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The effect of her words was electric. He stepped out of her embrace as unexpectedly as he’d entered it, pushing a hand through his hair. “We can’t do this.” He turned away as if he needed to regain control.
After being killed, revived, scolded and ravished, Clary was getting whiplash. “Why not?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Vivian.”
“She was angry,” Clary conceded. “Did you and she have a, um, thing?”
He made a noise like a strangling bear. “She is everything unholy.”
Yup, Viv was an ex. For some reason, that sparked her temper in a way nothing else had. Clary wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
“I said you were incidental to her.” His voice had gone cold again. “Let’s keep it that way. Touching you was a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
Merlin faced her, frowning at her sarcastic tone. “Yes.”
“So Vivian is a jealous mean girl,” Clary snapped. “That’s not my problem, and I’m not a mistake. I don’t deserve that kind of disrespect.”
And yet she did. She was a screwup, a talentless hack of a witch and not much better with her personal life. She’d just proven it all over again by bursting in where she wasn’t wanted. The knowledge scalded her, but it also raised her defenses. It was one thing to reject her as a magician, but he’d just rejected her as a woman.
“Don’t be difficult,” he replied.
“Don’t be an idiot. I’m a person, not an error.” She’d never spoken to Merlin like this, but she’d never been this upset. She didn’t care if he had a point.
Clary pushed away from the wall. Merlin took a step forward as if to support her, but she wasn’t dizzy now. Anger had cleared her head and set her pulse speeding at a quick march. Her whole body sang with pain, but she stalked toward the door on perfectly steady feet.
“Clary!” Merlin said, his tone thick with irritation. “Come back here.”
“Don’t talk to me right now. And don’t come after me.” Clary slammed the workshop door behind her, taking the steps down to the main level of the warehouse at a run. She didn’t look back.
When she reached the street a minute later, the late May sunshine seemed strange. There was no darkness, no storms and certainly no demons. Sparrows flitted through the last blossoms of the cherry trees lining the streets, and a senior couple walked matching Scottie dogs in the leaf-dappled shade. It was the perfect day for a cross-country bike ride, the kind that might take her fifty or sixty miles. Clary shook her head, feeling as if she was suddenly in the wrong movie.
She started walking, the residue of her anger still hot in her veins. Merlin’s workshop was at the edge of Carlyle’s bustling downtown and a twenty-minute walk from her sister’s apartment. If Clary went for a visit, she could get her throbbing arm checked and complain to Tamsin about men at the same time.
Tamsin would be sympathetic for sure. Clary was the baby of the family and her uncertain talent upset a cartload of familial expectations, but she was an accomplished computer programmer and was making a new career as a social media consultant for Medievaland. Tamsin would tell her she was doing fine, which was exactly what she needed right now.
The social media job had been a stroke of luck, something she’d pitched to Camelot when she’d moved across the country to study with Merlin. In fact, she was his first student in a hundred years because she’d refused to take no for an answer the moment she’d found out her big sister had met the man. In her imagination he’d been the ultimate enchanter, a rebel prince of the magical world. He’d turned out to be short-tempered and demanding, arrogant and aloof. She’d been crushed.
It wasn’t that Merlin was a bad teacher—he was fabulous. He drilled her remorselessly, showing her three or four ways to launch a spell until they found one that worked for her. Fighting spells, spying spells, portals, wards—he taught far more practical application than theory and approached every lesson with resolute patience. Her skills had leaped forward. It was just that he was so very Merlin.
Clary swore under her breath. You’d think he could have put a sign on the door to keep visitors out. Sure, she’d dropped by unexpectedly with a question about the homework he’d given her and, yes, there had been a ward she disarmed to walk in, but he always had a ward on the door. Sometimes he put them there just to test her. How was she to know he’d be chatting with hellspawn?
And as for the rest, why was she surprised? It had been a kiss in the moment, a rare moment of compassion from a very dark horse. Merlin was the greatest enchanter in written history. She was so far down the food chain she wasn’t even on the menu. There would never be anything more between them, however much that one embrace made her imagination explode.
She ground her teeth. Maybe she should have stuck with computers. At least software didn’t have claws. At least it didn’t kiss her and then shut down the moment with a wall of ice.
Clary’s thoughts scattered as she neared Tamsin’s street. This block was lined with low-rise storefronts featuring a drugstore, a used-clothing exchange and a place that still sold vinyl records. The neighborhood was like a small town where shopkeepers greeted their customers by name and residents knew which child belonged to which mother. Normally, she enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere, but she was starting to feel sick again. Whatever fury she’d been running on was draining fast. There was a café with a few outdoor tables, and she sat down on one of the ornate metal chairs. She rested her head on her good hand and cradled her injured arm in her lap. I should call Tamsin, she thought, but the pocket with her phone seemed miles away.
