Arthur nodded, strong chin set firmly. “Yes, Morgan. I am still determined to make a place for myself in your world, if such a thing is possible.”
Charlotte handed Morgan another chocolate chip cookie, grimacing sympathetically. “It’s not as though we’ve made any progress in the search for Merlin, after all.” She glowed up at Arthur. “Arthur might as well be doing something in the meanwhile.”
“Sure,” Morgan agreed, scattering crumbs as she spoke, “but couldn’t he take up woodworking or knitting or something? Why does he have to run for a Senate seat he has no idea how to manage?”
She smiled at Arthur around the cookie, trying to take the sting out of her words. It’s not as though they hadn’t had this discussion about twenty times during the last week, but she couldn’t help herself. The whole idea was just insane. And preposterous. And—
“Actually,” said Charles Snodgrass from the doorway behind her, “Arthur has made remarkable progress in grasping the intricate workings of our country’s political system. My guess is he probably understands it better than you do now.”
“That wouldn’t be hard,” Clarice interjected. “It’s a very screwy system.”
“Well, there is that,” Snodgrass agreed, “but Arthur seems to have a knack for politics. By this time next week, no one will even realize he’s from a different country.”
“Try a different century,” Morgan muttered under her breath, adding more loudly, “other than the nifty English accent, you mean.”
“Ah, but women love the accent,” Snodgrass said smugly, and Clarice and Charlotte made his point for him by simpering and giggling like a couple of teenaged coquettes. Morgan tried not to toss her cookies. Literally.
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she took a step closer to Snodgrass. “And how are you going to get around the fact that Arthur is British, exactly?” Ha! He hadn’t had an answer for that one the last time she’d checked.
The kingmaker shrugged, accustomed by now to Morgan’s combative behavior and her lack of support for his latest protégé’s campaign. “Dual citizenship. It’s not that big an issue.”
“Dual citizenship—“ Morgan sputtered. Hell, the man wasn’t even technically a citizen of modern Britain, nonetheless the US. “How on earth are you going to prove that?”
Snodgrass tapped the side of his nose with one stubby finger. “Just you leave that to me, my dear. It’s all taken care of, I assure you.”
“And his biography, his past experience, his history…are you planning on taking care of all that, too?” Morgan asked, outraged. “There isn’t one scrap of paper that even shows the man exists, for Goddess’s sake!”
Granny patted her on the arm, reminding her gently that there were secrets here that they didn’t want the politico taking too much interest in. But Morgan knew her grandmother had nothing to worry about. Charles Snodgrass wasn’t going to take too close a look at anything that might get in the way of his plans for Arthur.
“Yes, yes, a minor inconvenience,” Snodgrass said. “Arthur explained to me how he’d been working in a branch of the military that required the utmost secrecy and discretion. In fact, I wasn’t at all surprised when he told me—he has that air about him. I’ve met his type before.”
“I sincerely doubt it,” Morgan muttered to Granny. The old woman snickered and fed a bit of cookie to Young Angus who hauled it off into a corner of the kitchen to gnaw it into submission.
“Oh, I see,” said Morgan, not seeing at all. “So he told you about his secret military work, did he?” She raised an eyebrow at Arthur who gazed blandly back at her.
“Yes, indeed. In fact, we can make that work for us. These days, military service is a bonus. And the secrecy makes him mysterious and interesting. Like James Bond, only without the fancy car.” Snodgrass stopped for a minute, clearly pondering the advantages of providing Arthur with a fancy car then dismissing the notion with a shake of his head.
“And the lack of paperwork?” Morgan asked with reluctant fascination at the complicated machinations involved in the behind-the-scenes grooming of a politician. “How are you going to get around that?”
“Well, that took a little more doing,” Snodgrass admitted. “I had to get in touch with some of my contacts in the CIA. And they couldn’t admit to knowing anything about Arthur, of course, or tell me what he’d been doing during his years in the military. I think they might have had some discussions with some of their counterparts in MI6 in England, I’m not quite straight on the details.”
