“Weeelll,” the older Witch said, tapping Morgan’s failed spell, “if he knows where he is, he’s not lost then, is he?” She nodded sagely. “So a ‘Spell to Find Something That’s Lost’ will not work. It’s not like looking fer a set of keys or a cat that’s gone astray, ye know.”
She pointed a gnarled finger accusingly at her granddaughter. “What is one of the first things I taught ye about Witchcraft, when ye were just a little girl? Always choose yer spell carefully. The wrong spell willna have the results ye wish, and sometimes it will bring ye exactly what ye don’t want.” She clucked her tongue. “Truly, I thought I taught ye better.”
Morgan made a face. “But when I did the spell, we thought he was lost. Remember, the box he was in went missing?”
Granny shrugged off this little piece of factual information. “Well, I’m telling ye, if this spell dinna work, then the man is not lost.”
Arthur sat up straighter. “Do you mean he is no longer in his box? That someone must have found him and taken him out, as Morgan and her friends freed me?” He looked more cheerful at the thought of his old friend and mentor not sitting in a warehouse somewhere, gathering dust. But then alarm replaced pleasure. “Not Fay LeBeau!”
Morgan shook her head, a beat ahead of him. “No, we know Fay doesn’t have him. She wouldn’t have called to make sure we hadn’t found him if she’d already done so.” She turned to her grandmother. “So you really think he’s out there somewhere, walking around?”
The old woman nodded, white hair flying. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
“Then why hasn’t he found Arthur?” Morgan gnawed her lip in frustration. “He’s a wizard, after all.”
“Well, we’re two witches,” Granny replied practically, “and we have not found him, for all our searching.” She added under her breath, “And that silly Internet of yours has been no help at all. Computers, pah.”
“There is that, I suppose,” Morgan agreed. “So what do we do now, Granny?”
“We use this,” Granny said, holding up her Book, and handing Morgan’s back to her. “The right spell at the right time, that’s what we need, lass.” She snorted to herself. “When in doubt, call in the professionals. Heh, heh, heh.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. Leave it to her grandmother to rub it in when Morgan got a spell wrong. Feh. Still, if the one Granny found did the trick, the old woman could lord it over her all she wanted.
The next evening, the remaining available members of the coven gathered at midnight in Morgan’s back yard. Everyone had protested at the late hour, but the old woman was a traditionalist when it came to witchcraft. Originally, Granny had even insisted on doing the spell in the park where Cauldron Oak had performed the ritual that had resulted in Arthur’s and Merlin’s return, but Morgan had eventually persuaded her grandmother they would be safer in the yard behind the house. At least there, she reasoned, her protection magic had a good chance to keep their magical work undetected by spying sorceresses.
Granny had also insisted on pulling out all the bells and whistles in order to give the ritual as much power as possible, and on this issue, Morgan hadn’t argued with her. While it was true that witches could practice magic with no more than a thought and a word, having a few extra tools of the Craft might help to keep everyone extra focused on the task at hand.
So the assembled group members were all dressed in their formal ritual robes of black velvet lined with red silk (a little hot on a summer’s night but very impressive looking) and the stone circle was outlined with candles, almost enough to rival the glow of the moon overhead.
Normally, Morgan would have been acting as high priestess, but tonight she had handed off that role to Granny, since the older woman would be the one casting the spell. And with Michael still in California, Davis had stepped in to act as high priest. Morgan took a moment to be grateful that Granny’s insistence on the traditional didn’t include practicing “sky clad.” She loved her grandmother, but she really didn’t want the image of the old woman’s scrawny, naked body forever imprinted on her retinas.
As the clock inside the kitchen stuck midnight, they all took their places inside the candlelit stones. Davis lit a sage smudge stick, and they passed it from person to person in silence, wafting the fragrant smoke over their bodies to cleanse themselves of any negative energy they might have brought into the circle from their everyday lives. The smell of the burning herb reminded Morgan of every ritual she had ever attended and her mind moved easily into a receptive state.
