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Don’t worry, said Vivian. Those wounds are clean. I don’t bother with poison when simple fangs and claws will do.
Why do it at all? Clary shrieked inside her head, but as she peered around Merlin’s straight back at the king, she understood. Arthur was furious. Of the hundred and fifty knights of the Round Table, only a handful had awakened in the modern era. They were his friends, the only familiar faces from his old life, and they were all he had to fight the armies of the fae. What better way to pit Arthur against Merlin than threatening his men?
“You put my knights in danger,” said the king in a low, rasping voice.
“That was not our intent.” Merlin shifted, blotting out her view of Arthur’s flushed face.
“Perhaps it was not yours, but I know the script of the show.” The king’s tone rose, sharp with anger. “Your student was responsible.”
Again, people were talking as if Clary wasn’t there. Her temper stirred, but she didn’t dare protest when this was her fault.
“There was a mistake,” said Merlin with icy calm.
“A mistake?” Arthur snarled. “If it was not for Tamsin, Beaumains would never hold a sword again!”
Clary squeezed her eyes shut, heartsick. Beaumains was a good friend—cheerful, kind and almost like a brother. He would be an in-law once Gawain and Tamsin married, since he was Gawain’s youngest sibling. And her hands had cast the spell that had nearly killed him. The knowledge made her stomach roll.
“I want answers.” Arthur’s demand gave no room to refuse.
“We all do,” Merlin said evenly. “I will find the cause of what happened.”
Clary fell back a step. Answers were the one thing she needed and the last thing she could ask for. The demon inside her was still, and yet she could almost hear it snicker. Clary took another step, this time toward the exit to the locker rooms. The distance gave her a view of the two men. Arthur had one finger planted on Merlin’s chest. The king’s expression was thunderous, but Merlin’s was like stone.
Merlin looked at her, moving only his head. “Go get changed and I’ll meet you at the concession stand. Don’t leave until we’ve talked.”
Cringing with guilt, Clary wasted no time making her retreat. She’d put Merlin at odds with his king. She’d put the knights in danger. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was hiding the vengeful demon behind it all. She was a coward—but Vivian had threatened her sister. What was she supposed to do?
Frustration made her move quickly. It took less than five minutes to change and walk to the concession stand, where happy throngs of tourists were buying Knightly Nachos and Jalapeño Dragon Fries by the bucket. Clary stood beside the booth with the straws and napkins, watching the path for Merlin’s approach. Normally, she’d be tweeting or posting pictures from the afternoon’s show, but she wanted to hide instead. Even the smell of the food, usually so tempting, turned her stomach.
The familiarity of the place oppressed her, too, as if Medievaland itself knew what she’d done. So many of her hopes and dreams were tied up in the place. She’d spilled blood on this earth during her endless sparring matches with Gawain. There had been countless midnight practices with Merlin on the tourney ground, throwing balls of energy until she hit the target. He’d drilled her mercilessly, not just in illusions but in portals and farseeing, summoning and casting. The big empty grounds had been perfect for the messes she’d inevitably made. Merlin never seemed to care, but just made her do the spells over and over and over...
She didn’t notice the couple approach until it was too late. They were both in their teens, the boy tall and rangy and the girl with a short afro and ebony skin. “Are you Clary Greene?” the boy asked with an infectious smile.
Clary managed to nod.
“We saw you with the wizard today. That show rocked.”
“Would you?” the girl asked, handing her a program and a pen decorated with moons and stars.
“Sure.” Clary took the pen and paper and managed what she hoped was a friendly smile. She didn’t want to celebrate her role in the show, much less take a bow for something that was actually a disaster. Still, she couldn’t confess to launching homicidal demon constructs. Those conversations never ended well, even with other witches.
Vivian’s amusement hit her like heartburn. Grinding her teeth, Clary braced the program against the side of the booth and started to write, then blinked. Rather than her own name, she’d scrawled an elaborate rune. Well, sighed the demon, you can’t blame me. No one’s ever asked for my autograph before.
That’s not a spell that will harm the girl? Clary demanded.
And injure my first human fan? Goodness me, no. I haven’t had this kind of adoration since I was revered as a goddess, and that was simply ages ago. I’m feeling generous.
After a moment of confusion, Clary scrawled her name beside the rune and handed the pen and paper back to the girl.
“Cool!” the girl said, peering at the scribble. “Thanks a lot!”
Clary barely noticed them leave, directing her thoughts inward instead. Don’t do things like that! You’ll give us away.
Do you care that much for my safety? The words dripped with sarcasm.
Don’t play games. Clary shifted, finding a patch of deeper shade. You’ve already threatened to harm Tamsin if you’re found out.