“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow in question. “And then what happened?” She could well believe the truth of that tale. How many people were involved in this load of malarkey, anyway?
Her grandmother cackled again and turned to pull another tray of cookies from the oven. The smell of fresh cookies filled the kitchen, making Morgan’s mouth water. What the heck. She took another one. It looked like dinner was going to be late tonight, if it happened at all, and Morgan figured she was going to need to keep up her strength.
Snodgrass raised one finger to signal that he needed a moment, popped into the living room and then back into the kitchen, carrying a file folder stuffed with papers.
“They gave me this,” he said, sounding like a kid on Christmas morning who had asked for a toy train and gotten two puppies and a bike instead. “Complete history, ID, all sorts of paperwork, all in the name of Arthur King.” He beamed at Arthur as if he’d created him from scratch himself, which in a way he had.
Morgan couldn’t believe her ears. “Wait—they gave you a fake history for Arthur? What? Why?” She stuttered to a halt, disbelieving.
“I know, it is quite remarkable,” Snodgrass said. “He must have done one heck of a job for the military, that they’d be willing to go to these lengths to help him create a new life.”
Morgan took a deep breath. Oh, he’d done a bang-up job for the military, all right. The only problem was that it hadn’t been in their military. Or in their century, for that matter. How could this have happened? She shook her head. Maybe they’d gotten him mixed up with someone who really had been an undercover operative of some kind. Maybe all those super-secret agencies were so busy keeping secrets from one another that their paperwork was mostly fiction anyway.
Truthfully, Snodgrass was right about one thing. In the end, it didn’t make much difference exactly how it had happened. For all she knew, it was some weird by-product of the ritual she had done to bring Arthur here in the first place, magically covering their tracks.
It might even be something arranged by Fay LeBeau. Goddess knows the woman was sneaky enough and powerful enough, although Morgan couldn’t think of any reason why Fay would want Arthur to have a new identity. Unless she’d found out about the plan to make him a senator, and decided that if she succeeded in marrying him, she liked the idea of being a senator’s wife. The very thought gave Morgan goose bumps and turned the cookies into lead in her stomach.
Morgan’s head started to pound, just thinking about all the possibilities. Focus on the important thing, she told herself as her thoughts swirled around like a drunk doing the Macarena. Arthur had an identity now. And a potential job. He could survive in the modern world from here on out without any help from her. In fact, other than the search for his lost wizard, which she wasn’t having any noticeable success with anyway, he really didn’t need her at all.
Chapter Sixteen
“Secret military service?” she said to Arthur as they sat on the couch eating pizza in front of a rerun of a hockey game from last winter. Arthur loved ice hockey. It figured—all those grown men bashing each other with large sticks—must have reminded him of home.
The last of the “Arthur King for Senator” crew had left around eight, and Clarice and Charlotte had reluctantly gone with them. Granny and Young Angus had tottered upstairs to watch soap opera reruns on the television in the study (which Granny had taken over as her room for the duration, since it had an old daybed in it), leaving Morgan to cle
an up the debris from the day’s activities and order a pizza for a long-overdue dinner. She was way too tired to try to cook anything. Besides, the kitchen looked like a hotel room after a rock and roll band’s stay, and she didn’t have the energy to do any more cleaning. Besides, she had a few things to discuss with Arthur, now that they were finally alone.
Starting with the biggie. “Seriously? Secret military service?” She gazed at him in baffled amazement. “Where the heck did you get that from?”
Arthur nodded calmly at the television in front of them. “From your Tee Vee, of course. It was on a late night movie sometime last week, I think. Quite incredible, some of the tales they relate.”
“You’re telling me,” Morgan said, shaking her head. “But this one really takes the cake.”
Arthur looked around eagerly. “There’s cake?”
She rolled her eyes. “You just ate five pieces of pizza, and you must have had over a dozen cookies earlier. How can you even think about cake?”
