“Oh, yes, checking into the hotel sounds like a capital idea,” Mortimer said, his eyes even shiftier than usual. He looked past Morgan, down the street, then back again, never meeting her gaze. “Why don’t you all do that, and I’ll take Crystal on a little tour. After all, since I am the SUV Salesman to the Stars, I keep a handy little condo here in LA. Crystal and I can stay there.” He looked up at the sky, an expression on his face that might as well have said Up To Something in big neon letters the size of the Hollywood sign in the hills.
“Oh, a tour!” Crystal squealed, the pitch of her voice threatening to peel paint off of nearby cars in her enthusiasm. Crystal wasn’t shy about showing her excitement, one of the things Morgan found so endearing about her. “Mortimer, can you show me where any famous people live? Do you know where Brad and Angelina’s house is? What about Cher? I love Cher. ”
Mortimer patted her shoulder absently, almost missing her altogether as he worked to avoid looking at any of the coven.
“Sure thing, Sweet Pea,” he said, glancing down at his Rolex. “I just have one little errand I want to run first. Then maybe we can drive by Cher’s house, okay?”
Crystal jumped up and down and clapped her hands as the rest of the coven looked at each other in concern. Davis rolled his eyes at Morgan, as if to say, “now what?” She shrugged. What the hell was that snake up to? Whatever it was, they couldn’t just let him drive off with Crystal. They were already missing one member of the coven—she sure as heck wasn’t going to misplace any more.
“Uh, gee, Mortimer,” Morgan said, putting on a much better “innocent face” than he had. “That sounds just great. Why don’t you meet us back at the hotel in a couple of hours and we’ll come up with a plan to search for Merlin.”
Lewis, Clarice and Davis all opened their mouths to protest (Charlotte was just staring dumbfounded at her), but Morgan waved her hand at them behind her back to tell them to shut up. In case they didn’t get the message, she looked toward Mortimer, shook her head slightly, and then looked back at the coven. Confused, but obviously trusting that she knew what she was doing, they subsided. Arthur merely raised one red eyebrow questioningly, but said nothing. He was still a little pale from his first plane landing, although he’d dealt with the experience remarkably well.
Morgan gestured the group toward a nearby taxi and started herding them into it. Mortimer smiled at her like a shark that had just spotted dinner.
“Grand idea, Morgan,” he replied, busily pushing Crystal in the direction of a second taxi, a few cars up. “We’ll be sure to meet you at the hotel.” He looked down at his watch importantly. “Two hours, right? Good. Good.” He practically shoved Crystal into the back of their taxi, and leaned forward to give the driver instructions.
Morgan hustled the rest of the gang into their taxi and everyone started protesting at once.
“Are you crazy?” Davis asked, unusually belligerent for a man who wore loafers. “We can’t just let him drive off with Crystal!”
“Do you seriously think he is going to meet us at the hotel later?” Charlotte added, her piercings wobbling with indignation.
Morgan responded quietly, hoping it would be catching. “No, I don’t. Especially since he forgot to ask which hotel we were going to be staying in.” Seated behind her, Clarice gasped and grabbed the back of the seat.
Turning to their driver, Morgan pointed out the taxi containing Crystal and Mortimer, just now pulling out to merge into traffic.
“Do you think you can follow that cab?” she asked. She pulled a hundred dollar bill out of her purse. “There’s a big tip in it for you.”
The driver, a gnarled Hispanic man who looked older than the California Mountains and bore an impressive mustache that gave him the air of a gone-to-seed Mexican bandito, grinned a gap-toothed smile and slid smoothly out in front of an oncoming Hummer. Ignoring the resulting squeal of brakes and flurry of bad language, he adroitly plucked the bill out of Morgan’s hand.
“Si bueno, Lady, for a hundred dollars, I follow anybody you want.” He peered in his rearview mirror at the motley crew in his back seat, practically sitting on each other’s laps to fit in, even though the taxi was a station wagon with an extra row of seats. “This one of those reality shows where you got to race to the finish line or something?”
Morgan bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh. Who knew that the nation’s obsession with reality shows could actually be good for something? Apparently the oddest behavior seemed downright plausible, as long as there might be television cameras involved.
“Um, yes, something like that,” she lied. “Please don’t lose that cab, no matter what you do. It’s really important.”
“No problema, lady,” the taxi driver said, twirling his mustache. “I’m gonna be on that taxi like fake boobs on a starlet.”
Forty-five minutes and one harrowing freeway ride later, they watched Mortimer and Crystal’s taxi pull up outside a large mansion perched on a hilly side road. They’d had to stay further back after they’ll left the city proper, but true to his promise, their driver had managed to stick to the other taxi the entire way.
