Harley Merlin 4: Harley Merlin and the First Ritual

by Forrest, Bella

  “Thank you so much,” I choked, trying really hard not to bawl my eyes out in front of her.

  “It is my pleasure, Harley.”

  “Does it have any magical ability, like an Esprit?” I wondered.

  She shook her head. “It’s simply a piece of jewelry, but there’s magic in memory, Harley. This will give you strength and provide a tangible link to your past. It will remind you of your purpose, and that is an infinitely powerful thing to have.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “I did consider bringing something with power, but the pendant seemed more appropriate, given the circumstances of your interview today.”

  I nodded. “It’s… yeah, it’s totally perfect.” I didn’t know what else to say. The gift had left me tongue-tied and completely in awe. It might not have been the original that I’d seen in my dreams, but it would do exactly what Imogene had said it would—it would remind me of what I was fighting for, when things got tough.

  “Speaking of Esprits, I did happen to hear that something had gone awry with yours,” Imogene said, glancing at the broken jewelry on my hand. “My condolences. There’s nothing more exasperating than suffering a breakage. We come to rely so heavily on these things, don’t we?” She held up her hand, to show me the ring and bracelet of her own Esprit.

  “Unless you’re Nomura,” I joked.

  “Yes, but that man has the patience of a saint. I doubt the rest of us have the discipline. May I take a look at the broken part?”

  I walked over to where she sat and held out my Esprit. Gingerly, she turned the interlinking chains and ran a finger over the empty sockets, eyeing them intently. A small frown furrowed her otherwise smooth brow.

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “I believe it’s fixable; you will simply need two replacement stones and a spell to embed them,” she replied. “Yes, in fact, there’s a spell in the New York Special Collections that might help you repair this. If memory serves, the book is called Chanticleer’s Art of the Réparateur. It’s a very rare tome from the fifteenth century, but if they’ll allow you to look at it, then it may save you a great deal of expense and heartache. Esprit repair shops are notorious for conning young magicals. If you can, it’s always better to do something yourself—a good motto to live by.”

  I gaped at her in girlish gratitude. “I don’t know how to thank you for all of this, Imogene. Seriously, thank you. If I can repay you in any way, just say the word.”

  “There’s no need for repayment, Harley. It’s my honor to help you fulfill your potential, even if that is only by giving you a drop of courage and a useful suggestion to guide you on your way.” She tucked her clutch back under her arm and turned toward the door. “Good luck with your interview. I mean it when I say you’ll be fine. Don’t let them intimidate you. Remember who you are, and what you stand for, and everything else will fall into place.”

  “I will.”

  “Now, I want to hear all about it the next time I see you, okay?” she said. “But, for now, I’ll let you continue with your preparations. I hope everything works out for you today, and do look for that book if you can. Finding the right spell is half the battle. Once you have it, the rest shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  With that, she walked out the door and left me to stare at the pendant some more. It was heartbreakingly beautiful, the sterling silver indented with tiny runic symbols that I couldn’t read. I didn’t know much about runes, but they looked pagan. A reminder of my heritage. Just holding it in my hand made me feel like I’d opened a gateway to my past—not just my recent history, but all the way back to Merlin himself. Our namesake, and arguably the most famous magical in all of time.

  I went to the mirror and looped the long chain over my head, tucking the pendant beneath the silky lapels of my shirt. The cold metal on my skin shocked me for a moment, before the heat of my body warmed it up. Sensing the weight of it against my chest, I felt as though I could do anything and take on anyone. The original had seen my aunt and my dad through three years on the run from Katherine; it could get me through a little interview.

  Maybe this thing is magic after all.

  * * *

  I met Wade in the Main Assembly Hall twenty minutes later, after telling him I’d meet him there instead of him picking me up. He was already waiting for me by the shimmering mirrors, tapping his foot impatiently. Nervous ripples flowed off him in a steady ebb, which added to my own anxiety.

  “You look smart,” he said. “That’s good. They like smart.”

