Enchanter Redeemed

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.

“Nice,” said Merlin.

He didn’t give praise often, so Clary felt her cheeks warm with pleasure. Far below, Palomedes did battle with the illusion to the obvious pleasure of the paying guests. But that was only the first of many monsters, and Clary set about creating the next. A quick sideways glance showed Merlin had begun an incantation of his own. Clary wondered what it would be, but quickly pushed the thought away. She couldn’t get distracted.

With exquisite care, she wove the next spell bit by bit, checking and double-checking each element she added.

Seriously? said the voice in her head—the same voice that had plagued her at the café. This isn’t brain surgery.

Startled, Clary released her power an instant too early and it bobbled wildly. Then—without knowing how she did it—she reached out and patted it back into shape. Except it was the wrong shape. She’d planned on one oversize lion. Instead, two flightless raptors straight out of the Jurassic era popped into existence and began charging the knights at lightning speed. Clary stared at them in dismay. What did you make me do?

I upped your game. You should be grateful.

Stop it! Go away! You’re a hallucination! At least she’d hoped Vivian’s voice had been the product of her infected wound.

The voice in her head gave a wry snort. Do you feel feverish?

No, Clary felt physically fine. Better than ever, in fact—which meant even worse trouble. “Why are you doing this?”

She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Merlin gave her a quick glance. “Keep going.” Then he turned back to his long, intricate spell.

The show must go on. With a flick of Clary’s wrist, the demon summoned not one lion, but a whole pride. All at once, the knights were extremely busy.

Vivian! Clary protested. She wanted to round on the demon, glare at her, maybe punch her. Except it was impossible when the opposition was inside her head. What do you want?

Vivian’s gaze—in the form of Clary’s eyeballs—turned to Merlin. He took something from me and walked away.

An ominous feeling gripped Clary as if she’d just stumbled upon an unquiet grave. What?

Vivian didn’t answer. She was watching Merlin work, and Clary had a front-row seat to the demon’s emotions. They weren’t as deep or complicated as human feelings, but they were uncomfortably frank. Vivian liked everything about Merlin, from the straight line of his nose to the angle of his jaw. There was also distinct disappointment about how much of his body the robes concealed.

An image of Merlin, his hair longer and his clothes absent, flicked across Clary’s mental screen. The vignette revealed a lot of long, lean muscle and tanned limbs. Clary’s skin heated, suddenly too tight as her own desire melded with the demon’s.

I know his secrets, the demon mused. You wouldn’t worship him half so much if you knew the truth.

Clary struggled, now barely aware of the spectacle below. It’s none of my business.

He’s your flawed hero, your rebel prince. Of course you’re curious.

With horror, she realized Vivian was quoting her own thoughts. Fury pounded against Clary’s temples. This hopeless attraction was her own affair, buried where it couldn’t embarrass her.

Don’t bother, said Vivian. He thinks you belong to him, but that is a far cry from passion.

Clary’s nails bit into her palms. And what’s he to you?

Another sweep of eyes, another rush of need. It was all Clary could do to keep her hands at her sides and not reach out to touch the enchanter’s warm skin. Merlin Ambrosius was my soul mate, the one who filled the empty places in my heart.

Was the demon lovesick? Clary wondered with astonishment. She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hot and weak with their mingled need.

No. Vivian flexed her power—which Clary felt in a sudden head rush. I’m here to take my revenge.

He’ll stop you. Clary dug her nails into her palms, using the pain to focus. I’ll stop you. I’ll tell him you’re here.

Really? And you think there would be no consequences?

I don’t care what he does to me as long as he stops you.

Vivian laughed, a low, husky sound that belonged on a phone sex hotline. Oh, very good, but I’m not done with you yet. On the other hand, I have no use for your sister.

Clary’s lungs stopped working. Tamsin! She didn’t need the demon to say more. If Clary gave Vivian away, Tamsin would suffer.

Sorry it has to be her, Vivian drawled, but you don’t have a vast selection of loved ones to choose from.

That stung more than Clary liked. Leave her out of this!

