Enchanter Redeemed

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 local tea shop,” said Tamsin, not meeting Clary’s eyes. “The most it was going to do was make you sleepy.”

Betrayal stung almost as much as the fiery sensation crawling up her leg. They didn’t trust her to take whatever cure they offered. Worse, they saw her as a genuine threat that had to be managed. Her mind understood, but her heart hurt.

“Then what was in the shot?” she asked, her voice gone rough.

The pain had reached her belly. Vivian howled—or maybe it was her. Clary doubled over, clutching her middle. Merlin steadied her with firm hands, easing her back onto the couch. “It will put whatever you have to sleep. It might interfere with your powers for a time, but the trade-off in safety will be worthwhile.”

Merlin the Wise always knows what’s best, said Vivian in a sarcastic snarl.

But he spoke the truth. Clary could feel Vivian draining away, disappearing to somewhere too deep inside for Clary to detect. She wanted to test for the demon’s presence, poking around as she would for a sore tooth, but her thoughts scattered. The pain rippling through her was like wave after wave of fire.

At the same time, that feeling of being watched was finally gone. “There was a demon’s voice talking in my head,” she gasped. “It was Vivian.”

“I suspected something like that.” His face unreadable, Merlin stroked a hand over her bowed head just once, more apology in his gesture than his words. “Demon essence leaves echoes behind. Demons are energy and Vivian was caught between worlds. It’s not surprising that a bit of her touched you during the ritual.”

Sure, during the part where she blew into messy demon bits as the portal closed. Clearly, those bits had tried to reassemble themselves inside Clary.

“Witches are vulnerable because demons can attach themselves to another person’s magic.” Despite Merlin’s closed expression, his voice was gentle. “It’s serious, Clary. It can drive people mad.”

“How long will this cure last?”

Tamsin knelt before her, pressing a damp cloth to Clary’s face. It was wonderfully cool. “It’s hard to say, but it should hold until the infection leaves your system.”

“She’ll come back. She’s more than just an echo.”

“Hush,” Tamsin murmured, putting a hand to Clary’s face. “We don’t know that yet.”

Clary wanted to argue, but her head was pounding now. A tide of sickness rose up, swamping every other consideration. She jumped up, pushing past her sister, and ran for the bathroom.

The only good thing was that she hadn’t had much to eat. Too bad whatever drug Merlin had given her didn’t care if her stomach was empty. At some point, she locked the door to keep Tamsin out. Her sister might be a healer, but Clary needed privacy more than soothing words. After a while, Tamsin’s anxious voice faded and Clary slumped on the cold tile in peace.

What was she going to do? If the cure wasn’t permanent, she’d be back in the same hopeless place the moment Vivian woke up. Except it would be worse. Vivian would be furious, and Tamsin would be in even more danger. Merlin would be vulnerable, because now he believed Clary was, if not cured, at least inert.

She needed to get away, far away, to someplace where Tamsin and Merlin would be safe. Her own Shadowring Coven was on the opposite coast of the continent. Better yet, she could go to a circle of witches where she didn’t know anyone and there would be no friends or family Vivian could use as hostages. The moment she formed that thought, it became her plan. It was clear, simple and the right thing to do.

Clary already hated the idea. It made sense, but she craved emotional comfort, too. She’d always been the independent misfit, whistling her way through scrape after scrape, and yet home had always been there. So had her sisters. Cutting herself off wouldn’t be easy.

She heard Merlin’s voice, muffled by the door and distance to the next room. Tamsin replied. The words weren’t clear, but her sister’s concern was evident. Clary didn’t have much time before someone was knocking on the door again. If they stopped her before she got away, it would be twice as hard to leave them behind.

Eventually, Clary got to her feet. Pain made her knees wobble as she stood. She drank some water, then stole some mouthwash to get the vile taste out of her mouth. Finally, she looked in the mirror, confirming she looked as awful as she felt.

Slowly, she opened the bathroom door. Merlin and her sister were in the living room down the hall, their view of her blocked by the angle of the wall. To Clary’s left, just a few steps away, was the apartment door. A glance told her that Tamsin hadn’t locked it when they’d come in.