  “I feel ridiculous.”

  “You shouldn’t. You look professional.”

  “Yeah, well, looking professional reminds me of my prep school days.”

  He smiled. “I can’t even imagine you in a place like that.”

  “Yeah, it’s best not to.”

  “New necklace?” He eyed the chain around my neck, a puzzled look on his face. “What happened to your St. Christopher medallion, or whatever it was?” I smiled at him shyly, surprised he’d even remembered me wearing it. It had been the first gift I’d ever received from a foster parent, and though I didn’t wear it as often anymore, it still held a place in my heart. Even more so after seeing Mrs. Smith again. Man, I loved that woman.

  “I still have it, but Imogene just gave this to me as a good-luck gift. It’s based on a Merlin heirloom—she thought it’d make me feel closer to my family.” I pulled the collar of my shirt up higher, covering the telltale chain. “Anyway, we should get going.”

  “Yeah, good thinking.” He brushed a hand through his hair. “You ready for this?”

  I nodded slowly. “How hard can it be, right?”

  We approached the mirror that led to the New York Coven and stepped through without wasting another moment. A young woman met us on the other side, dressed in a dark blue pantsuit, her icy-blond hair plaited and draped over her shoulder. Wow, Elsa’s career really took a dive… It was colder here than I’d remembered, the cavernous hallways echoing with busy footsteps.

  “Harley Merlin?” the woman asked, her gaze fixed on me.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Excellent. Then follow me. Please move as quickly as you can; the board doesn’t like to be kept waiting and you’re already a minute over schedule.” Turning on her heel, she strode away down the corridor, leaving us to hurry after her.

  We arrived outside an innocuous-looking door ten minutes later, the apex curved up in a church-like fashion. A black iron knocker hung in the center. The woman rapped it against the wood three times. Each thud echoed my heavy heartbeat, setting my nerves on edge. Without even thinking, I reached up to press the pendant, the solid weight of it bringing me comfort.

  You’ve got this, Merlin.

  “Are you coming in with me?” I asked Wade, who looked as nervous as I did.

  “I’m not allowed.”

  “Right… of course not.” The pendant was good, but I’d have felt even more comfortable if Wade was in the room with me.

  “You’ll do fine, Harley,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder. A rush of emotions coursed through me, filling me with his steady calm and reassurance. I thought back to the way he’d held me in the Luis Paoletti Room, the memory making my stomach flip-flop, and upsetting some of the calm he was pressing into my skin. What would I have done if you’d kissed me? I still didn’t have the answer to that. Even so, it was a nice way of distracting my racing mind from what was about to happen.

  “You may go in,” the woman interrupted, holding the door open for me.

  “Thanks.” I flashed a worried look back at Wade, who lifted his hands in an awkward thumbs-up, and then I stepped into the room.

  The room itself was nothing special, just an old hall with some medieval vibes, a single table at the far end. It almost felt like I was walking into a college interview or something. Not so long ago, I’d been dwelling on college aspirations, but all of that seemed to have disappeared with this Katherine stuff looming over me.


  Four people sat behind the broad table, which had a solitary, poignantly empty chair in front of it. I didn’t recognize any of them. There were two women—one, a middle-aged Korean woman with horn-rimmed spectacles and a severe black bob. The other had graying hair and a plump figure, and looked like she should be spending the year at the North Pole, helping Santa with his elves, rather than sitting here, scrutinizing me. Interspersed between the women were two men. One was much younger than I’d expected, with a mane of long, dark-blond hair and a blue-tinged tattoo that curved under his right eye. On the farthest side was an elderly gentleman. His face had sagged into long jowls that reminded me of a bloodhound, while his eyes were black and hollow behind silver spectacles, and what remained of his white hair had been slicked back.

  All you’ve got to do is sell yourself. Easy-peasy. I’d spent years trying to convince people I was worthy of being fostered; I figured this should be a walk in the park.

