The Blender’s Bargain – Chapter 22

Garrick

“The same as always, dear friend. Power. Though I must say, your human is far more interesting than mine. Such delicious determination.”

Ugh, I’m so done with these magicians.

I roll my eyes at the mixer. “That’s enough, both of you. I don’t need magical appliance drama right now.”

“Magical appliance drama?” Branwen sounds affronted. “Child, we are discussing forces beyond your comprehension. The very fabric of reality hangs in the balance.”

“Yeah, well, so does Archie’s life,” I snap, tightening my grip on the wheel.

Arvid clears his throat — or makes a sound like he would if he had one. “Garrick is right. Our personal histories must wait. The girl is in grave danger.”

“The girl,” Branwen scoffs. “My descendant, you mean. My blood.”

I almost swerve off the road. “Wait. What?” I groan. “Right. Right. The papers at her house mentioned a ‘Branwen.’”

“Of course she is,” Branwen says, as if explaining to a slow child. “Why else would I be drawn to this region? Why else would Ysroth attach himself to her? The magic seeks its own.”

The revelation sits in my chest like a boulder. Archie isn’t just caught up in this mess — she’s central to it. Born into it.

A heavy silence falls over the car as I process this. The road stretches ahead, empty and foreboding. In the back seat, Marlo shifts, clearly feeling like an outsider to this bizarre conversation.

I press my foot harder on the accelerator. Whatever Archie’s connection to all this, I’m not letting her face it alone.

After ten minutes of silent driving, though, Marlo is back at it again.

“Does this thing drive any faster?” she sighs, stretching dramatically. The movement pulls her top tight across her chest. I ignore it.

“No.”

“We could use some lunch. Or maybe, you know, a detour to Coralton? It wouldn’t kill you. Sun, sand, cocktails…” She leans forward, resting her chin on the back of my seat, her breath warm on my neck. “Much nicer than whatever hellhole this Rumblestone place is.”

“I told you. No.” I keep my eyes fixed on the highway. Cracked pavement stretches ahead, littered with more debris. Possessed debris, probably.

“Fine.” She sits back, silent for a moment, and I brace myself. “So, you finally got Archie, only to lose her within, what? A day.” Marlo’s voice sharpens. “Took you long enough to make a move.” She turns her face to the window. “You pined after her our entire relationship.”

Heat rushes up my neck. How does she always know exactly where to poke? “No. When I was with you, I was with you. You were the one who broke things off to see other people, several times. And I didn’t lose Archie. I know where she is.”

At least I hope so.

“Sure you do.” She lets out another sigh. “So, what’s the plan? Storm the creepy mining town? Rescue the damsel? Slay the dragon?”

“Something like that.”

Marlo smacks the mixer. “Hey, you. Tell us what we’re in for here.”

Branwen’s voice crackles with disdain. “You expect wisdom from me, mortal? A woman who can’t even recognize the gravity of our situation?”

“Excuse me?” Marlo’s eyebrows arch. “I’m not the one trapped in a kitchen appliance, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re merely the vapid vessel who carries me,” Branwen sniffs. “Your mind is as shallow as a puddle in summer. I can sense it.”

Marlo laughs, the sound sharp and brittle. “Says the ancient has-been who got herself trapped in a mixer. Great career move there.”

“Insolent child! I wielded powers that could reshape mountains while your ancestors were still figuring out how to make fire.”

“And yet here you are,” Marlo gestures broadly, “giving magical symposiums from inside a kitchen appliance. Very impressive.”

The mixer vibrates with indignation. “Your disrespect only confirms your intellectual limitations.”

“And your condescension confirms you’re just another controlling narcissist,” Marlo fires back. “Trust me, I’ve dated enough of those to recognize the type.”

Arvid’s calm voice cuts through the tension. “If I may interrupt this… stimulating exchange, we approach a place of great significance, and if Miss Marlo wants to be ready for it, I will provide the background Branwen refuses to disclose.” He clears his throat again, and I glance sideways at the toaster. My life is really fucking strange right now. “Rumblestone was once the site of the most powerful convergence of magical energies on this continent.”

“Yes, Arvid.” Branwen’s voice holds a note of surprise. Maybe respect. “Quite powerful.”

“Indeed,” Arvid agrees. “The battle here… it cost us dearly.”

Battle? My grip tightens again. “What battle?”

“Centuries ago,” Arvid explains, his voice gaining strength. “Here, in these mines. We fought against those who wielded the darkest arts. Branwen was a part of that.”

Branwen huffs. “As you all love to remind me.”