Her heart was hammering, perspiration clammy on her skin. It took her a moment to recognize the sensation as raw, primal fear. But why? She was out of danger now, wasn’t she? Hadn’t Merlin said Clary herself was of no interest to the demons? And yet, it felt as if something was looking over her shoulder. She jerked around, but saw nothing except a passerby startled by Clary’s frown.
The sudden motion sent spikes of pain up her arm. She pushed up the torn sleeve of her jacket to see the scratches were swelling now. She touched the pink skin and discovered it was hot. Infection. Wonderful. No wonder she felt queasy. She slumped in the chair, aware of the clatter and bustle of the coffee shop though it seemed far, far in the distance.
She fished her phone out and set it on the table, realizing she’d have to dial it left-handed because the fingers of her injured hand had gone numb. Clary had managed to punch the code that unlocked it when a wave of pain struck her. It was like the shock of power Merlin had administered, but on steroids.
Clary hunched over the table, robbed of the breath even to cry out. A white haze swallowed the world around her, turning everything to static. Sound vanished, a high, thin hum filling her brain. She began to shake—not a ladylike trembling, either. Her head lolled back as her jerking knees rattled the table. All at once she was on the ground, her cheek pressed to the gritty sidewalk.
Blackness.
Hands gathered her up. Voices distant and muffled as if she was underwater. She was in the chair again, the cold metal beneath the seat of her jeans. Hard to stay in the chair because her limbs were like spaghetti.
“Miss? Miss?”
There was a sound like a bubble popping, and she could see and hear again.
“By the Abyss!” Clary gasped as the world smacked her like cold water. Sounds, colors, smells all seemed out of control. Clary blinked, wiping her eyes with the back of her good hand.
“Can we call someone for you?” asked a voice.
Clary squinted, recognizing the square, pleasant face of the woman who ran the coffee shop. She searched for the woman’s name, but it was gone. “Huh?”
“You passed out,” the woman said slowly and carefully. “You might have had a seizure.”
Goddess! She should probably be in the hospital, but then she’d have to explain the claw marks. Clary looked around. Her phone was still on the table. “Tamsin,” she said but couldn’t manage more. A wave of disorientation swamped her. Her voice sounded wrong, but she wasn’t sure why.
“Tamsin who lives in the apartment building down the street?” the woman asked.
Clary nodded, afraid to speak again.
“She ordered a birthday cake for the weekend. I have her number.” The woman bustled back inside.
Clary closed her eyes. Whose birthday was it? The name bobbed just out of reach of her thoughts. Facts and memories receded, as if her consciousness was a balloon that had come untethered. When she opened her eyes again, she caught sight of her reflection in the café window and froze.
Her face was familiar, and it was not. So this is what it’s like to be human.
Clary’s thoughts swerved. What the blazes?
She’d recognized the voice in her head. Cold needles of fear crept up her body, turning her fingers and nose so cold it felt like January. Something had been watching her, and now she knew it was Vivian.
Or what’s left of me after Merlin smashed his precious globe. Immortals are hard to kill, but I was vulnerable when he did that. I needed a safe harbor and your body was empty for a split second before he brought you back. Hope you don’t mind a roomie.
Clary sat up straight, fighting a sudden urge to scream. Her head, seemingly of its own accord, turned back to her reflection. She took in the mop of shaggy blond hair, the ragged, bloody clothes and her wide, frightened eyes.
It’s not the body I’m used to, but beggars can’t be choosers. Still, we need to do something about the wardrobe.
Chapter 3 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)
Surely it had all been a horrible hallucination. The next morning found Clary sitting at her sister’s kitchen table, a cup of black coffee before her. Everything seemed normal, and Clary felt as loved and cared for as Tamsin could manage. She’d slept in her sister’s tiny second bedroom and still had a crick in her spine from the lumpy futon.
“How are you feeling?” Tamsin asked, putting a hand over Clary’s. Gawain, Tamsin’s soon-to-be husband, had already left for the day and the two women were alone. Normally, Clary would have been disappointed. She liked Gawain, and he’d spent almost as much time teaching her self-defense as Merlin had spent teaching her magic—if there was to be a fight with the fae, she needed to be ready. But today she wanted alone time with her sister.