Years of teenage misbehavior had made her an expert at sneaking out. Clary slipped away, silently shutting the door behind her. Since she didn’t carry a purse, she still had her keys, wallet and phone in her pockets. Nothing was left behind at her sister’s place. All she had to do was make it home to pack a suitcase, and she’d leave town. A quick mental check told her Vivian was still gone.

Clary ran down the apartment stairs, not bothering with the elevator. The exit emptied into the parking lot, and she strode across the sunny pavement with renewed confidence. And nearly ended up a speedbump for Gawain’s motorcycle.

Oh, hell! She jumped back, plastering a smile on her face and waving brightly. The Scottish knight waved back, used to her coming and going. That would only buy her minutes at best. The instant he opened the door and mentioned that he’d seen her, the search would be on.

Clary slipped out of sight and ran. Now going straight home wasn’t an option. In fact, all the places she knew—Tamsin’s, her own apartment, Medievaland, Merlin’s place—were bound to be under Merlin’s magical surveillance. She wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe head to the bus station and catch a ride out of town?

She entered an alley that crept between a gas station and a pub. It was smelly and narrow, the brickwork on either side black with age and dirt. Patches of straggling grass grew under rusted downspouts. Clary looked over her shoulder even though she’d barely taken two steps into the confined space. But that was stupid. She was a witch with a demon on board. That made her like a bomb in an action-adventure movie, one that had to be dumped in an ocean or shot into outer space before it nuked the free world. She could blast any mugger to smithereens.

Squaring her shoulders, Clary pushed on. It was broad daylight, and she could tell this alley was a shortcut to the main road ahead. Going this way would put distance between herself and well-meaning friends.

Halfway across, she heard music from a window above. It was an ordinary pop tune, barely worth remembering, but someone with an exceptional voice was singing along with the words. That was special.

The sound vanished as quickly as it had come, but Clary paused just long enough to look up. There were curtains and knickknacks in the second-floor windows, and the sash of one was pushed up. That had to be where the voice had come from. There was only one kind of being that could sing so beautifully—a fae.

Despite the lovely song, Clary drew back. The soul-sucking monsters found witches especially tasty. She spun on her heel, ready to run, but a figure dropped from the window right into her path. The male rose from his crouch as if this was a perfectly normal way to say hello. He was tall and slender, casually dressed but for an elaborately tooled belt of green leather. A long, silver-handed knife hung at his hip. He sniffed the air, as if confirming it was she who had smelled so tasty.

“Great,” Clary muttered under her breath.

“Where are you going, my girl?” asked the fae. He had dark olive skin that showed off the bright green of his eyes. His long, white hair was pulled back to reveal a fine-boned face that would have put him on the front of any fashion magazine.

“I’m going past you.” Clary raised her hands, ready to weave a spell that would hurl the fae into the next block. Except no power flowed through her body, ready to shape to her will.

She was helpless. Merlin had warned her that the injection might mess with her magic, but she hadn’t expected this.

The fae must have seen her confusion, because he burst into a cruel laugh.

Chapter 7

Panic made Clary stagger back. Her magic had never been brilliant, but it was as much a part of her as sight or hearing. She clenched her fists, fighting a need to scream. Her struggle seemed to amuse the fae even more. Or maybe amusement was the wrong word. While fae had no feelings, they still seemed to enjoy tormenting their prey.

“Who are you, pretty boy?” Clary demanded, mostly to make him stop sniggering.

“I am Laren of the Green Towers.” He waved a hand at the alley. “Or perhaps I should say the back streets. The hunting is far better here.”

By hunting, he meant stealing the life essence of mortals. Drinking mortal souls restored a fae’s emotions, their love of beauty and ability to create—but only for a short while. Those addicted to the rush left a trail of dead or mindless victims in their wake. At least Laren appeared physically healthy, which meant he hadn’t been a soul-eater for long.

“What happened to your witch’s tricks?” he taunted.

“I’m on a cleanse.” She shifted her feet, bracing to run. Fae were incredibly strong despite their slight appearance. Unless Clary found a weapon, she’d lose the fight before it began.

“Afraid to face me, wench?” Laren glided forward, his steps silent. His intent, predatory posture reminded her of the velociraptor’s.