  Only Mrs. Claus smiled as I approached. “Harley Merlin, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, take a seat.” She gestured to the empty chair. Her accent was oddly whimsical, as though she had some Swedish heritage in her. I decided to focus on her as much as possible, since the others were less than friendly.

  “Cain McLeod, Preceptor of Ancient Arts,” the maned man said, in a faint Scottish accent. “Now, if you’d like to take us through your Reading, that would be great. Let’s start with Light and Dark. Where does your affinity lie?”

  Okay, so much for a “let’s get to know each other” round.

  “I don’t know which side I lean more toward,” I replied. “The Reading was inconclusive.”

  “Miriam Svalbard, Preceptor of Bestiary Studies,” Mrs. Claus said. “It is exceptionally rare for someone to fall in neither category, or, rather, both categories. You understand that, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “That blend of Light and Darkness has the potential to become imbalanced, depending on the type of spells you use throughout your magical life. If you favor the Dark spells, then it might prompt you to dwell more in the Darkness. The same goes for Light. Does that make sense to you?”

  “I think so, Preceptor Svalbard. I need to make good choices, right?”

  She smiled. “I suppose that is one way of looking at it. Essentially, you will have to be wary of how spells influence you.”

  “Gregoire Mountbatten, Preceptor of Hexes and Charms,” the elderly gentleman chimed in, his accent flavored with French. “You fail to mention, Svalbard, zat if she is able to find a balance between Light and Dark, zen she would be able to perform feats zat have never been done before. It is très unique to have both within your grasp. So, you can see our concern? So much power and potential in one so young is a troubling thing.”

  “Blame my parents,” I joked, lifting my shoulders in a shrug.

  He chuckled. “Well, yes, you are quite correct. What I am trying to say is, we must be able to assure ourselves zat you pose no threat, before we allow you to visit your parents’ Grimoire.”

  “Not to mention the way she might react to it,” McLeod added. “Grimoires tend to have an effect on most people, but you might be more sensitive to their presence, given your remarkable blend of affinities. Don’t think we are prejudiced against you, because of what you might be capable of; we simply ask that you understand our perspective. You are, as far as we know, like a proverbial bull in a china shop.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “It’s a risky move for us,” he replied. “We don’t want you reacting strangely in the presence of the Grimoire.”

  My insides twisted up. I’d already found out that little chestnut the hard way. Although mentioning that to them was a complete and absolute no-no. If I breathed a word, it would almost definitely ruin any chance I had of getting to see the Grimoire again.

  “So, if you wouldn’t mind telling us why you want to see your parents’ Grimoire, that might be a good place to start?” Svalbard prompted. I noticed that the Korean woman had yet to speak.

  I took a breath. “Research.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific zan zat,” Mountbatten said.

  “Both my mother and my father were linked in some way to Katherine Shipton. So, it stands to reason that there might be something valuable in there, that we can use against her,” I explained. “Plus, that book belonged to my parents. I don’t have anything left of theirs. I don’t want to get all wallowy or anything, but I’d like to get close to something that they touched, that they wrote in, that they shared together. I’m guessing you’ve all lost someone you loved, at some point. Wouldn’t you like to feel closer to them, through something of theirs, just once?”

  “Sentiment is not a valid reason for visiting something like that,” McLeod cut in. “The research aspect is more likely to persuade us.”

  I frowned at him, determined not to lose my cool. “I’m hoping there might be some information in there, or another spell, that we can use to fight Katherine—as I said.”

  The Korean woman snorted. “Not much use it would be to you. You know the Grimoire is unfinished, don’t you?”

  The other three chuckled at the idea. Yeah, well you don’t know what I can do. It was a struggle to keep my mouth shut when I wanted to wipe the smirks off their faces so badly.

  “That doesn’t mean there won’t be any intel in there,” I protested.

  “Kim Ha-na, Preceptor of Grimoire Studies,” she replied, introducing herself at last. “I admire your tenacity, and I happen to think that sentiment is as valid a reason as any to want to visit an artifact like this. However, it will do you no good if you’re looking for a spell. I realize you are relatively new to the magical world and do not understand how certain things work, but an unfinished Grimoire cannot be read from.”