I make eye contact with Marlo in the rearview mirror. She presses her lips together.

“We sacrificed much to seal that power away,” Arvid continues.

“Sacrificed?” Archie’s dad mentioned sacrifices.

“Years of our lives,” Arvid clarifies quietly. “Woven into the seals to bind the darkness.”

“But the syzygy,” Branwen continues, “the alignment… it weakened the barriers between dimensions. It allowed fragments of our essence to return, drawn to metal mined from this place.”

Ah! Okay. She means the appliances. This is finally making sense.

“But it also created… opportunities. For those who seek to break the seals.”

“People like you,” Arvid says. My eyes meet Marlo’s again in the rearview mirror.

Branwen laughs. “Not true. Sure, I experimented, but ultimately, the dark ones left me out of their planning.”

My skin cools in the summer air, popping goosebumps along my arms.

“We need to stop them.” I fumble in my backpack beside me on the seat, pulling out the folded pages I ripped from the library book. The ancient text, the ritual. “Can this help?”

I twist, handing the pages back to Marlo. She takes them and smooths them out.

Branwen hums from the mixer. “Yes. This is part of the old lore. A counter-ritual.”

“To strengthen the seal?” I ask, hope flickering.

“Or break it,” Branwen corrects. “It depends on the intent. And the catalyst.”

“Catalyst? Can you people talk plainly, please? I’m tired of having to drag the information out of you.”

“My good man. Be patient! The ritual requires proximity to the source,” Arvid explains. “Multiple willing participants channeling energy. And…” He pauses. “The bloodline.”

“Branwen’s bloodline,” Branwen finishes. Her voice is grim. “My descendants. They used me and my magic to open the barriers the first time, then disposed of me.”

Archie. Her mother.

Oh god.

“They’re needed,” I realize aloud. “To break the seal.”

“Or,” Arvid suggests, “they can use the ritual to reinforce it. Willingly.”

My head spins. Reinforce it? How? We need to know.

“Marlo, write this down.” I pull my notebook from my backpack and hand that to her as well. “There should be a notebook, a pen.”

She rolls her eyes but complies. “Okay, Professor. Dictate away.”

Branwen and Arvid explain the nuances of the counter-ritual, the specific arrangement of artifacts, the words of power, and the channeling required. Marlo scribbles away, occasionally asking for clarification, her earlier annoyance replaced by grudging focus. She might be self-centered, but she’s not stupid. She knows this matters.

When they finish, she tears the pages carefully from the notebook and hands them to me. I shove them into my back pocket, the paper crinkling against my jeans.

“So, we just need to get Archie and her mom, arrange the magical doodads, say the magic words, and poof? Problem solved?” Marlo asks.

“It is far more complex,” Branwen says curtly. “And far more dangerous.”

The sky ahead is dark on the horizon. Was it supposed to rain today? I don’t think so. And the closer we get, I can see these are not storm clouds. Deep purple clouds swirl above the mountains, pulsing with a light that’s not natural. The ground beneath the car begins to vibrate, a low, steady hum that travels up my body and jostles my teeth.

We’re close.

“Looks like the party’s started,” Marlo murmurs, peering out the window. There’s a flicker of unease in her eyes now.

My stomach twists at the thought of Archie and Marlo in the same place. They’ve always circled each other like wary cats, polite smiles masking mutual dislike. Marlo thought Archie was boring and provincial; Archie saw through Marlo’s calculated charm. And now? After last night with Archie, after everything we shared, having my ex along feels like dragging a ticking bomb into an already explosive situation.

God, what will I even say? “Hey Archie, I brought my manipulative ex-girlfriend along for the apocalypse. Hope that’s cool.”

The awkwardness is inevitable, but it’s the least of my worries. If — when — we find Archie, the friction between them will be uncomfortable, but at least she’ll be alive to glare daggers at Marlo. And right now, that’s all that matters.

My anxiety spikes, a physical ache in my chest. Archie. Is she okay? Is she trapped? Scared?

“Just hang on, Archie,” I whisper, my voice rough.

Marlo glances at me, a shred of sympathy in her expression. “She’ll be all right, Garrick. She’s tougher than she looks.”

I don’t respond. Tough isn’t enough against dark magic and fanatics.

We crest a hill and below us lies Rumblestone. The town is shrouded in shadow, but the mine entrance high on the mountainside glows with an intense, sickening purple light. The vibrations intensify, shaking the car.

This is it.

I grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, foot pressing down. Determination hardens within me, eclipsing the fear.

I’m coming, Archie.