King Me!

by Deborah Blake

  His wet hair gleamed like copper under the bright kitchen lights, and he looked strangely attractive in modern clothing, although secretly Morgan preferred him in his Middle Ages garb, which just seemed to suit him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “We’re not going to ignore my grandmother’s vision. Besides, have you thought of how we’d explain how he got here in the first place?”

  Everyone digested that in silence. While some of the group, like Morgan, were “out of the broom closet” and living openly as witches, some Cauldron Oak members still preferred to keep their religious practices a secret. Davis, for instance, wasn’t convinced that the conservative element at Russell Sage would take the news at all well. Nobody at the table wanted to go on TV and admit to practicing a magical ritual in a public park, even if it did result in the return of a famous historical figure.

  “Oh, hell,” Michael sighed, “they’d probably just lock us all up in the booby hatch, anyway.”

  Arthur looked confused. “What is a booby hatch, and why would they lock you up there?”

  Crystal laughed. “He’s just trying to say that no one would believe us if we told them you are King Arthur.”

  Morgan rapped on the table. “So, we’re agreed, we keep Arthur’s presence a secret for now? At least until we can find Merlin, and figure out which one of them is supposed to be saving the world?”

  Michael gave Arthur an admiring look, his gaze sweeping from the soles of the king’s new boots to the top of his red head. “I don’t know how you think you’re going to keep his presence a secret when he is soooo big.”

  Morgan wasn’t positive, but she thought she saw Michael wink at Arthur. Oh, great, she thought. It wasn’t bad enough to have Crystal making passes at his Royal Hunkiness, now I’m going to have to protect him from Michael, too? Not that Arthur really needed her protection, of course. But just to be on the safe side, she gave Michael a swift kick under the table.

  “Ow!” he said, glaring at her. “What was that for?”

  She gave him her best innocent look and ignored his question. “Fine, then we’ll keep his identity a secret. We’ll just tell everyone he’s, uh…”

  “Your new roommate?” Crystal suggested.

  “Your cousin from Des Moines in for a belated birthday party,” proposed Michael, rubbing his shin.

  Davis looked thoughtful. “Why don’t we just say he’s your boyfriend? That way no one will be surprised to see him hanging around you all the time.”

  Michael added snarkily, “And they won’t be surprised when he suddenly takes off, never to be seen again.” He moved his leg away hurriedly, just in case.

  Arthur cleared his throat, and they all glanced over in his direction. “I am a man, not a boy. Why would you refer to me as Morgan’s boy friend?”

  “Oh, my dear Arthur,” Michael said, “everyone here can see that you are all man.” His raised eyebrow told Morgan he’d noticed her ogling of Arthur. “Boyfriend is just a word we use to indicate that a man is involved with a particular woman. It has nothing to do with what age you are.”

  “Oh,” said Arthur. “I believe I understand. So are you Crystal’s ‘boyfriend’?”

  Crystal choked on her coffee, and Davis stifled a smirk while he pounded her on the back. Michael just looked appalled.

  “Michael isn’t anyone’s boyfriend at the moment,” Morgan interjected rapidly, and then changed the subject before the discussion came back around to whether or not they were going to tell people that Arthur was hers.

  “Okay, so we agree to keep Arthur’s identity a secret. Fine.” She looked around the table. “Now, does anyone have any ideas for how we can track down Merlin?”

  Chapter Six

  Arthur did not like the twenty-first century. For a start, it was too confusing, and nothing was what it appeared to be. No matter what he did, he seemed to always be breaking something or using it incorrectly. Back in his own day, things were a lot sturdier.

  Although he could appreciate certain refinements—he was growing quite fond of flush toilets, for instance. And after the initial shock, he thoroughly approved of shorter skirts. Still, all in all, he much preferred life in Camelot. At least there, he understood what was going on.

  Take computers, for instance. When Morgan suggested that they start searching for Merlin, Arthur had expected them to mount some sort of expedition. He had been looking forward to being on horseback again. Instead, they had all gathered around a smaller version of the object they called a television. Only apparently this was a completely different machine, used for other purposes than simple entertainment.