Do you think I’d blame you for something I did?
You’re a demon. Isn’t that the kind of thing demons do? I care for my sister too much to risk it.
You do care for your sister. I can feel it like a warm fire in your soul. The sarcasm was gone. And you care for Merlin, though that is a very different fire.
Merlin had kissed Clary right after the show—she hadn’t had time to take that in before now, and the memory made her palms grow damp. It hadn’t been the angry, frustrated kiss he’d demanded from her after the ritual—this time his touch had been gentle, as if meant to comfort. She’d never seen that side of him before, and it left her a little shaken, almost humbled. Merlin the Wise never dropped his guard.
Oh, for pity’s sake, haven’t you ever had a lover before? Vivian sounded irritated.
Sure. Clary stiffened. Lots.
Why aren’t you with one of them? Vivian’s curiosity was a tangible thing. Surely there is a better fit for the likes of you.
Yeah, well, the witches have an expression. They didn’t waft my wand.
There was a beat of blessed silence where Clary was free to watch the hot dog–munching public come and go. A warm breeze rippled through the maple trees, promising a pleasant evening. Then Vivian broke into her thoughts again. Why not? Why weren’t they enough?
Clary’s temper stirred. None of your business. You’re not my BFF.
To her surprise, Vivian fell quiet again without a fight. Still, Clary could feel her presence like a dull toothache. There was something wistful about her mood, as if beneath her contempt was a childlike confusion about human relationships. That didn’t make Vivian any less dangerous or passionate. Rather, it was more like being trapped in an elevator with a toddler—a toddler armed with a flamethrower.
She saw Merlin striding toward her. He was still wearing his enchanter’s robes and drawing stares from the crowd. His face was stony.
“Come with me,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the stream of pedestrians.
“What’s going on?” she asked, tension swarming through her. “Is everyone okay? How mad is the king? Am I fired?”
“You’re not fired yet, but unless we get out of sight that may change.” As he spoke, patches of color flushed his high cheekbones. “The only reason you’re not in the king’s custody is because I’ve promised to investigate this afternoon’s events. If I don’t find satisfactory answers, we’re both in trouble.”
He was putting himself on the line for her. Clary felt Vivian’s twinge of satisfaction, followed by the image of Tamsin’s face. A plain warning.
Clary pulled out of Merlin’s grasp. “You don’t need to do this for me.”
“You’re my student. I know what you’re capable of, and none of that should have happened.” He glared down at her. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Sorry that offends you.” She wanted to get away, to put as much distance between Merlin and Vivian’s revenge as she could. And yet one look at his face said he wasn’t letting her leave his sight.
“You put everyone, especially yourself, at risk.” He put an arm around her shoulder, propelling through the exit and into the parking lot. It might look like an affectionate gesture, but Clary felt the steel in his arm. “I can’t let this slide.”
He led her to a four-door black SUV, one of Camelot’s vehicles. Merlin himself didn’t own a car, more often using magic to travel, but after a show he often drove to conserve energy. He pulled the robes over his head and threw the costume in the backseat. He was left wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.
Clary folded her arms. “So what do you intend to do?”
“Go for coffee.” He opened the passenger door, releasing warm air that smelled vaguely horsey. One of the knights must have driven the car right after jousting practice. “You and I need to talk.”
He drove to Mandala Books, which had a coffee shop and bakery in the back. The merger of the two businesses—and of the old Victorian houses that contained them—had been recently completed and the scent of new paint and sawdust still lingered in the air. Nimueh, the fae Lady of the Lake, was still a silent partner in the business, but she and Sir Lancelot du Lac rarely visited anymore. Most of their time was spent in the Forest Sauvage, keeping watch on the prison of Morgan LaFaye.
Merlin chose a table far in the back of the café, where they had some privacy. A server brought black coffee and a cinnamon bun before Merlin had to ask, which said something about how often he went there. Clary ordered a London Fog and looked around the place. It had wooden floors and pine tables with checkered cloths, geraniums in the window boxes and chandeliers made from old mason jars. An enticing view of the bookstore peeped through the archway that joined the two buildings. It was homey and simple.
“This doesn’t seem like your kind of place,” she said to Merlin as the waitress set the vanilla tea latté before her.
He shrugged. “Nimueh placed powerful protections around it, which makes it safe. Plus, they have an excellent bakery.”
She watched him take a huge bite of the cinnamon bun. She’d never pegged Merlin as having a sweet tooth. Usually he was all about vitamins and lean protein. “That thing has enough calories to feed a small village.”
He shrugged. “I burned it off during the show. Fireballs take energy.”
