King Me!

by Deborah Blake

  The finding spell had been a complete bust. Despite Morgan’s best efforts, neither of them had gotten the slightest sense of where Merlin might be. It was always possible that the spell would merely take some time to bring them useful information. But was that likely? Probably not. Drat. So much for that bright idea.

  Before they’d started, she’d decided not go into the store after all. Sometimes only one or two people came in on Mondays, anyway. So she’d just called a friendly neighboring shop owner to put a sign on the door saying, “closed for family emergency.”

  True, Arthur wasn’t exactly family, but she couldn’t see asking Matilda to put up a sign that said, “Closed due to magical screw-up.” There was such a thing as being too honest.

  So now she and Arthur were sitting here not eating their very late lunch and waiting for the coven members to get out of work and come over.

  Charlotte and Clarice were the first to arrive. Twin sisters who worked as tattoo artists; they both bore examples of their work on various parts of their bodies. Charlotte also had multiple piercings, and Clarice’s hair was a deep forest green. Morgan had really enjoyed the expression on Arthur’s face when he’d first met them, and was almost sorry when she had to explain that no, Clarice was not a wood nymph.

  Charlotte was bouncing up and down with barely repressed excitement. Once in the door, she ran over to Morgan and said gleefully, “We found him! We found him!”

  “What?” Morgan asked, stunned. “You’ve found Merlin?” She couldn’t believe it. Now they could go get the old wizard and he could send Arthur back to his own time before setting about the difficult task of saving the world from itself. What good news. Great news, even. So why did she have a sudden sinking sensation? Arthur would go back home. That was supposed to happen, right? Unless he was supposed to be the hero after all. In which case, he’d have to stay…

  Arthur looked as shocked as she felt, and peered over Charlotte’s shoulder as if expecting Merlin to follow her in the door.

  “Where is he?” the king asked eagerly.

  Charlotte beckoned them into the living room and sat down in front of Morgan’s computer. She went online and quickly brought up a website.

  “Look!” she said. “I put in ‘Merlin’ and ‘wizard’ and there he was!”

  Morgan and Arthur looked at the screen, and Arthur’s face fell. “That is not Merlin,” he said grimly. “I have never seen that man before.”

  Charlotte and Clarice were crestfallen.

  “Are you sure?” Clarice asked. “Maybe he’s in disguise.”

  Arthur shook his head. “That man is at least a foot taller than Merlin and probably fifty pounds heavier.”

  Morgan moved Charlotte out of the way and took a closer look at the website. She tried to stifle a laugh. At least they’d tried.

  “Charlotte,” she said gently, “did you read the information on the site?”

  Charlotte shook her head ruefully. “To tell you the truth, I was so excited when I found him, I just grabbed Clarice and we rushed right over. Why?”

  “Take a look at this part,” Morgan said, pointing at the screen. “What does that say?”

  Clarice self-consciously took a pair of reading glasses out of the giant purse she always had slung over her shoulder. They were bright red and seriously clashed with her hair, but Morgan thought this probably wasn’t the right time to mention it. They all leaned in closer to the machine and looked at the smaller print under the picture of a man in a business suit.

  “Merlin Smith, the Wizard of Wall Street,” Clarice read out loud. “Oh, no way! The Wizard of Wall Street? We found a day trader?” She and her sister looked at each other and then at Arthur. “We’re so sorry, Your Majesty. We were so sure we’d found your Merlin.”

  Arthur patted both sisters kindly on untattooed bits of their arms. “It was a valiant try, ladies, and I do appreciate the effort.”

  Clarice blushed as red as her glasses and Charlotte tried to curtsey, although it ended up looking more like a mangled disco step. Morgan swallowed another laugh. At least Arthur seemed to be taking the disappointment well.

  “We’re sorry,” the twins said in unison, “we really thought we’d gotten the right one.”

  “Aha!” shouted Michael from behind them, making everyone but Arthur jump about a foot in the air. “Beat you to it, did I?” He looked smug as he flourished a newspaper. “I’ve got an article that will lead us right to him. Our search is all but over!”