Then Granny started to walk slowly around the circle, her ritual knife pointed at the ground as she delineated the magical space they would work in. Moving deosil, or clockwise, she chanted aloud as she walked.
“I cast the circle ‘round and ‘round, from earth to sky, from sky to ground. I conjure now this sacred space, outside of time, outside of place. Inside this circle, we are free, so welcome now and blessed be.” Her voice, normally reedy and thin, rang strong and loud in the still night air, and Morgan could feel the walls of magical space rising into place around them.
Charlotte turned to face the east, her piercings gleaming in the moonlight. The rest of the coven turned where they stood, so that they all looked in the same direction, and raised their athames to point into the eastern sky.
“I call the watchtowers of the East, the element of Air,” Charlotte called, her voice low and steady. “Come guard us in our circle tonight, and blow in clarity and wisdom, so that we might act wisely and in focus our will to achieve our goal.” She lit the yellow candle that stood in front of her atop a tall pewter holder.
Next, Clarice turned to face the south, followed in turn by the others. Her green hair was tinted gold by the candlelight, giving her a slightly otherworldly look that fit well with the proceedings. She raised her athame to the southern sky, using it to send her energy in that direction, and spoke clearly enough to be heard by those behind her.
“I call the watchtowers of the South, the element of Fire. Come guard us in our circle tonight and fill us with the fire of passion, so we might act fiercely in aid of those who are dear to us.” Cupping her hand around the match, she bent to light a red candle before turning to face the west where Davis stood ready, already lifting the wand he used instead of an athame.
“I call upon the watchtowers of the West, the element of Water,” he said, his bass tones rumbling. “Come guard us in our circle tonight and give us the gift of flexibility, so we might follow this path wherever it leads.” He lit a blue candle on its pewter holder and swiveled to face the north quadrant where Morgan waited to play her part in the night’s ritual.
Gathering her energy, she directed it into the northern sky with the point of her athame and said, “I call the watchtowers of the North, the element of Earth. Come guard us in our circle tonight and ground us so we might be strong in our pursuit of truth and justice.” Bending to light a green candle, she could feel the power increasing inside the magical space they had created, and she took a deep breath before turning back to face the center.
Granny straightened to her full height (about 4 feet, ten inches) and spread her arms wide, palms turned to the sky as she invoked the Goddess.
“Great Lady of the Moon, we invite ye here to this sacred space. Join us if ye will, and grant us success at our task tonight. Lend us yer strength, yer wisdom and yer power, that we might find that which has been lost and prevent harm from falling upon our friends. So mote it be.”
As the old woman lit the white candle in front of her, the circle echoed with the coven member’s repeated, “So mote it be.” Morgan could feel the hair stand up on the back of her neck as an unseen wind wound around the circle, making the candles dance in the moonlight.
Davis knelt at Granny’s feet, holding out the ingredients she’d assembled for the spellcasting. The old witch, spooky in the shadowed yard, held out her hand imperiously for each item in turn, not bothering to look in his direction, trusting he would hand her what
she needed as she called for it.
At home in Scotland she would have used her battered old iron cauldron for a magical working such as this, but Cauldron Oak was a little less formal, and used a portable copper fire pit instead, to more safely contain the fire. Granny didn’t care; the vessel made no difference to the results. Only their combined will, focus and intent was important now.
Into the crackling flames of the fire pit, Granny tossed each herb in turn, speaking aloud its purpose as she did so.
“Rosemary, fer loyalty,” she said, throwing the springs of rosemary on the fire to send their resinous scent into the night air. “Lavender fer friendship. Cinnamon fer courage. Sage fer purity.” The smell of the burning herbs turned the air around the fire into a garden for the spirits.
Morgan could sense the change in the circle as the energy grew and grew. Her hands were sweaty as she clutched the piece of paper that held her part of the spell. She was glad Arthur had chosen to stay in the house, rather witness the spell being cast on his behalf. He’d gotten much better about dealing with witches, but she this might have been too much.