  Arthur did not see how he would ever function in this new world. It was a blessing he was only going to be here for a short time. He glanced at the witch, who was busily tapping her painted fingernails on the board that sat in front of the computer machine. Arthur was not sure he trusted her ability to send him back home, no matter what she said. But surely Merlin could do it, if only they could find him.

  Right now, Morgan was doing what she called an “internet search,” although Arthur failed to see how they could find much from the middle of her living room.

  He settled himself back onto the couch, feeling useless. It felt wrong for Arthur, King of the Britons, to be sitting on cushions doing nothing while others searched for his missing wizard. Arthur hated feeling helpless.

  The blonde witch turned around and gave him a flirtatious little wave before turning back to the computer and for a moment he was distracted from his gloomy thoughts. If he wanted something to enjoy in this new world, the shapely Crystal was clearly willing. But for some reason, he could muster no interest. He had always been a man of healthy appetites, although he had stayed true to his marriage vows. Now that he was free to do as he wanted, the little blond should have been a perfect diversion.

  Of course, she was a witch. And after his experience with the wicked Morgana, he knew better than to ever get involved with a witch again, even one as seemingly harmless as the charming Crystal. Arthur’s eyes strayed to Morgan as she said straight-backed in front of her computer. Now that one was clearly dangerous, and not just because her name was so close to that of the enchantress who had caused him all this trouble in the first place. There was something about her…

  Arthur stood up, restless and uncomfortable. “You are certain there is nothing I can do to help?” he asked, not for the first time.

  The green-eyed witch turned around and glared at him. “Will you please just sit in one place?” she demanded rudely. “You’re using up all the air in the room, pacing around like that. Breathing down my neck isn’t going to make me type any faster.”

  Arthur thought longingly of his court, where he was treated with respect and could walk anyplace he chose without being berated by a raven-haired harpy disguised as a lovely young woman. As for him using up all the air, that was simply absurd. He took a deep breath, though, just to be certain. The air seemed fine to him. Morgan was just being difficult, as usual.

  “I cannot just sit here and do nothing,” he said with steel in his voice. That should get their attention. “There must be some way in which I can aid in the quest. He is my wizard, after all.” And my friend. “And I do have a certain amount of experience with quests.”

  Crystal and Michael looked at each other and said in unison, “‘What is your quest?’” then fell over laughing hysterically for some reason. No doubt something to do with one of the “movies” they were always quoting from.

  After a minute, the laughing faded to intermittent giggles, but it was clear that the two younger witches were no longer focused on the task at hand. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. Enough.

  “I am going to search for myself. If one of you could point me to the stables, I would consider it a service.” He used his most commanding tone; never let it be said that Arthur, King of all Briton, was anything but decisive.

  Davis turned away from the computer and bowed. “I apologize, Sire. I know the
y did not mean to make light of the serious nature of your problem.” He glared at his fellow coveners. “Look, there’s no point in all of us standing around one computer, when we could be doing different searches and saving time.” He nudged Michael and Crystal toward the door. “Why don’t you two go back to your houses and look online to see if you can find any references to odd occurrences, large boxes being found or anyone showing up claiming to be Merlin.”

  Crystal pouted, a pretty sight, to be certain. Arthur wasn’t quite sure what to make of Michael doing the same thing. The king shrugged. Either way, it was no affair of his. All he wanted was to find his wizard and return home where he belonged.

  “That’s a good idea,” agreed Morgan. “We’ll get more done separately than we will together.” She arose from the computer. “And I’d better call everyone else in the coven and tell them what’s happening, or there’ll be hell to pay later.”

  Arthur thought she looked worried. Perhaps she was concerned her friends would not believe her, and would incarcerate her in the Tower of Booby Hatch Michael had spoken of before. The king wondered if he should reassure her that, no matter their dislike for each other, he would rescue her from such a place, should it come to that.

  “And I? What should I do whilst you speak to your friends?” he asked. “Will you direct me to your horses, or must I seek them out for myself.”