But this is revenge, remember? Before I’m done, Merlin will wish he were dead. And if you don’t do exactly as I say, little witchling, so will you.

Chapter 4

Merlin’s lips moved over silent words as he worked his spell. A faint glimmer sparked in the cloudless sky above the auditorium. It would look like nothing to one of the cheering spectators that crammed the seats, just a random flash of light, but to Merlin it was hard-won success. He’d practiced the spell the way a musician learned a piece from memory, going over and over each element until they formed part of his instincts. It was the way he taught Clary: ritual, rinse, repeat. The drill wasn’t just for the sake of perfectionism—it was as much for safety. With this amount of powerful magic in play, he couldn’t afford to stumble.

Which was why he couldn’t think about Clary, for all he felt her gaze on him. Her attention was like the heat of the sun, and all the more tangible because of his own disquiet. If only he hadn’t kissed her, because now he could not deny how she made him feel. He might have immense skill, knowledge and power beyond the fantasies of mortal men, but he was still flesh and blood. She was a happiness he wanted but could not have—and for an instant, he’d forgotten that last part.

His control had slipped after witnessing her death and revival. Still, that was no excuse. His enemies were too dangerous for a junior witch who was just beginning to master her talents. He had no right to draw their attention to Clary. At the very least, he had to be careful until he was sure Vivian was safely locked back in the Abyss. The demoness was definitely the jealous type.

So he ignored his student, keeping his focus on the spell. It was tricky but, unlike women, it followed a pattern of logic he understood. With the force of one driving a spike deep into bedrock, he fixed the silver glimmer to the canopy of the sky. From there it spun, growing larger and larger into a disk of shimmering light. If his thrust had been too great or too feeble, the swirl would have wobbled and collapsed, but this was as perfect as a whirling top. The momentum of the magic formed a tunnel between worlds, splitting open a passage between the mortal realm and the enchanted worlds beyond.

The perfection of the spell eased Merlin’s temper. The silver bled to a blue deeper than the surrounding sky. The audience cheered in anticipation, believing they watched a special effect none of Medievaland’s competition could copy. In a way they did, because no other theme park could boast a guest appearance by a real live dragon.

With a lazy flap of wings, Rukon Shadow Wing floated through Merlin’s portal. A smile split Merlin’s face at the sight and he allowed the pleasant tiredness that followed a well-cast spell to claim him. Portals took a lot of energy, but they were worth the effort for a sight like this.

The great male dragon flew low enough that Merlin caught the scent of musk and cinders as the wings blotted out the sun. The dragon’s green head was long and narrow, the sinuous neck twisting to survey the ground below. As it turned, the light caught the bony ridge of spikes that traced its spine to the tip of its snakelike tail.

Rukon’s head bobbed toward Merlin in acknowledgment. The dragon’s visits were made in exchange for Camelot’s assistance last autumn, when Arthur and Guinevere had freed Rukon’s mate. Plus, preening before a crowd of unsuspecting humans seemed to amuse the beast no end.

It was only then, with the spell complete, that he could risk a good look at Clary. Her face was flushed with effort, her eyes wide with what looked like shock. Stomach tense, he followed her gaze to the field below.

Clary’s illusions sometimes had a mind of their own, but normally they were forms without substance, as dangerous as a puff of smoke. As long as they showed off the knights and their shiny swords, what else mattered? So he hadn’t paid much attention when triple the number of required monsters appeared from thin air. Apparently, that had been a mistake.

A lion raked its claws across the flank of Sir Palomedes’s steed. The horse screamed, rearing up to reveal a bloody gash. Surprised, the knight struggled to keep his seat, but the terrified horse threw him and bolted for the stables. Horror gut-punched Merlin, and he grabbed the cold metal railing before him. Illusions didn’t draw blood. Something was very wrong, and now the lions were circling Palomedes.

Merlin shot a glance at Clary, who had raised her hands and seemed poised to begin another spell. He grabbed her wrist. “Stop!”

She rounded on him. “I can’t!”

