Enchanter Redeemed. Sharon Ashwood
Merlin asked.
“They will survive,” the king replied. “Fortunately, Tamsin was working at the church today and could come in minutes.”
“That’s good news,” said Merlin.
Clary literally gulped, wondering how bad the wounds might be. Her stomach felt like ice.
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,