  Davis stepped forward before Morgan could say anything else, tapping the contraption he called a ‘laptop’. “I apologize again, Sire, but we have no horses. Why don’t I show Your Majesty some of the wonders of the World Wide Web while we wait for Morgan to finish? I’m sure we could hunt down something that would interest you.”

  Arthur cheered up at the thought. Hunting! Now that was more like it.

  After a long day of Internet searching and talking with the rest of the coven, finally it was just Morgan and Arthur. And ET, of course. As they sat on the couch, Morgan suddenly remembered that they’d spent the night there together, however accidentally. Her face filled with sudden heat and she hoped she wasn’t blushing. She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. A distraction. Any distraction…

  Hospital shows just bewildered Arthur, who confused them with the cop shows because of all the blood and guts on view. She found a movie that had sword fighting, but changed the channel after half an hour of listening to him criticize the fighters’ technique.

  In the end, they settled on a late-night movie rerun of something with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They’d tuned in somewhere in the middle, so Morgan wasn’t sure which one it was, but Arthur seemed to enjoy the singing and dancing. Apparently it reminded him of the castle minstrels. Go figure. ET happened to be particularly fond of musicals, so he was content to lie on the couch between them and purr along.

  Morgan was finally starting to relax toward the end of the movie, when suddenly Arthur jumped to his feet and started grabbing for his missing sword again. By now, Morgan knew this was not a good sign. She looked at the screen, but couldn’t see anything worth getting worked up about—just a commercial with an actress selling face cream.

  Wait a minute—face cream? Quickly, she grabbed the remote and hit pause on her digital video recorder. Morgan looked more closely at the woman now stopped in mid-pitch, but she still couldn’t see anything remarkable about her.

  She remembered seeing the actress in some movie last summer, about a queen who ran off with a commoner, or some such drivel. The woman was known more for her ethereal beauty than for any real acting skills. Now what was her name? It was right on the tip of Morgan’s tongue. Faith something? Or maybe Rae?

  Next to her, Arthur stared at the woman’s face, horrified, as if he had seen a ghost. He actually grabbed Morgan’s arm in his excitement, although he probably didn’t realize it.

  “Ouch,” she said. The big oaf clearly didn’t know his own strength. “Why on earth are you getting so excited? It’s just an actress selling some sort of face cream that is supposed to magically keep women looking young and beautiful. They have that kind of ad all the time at this time of night.”

  She shook her arm loose and tried to get some feeling back into it. “What is her name, anyway? I hate it when I can’t remember someone’s name.” It was so close. “Wait, I think I’ve got it—it’s Fay…something or other.”

  Arthur looked at the woman’s face with a curious mixture of fury and amazement. He took a step closer to the television, as if he could reach into the machine and pull the woman out by the force of his gaze.

  “Her name is indeed Fay,” he said, calming himself with obvious effort. Ridged lines stood out in his forehead. “Morgana Le Fay—evil witch and my worst enemy.”

  Chapter Seven

  Morgan could felt her blood pressure rise. It was bad enough she had King Arthur in her living room. Not to mention that she had—however accidentally—brought him there, losing Merlin in the process. But to find out that his archenemy, Morgana Le Fay, was somehow alive and well and selling face cream in the twenty-first century…that was just too much.

  Apparently it was too much for Arthur, as well. He still stood staring at the television, as if he expected Morgana to come swooping through the screen and carry him off. Morgan finally remembered that she was holding the remote and pushed the “play” button that would make the ad start moving again.

  On screen, the woman Arthur swore was an evil sorceress smiled brightly and said, “I’m Fay LeBeau, and if this face cream doesn’t work like magic, I’ll give you your money back.”

  “That’s it!” Morgan said, “Fay LeBeau! I was so close.”

  Arthur growled, a surprisingly primal sound coming from a man who was usually so well mannered. When he wasn’t bossing her around or destroying her house. “Her name is Morgana Le Fay, and I know not what foul sorcery she has used to be here now, but I assure you that this time she shall not triumph over me.”

