gone this time. We’d promised we’d behave. We had plans for the day that involved trying to see whether my wobbly, newfound skills at painting talismans to help guide souls over would work or if I’d accidentally summon the nine-tailed fox.

“Phil, they’re your grades. You should open it.” I eased the phone back at his chest, the Kee family journal on my lap as we pulled into Camp Minnow Mingle. Little had been done by the looks of it, other than someone tearing down the name over the arch. No more minge. I was more than a little nervous. I’d studied so hard after returning home from this place that my brain felt like it was permanently cramped. The loss of Qi had made cramming schoolwork and learning how to paint correctly very tiring. Somehow I’d managed to grab a high 85 on my final Asian studies paper and test, no small feat as Professor Hayashi rarely graded anything above a 90, and a 92 in my philosophy class. Phil was still sweating out opening the student portal to see his final grades for the semester.

“If I flunk out, it will be the end of college for me,” he whispered as he stared down at his battered cell phone in agony.

“You didn’t fail. I know it. Your professors love you.” I tucked the small yellow ribbons back into my journal, steeling myself for the task ahead. We’d come back here the day after Yeye and Monique had come to get us and filmed me walking through the camp with smoldering white birch twigs tied with cotton shoestrings. I’d spoken in Chinese throughout, assuming few would know what I was saying, but on the off-chance the senator brought in a translator, I did call upon the ancient ones to cleanse the camp. Then we sent the files to the senator. His reply was a curt “Received and duly noted. No further correspondence is required.”

Phil had sighed over the dismissive reply then turned his attention to his schoolwork. And his truck. Yeye had loaned him the money to cover the repairs and had rabbited the rest away in a savings account for later use. That later use would be revealed next week when he presented a check to cover renovations for the old laundromat down the street. The Wellspring would be a new LGBTQ+ center for the youth of Liverswell, offering a safe space for queer kids from thirteen to eighteen to hang out. The local paper was scheduled to be there as well as the mayor and a few dignitaries. It felt rather good to know that the senator was funding a safe haven for queer kids. Phil and I were all about volunteering, as were our friends. With all the money from our time at camp going to the new youth club, we were pretty much back where we had started. Poor college guys, working part time at a bookstore while making livestreams to help keep said bookstore afloat.

Valuable lessons had been learned, though. Tempering the impetuousness of youth was one we were both still working on. Also, I had not yet figured out how to walk through the graveyard and not wake the grass. Every time I walked through the neighborhood boneyard, I woke the dead. Literally. So yeah, that was still a mystery.

“Kiss me for fortitude,” Phil announced, yanking me from my meanderings about sleeping grass. I leaned over, pressed my mouth to his, and gave him a good, solid smacker. “Okay. Here I go.” With one finger, he opened up the link to his student portal. I watched his face for any signs of what his final grades were. Phil was not one to mask his emotions. When his face broke into a giant grin, I knew he’d pulled it off. “Yes! Yes! I got a 78 in Asian studies and a 98 in my filmmaking class. Yes! Yes! We’re juniors now!”

I kissed him a few dozen times just for the sheer joy of it. “I knew you could do it.”

“Professor Hayashi is so tough, and my Chinese is so lame, I was sure she’d fail me.” He patted his steering wheel in a wild drum solo that sounded a lot like an AC/DC tune. “Shit, okay, we’re good. I can keep playing football and going to school and being your boyfriend.”

“You’d be my boyfriend no matter if you attended school or played sports. You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” I teased.