Clary looked up from staring into her cup. Like Clary, Tamsin was green-eyed and fair-haired, her long locks pinned up in a messy bun. The similarity in coloring was deceptive. Tamsin was actually a stepsister who had joined the family when Clary’s mom had married a second time. They had all been lucky—Stacy, the eldest, and Clary, the youngest, had readily accepted their new middle sister. Tamsin was easy to love and Clary adored her. She’d been the gentle hand that had led Clary through a rebellious adolescence when their mother had all but given up in despair.
“My wound feels better,” Clary answered, pulling up her sleeve.
Tamsin angled Clary’s arm for a better look. Besides working as Medievaland’s historian, Tamsin’s magical specialty was healing. After a round of smelly ointments and ritual, the wounds on Clary’s arm were now just scratches, as if Clary had lost an argument with an alley cat.
“I’ve met demons, but I’ve never treated any injuries they caused before now. I never knew they had poisoned claws,” Tamsin said, releasing Clary’s arm.
“Do you think that’s what caused the seizure?” Clary sipped her coffee, welcoming the caffeine as it hit her bloodstream. She hadn’t said anything about the hallucinations. She’d stopped hearing that voice in her head by the time Tamsin had finished doctoring her, and decided to keep the crazy to herself. “Maybe the infection was messing with my brain?”
She could hear the pleading in her voice. She felt okay now, and desperately wanted to put yesterday behind her.
“I’d bet the two are connected.” Tamsin picked up Clary’s hand again. It was a comforting gesture, but Clary could feel the faint tingle of Tamsin’s magic course through her. Tamsin leaned forward and kissed her forehead as if Clary was a little girl again. The gesture salved Clary’s hurts the way no medicine could.
“You’re still not a hundred percent,” Tamsin said, “but I don’t detect any lingering damage. Take it easy for a few days.”
“I’m supposed to be at Medievaland today.”
“In the office?”
It was a reasonable assumption. Clary handled pretty much all of Medievaland’s online presence. Since King Arthur and a handful of his knights had awakened to join the modern world, they’d become famous for the mock tourneys hosted by the theme park. The knights now had a rapidly expanding fan base, which Clary fed with judicious tidbits of insider knowledge—none of which included the fact that they were born centuries ago and had returned to save humanity from soul-sucking fae monsters. She tried to keep things upbeat.
However, today’s activities weren’t about posts and blogs. “Merlin’s doing the special effects at today’s show and he wants a second pair of hands.”
Tamsin frowned. “You should call in sick. Obviously, he’d understand.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I broke his ball.”
Tamsin arched an eyebrow. “Just one of them?”
Clary grimaced. “Crystal—stone—ball. His spy camera to the demon realms. He had to smash it to save me from Vivian.” She was feeling more than a little guilty about that.
“Yeah,” Tamsin replied, drawing the word out. “Those stones are expensive and rare.”
“He said it was one of a kind.”
“Are you sure you’re still his student?”
Clary pulled her smartphone from the pocket of the boho-style dress Tamsin had loaned her to replace her bloodstained clothes. It was pink and flowery and nothing like what she usually wore. She held the phone up as if it was evidence. “I’m scheduled to be there at noon. He sent a text to confirm.”
“That’s probably his way of checking on you. You had a near death by demon, then a seizure.” Tamsin had that frozen look that said she wasn’t happy but was trying to be polite about it. “I think you can skip a session.”
“Normally, I’d welcome a day off, but as you say, I cost him a piece of expensive equipment. Showing up is the least I can do.”
“You feel guilty.”
“Pretty much.”
Clary’s mind immediately went to the kiss. Her cheeks heated at the memory, and she looked away from her sister. Merlin’s behavior was just one more strange thing to add to the list of yesterday’s weirdness.
“What else happened besides the demon who attacked you?” Tamsin asked. She’d always been able to read Clary’s expressions.
Clary rose from the table. “I need to get ready to go.” She suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore.
Tamsin—still protesting—drove her to Medievaland. They parked and passed a long line at the gate that proved the summer tourist rush was beginning. The weather promised to be warm, so the steady stream of paying customers would only increase as midday approached. And why not? Medievaland, with its jousts and feasts and rides and games, was good family fun.
Clary and Tamsin passed the turnstile and pushed through the knot of visitors milling at the information booth. A herald rode by on a milk-white mare, shouting directions to Friar Ambrose’s delicatessen and the noon show at the bandstand. To the right was the market area crowded with merchants selling all manner of handcrafts and snack foods; to the left the traditional arcade that led off to the rides, where the Dragon’s Tail—a roller coaster that challenged even Clary’s daredevil instincts—swirled high above the crowds. Tamsin’s destination was the Church of the Holy Well, the one truly medieval structure in the park. It had been moved, along with the stone knights, from the south of England and turned into the museum where Tamsin worked.