As the vehicle in front of them had slowed, clearly nearing its destination, Morgan had had their driver pull over about a quarter of a mile down the road. She might as well not have bothered, since Mortimer never even glanced in their direction. All his attention was focused on the white limousine that was idling outside the entrance to the big house.
“Fay!” Morgan hissed.
“Where?” Arthur clapped his hand to his missing sword-hilt. “Do you see the sorceress?” He looked around wildly and all the other occupants of the taxi followed suit.
“Shhh,” Morgan said. The limo windows were rolled up for air-conditioned comfort and Arthur couldn’t be heard halfway down the street. Still, when dealing with That Woman, you couldn’t be too careful.
Morgan pointed at the white car, which Mortimer and Crystal were just getting into. “Fay LeBeau had a limousine just like that when she came to see me in Albany. I’m guessing she rents them wherever she goes.”
Arthur peered over the back seat cautiously and watched the other taxi drive away, leaving its passengers behind. As it left, the large iron gates of the mansion opened slowly to allow the limo to drive inside.
“Do you think Merlin is in there?” he asked.
Morgan nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt and hopping out onto the sidewalk. “I’d bet on it. It looks like Fay tracked down Morgan Fairchild and managed to set up a meeting with her after all.”
“What are we going to do?” Clarice asked, her voice high. She ran her hands through her green hair, making it stand up on her head like seaweed. “We can’t let Fay get Merlin now—not after everything we’ve been through!” She cast an anguished look at Arthur, squashed between her and the car door.
The metal gate started to swing ponderously closed and Morgan ran for it, tossing the fair haphazardly in the driver’s general direction.
“Come on!” she yelled. “We have to get in there before the gate shuts!”
They all piled out of the car like so many clowns in the center ring at the circus and raced toward the narrowing gap. Behind them, Morgan could hear their taxi driver chuckling.
“I hope you win, Chica!” he said, twirling his mustache with wild abandon.
“I hope so, too,” Morgan muttered as she slithered though the gates. “Damn, I really hope so, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Arthur reached for his missing sword yet again as he followed Morgan and the others up the long driveway and cursed quietly. He couldn’t believe he was going into battle with his archenemy completely unarmed. Of course, considering that his army consisted of a witch, two sedentary middle-aged men and a pair of twins (one of whom had green hair), he supposed that the lack of a sword was the least of his problems. What he wouldn’t give to have Lancelot at his side now. He might not have been able to trust the man with his wife, but in battle, there was no one h
e would rather have with him when the going got bloody.
Still, at least he was soon to be reunited with Merlin, if Morgan’s supposition was correct. And his wizard’s magic was much more likely to be of some effect against Fay LeBeau than any warriors or weaponry he might muster.
As they neared the house, Arthur positioned himself at the front of their ranks and turned to brief his troops.
“Stay behind me,” he instructed. “We have no way of knowing what kind of situation we will be walking into, so be on your guard and be prepared to follow my lead.”
Morgan rolled her eyes, disrespectful as usual, but he noticed she didn’t argue with his tactics.
“Do you think they’re inside already?” Charlotte asked, her piercings shining in the sun. Arthur, momentarily distracted by their glitter, gave thanks that they were not trying to sneak up on an armed encampment complete with lookouts.
Davis pointed at the limo, parked in the circular drive at the front of a hacienda-style stuccoed mansion. “Well, they drove down here instead of walking and I don’t see anyone in the car, so they must be inside.” He turned to Arthur for instructions, running one hand through his thinning hair. “What now, Your Highness?”
It was gratifying to be in action once again, Arthur thought, even if he was sword-less and undermanned. He had missed being a leader as much as he had missed his home. Such a role was as much a part of who he was as his red beard or muscular arms. At least something would happen at last.
“I suggest we walk as quietly as possible on our way up to the house, for one thing, and keep our speech to a minimum. If Fay does not yet know we are here, it would be inadvisable to give up the advantage of surprise.” He started marching the final length of the drive, slowing a bit when he realized that the others were practically running to catch up with him.
“So you don’t think we should just knock on the door and ask for Merlin?” Morgan asked, probably in jest. She’d pulled her long hair back into a ponytail, out of the way in case things got physical, and she had an unusually serious look on her beautiful face.
Clearly, she intended to see this through, no matter what. Arthur had tried in the taxi on the way there to get her and the rest of the coven to wait for him to come back, but they were having none of it. He squared his shoulders, determined he would die before seeing Morgan—or any of them—injured.
“Only as a last resort,” he told her. “First, we should walk around the outer perimeter of this castle and see if we can spot them inside.”
Arthur didn’t like sneaking around, preferring a loud and aggressive frontal attack whenever possible. But this situation was not like his usual battles. Not only did he have a straggly bunch of witches for an army, but Merlin might already have been captured by his foes. And there was Crystal to consider. He doubted that Fay LeBeau would harm her, but one never knew how the enemy would react under pressure.