Her voice held a sharp edge of panic that clutched at Merlin’s instincts. She’d gone from flushed to bone-white, her lips trembling with panic. Normally, he made students fix their own problems—it was the best way to learn—but lives were at stake. Right now he had to take charge. He pointed to the bench at the back of the space. “Sit down!”

“I need to make it stop!” Tears stood in her green eyes. Her distress tugged at him, sharp as any beast’s fang, but until everyone was safe, he couldn’t afford pity. Not even for her.

He thrust her toward the seat. “Sit down and don’t touch anything. Whatever you do, don’t use magic.”

She collapsed so hard the bench squeaked against the concrete. “It’s not my fault.”

“I don’t care.” Blame could come later. He needed solutions now.

Merlin turned back to the chaos below. The wolf Clary had conjured was gone, the magic of the illusion spent. That was what was supposed to happen—and it was the only normal thing that had happened. The far-too-real lions were only part of the problem. There were a pair of prehistoric creatures straight from nightmare, and one of them had Beaumains cornered. The knight’s blade ran red with blood, and so did his sword arm. Merlin’s thoughts scrambled in confusion. What the blazes had Clary done?

The audience sensed something was wrong. A strained silence had fallen over the amphitheater, as if every spectator held his breath. The show was supposed to be make-believe, but the fearful whinnies of the horses were all too real. Then shadow fell over the field once again as the dragon flew another loop in the sky. Merlin looked up to see Rukon peering back, the slitted pupils of the huge topaz eyes wide with interest.

The lioness crouched, the motion of her hindquarters making it plain she was about to spring at Palomedes’s throat. The sight jerked Merlin back to life. He summoned a shimmering ball of lightning to his hand and hurled it. It struck the lioness square in the back with a flash of pure white brilliance. Air rushed in a thunderclap as the creature burst into a cloud of tiny black scraps that looked like bats. They arrowed upward in a chorus of shrill cries.

Merlin’s breath stuck in his chest. The cloud of flying darkness said this was demon magic. Rukon recognized it, too, for the dragon released a stream of blinding, blue-white fire that wiped the flapping shadows from the sky. The spectacle of a fire-breathing dragon changed the somber mood in an instant. The crowd erupted in a collective gasp of wonder and glee. Cries of “Whoa!” and “Go, Merlin!” drowned out the sounds of battle.

But Merlin was just getting started. He scanned the field, giving an involuntary wince at the sight of the dinosaurs. The raptors pranced around Beaumains like naked chickens sizing up a worm. One bled but seemed oblivious to the wound, a primitive need to kill stronger even than pain. Merlin’s chest tightened with apprehension as Beaumains stumbled, his own injuries obvious.

Merlin’s next fire bolt split in midair to target the two raptors. The fireballs struck the earth with a thwump and crackle that fried both monsters to ash. This time nothing flew out of the smoldering ruins. Demons were hard to kill, but enough raw power did the trick. Without sparing the time or energy for satisfaction, he turned his attention back to Palomedes and the circling lions.

Clary—ignoring his orders as usual—was back at Merlin’s elbow in time to see Palomedes swing his blade at a shaggy-maned beast. The knight’s sword sliced into the lion’s hide, driving deep into the massive shoulder. The great cat roared, but the sound twisted into an unholy shriek as the beast dissolved into a flurry of blackness. Merlin flinched, every reflex recoiling at the sight.

“What just happened?” Clary demanded, her voice rising as she pointed at the sight. “Are those crows? Bats?”

“Demon magic does that,” Merlin replied, giving her a hard look. “The filth break apart and reform as some other monster.”

Her expression raised the hair along his arms, though he couldn’t say why. The scowl was Clary’s—he’d seen it often enough during their lessons—but there was something else, too. And then the look was gone, leaving him wondering if the battle with Vivian had left him paranoid.