Arthur shrugged. “I like cake.” He looked pensive. “Sugar was not so common in my time, you know. We had honey from the palace beehives, of course, but it was not the same. Treats such as these were saved for special occasions.”
“Hmph.” Morgan took a moment to ponder the differences between the life Arthur had led and the one he was leading now. She wondered which one he preferred.
Then she bit her lip, knowing she was letting herself be distracted by trivia because she didn’t really want to deal with the issue at hand. “But a secret agent? That was the best story you could come up with?”
He shrugged again, a movement like a mountain shifting. “It seems to have solved the problem, at least for the moment.”
Morgan glared at him “And it doesn’t bother you that you are telling huge, whopping lies?”
Arthur gave her a clear-eyed look. “It is not as though we could tell the truth. Witch.”
Well, he had her there.
“So, you’re really going to go through with this?” Morgan’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose you’ll be moving out soon, then.”
Arthur’s eyebrows rose. “And why would I do that?” He hesitated, “Unless you want me to leave… I know you are not best pleased with my course of action.”
Morgan moved a little closer to him on the couch, suddenly feeling the loss of his warmth as if he were already gone.
“No, of course I don’t want you to leave. I just thought—“
“Yes?” Arthur looked confused. Morgan couldn’t blame him; she was feeling pretty confused herself.
“Well, I mean, you don’t really need to stay here anymore, do you?” She shifted position restlessly, wishing she were anywhere but here, having any conversation but this one. “I’m sure Mr. Snodgrass would be happy to find you someplace to stay. It probably won’t help your cause if the governor finds out you’re staying with a witch. I’m surprised that Snodgrass hasn’t already suggested you move out.” To her surprise, she suddenly felt her eyes tear up. Must be summer allergies.
“He did.” Arthur replied shortly. “I refused.”
Morgan surreptitiously wiped her eyes on the back of her hand while pretending to look for the TV Guide on the coffee table in front of her.
“You did? Why?” She gave Arthur a watery smile. “I mean, I’m glad you decided to stay, but why did you tell him you wouldn’t leave? Aren’t you worried about looking good for the governor?”
Arthur shook his head. “I am not. I gave up caring what people thought of me about the time my wife shut herself up in a nunnery because she had committed adultery with my best friend.”
Ouch. For a moment, Morgan had forgotten that Arthur had more than enough experience with politics and popular opinion, both good and bad.
“I’m sorry, Arthur. I know how important this senate seat is to you, and I don’t want to be a problem.”
Arthur’s teeth gleamed whitely out of his well-trimmed beard as he roared with laughter. “Morgan,” he said once he’d calmed down, “you have been nothing but a problem since the day you brought me into your world. Why would you want to change now?”
“Oh, very funny,” she retorted, irked and relieved in equal measures. “Har de har har har.” She kicked him gently on the shin and muttered, “Jerk.”
“That’s King Jerk,” Arthur corrected, smiling at her. “And for your information, I told Charles that I had no interest in leaving your house, regardless of what anyone might think of your er…talents.” For a moment he looked more serious. “This is as close to a home as I have in this time. I am content to stay, at least until we find Merlin.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure.” Morgan was touched by his honesty. Of course, Arthur was always honest. With her, anyway. Secret military service. Really. Of course, he had technically been in the military (if you can call being in charge of your own army being in the military), and they sure as hell had secrets, so she supposed that technically he hadn’t lied to Snodgrass. Much.
“Well, you’re welcome to stay. Until we find Merlin, I mean.” She leaned back against the couch, her shoulder just barely touching his. “And I guess I’ll just have to get used to the idea that I might have brought the next senator from New York back from Camelot. Weird.”
Discussion over, Arthur picked up the remote he’d learned to use—and hog just like any other red-blooded 21st century man—and turned the volume back up on the hockey game. “If you think it is ‘weird’ for you, ponder how it must be for me. In my day, the only senate was in Rome. And the Romans thought me a barbarian.”