The two women stopped when they reached a fork in the path. “You’re absolutely sure you feel up to this?” asked Tamsin. “No headaches or weakness?”
“I feel fine,” Clary protested, and that much was almost true. “As if there was anything on the planet that could withstand your healing!”
“Then, be brave, little witchling.” Tamsin gave her a hug. “I’ll check on you in a few hours.”
Clary laughed at her childhood nickname. “You’re such a big sister.”
Tamsin made a face and left, heading toward the ancient church ahead. Feeling content for the first time since before barging into Merlin’s workshop, Clary took the path to the tourney grounds.
Jousting and other events took place in an amphitheater, where the audience could get a good view of the armored horsemen doing battle. Behind the large structure were the stables, changing rooms and other service buildings. As Clary hurried in that direction, she could hear the stampede of hooves and the crash of lance on shield. The crowd roared and applauded, which meant someone had scored a good hit. After a glance at her phone to check the time, she picked up her pace, ignoring the hawkers selling T-shirts and ball caps.
When she reached the change rooms, she grabbed a long blue gown out of her locker and quickly put it on. All the employees at Medievaland dressed the part, and by the time she was done, she’d added a long belt of glittering—if fake—jewels and pinned her hair under a fluttering white veil. Then she headed for the amphitheater, where she was to meet the enchanter in one of the high boxes that overlooked the field.
Nerves made Clary’s breath come faster. She was here because, despite yesterday, she still wanted Merlin as her teacher. She wanted to be an effective witch, ready to fight fae or demons or whatever threat darkened Camelot’s door. She wanted to belong here like Tamsin did. Still, she had to admit she’d come for other reasons, too. She needed to bury the anger between her and Merlin. He’d been a jerk, but she’d burst in on him. He could have handled everything better, but she’d resorted to a tantrum. Neither had been at their best with dying and exes and all.
And—here, she mentally shied away just a little—they had kissed. She had to face him with her head held high and not reveal how much more she desired. Sometimes attitude was all a person had.
When she saw Merlin, her step slowed so she could take in the sight. He wore long robes of deep blue and carried a tall staff of knobby wood. With his lean face and unusual amber eyes, he carried the fantasy-wizard costume well. Very well, and with the kind of brooding intensity that teased something low in her belly. He was gazing at the tourney ground, a thoughtful frown on his face.
“Hi,” she said.
He looked up, his expression startled for an instant before it settled into his habitual reserve. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she said, sounding as defensive as she suddenly felt. “I can work.”
A long moment passed in which Merlin studied her, his expression closed. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?” he asked.
If he was trying to keep her at a distance, it was working. All at once, Clary felt exposed in her feminine dress, the light breeze tugging and touching in ways that didn’t happen with her usual denim and leather. She wanted to say again how sorry she was for yesterday’s mistake, but the words died under his cool stare. His mood felt like punishment, but whether it was for himself or for her, she couldn’t say. It took a moment to get her lips to move. “Yes, I know what to do.”
“Good.” He turned back to the amphitheater. The packed dirt field had been cleared, ready for the next event. “Keep to the script, regardless of what else you might see. I’m raising the bar a notch for today’s show.”
Clary swallowed. The show would be grunt work for Merlin, but for her it would be tricky. She tried not to think about the time she’d accidentally teleported a moose into her hotel room. Be brave, little witchling. “I’m ready.”
Merlin gave a signal, and the voice of the announcer boomed through the public address system. “Lords and ladies, honored guests of Medievaland, welcome to this afternoon’s main event. This is the moment of dread, the true test of bravery and the battle you’ve all been waiting for—Medievaland’s courageous knights versus the enchanter Merlin’s monsters!”
The audience roared its approval. The gates at the far end of the amphitheater swung open, and the knights rode in two by two—Gawain and Hector, then Beaumains and Percival, and finally Owen and Palomedes. They parted, each pair splitting left and right to form a colorful double line. The last to appear was King Arthur, resplendent in blue and gold and riding a huge bay stallion. The amphitheater rumbled with enthusiastically stamping feet as the knights took up their position flanking the king.
Two musicians with long golden trumpets blew a fanfare, silencing the crowd. Merlin turned to Clary and gave a nod. She braced herself. She’d practiced this spell hundreds of times and now she recited the words of the spell exactly as he’d taught her. Then she released her power. With relief, she felt the magic shape itself, swirling until it solidified into an enormous black wolf. It bounded toward Palomedes, jaws open to reveal a lot of drool and fangs.