She looked away, her mind’s eye fixed on memories of lightning and dragon fire. “Why did you protect me from Arthur?”
“I need to understand what happened.” He washed the pastry down with coffee, his shoulders easing a little. “Tell me what you experienced when you cast those spells.”
She could feel Vivian come alert inside her, and so she chose her words with care. “The show started okay. The spell that made the wolf worked normally. Then the next one had a mind of its own and then—I can barely remember.”
He studied her through critical eyes. “You’re holding something back.”
“So are you,” Clary retorted. It was a random strike, but the fleeting alarm in his expression said she’d struck home. She sucked in a breath. “Trust works both ways, doesn’t it? There was more to that ritual you did than you’re saying.”
“I told you already. I was conducting surveillance on the demons, which you interrupted.” He made a face. “A demon has been sighted in the Forest Sauvage in the company of the fae. The king and I wish to know why.”
“Did you learn anything?” Clary sensed Vivian’s interest and wished she hadn’t asked.
“Perhaps.”
“What?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“I got hurt. That makes it my concern.” Clary pushed her tea away. More than anything, she wanted to demand he evict the demon from inside her head. Despite Vivian’s threats, the need for privacy was like a maddening itch.
Don’t, warned Vivian. If he knows I’m here, he will do his best to destroy me. Your mortal form is too fragile to withstand such an assault.
How long are you going to keep this up? Clary demanded.
As I said, you are too weak a vessel for an open fight. I will have to take him by surprise. Therefore, I need you until that moment.
Clary’s lips parted in surprise. She had to say something—this was unbearable.
Remember your sister.
Clary let loose a sob, but covered her mouth. Merlin was looking at her, a furrow creasing his brow.
But the demon chose to drive her point home. Paralysis crept from Clary’s tongue all the way to her lungs. When she tried to inhale, nothing happened. A fiery pain spread through her chest. Clary strained, starting to choke. Please! Please let me go! Fear clawed at her insides until Vivian suddenly released her. Clary dissolved into a spluttering fit of coughing. Merlin jumped up, making the dishes rattle. He bent over her, patting her back until she stopped. “Did you choke?”
She nodded, mopping her eyes with a napkin. “Something stuck in my throat.”
“Perhaps an explanation you aren’t telling me?” he asked, sliding back into his chair. Now that the crisis was over, he was once again cool and professional. “You have a secret and I want an answer. I suspect they are exactly the same thing.”
And Clary was almost certain whatever he wasn’t telling her contained the answers to her predicament. They were in a deadlock. Merlin had dirty laundry—dirty, demonic laundry.
“If you hate demons so much, why did you have one as a girlfriend?”
Merlin’s face was like stone. And now, the one time Clary wanted the demon to chime in, Vivian was mute. Okay, then. Apparently, there was a juicy story there.
He leaned forward, fixing her with his amber eyes. “Are you going to help me?” he asked softly.
Clary had to tell him something, so she gave him the merest sliver of truth. “What if Tamsin didn’t cure everything? What if there is a lingering demon poison that affected my magic?”
She felt Vivian’s claws prick the inside of her mind, threatening to shred her from the inside out, but Clary stood her ground. The demon needed her alive for the moment, and she hadn’t given away the whole truth. They had to compromise to get through this.
Merlin’s face remained still, but his eyes closed as if in thanks. “That’s possible.”
“Can you test for something like that?”
“Sort of.” His face fell as he put money for their coffee on the table.
“Just sort of?”
“There are one or two methods that do not harm the subject.” He looked uncomfortable.
“You’re such a romantic,” Clary said, and then gripped the edge of the table, blackness nibbling at the edge of her vision. Her heart drummed in her ears, leaving her hot and weak.
Merlin circled the table, kneeling beside her. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.”
Clary struggled to answer, and this time it wasn’t the demon who froze her tongue. It was the horrific realization it hadn’t been her that had spoken. You’re such a romantic. That had been Vivian’s thought, Vivian’s words. She was losing control to the demon.
Clary met Merlin’s eyes, holding his gaze and willing him to understand all the things she couldn’t say. A crease formed between his brows, and he put a hand to her cheek, his palm cool against her fevered skin. Slowly, his thumb stroked her cheekbone, the gesture offering her a shred of comfort.
“Help me,” she begged.
Chapter 6 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)
Merlin’s hand covered hers. “Of course.”
Clary closed her eyes, not able to meet his gaze any longer. She concentrated on the feel of his touch and the long, strong fingers wrapping around hers. She was being split in two, but he was a solid anchor. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Come.” Merlin’s hands were gentle as he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s take care of this.”
Clary followed him to the car. “Where are we going?”
“To your sister’s.”