“You are a barbarian,” said Morgan, grabbing for the remote. “You’re watching ice hockey, aren’t you? Now give me that remote before I find a stick of my own to beat you with.”
I will never understand women, Arthur thought to as he watched Morgan flip through the channels looking for something less aggressive to watch. And of all the women he would never understand, Morgan was the most…the most…confusing, aggravating, frustrating, beautiful, appealing…confusing…
He could never seem to make any sense of the woman. She treated him with appalling disrespect—none of his subjects would have ever considered grabbing a remote away from him, if they had had such things as remotes—refused to support his decisions and yet, somehow, ended up supporting them anyway. And he would have sworn on Excalibur that she’d started crying when she thought he might leave.
Of course, the thought of living elsewhere did not exactly fill him with joy, either. Obviously, he would be happy to go back to Camelot, but until that was possible, he was quite content to stay here. With Morgan. And ET, naturally. He had become quite attached to the immense creature. And the marvelous Granny, for as long as she might stay.
Arthur shifted his bulk on the too-small couch as an uncomfortable thought entered his mind. He had been so focused on finding Merlin so they could return to their proper time and place, it had never occurred to him to wonder whether such a thing was in truth a wise course of action.
Not that he would be unhappy to be home where he belonged…but would he still belong there? After all, as far as his people were concerned, he had died in battle. And even if he and Merlin were able to return to the Isle of Avalon from whence he had apparently been taken, who knew what might have elapsed in the time between his near-fatal wounding and whatever time they returned to. What if they had already crowned another king of Briton? What was he to do with his life then? And if he returned to his own place, then what of Morgana/Fay, left to work her will on an unsuspecting modern world?
Morgan turned and gave him an inquiring look and he tried to appear more relaxed. He suspected he was not fooling her in the least. The wench seemed to have an uncanny ability to know what he was feeling. No doubt it was part of her witch’s wiles. Strangely, the thought did not bother him the way it once had.
One could get used to anything, he supposed. Certainly he was starting to take this new time and all its conveniences for granted. Things that had amazed him when he firs
t arrived barely gave him pause now. In fact, he thought he might go into the kitchen and attempt to make “microwave popcorn” again.
Anything would be better than continuing to sit here thinking these grim and unhelpful thoughts. He would worry about Camelot when and if they ever found Merlin. And Fay would no doubt provide him with an opportunity to confront her before long—she never could leave well enough alone. In the meanwhile, he would be better served to make popcorn and use it to distract the witch so he could regain control of the remote.
Chapter Seventeen
Goddess, that man is a weasel, Morgan thought. She glared at Mortimer as he slimed around the corners of the room, introducing himself to the envelope stuffers and trying not so subtly to get a look at what everyone was doing. It didn’t help that poor Crystal was hanging onto his arm and looking besotted. Morgan wanted to bite someone. Maybe she’d been hanging out with Young Angus too much.
No, she wasn’t the only one. If she looked around, she could see other coven members seated around the room. Some of them were making calls and others were helping the envelope stuffers, but each and every one of them was using at least part of their attention to glare at Mortimer. Morgan thought she should probably tell them to chill out before they made him suspicious, but she wasn’t in much of a position to talk, since she spent a fair amount of time glaring at him herself.
Anyway, it didn’t appear to matter; the man was completely oblivious to anything but himself. He keep distracting people from their tasks to bragging about the latest big name stars he’d sold SUV’s to, completely oblivious to the fact that the entire room was filled with folks who drove small economy vehicles. Many of which were currently parked in her driveway and up and down the street. Idiot.
Morgan was having a hard time watching Mortimer and Crystal together. Which was pretty much any time she saw Crystal, since Mortimer never seemed to leave her side. Granny must have been right about the limited nature of the love spell, since Mortimer never seemed to get more than about three feet away from his blonde companion. Morgan didn’t even want to think about what happened when one of them had to go to the bathroom. Ugh. Now she was going to have to wash her brain out with soap.
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