  Arthur raised an eyebrow. Morgan figured he was starting to realize that her coven members tended to be a bit on the flaky side, no matter how well intentioned they were.

  “What did you find?” she asked. “If it’s the Wizard of Wall Street, we’ve already had that one.”

  “The what?” Michael asked. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” He spread the newspaper out over the back of the futon, shoving Morgan’s bedding to the side. “I’m sure this is him—and look, he’s right here in town!”

  Morgan peered over his shoulder at an ad in the entertainment section. There was a large picture of a man in a wizard’s pointy cap, wearing star-covered robes and holding a magic wand. He certainly looked like a wizard. The caption underneath read: Merlin the Magnificent, Magician Extraordinaire! Three nights only at the Spectre Theater, shows at eight and eleven.

  Could it actually be him? Morgan handed the paper to Arthur, so he could have a closer look. For a moment, he actually seemed hopeful, but then he shook his head and handed her back the newspaper.

  “Nay, that is not Merlin either,” he said dolefully. “That man is much too young and Merlin never wore robes such as that. He was content to wear simple black, sometimes lined with fur, if the weather was cold.” He sighed. “Castles tend to be damp, you know. And they are impossible to heat in the winter.”

  Morgan held the paper up in front of her eyes. When she squinted, she could see that Arthur was right; the picture was of a man in his late twenties or early thirties, dressed up in a fanciful representation of what a wizard might wear. Just another performer.

  Michael pouted and sat down on the sofa with a sigh. “Damn. I was so sure I’d found him.” He cheered up a bit when Arthur patted his arm too but then subsided into gloom again. “What are we going to do? I’m all out of ideas.”

  Clarice brightened as a thought hit her. “Why don’t we do a finding spell?”

  “Been there, done that,” Morgan said despondently. “If it worked, it certainly wasn’t in any obvious way.”

  “Well,” said Charlotte, always the optimist, “maybe something unexpected will turn up.”

  As if on cue, there was a loud banging on the front door, followed by a long, drawn out ringing sound as someone outside put their finger on the doorbell and kept it there. Every head in the room swiveled in that direction and Arthur reached again for a non-existent sword.

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte clapped her hand over her lips. “Me and my big mouth!” Her eyes wide, she stared at the door as if she thought an ogre was on the other side. Arthur wondered if they had ogres in this time. Somehow, it would not surprise him.

  “Oh, for the Goddess’s sake,” Morgan said, “it’s probably just Jehovah’s Witnesses, or Girl Scouts trying to sell me cookies.”

  “If they make that much noise, I wouldn’t buy any,” suggested Michael. “Who on earth would be that pushy?”

  Morgan looked like she’d had a terrible thought. “It couldn’t be.”

  Even so, she clearly braced herself as she walked over and swung open the door. Arthur followed her closely, prepared to defend her even without his trusty sword. Anything that intimidated the brave Morgan must be frightening indeed.

  As it turned out, no one could have prepared for what waited outside. As the others watched open-mouthed, a tiny woman pushed her way past Morgan, hauling a huge suitcase more than half her size with one hand while the other brandished an umbrella with a heavy wooden handle which she had been using to bang
on the door. Tucked under the arm with the umbrella was a padded case with holes in it, the kind used to transport animals on airplanes.

  Arthur stared at the woman in amazement. She was clearly quite old, as evidenced by the flyaway white hair piled haphazardly on the top of her head and the myriad of wrinkles that reminded him of nothing so much as an apple taken out of the cellars at the end of winter. But she stood as straight as a pole, despite her age and short stature, and moved with an agility that belied her advanced years. Her green eyes twinkled as she studied him from head to toe in a strangely familiar way.

  “Granny!” Morgan said, trying to wrestle the bag from the old lady’s unyielding grip. “What in Hecate’s name are you doing here?” She almost fell over when the woman finally let go, but recovered quickly, shoving the mammoth suitcase out of the way. “I just talked to you in Scotland yesterday. How can you be here?”

