Читать книгу Enchanter Redeemed - Sharon Ashwood - Страница 12

Chapter 3

Surely it had all been a horrible hallucination. The next morning found Clary sitting at her sister’s kitchen table, a cup of black coffee before her. Everything seemed normal, and Clary felt as loved and cared for as Tamsin could manage. She’d slept in her sister’s tiny second bedroom and still had a crick in her spine from the lumpy futon.

“How are you feeling?” Tamsin asked, putting a hand over Clary’s. Gawain, Tamsin’s soon-to-be husband, had already left for the day and the two women were alone. Normally, Clary would have been disappointed. She liked Gawain, and he’d spent almost as much time teaching her self-defense as Merlin had spent teaching her magic—if there was to be a fight with the fae, she needed to be ready. But today she wanted alone time with her sister.

Clary looked up from staring into her cup. Like Clary, Tamsin was green-eyed and fair-haired, her long locks pinned up in a messy bun. The similarity in coloring was deceptive. Tamsin was actually a stepsister who had joined the family when Clary’s mom had married a second time. They had all been lucky—Stacy, the eldest, and Clary, the youngest, had readily accepted their new middle sister. Tamsin was easy to love and Clary adored her. She’d been the gentle hand that had led Clary through a rebellious adolescence when their mother had all but given up in despair.

“My wound feels better,” Clary answered, pulling up her sleeve.

Tamsin angled Clary’s arm for a better look. Besides working as Medievaland’s historian, Tamsin’s magical specialty was healing. After a round of smelly ointments and ritual, the wounds on Clary’s arm were now just scratches, as if Clary had lost an argument with an alley cat.

“I’ve met demons, but I’ve never treated any injuries they caused before now. I never knew they had poisoned claws,” Tamsin said, releasing Clary’s arm.

“Do you think that’s what caused the seizure?” Clary sipped her coffee, welcoming the caffeine as it hit her bloodstream. She hadn’t said anything about the hallucinations. She’d stopped hearing that voice in her head by the time Tamsin had finished doctoring her, and decided to keep the crazy to herself. “Maybe the infection was messing with my brain?”

She could hear the pleading in her voice. She felt okay now, and desperately wanted to put yesterday behind her.

“I’d bet the two are connected.” Tamsin picked up Clary’s hand again. It was a comforting gesture, but Clary could feel the faint tingle of Tamsin’s magic course through her. Tamsin leaned forward and kissed her forehead as if Clary was a little girl again. The gesture salved Clary’s hurts the way no medicine could.

“You’re still not a hundred percent,” Tamsin said, “but I don’t detect any lingering damage. Take it easy for a few days.”

“I’m supposed to be at Medievaland today.”

“In the office?”

It was a reasonable assumption. Clary handled pretty much all of Medievaland’s online presence. Since King Arthur and a handful of his knights had awakened to join the modern world, they’d become famous for the mock tourneys hosted by the theme park. The knights now had a rapidly expanding fan base, which Clary fed with judicious tidbits of insider knowledge—none of which included the fact that they were born centuries ago and had returned to save humanity from soul-sucking fae monsters. She tried to keep things upbeat.

However, today’s activities weren’t about posts and blogs. “Merlin’s doing the special effects at today’s show and he wants a second pair of hands.”

Tamsin frowned. “You should call in sick. Obviously, he’d understand.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I broke his ball.”

Tamsin arched an eyebrow. “Just one of them?”

Clary grimaced. “Crystal—stone—ball. His spy camera to the demon realms. He had to smash it to save me from Vivian.” She was feeling more than a little guilty about that.

“Yeah,” Tamsin replied, drawing the word out. “Those stones are expensive and rare.”

“He said it was one of a kind.”

“Are you sure you’re still his student?”

Clary pulled her smartphone from the pocket of the boho-style dress Tamsin had loaned her to replace her bloodstained clothes. It was pink and flowery and nothing like what she usually wore. She held the phone up as if it was evidence. “I’m scheduled to be there at noon. He sent a text to confirm.”

“That’s probably his way of checking on you. You had a near death by demon, then a seizure.” Tamsin had that frozen look that said she wasn’t happy but was trying to be polite about it. “I think you can skip a session.”

“Normally, I’d welcome a day off, but as you say, I cost him a piece of expensive equipment. Showing up is the least I can do.”

“You feel guilty.”

“Pretty much.”

Clary’s mind immediately went to the kiss. Her cheeks heated at the memory, and she looked away from her sister. Merlin’s behavior was just one more strange thing to add to the list of yesterday’s weirdness.

“What else happened besides the demon who attacked you?” Tamsin asked. She’d always been able to read Clary’s expressions.

Clary rose from the table. “I need to get ready to go.” She suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore.

Tamsin—still protesting—drove her to Medievaland. They parked and passed a long line at the gate that proved the summer tourist rush was beginning. The weather promised to be warm, so the steady stream of paying customers would only increase as midday approached. And why not? Medievaland, with its jousts and feasts and rides and games, was good family fun.

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.