Above, Rukon banked and turned to pass over the field once more. The wind in his huge wings rumbled like rippling thunder. Merlin gathered himself, every movement deliberate, and returned his attention to the lions. He hurled another ball of lightning that smashed into the pride and sent dirt fountaining into the air. One by one, the great cats burst into flurries of squeaking shreds of blackness. They swirled upward in a spiral, no doubt preparing to meld into some other, more horrific creature. Merlin searched for a fresh spell, something powerful enough to prevent a demonic attack on the crowd of innocent humans. Was this what the hellspawn had wanted all along? A means to infect this world with their evil?

If so, they had forgotten about dragons. A blast from Rukon’s flame scoured the bats from the sky. Merlin felt the clean heat on his upturned face, fanned by the stroke of Rukon’s wings. The stink of charcoal tickled his nose, but not before he caught a distinctive whiff of spice and sulfur. Vivian.

Then every thought was driven from his head by the roar of the crowd. They were on their feet, stamping and howling appreciation as the unprecedented spectacle wound to a new close. As if on cue, Rukon looped upward, climbing toward the open portal with another flourish of flame. The dragon rose with seemingly weightless ease and was soon swallowed by the azure sky of the Crystal Mountains. But his long neck curved backward for a last glance at Merlin. It didn’t take magic to read the message written in Rukon’s topaz eyes: be careful. And then the portal sealed with the efficiency of an invisible zipper, and the dragon was gone.

Merlin gripped Clary’s arm, holding her at his side while they stepped forward to take their bow. He was carefully blind to the knights below, acting as if their wounds and bewildered fury were all part of the entertainment. They’d finished the show. No one was dead and the demon magic dispelled. The audience was none the wiser. The only thing left was to exit the stage—and then he could start asking hard questions.

After three standing ovations, the audience finally let them leave. By then, Merlin’s temper was at a new peak. He dragged Clary into the corridor that led to the locker room, striding at top speed.

“Slow down!” Digging in her heels, she tried to wrench free of his grip.

He stopped, but didn’t let go as he turned to face her. The harsh overhead lights bleached the color from her face, adding to the shadows beneath her eyes. He crushed a rising panic that told him she was in trouble. “Very well.”

She blew out a long breath, but otherwise seemed tongue-tied.

He let his voice drop to something near a growl. “Let’s take this slowly. Start talking.”

She was shuddering as if plunged into Arctic waters. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Velociraptors? Really?”

“I didn’t mean to! I—” She broke off, her face flushed with confusion. She looked as if she couldn’t decide what to say.

Merlin’s chest tightened with foreboding. “If you didn’t mean it, then why did it happen?”

Clary sucked in a breath as if he’d struck her. The sound was loud in the echoing corridor.

Her expression gut-punched him. “What did Tamsin say about your wound?”

“She thinks it’s okay.” She pulled up her sleeve to show her arm. “It doesn’t look like much now. She fixed it.”

And yet Clary had started casting random spells far beyond her level of skill. That didn’t say fixed to him. Her gaze turned to him, now empty of everything but fear and pleading. The look broke him.

Like a man in a dream, Merlin reached out, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. They came away wet with her frightened tears. For that, he would have cheerfully sent every demon back to the Abyss all over again. As the pounding of his heart slowed, anger caught up with him, along with a profound sense of awe. Something had given Clary immense, even stunning, power. Demons were the obvious answer, but how?

Clary was the least talented student he’d ever taught. Could a mere scratch have changed everything? He really didn’t know. Demon magic followed different rules—if you could apply rules to its chaotic nature—and not even Merlin the Wise understood every last nuance. A hard knot of worry gathered in his chest. He could not resist the urge to touch her, brushing back a wisp of hair that was falling in her eyes.

Somehow that innocent gesture turned into an embrace. He’d sworn to himself that wouldn’t happen again, but her lips were against his, soft and uncertain. The first kiss ended, her breath warm and a little too fast against his face. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself this kind of intimacy—not just physical need, but with emotion attached. Everything around him—the concrete walls, the dull roar of the crowd—fell away, leaving only this woman and her haunted gaze. It was plain she was seeking reassurance, someone to catch her and put her on her feet again. If he was a better man, he’d be a little less literal about the catching part, but he couldn’t seem to take his hands from her waist.