  Morgan gulped. “Uh, Arthur, that woman is just an actress. Maybe she looks like Morgana, but there’s no way it’s her.”

  Arthur didn’t answer. And as Morgan looked at the television, for just a second she got the eerie impression that the woman on screen was looking directly back at her. Spooked, Morgan hit the “off” button and dropped shakily onto the couch. Obviously, the actress couldn’t have actually been looking at her. That was just ridiculous. Right?

  Arthur sat down heavily next to her. He spoke softly, without moving his gaze from the now-blank TV screen. “That was Morgana. I swear it.” He laid his head in his hands. “I would know her anywhere. Her hair was a darker hue in past years, but she is the same in all other ways. I care not what name she uses now, but that was the witch, Morgana Le Fay. And if she is here, Merlin is in grave danger.”

  “Um, okay.” Morgan didn’t know what else to say. Honestly, after everything else that had happened, if Arthur said that the woman on TV was Morgana Le Fay, she should probably believe him. But why did that meant Merlin was in danger? And how could she comfort the obviously distressed king?

  “Um…” Morgan racked her brain for something to offer him. “Can I get you a cup of tea? Or maybe a cookie?” Nice one, Morgan, she told herself. The man sees his worst nightmare, and you offer him a cookie. Too bad you passed up that career in counseling.

  To her surprise, Arthur lifted his head and smiled at her, albeit not very convincingly. “Thank you, my lady, a cup of tea would be quite soothing.”

  “Oh, good. Fine. I’ll make some, then.” Morgan said semi-coherently. She didn’t understand why the thought of Morgana—her namesake, in a way—unnerved her so much. Maybe it was the effect the woman had on the otherwise tough-as-nails Arthur. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the tale of King Arthur when she’d read it as a child?

  They moved into the kitchen, and Morgan put the kettle on the stove, grabbing mugs out of the overhead cupboard. She paused for a moment before the jars of herbal teas, then decided on chamomile. Something calming was definitely called for. She pulled a few
leaves off the lemon balm plants that were hanging on the drying rack suspended from the ceiling and tossed them into the teapot for good measure.

  Arthur sat at the battered wooden kitchen table, and when the tea was ready, she joined him. He raised one eyebrow as she handed him his cup.

  “I must be starting to trust you,” he said, doubt coloring his voice. “I do not normally make a practice of drinking witch’s brews.”

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Arthur, it’s just a few common herbs. I promise you won’t turn into a toad.” She tasted hers first, to prove it was safe, and he smiled as he took a drink and the subtle flavor of the tea hit his tongue.

  They sipped in silence for a moment while the smell of the herb worked its soothing magic, and Morgan struggled to find the courage to ask him the question that had been preying on her mind since Arthur’s dramatic announcement.

  “Um, Arthur?” she ventured tentatively.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you mind…that is,” she hesitated, and then barreled ahead, “I just wondered what happened. Between you and Morgana, that is. If you don’t mind talking about it.”

  Arthur laughed humorlessly. “Do you mean to say that in all the tales of King Arthur that have come down through time to you, there is no mention of the witch, Morgana Le Fay?”

  “Well, no,” Morgan said, “she’s in the stories, too.” She tried to remember her reading from younger days. “There was something about her being your half-sister, and the mother of your son Mordred.”

  “Arrghhh.” Arthur growled. “That old story! I cannot believe that malicious piece of castle gossip was passed down through the centuries. Please tell me people do not believe I actually lay with my own sister!”

  “Half-sister,” Morgan said. “And I think the tale is that she tricked you,”

  “Hmph,” He grunted in disgust. “Well, she did that, rightly enough.” He shifted on the ladder-backed chair and took another sip of tea, obviously uncomfortable talking about the subject. Morgan guessed that he didn’t like admitting that a mere mortal—and a woman, at that—had gotten the better of him. She felt a momentary sympathy but shook it off. After all, women bested men every day, in business and in their personal lives, but only the truly insecure ones felt the need to justify it by labeling the women “evil witches.”