Enchanter Redeemed. Sharon Ashwood

       Chapter 6

      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.”

      “Tamsin’s?” she asked in horror. The last thing she wanted was to put Vivian and her sister in the same room.

      Merlin shot her a curious look as they got into the SUV. He started the engine. “Is there a problem with that?”

      Vivian’s claws dug into Clary’s mind, sharp as any physical pain but far more frightening. Somehow she knew whatever injuries the demoness might cause to her mind and soul would never heal. She cleared her throat. “Tamsin’s done what she can already.”

      Merlin pulled away from the curb into Carlyle’s afternoon rush. “Maybe, maybe not. I have an idea she can help me with.”

      “She won’t have time. She’ll still be at Medievaland, healing the knights.”

      “I already asked her to meet us at her place when she’s finished.” He gave her an inscrutable glance. “We talked before I met you at the concession stand.”

      Defeated, Clary sank back into the leather seat of the SUV. How was she going to keep Vivian in check? Even if there was a cure for her demon problem, surely Vivian would fight back.

      You’re quite right, little witch, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your lovely sister hasn’t had a patient quite like you and me before.

      And she’d failed to detect Vivian’s presence once. There was every chance she’d miss it again.

      Just so. If Merlin trusts her healing skills to find me, her failure will work in my favor.

      Clary understood. After all, Vivian wanted to catch Merlin by surprise. However, if Tamsin made a correct diagnosis... Clary dropped that train of thought, already feeling a wave of nausea clog her throat. There was no way to win. She stared at the passing streets, scrambling for an answer where no one got hurt.

      When they arrived at Tamsin’s door, the smell of tomato sauce filled the apartment hallway. Her sister answered Merlin’s knock, a wooden spoon in her hand.

      “It’s Gawain’s favorite dinner,” Tamsin said in explanation. “He’ll be home soon and after today, we all want comfort food.”

      “Aren’t you tired?” Clary asked, noting the dark circles under her sister’s eyes. “You must have just got home.”

      She followed her into the kitchen. Tamsin moved the pot of sauce and turned off the burner, her movements brisk. “Of course I’m tired, but I just did the cleanup. I didn’t fight.”

      Then she turned to face Clary, fear tightening her jaw. “I’ve seen demon-born monsters before. What were you doing?”

      Clary took a step back. She could see the picture forming in Tamsin’s head—Gawain, brave knight and love of her life, perishing in the jaws of Clary’s creation. Tamsin’s future destroyed by her hapless kid sister. The scene wasn’t far off the mark.

      “I’m sorry,” Clary said softly. “In perfect honesty, I don’t know exactly how that happened.” And for all our sakes, she willed her sister, don’t look deeper.

      Emotions cycled through Tamsin’s expression. Anger. Fear. Compassion. The last was the worst because it was so familiar. Once again, Clary was the weak magical link in the family. The only difference now was that her incompetence had hurt their friends.

      Tamsin licked her lips, seeming to come to a decision. “Go have a seat in the living room. Send Merlin in here so I can talk to him.”

      Clary’s first instinct was to object on principle. As the youngest child, she’d been shut out of adult conversations too often. This time, though, she’d be keeping Vivian out of earshot. Clary did as she was told and turned on the TV to make eavesdropping impossible.

      You think you’re being clever, Vivian sneered.

      Yes. Clary changed the channel to a home renovation show. She didn’t care about fascia boards and roof tiles, but the shirtless construction guys were cute.

      Vivian snorted, but her attention drifted to the show. Do humans truly have to rely on teams of physical workers to keep the rain off their heads?

      Clary rolled her eyes at the demon’s appalled tone. Pretty much. When you don’t have magic powers, you need helping hands. That’s how this world works.

      And sometimes the magically gifted needed help, too. When Tamsin and Merlin reappeared, her sister was holding a clay goblet filled with steaming brew. Clary turned off the TV and accepted the cup. The mixture smelled of woodlands and flowers, more like a herbal tea than a strong medicinal. Nevertheless, Vivian’s interest zeroed in on it with laser focus.

      “What is it?” Clary asked.

      With a weary sigh, Tamsin sank into Gawain’s oversize leather chair. “Just drink it.”

      Merlin sat on the sofa to Clary’s left, putting her between the two of them. His expression was, as usual, guarded and cool. “It will stimulate the body’s natural healing and help the infection pass from your system.”

      Clary took another sniff. “There are raspberry leaves in here.”

      Raspberry? Vivian scoffed. That’s supposed to stop me?

      Clary looked up at her sister, who folded her arms. “Drink up,” Tamsin said.

      Clary lifted the goblet, feeling the steam against her cheeks.

      Wait! Vivian demanded. There has to be something else in there. Something she’s not saying.

      Clary—and the demoness—studied Tamsin for answers, but her sister’s expression gave nothing away. And, concentrating as she was, Clary didn’t feel the needle Merlin stabbed into her thigh until it was too late. Brew splashed as she dropped the goblet in surprise. It thunked to the carpet and rolled to Tamsin’s feet.

      What was that? Vivian shrieked. Clary felt the slash of claws, but they were already blunted, rendered harmless by whatever had been in the needle.

      With a shaking hand, her sister picked up the goblet and set it on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, little witchling. We had to do it.”

      Clary watched her sister with an open mouth, too surprised for any deeper emotion, then spun to face Merlin, who still held the hypodermic. He glanced at it, and it dissolved into smoke.

      “You tricked me!” she said, accusing them both.

      “Apologies,” he said. “We had no way of knowing if this lingering infection of yours might try something.”

      Bewildered, Clary glanced down at the stain on the carpet.

      “It was just Pixie Forest blend from the