Morgan pursed her lips. Amateurs dabbling in love spells. This was the sort of tripe she'd been unearthing in her searches these past weeks. Where the devil was Merlin? Where-The screen suddenly went black, and Morgan jumped slightly, startled. At the same time she knew instinctively what had caused it. And so she waited.
And eventually it came.
The screen became a picture of an office with antique furniture. And there, seated in a large easy chair, was a boy looking for all the world like a pint-sized Alistair Cooke. His feet dangled several inches above the ground; his hands were interlaced behind his head. He had a smile on his lips which was not mirrored in his eyes.
He was looking straight at her as he said, "Hello, Morgan. You're looking well-preserved these days."
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. * Thank you, Merlin. You're too kind."
"I know." He studied her for a moment. "You're not surprised to see me?"
In truth she was very disconcerted. It had not occurred to her that Merlin's power would be so great that he would detect her attempts to find him; that he would turn the tables back on her, apparently without effort. He did not seem to have undertaken any conjurations. He had simply taken command of her equipment, commandeered her. Could his power really have grown so? Was everything so effortless for him now? If it were true, he would be far more than formidable. He would be unbeatable.
All of this passed through her mind in a moment, and in the next moment she said, "No. I'm not at all surprised. Your overwhelming ego would only allow you to perform some such stunt as this."
"Ah, how well you know me."
"I knew Merlin the man, not Merlin the tot," she said airily. "I had thought the legends exaggerated. I see now they were not. You do indeed age backward."
He nodded. "Just so. And, intriguingly enough, I become more powerful as well. It's quite a combination, Morgan: the energy and drive of youth combined with the wisdom and skill of an older man. An unbeatable combination, wouldn't you say, Morgan?"
She leaned back, uncaring of her nudity. Her long hair hung discreetly over her breasts. "You would certainly say so, Merlin. Unless you let yourself be overwhelmed by your staggering sense of self-complacency. I will admit I'm impressed. Magic wards were placed all around the cave in which you were imprisoned long centuries ago. How did you get through them?
Even at the height of your power-"
"Remember what I taught you, Morgan. Wards are nothing more than mystic prison bars.
These were small enough to contain any man. However, sliding between the ward bars in a child's body was quite simple, really."
"So you simply allowed time to take its course."
"Quite true." Merlin slid forward, alighting on his feet, and came "closer" to the screen. "And I'm sure you realize that I subsequently arranged for Arthur's release."
"Time off for good behavior, no doubt."
This time Merlin did not even try to smile. "Now listen carefully, Morgan. I did not have to contact you this way. I can assure you that mystically you would never have found us.
However, before too long Arthur is going to be in the newspapers. Rather than give you the satisfaction of locating us, I decided to expend the smallest aspect of my power to issue you a warning."
She raised an eyebrow. "Warning, is it?"
"It is. Arthur will be running for mayor of New York City. As I said, you would undoubtedly read of this in the newspapers, for Arthur is destined to be quite a controversial candidate. I would not wish you to think for even a moment that we were living in fear of your discovering us. So I give you our city of operations ahead of time, secure in the knowledge that there is not a damned thing you can do to deter us."
She frowned. "Arthur? Mayor? I would think that president would be more appropriate.''
Merlin shook his head and his image flickered on the screen. "You and Arthur, half brother and half sister, thinking alike. That was Arthur's first inclination. But he has too much he has yet to learn, including," he said ruefully, "the name of this country. But that is neither here nor there. A complete unknown cannot come sweeping into the greatest office in the land from nowhere. He has to establish a political track record. New York is a highly visible city. And they could really use him. So," he concluded, "mayor of New York it is. It's inevitable, so don't even think about averting it. You do not have anyone to aid you any more, Morgan. Modred is long-gone bones. You command no legions of hell-human, mystic, or otherwise. It is just you, rusty in the use of your powers, versus me at the height of mine. You might say I've been working out."
"Are you trying to scare me, Merlin?"
"Trying? No. I believe I've succeeded. Stay out of my way, Morgan, or prepare to suffer dearly."
Morgan opened her mouth to reply, when sparks began to fly from the television. She dove for cover and ducked as, with a low hum followed by heavy crackling and smoke, the TV screen blew outward, spraying glass all over the inside of the hotel room. It flew with enough velocity to embed itself in the wall, in the carpet, and if Morgan had presented a target, in Morgan herself. She, however, had moved quickly enough to knock over and hide behind a coffee table, and so was spared the inconvenience of having her skin ripped to shreds.
She waited until she was certain that the violence was over. Slowly she raised her head, picking a few shards of glass out of her hair. She looked around. Gray smoke was rising from the now silent television. There was faint crackling in the air, and her nose wrinkled at the acrid odor. She stood fully and then slowly, daintily, picked her way across the floor. She stood in front of the television and, somewhat unnecessarily, turned it off. Then she padded across to the telephone, picked it up, and waited impatiently for an outside line.
When it came she dialed a long-distance number quickly, efficiently. Her face was grim, but her spirits were soaring. She felt the blood pulsing in her veins for the first time in centuries.
There was almost a sexual thrill, she thought, matching wits and powers with Merlin. She had been little better than dead all these decades. How had she survived all this time? she wondered, as a phone rang at the other end. How could she possibly have-.
The phone was picked up and a slightly whiny male voice said, "Yeah?"
Her eyes sparkled as she said, "He's contacted me. They're in New York."
"They're in New York?!" The voice was incredulous. "But I'm in New York! How could I not have known?"
"Because you're a great bloody twit. I'm on my way up there now." She paused, frowning.
"We have only one thing going for us. Merlin is not as all-knowing as he believes himself to be. He thinks you do not exist, Modred. He thinks I am on my own. It may prove to be his fatal mistake."
"Fatal?" There was an audible gulp. "You mean like dead?"
She sighed, and hung up without another word. Then she leaned back on the bed, brushed away pieces of glass, and closed her eyes.
"Great bloody twit," she muttered. "This is going to be tougher than I thought."
Chaptre the Sixth
"You're late."
Gwen stopped in the doorway, openly surprised. Lance was seated at the kitchen table, his chair tilted back against the wall. He looked impatient, even huffy. And she realized with a shock that it had been ages since she'd really taken a look at him, so rarely had he been around these days.
He pushed his thick glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. The unhealthy pallor he'd acquired had not improved. In addition his lips were dry and cracked. The blue check shirt he'd worn for four days straight was taking on a life of its own. His jeans were threadbare at the knees, and his socks were standing over in the corner, retaining the shape of his feet from memory.