“The name’s Clary. I’d stay and brawl, but my calendar’s full.”

She spun and ran, pumping her legs for all she was worth. She’d made it past a row of garbage cans before Laren tackled her to the ground, his arms wrapped around her waist. Apparently, the fae were as fast as they were strong.

Clary’s knees exploded with pain as she fell, the fae’s weight driving her into the ground. She raised her arms to protect her face, but not before a blur of gravel and straggling weeds filled her view. Her lungs emptied in a rush. Stunned, she lay helpless as Laren flipped her over and straddled her waist.

It was then she met his eyes. They were green like her own, but a vibrant shade unlike any mortal’s. And they were utterly, chillingly void of feeling. The loss of his soul had turned him into something alien. She might as well have been pinned by a shark.

Terror flooded her, robbing the last shreds of her strength. She had no magic and no weapon. She drew in a shaking breath, fighting down the urge to wail.

His lips drew back from his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “What a pretty thing you are.” He placed a fingertip between her eyes and traced downward, over the tip of her nose and the bow of her lips. “You will be delicious.”

Clary shuddered at the naked hunger in his face. It promised a brutal end, and a primitive instinct to live took over. She twisted beneath him, arching her back against his weight. Laren pushed her down again, but not before the knife in his belt caught her eye, its silver hilt gleaming in the alley’s muted sunlight. A fae hunter would need such a thing to finish his victims. It taunted her, promising death or just maybe deliverance.

She widened her eyes, letting all her fear show. Laren’s nostrils flared as if scenting her distress. His knees tightened against her hips and he grabbed her jaw, using one hand to pin her head in place. That was all he needed to control her. Compared with his strength, her arms might have been helplessly beating wings.

Or not. Clary plucked the knife from its scabbard with a quick hiss of steel on leather and drove it toward his ribs. It would have worked, if not for fae reflexes. He twisted with the agility of a cat, his free hand clamping around her wrist in an iron grip.

A chilling sound of regret escaped his lips. “Very good. I see I’m growing careless.” He peeled the knife from her fingers and tossed it just out of reach. Clary heard it fall with a ping of metal on stone. Clearly, he wasn’t a warrior obsessed with keeping his blades in perfect condition.

Then he bent over her again, the smell of his skin and sweat far too intimate. He grabbed her jaw once more, forcing her mouth open with bruising insistence. “Give yourself to me,” he whispered. “Give me your joy and tears and hope.” His lips sealed over hers.

The assault on her soul was far, far worse than she had ever imagined. It felt as if her insides were being torn through her throat, leaving an icy vacuum behind. She pushed against his chest, but he was solid as granite. Her hands fumbled to his face, poking and clawing and finally to his hair, but nothing made him flinch. Sight and sound vanished, leaving only an unholy pain. Finally, Clary screamed, but Laren drank that down along with everything else.

Then something hurled him back. Clary collapsed backward, hitting her head on a sharp rock. The universe swam for an instant before she rolled to her side to see Merlin standing over Laren. She expected Merlin to pound the fae into a pulp, shock him with thunderbolts—something—but the enchanter stood poised and unmoving, a look of naked curiosity on his face.

Then she realized that the fae writhed on the ground in agony, his grinding moans like nothing she’d ever heard. Taking no chances, Clary fumbled for the knife he’d thrown aside and staggered to her feet, using the filthy wall for support. Slowly she approached, the long blade gripped in one hand.

Laren’s eyes had rolled back into his head until only the whites showed. Foam coated his lips and he trembled with long, violent spasms. Merlin’s face was grim as he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, scanning her slowly from head to the scuffed toes of her shoes. He squeezed her gently, angling his arms as if for a reckless moment he might decide to pull her close. After an odd hesitation, he let his hands fall away. “Thank the gods you’re all right,” he said quietly.

For an instant, she saw possessive anger storm over Merlin’s face, lighting his odd amber eyes. The primitive heat stirred an answering call deep in her core. Her response was as inevitable as the autumn flight of birds—or perhaps the rage of earthquakes. It was that deep and mesmerizing.