  You’d think that, wouldn’t you?

  “I know that, Preceptor Kim. I’m just saying it might lead us in the right direction, if there’s anything in there about Katherine. They can be like journals sometimes, can’t they?”

  Preceptor Kim nodded, a hint of respect on her face. “That is correct.”

  “Then, maybe my parents wrote something that wasn’t a spell. Maybe they mentioned something about the Children of Chaos,” I replied. “I don’t know what’s in there until I see it, but I have this feeling that there’ll be something useful.” Because I already sneaked a peek, you stuffy red-tape lovers.

  “Even if you were to find any useful information in that Grimoire, I don’t know what you think you’ll do with it. You’ll forgive us for saying it, but the SDC isn’t exactly well-known for its efficacy. We’ve already heard of all these fluffs that Alton has been making in Katherine’s investigation.”

  “I suppose it might keep them busy for a while, so the rest of us can get on with the real work,” McLeod chipped in, smirking. “Do you think the National Council are just sitting on their laurels, Harley? You’re probably better off waiting for them to make a breakthrough.”

  “Saying that, I don’t suppose there’s any harm in letting you have a go,” Kim added, her tone bordering on condescension.

  Their reaction irked me. It seemed laughable to them that the SDC could do anything to help with the Katherine Shipton case, and I was determined to prove them wrong. They would see what the SDC were capable of, if it was the last thing I did. Let’s just hope it’s not though, okay?

  “So, is that a yes or a no?” I asked plainly. I was tired of their snobbery.

  They mumbled amongst themselves for a while, leaving me to stare out the window at Central Park. The leaves were starting to change color on the trees, while birds wheeled and struggled against a breeze. I couldn’t feel it, but I guessed it was cold out there. It made me long to be back in San Diego.

  “We will grant you access to the Grimoire for one hour, on one condition,” Svalbard announced, bringing my attention back.

  “Yes?”

  “That your boyfriend supervises you closely
and reports to us if any adverse effects occur. The Crowleys have an excellent reputation. It’s a shame he didn’t choose to come here instead of the SDC. Pride can be a terrible thing.”

  I flushed with embarrassment. “Not my boyfriend, but I get the gist.”

  “Good—then you may go. Happy reading!”

  “There’s one other thing,” I said, struggling not to snap against their condescension. “I’ve recently broken my Esprit, and was wondering if you had any spells that might help.” Namely, Chanticleer’s book of fixy whatnot.

  “In your parents’ Grimoire, you mean?” Mountbatten arched an eyebrow.

  “No, not necessarily. I just mean any spell that can help.”

  “You may not find anything to fix your Esprit in the Grimoire, but there is a book in Special Collections that can help. Naturally, you’ll have to submit another application to be granted temporary access to it, but we can facilitate that if you desire it,” Svalbard chimed in, with that fixed smile that was starting to get a little eerie.

  No way was I going to submit another application to them, although I knew I had to make it look like I was going to play by their rules. If Chanticleer’s book was in Special Collections, I’d kill two birds with one stone; I’d get the fixing spell and look into my parents’ Grimoire again. They wouldn’t need to know about it, if I just wrote the Esprit spell down or took a photo. After all, it wasn’t in a Grimoire—I didn’t need to get all fancy in order to use it.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “Anything else?” Svalbard chirped.

  “Nope… no, I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Then off you go, before we change our minds.” She cackled as I turned to leave.

  I could feel their mockery as I retraced my steps, their amusement tugging at my Empathy like a really annoying itch that I couldn’t scratch. Resisting the urge to slam the door like a bratty teenager, I strode out into the hallway. At the end of all that, they hadn’t seemed overly concerned about me visiting the Grimoire. Then again, why would they be? It was unfinished, and reading spells from an unfinished Grimoire was more or less unheard of.