  The old woman turned from her examination of Arthur long enough to say acerbically, “It’s this new-fangled invention. Called the airplane—maybe you’ve heard of it?” She chortled at her own joke and swung back to Arthur. He stared back at her with reluctant admiration. He could see where Morgan got her feistiness.

  “So,” she said to him in a light, high voice tinged with a strong Scottish burr, “you’re the one causing all the trouble.”

  Arthur was indignant. “Hardly, Madam. In truth, it is your granddaughter who caused the trouble; I was merely dragged along for the ride.”

  The wrinkled face creased into a broad smile, and the woman let out a surprisingly deep laugh. “Aye, isn’t that always the way of it with our Morgan?” She turned away from Arthur and gave Morgan a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  Morgan smiled back at her. “I can’t believe you flew out here without telling me you were coming!” she scolded gently. “At least I could have picked you up at the airport.”

  “Ach, and interrupt all the fun?” Granny responded merrily. “Not at all.” She winked at Arthur. “Besides, it seems to me you already had your hands full.”

  Morgan started to argue with her, then glanced down at the case still tucked under one scrawny arm. “Oh, Granny, tell me you didn’t!”

  All eyes in the room shifted to the mysterious box.

  Michael asked the question first. “Um, Granny, what’s in the box?”

  The old woman chortled. “Oh, don’t let Morgan worry you none, she just doesn’t see eye to eye with Young Angus here.” She put the box down on the floor and bent down to open the latches.

  Out of nowhere there came a horrible demonic yowl. Everyone jumped and Michael actually grabbed Arthur’s arm, although he let go as soon as he realized what he’d done. An orange form streaked out from under the couch and raced up the stairs, hissing madly.

  “Of course, that silly cat don’t much like Angus, either,” Granny stated smugly as she pulled a bedraggled black shape covered in plaid out of the box. “Everybody, meet Angus. Angus, meet everybody.”

  Charlotte came out from behind her sister and peered at the animal Granny was proudly holding up. “What is that?”

  “He’s a Scottish terrier, of course.” Granny said. “He’d getting on a bit in years, but he’s not so old as me, so I call him Young Angus.”

  Michael took a closer look. “And what is that he’s wearing?” he asked with all the disdain of a man who regularly watches “What Not to Wear.”

  Granny held the dog out so everyone could get a closer look. “It’s a sweater in the colors of the family tartan, of course. I knitted it myself.” She smiled around the room. “Don’t worry; I brought one for everyone in the coven. That way you’ll all match.”

  Arthur struggled not to laugh as he saw the identical looks of horror on the faces of Morgan and her friends. Apparently they were not thrilled by the idea of dressing to match Granny’s dog. If indeed, dog it was. He had never seen such a sorry excuse for an animal in his life. It was a scrawny beast, black in color, with eyes almost hidden underneath its shaggy fur. And it had a peculiar odor that he could smell from where he stood a few paces away.

  Still, the old woman seemed quite fond of the creature and Arthur had always liked dogs—although the dogs at Camelot were large hounds that paid for their keep by hunting with the knights, something Young Angus hardly seemed likely to do. He took a step forward and cautiously held out his hand for the dog to sniff.

  “No!” Morgan yelled, and threw herself in his way. “That beast will take your arm off!”

  Arthur looked at her, and then at the small dog. Surely she was not afraid of such a tiny animal. He raised an eyebrow and moved her gently out of the way.

  “Now, Young Angus,” he addressed the dog seriously, “you are not going to be difficult, are you, my lad?”

  The animal gave a small growl as if in response, then cautiously sniffed at the large calloused hand on offer. After a moment’s consideration, a bright pink tongue appeared out of the matted mass of fur and gave Arthur a quick lick before disappearing again.

  “Well, now, ye have Angus’s seal of approval,” Granny crowed with delight. “That’s good enough for me!” She looked at Morgan. “So, are ye not going to introduce me to your large friend?”

  Arthur gave a graceful bow in her direction. “Arthur, King of the Britons, at your service, Madam Granny.” After a moment’s thought he added, “And Angus’s service as well, of course.”

  Morgan and the other coven members held their breath as they waited to see how Granny would react to the revelation of Arthur’s identity, but the tiny woman gave a sprightly bow in return and turned an impish smile in Morgan’s direction.