And then the heat in Merlin’s eyes was gone, buried again—but this time she saw the effort it took him to hide it, as if it was growing harder to smother. But why does he care about me, especially after the trouble I’ve caused? Not that she’d let him see her doubt. That would leave her cracked open like an egg dropped from its nest to the pavement below. And this wasn’t the time for confessions, anyway. She’d just about had her soul snatched. After a long moment, she stepped back, heaving a long breath. She was grateful he’d come and angry he’d stolen her power, and she didn’t have the strength to deal with either of those things right then.

Instead, she pointed at the fae writhing at their feet. “What happened to him?”

“I’m not certain, but my first guess would be indigestion,” Merlin replied drily.

A slightly hysterical laugh escaped Clary. Her world wavered and she gripped Merlin’s arm. Humor aside, the enchanter’s remark made no sense, but the evidence was before her eyes. Still, how could her life energy be toxic to a fae? It was ludicrous, and just a little embarrassing.

She opened her mouth to say so just as she passed out.

* * *

Clary woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom. After jerking into a sitting position, she pressed a hand to her aching head and found a lump where she’d hit the pavement. An involuntary groan escaped her as she blinked the room into focus. She was clothed and lying on a king-size bed. One wall of the room was exposed brick, the floor wide planks of hardwood sanded to a soft sheen. Another wall was a balcony with a view of the sun fading over the distant hills. This had to be one of those trendy lofts in the downtown’s converted warehouses. The furniture was plain but top quality, the bed linens definitely not from a big box store. Whose place was this?

She swung her feet off the bed and took a second look around. The room was nice, but the clutter said a real person lived there. A bookshelf spawned stacks of books around it, like seedlings around a tree. Unfolded laundry was heaped in a chair and spilled over onto the floor.

Slowly, Clary bent and pulled on her shoes, which someone had removed and left beside the bed. Her head throbbed with the change in angle, but it was manageable. When she stood, she caught sight of the T-shirt on the floor by the closet. It was black with a faded logo of a metal rock band, and she’d last seen it stretched over Merlin’s chest. Was this his place? It looked too—she searched for the word—normal.

She left the bedroom, curiosity in full flood. The room opened directly into the main living area, and she caught an impression of more wood, brick and large windows hung with plants. “Anybody home?” Clary called.

Merlin appeared around the corner. “Ah, you’re up.” His usual mask was firmly in place—cool and slightly amused, as if the world were a movie and he’d already seen the credits. The only clue to his mood was the vertical pleat between his brows.

“Do you live here?” she asked.

He nodded, sipping from a glass of something green. “How are you feeling?”

“Not sure yet.” She wrinkled her nose. His drink smelled like lawn clippings. “Is that brew from the Fabrien Spell Scrolls?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “It’s wheat grass from my juicer. Want some?”

Clary shuddered. “Not unless we’re going for a true exorcism. Why am I here?”

“Medical observation. You’ve been through a lot in the past few days.” His eyes were thoughtful as he sipped his disgusting drink. “Why did you run from your sister’s place? Imagine my surprise when Gawain lumbered in to announce he’d seen you crossing the parking lot.”

She looked away. “I’m putting everyone in danger.”

“The danger won’t vanish with a change in location. You’ll just take it somewhere else.”

Clary heaved a breath. “Vivian wants revenge on you, and she threatened Tamsin so I would cooperate. We’re dealing with more than a slight touch of possession.” There, she’d said it. She watched Merlin’s face for a reaction.

To her disappointment, he just shrugged, hard to read as ever. “That’s Vivian.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” For an instant, his composure slipped and she saw lines of tension bracket his mouth. “I suspected as much about halfway through the show at Medievaland. Not even demons are typically that skilled at conjuring, but she is.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Her tone grew sharp.

He tossed back the rest of the wheat grass, making a face as he swallowed. “What would Vivian have done if I’d confronted her?”

Clary swallowed, not liking the truth. “She’d have lashed out.”

“And that would not have ended well for anybody, especially you.”

Clary buried her face in her hands. Of course Merlin had figured it out. He’d just kept his cards hidden from his ex-lover. She hated him for it, but knew her life depended on his skills. “Vivian will come back, you know.”

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