Granny threw in the last few herbs and stood back a bit from the flaming fire. Lifting her hands to the moon above, symbol of the Goddess they worshipped, she recited the first words of the spell she’d chosen from her Book of Shadows.
“Goddess great, Goddess bright, be with us and lend your might. Witches gather in circle round, let he who’s lost now be found.” She tossed a dark feather into the fire and nodded to Morgan to recite the next part of the spell.
Speaking as strongly as she could, Morgan said, “Truth we seek and truth we find. Those against us we now bind.” She threw a piece of twine into the flames, where it burned brightly.
Charlotte read next. “Let nothing stand in honor’s way. So we pledge, so do we say.”
“In the name of justice right, guide us on our path tonight,” added Davis.
Finally, Granny drew out a wrapped bundle from her pocket. Even Morgan didn’t know what the charm bag contained, since Granny could be quite secretive about some of her spell knowledge.
“The spell is cast, the magic wrought. Point the way to he who’s sought.” She tossed the bundle lightly into the fire, which flamed and sparked dramatically for a minute before dying back down.
Morgan felt the ground under her feet shift minutely and the air seemed to quiver. An eerie screech came from overhead and they all ducked as three ravens flew out of the trees to fly around the circle.
“Oh my goodness,” Clarice exclaimed. “It’s just like the night we called up Arthur!”
Thunder rumbled in the distance as if to emphasis her point, then rain began to pour down without warning.
“Yikes!” Davis said. “Granny, did we do this?”
Granny rolled her eyes at him, white hair dripping wetly into her eyes. “Dinna be ridiculous. It’s called a storm. I’m sure ye’ve seen one before.” She turned to Morgan, shouting to be heard over the downpour. “We’d best dismiss the circle and get back into the house. We’ll be no help to Arthur if we all drown!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Arthur gazed in amazement as the group of soaking wet witches squelched damply into the kitchen. A minute ago the sky had been clear. Now rain came down in torrents, beating against the windowpanes and pinging off the metal gutters. What had Morgan and her grandmother done?
“What have you done now?” he demanded. “And how does making it rain help us to find Merlin?”
Morgan rolled her eyes at him with her usual lack of respect as she futilely attempted to dry her long thick hair with a kitchen towel. The other coven members draped themselves around the table and dripped on the floor. Granny, more practical than the rest, put on the kettle to make tea.
“We dinna make it rain, Arthur,” she explained. “It just happened. Fortunately we had already completed the major part of the ritual, so it should not make any difference.”
Davis sneezed, and everyone else said, “bless you,” automatically.
“So did the spell work, then?” Arthur asked, an unusually plaintive note to his voice. He had not enjoyed waiting idly inside while others worked to rescue his lost wizard, but he had not been able to bring himself to take part in the witchery. It was bad enough they had done it for him, although it wasn’t as though Merlin hadn’t done the same, from time to time.
Granny shrugged, scattering water everywhere from the overflowing teapot.. From under the table, ET let out a yowl of complaint as a stray droplet hit him, and rubbed against Arthur’s legs looking for sympathy. The king picked up the cat and put it on his lap, grunting a little at the weight.
“Well,” he asked again, “did the spell work or not?”
Morgan gave him a rueful look. “Magic isn’t like sword fighting, Arthur. You don’t necessarily know if you’ve had a solid hit right away.”
Arthur tried not to scowl, without much success. They had tried their best, after all. “So when will we know?”
Granny started handing out teacups and plunked the teapot down in the middle of the table. “We’ll know when we know. Try and have a little patience, yer majesty. And in the meanwhile, have a little tea. It’ll put hair on your chest.” She cackled gleefully and Arthur sighed. It had been easier to run an entire kingdom than it had been to deal with this small eccentric woman and her stubborn, captivating granddaughter.
Davis sneezed again and ET startled, jumping off of Arthur’s lap and scratching his wrist in the process. Arthur sucked absently on his wound and thought, “Camelot was never like this”.