  “Ha!” She said triumphantly. “I said so, didn’t I? My visions are never wrong.” She thought for a moment. “Well, hardly ever, that is.”

  She went around the room and hugged Clarice, Charlotte and Michael, all of whom she had met on her last trip to visit Morgan. Michael immediately raced off to the kitchen to get her a cup of tea and a few cookies, while the others settled down in the living room.

  Once her grandmother was comfortable ensconced in the rocker, Angus on her lap and a cookie in hand, Morgan gave the older woman a stern look.

  “Okay, Granny,” she said, “Spill it. What on earth are you doing here?”

  Granny made a clucking noise with her tongue. “Tch. Anyone would think ye’re not happy to see me. And after I’ve come all this way, too.”

  Michael and the twins looked at Morgan disapprovingly, but Arthur chuckled. Clearly, Morgan had finally met her match.

  The dark-haired witch shook her head in disbelief. “Oh, please. You know I’m always thrilled to have you here. But you didn’t fly all the way from Scotland at a moment’s notice just to have tea.” She stared at her grandmother meaningfully. “What is it you aren’t telling us?”

  Michael said, “Come on, Granny, we’re dying to know why you’re here. Did you have another vision?” He looked around warily for ET. “There wasn’t a skunk involved, was there?”

  “Not a skunk,” Granny said unhappily. “A rat.”

  “What?” Clarice jumped up and stood on her chair. “There are rats?” Arthur wasn’t concerned, though. Castles are full of rats. One simply got used to it.

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “Oh, sit down, you ninny. You know perfectly well that ET would never allow a rodent in this house” She thought for a second, and then narrowed her eyes at her grandmother. “Granny, are you saying there’s a traitor among us?” She looked at the other coven members disbelievingly. “That’s not possible.”

  Granny shook her head. “I know what I saw. My vision clearly showed you and Arthur, and a spy in your midst. I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. That’s why I had to come in person.” Her wrinkled face crumpled in distaste at the news she’d crossed an ocean to impart. “I’m sorry, my darling, but one of your coven will betray you.”

  Arthur fought down a feeling of panic. Betrayal again? Would he never find anyone he could trust? He looked around the
room. Could someone here be a spy for Fay LeBeau? Not Morgan, surely. Although he had seen her speaking with the sorceress as if to an old friend…but she’d explained that, hadn’t she? And the old woman had said her vision showed Arthur, Morgan and the spy as well.

  He examined the faces of the others present. The man Michael was strange, it was true, but he seemed harmless enough. And quite handy in the kitchen, although he did a terrible job of explaining bathrooms. Arthur did not know enough about the two other women to be certain, but he liked them despite their strange appearances. And he had liked all of the other coven members as well.

  Of course, he had liked Morgana Le Fay too, once upon a time. Perhaps he could not trust his own judgment. But if that was true, what kind of a king was he?

  His depressed musings were interrupted by the sound of someone else banging on the front door. He turned to Morgan in bemused disbelief.

  “You do not have another grandmother, do you?” He asked a little anxiously. He did not believe any of them could handle a second Granny in one day. Or perhaps even one lifetime.

  Morgan laughed. “Nope, just the one. My father’s mother is long gone. Granny is one of a kind, I assure you.” She gave the old woman an affectionate hug, nimbly dodging Young Angus’s teeth as he tried to latch onto her arm.

  She turned to go see who it was but before she could reach the door it opened up and revealed a flurry of Witches. After everyone greeted Granny with delighted surprise, the mob settled down and Arthur discovered to his amazement that all that noise and confusion had been generated by four people: Davis, Crystal, a man named Lewis who was something called a Guidance Counselor (no doubt a spiritual advisor of some kind), and another man whom Arthur had never before seen.

  He knew the man was not a member of the coven, since he had met all of them last night. Arthur was sure he had not met him before, but there was something familiar about the fellow, as if he reminded Arthur of someone he knew and didn’t like. Arthur found himself grinding his teeth for no reason and tried to relax.