An hour later, all the coven members had straggled soggily out to their cars and Granny had taken Young Angus and gone to bed. Only Arthur and Morgan remained; too wired to sleep, too exhausted to do anything purposeful.
Morgan had finally suggested that Arthur make some microwave popcorn and watch an old movie with her. The energy generated by a major ritual always left her keyed up and jumpy (yet another reason not to do the damned things at freakin’ midnight) and it wasn’t unusual for her to be up most of the night afterwards. But she was worried about Arthur. He’d been awfully quiet since they’d come inside. She wasn’t sure if he was alarmed by their practice of Witchcraft or just discouraged by the lack of obvious results.
Hopefully making popcorn would cheer him up, since he was so proud of having mastered that 21st century skill. Morgan knew how hard it was for him to just sit and wait for something to happen. Arthur was a man of action, and he was clearly uncomfortable when there was no way for him to fix the situation. She was surprised he hadn’t tried to go after Fay, just for something to do.
The king in question wandered back in from the kitchen, a large bowl of popcorn held out in front of him, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and two glasses dangling from the hand that held the bowl. A bunch of napkins were stuffed haphazardly in his back pocket.
“I thought the drink might give us ease, at least as much as is possible this night,” he rumbled at her. “I do not know how it is with you, but in truth, I am feeling somewhat unsettled.”
Morgan nodded in agreement, and patted the couch next to her. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea. Maybe a glass of wine will calm me down enough that I’ll be able to get to sleep. I have to go into the store later and I’m going to be enough of a zombie as it is.”
Arthur put the popcorn down between them and poured them each a glass. “What is a zombie?”
“It’s a—“ Morgan thought about trying to explain the walking undead and decided against it. Arthur was jumpy enough already. “Never mind.” She grabbed for the remote before he could get it. “What do you want to watch?”
“Something with sword fighting?” he asked hopefully. He’d become a big fan of Errol Flynn movies, although he’d also found The Princess Bride strangely fascinating.
Morgan laughed. She figured she could sit through another swashbuckling flick if it made Arthur happy. She sipped her wine as she flipped through the channels. At o
ne thirty in the morning, you never knew what you were going to find.
Suddenly, Arthur made a strange noise and grabbed at her arm. Worried that he was choking on some popcorn, she turned to him, trying to remember if she’d ever known the Heimlich maneuver. But Arthur was pointing at the television and trying to grab the remote out of her hand, spilling both of their wine glasses in the process.
“What the heck is wrong with you?” she scolded. “Can’t you just ask like a normal human being?” Then she took another look at his pale face and asked, “What is it?”
Arthur took the remote and clumsily clicked back through the channels until he got to the one he wanted. It looked to Morgan like one of those programs that went into a different star’s home every week, showing off their million dollar mansions filled with overly-designed and obscenely expensive rooms and well-equipped kitchens she would have given her right arm to cook in. It hardly seemed like the kind of thing Arthur would be excited about, but maybe he’d developed a new interest in interior decorating when she hadn’t been paying attention.
She took a closer look at the screen, on which the show’s slickly suave host could be seen perched across from a plush red couch, where the stars he was interviewing relaxed in stylish comfort. There was an older man who she didn’t recognize, and an aging but still glamorous blonde actress.
“Hey,” she said to Arthur,” that’s Morgan Fairchild. I love her! And not just because her name is so much like mine. She was great in Dynasty. Oh, you haven’t seen that one. It probably wouldn’t make much sense to you. Heck, it didn’t make much sense to anyone. But it was fun anyway.” She turned back to him, smiling. “She’s a little old for you, but I can see the appeal.”
Arthur shook his head, speechless, and pointed at the screen again.
Morgan restrained herself from smacking him with the popcorn bowl. Mostly because it would make a mess and she’d be the one to have to clean it up. She couldn’t understand what was making him act so odd. He wasn’t drunk—they’d barely had a chance to sip their wine.
King Me! Page 16