It would be wiser in this case to scout out the lay of the land and make a battle plan based on whatever they found. Assuming they had any options at all. If both Merlin and Crystal turned out to be hostages under Fay’s control, there would be little left to do but surrender. The very thought made him grind his teeth in frustration.
“Are you okay?” Morgan whispered, putting her hand on his arm. “I’m sure Merlin is fine.” She smiled encouragingly and then shrugged. “For all we know, he isn’t even here. This whole thing may be a wild goose chase.”
Arthur looked around for geese, but did not see any. Just as well. Noisy things, geese.
As they neared the front corner of the house, Arthur held up his hand for caution. They all tiptoed behind him to look in the first window they came to. (Arthur himself simply walked quietly. Kings do not tiptoe.) Clarice and Charlotte were too short to see in, but the rest of them peered through the glass anxiously.
Holding one hand over his eyes to cut down on the glare, Arthur saw a large room that looked vaguely familiar, although he could not for the moment figure out why.
“That’s the living room we saw Merlin being interviewed in on the show!” Morgan hissed in his ear. “We must be at Morgan Fairchild’s house after all.” Her hand clenched on his shoulder, shaking slightly with excitement or fear. Knowing the witch as he did, he expected it was the first.
“Can you see anyone?” Clarice asked, bouncing up and down on her toes in an effort to see inside. “Is Fay in there? Can you see Crystal and Mortimer?”
Arthur shook his head, causing his too-long hair to flop into his eyes. Annoyed, he brushed it back out of the way.
“No,” he answered shortly, “the room is empty. Come.” He gestured for them to follow him as he continued up the side of the house. Luckily, there were many bushes and trees to hide behind as they made their semi-stealthy progress around the outside of the dwelling. Careless, really, planting such things where the enemy could use them for cover. Back in Camelot, the walls surrounding the castle were stripped bare for many yards, to avoid just such an occurrence.
Eventually, after much peeking into windows and finding only empty rooms, Arthur and his companions neared the end of the brick wall. As they approached the corner, he could hear female voices coming from around the back of the house. Aha!
He held up a hand and everyone came to an abrupt halt. Charlotte careened into Davis and only barely managed not to fall over. She grimaced in apology at Arthur, who attempted not to growl. It was not her fault she was not a trained soldier, after all. Why had he not anticipated this eventuality and taken some time to teach them the basics of warcraft before he was forced to take them into battle?
Never mind. Too late for such musings now. He moved forward a few cautious steps and struggled to hear what was being said. Even though he was braced for it, his heart began to race when he heard the voice of Morgana Le Fay, now known as Fay LeBeau. Perhaps she was about to cast a spell that would destroy them all. Or utter dire threats to the innocent people who had been caught up in her quarrel with him. Or else she could be discussing…gardening?
Morgan took another step forward, leaning up against Arthur’s broad back as they craned their necks around the corner of the building. A mass of bushes hid them from sight, but by squinting through the branches she could just make out the people sitting around a glass-top table on the stone patio at the back of the house.
There were three blonde women—the coolly beautiful Fay LeBeau, a beaming Crystal, and a casually attired but still glamorous Morgan Fairchild. Sitting with them like the ugly stepsister at the ball was the dark-haired Mortimer, who was pouting at being more or less ignored by all of them.
“Gardening…how quaint,” Fay was just saying to Morgan Fairchild. “It is somehow hard for me to envision my old friend Merlin puttering around in a garden pulling weeds. He was never much on the great outdoors, you know. Preferred to stay in and fiddle around in his lab.” She looked down her long elegant nose as she glanced around the extensive grounds, as if expecting to see Merlin appear any moment, spade in hand and dirt clinging to his shoes.
Arthur peered around what the part of the yard that was visible from where they were, obviously looking for some sign of Merlin. But the extensive grounds were mostly spread out behind the house, and there was no way for Arthur and the coven to get around the back patio without being seen. For now, they’d have to bide their time.
Morgan Fairchild gave a slightly strained smile, one manicured finger tapping the side of her glass. From where Morgan crouched next to Arthur, it looked to her as though the two women were not exactly hitting it off.
“More iced tea?” Morgan Fairchild offered Fay, pouring some from a cut-glass pitcher when the other woman nodded. “Well, I admit, I’m not much of a gardener myself. But Merlin seems to really enjoy it. He’s usually out there all afternoon, which is why I had you come at this time of day when you said you wanted to talk to me without him around.”
She looked dubiously at the other blonde, then at Crystal and the scowling Mortimer. “Tell me agai
n why you needed to talk to me about Merlin? I don’t make a practice of talking about my guests behind their backs.” Morgan got the distinct impression that the actress was regretting having agreed to meet with Fay at all.
“Oh, my, yes,” Fay responded smoothly, “I do understand. No one adores dear Merlin more than I do. He can be quite charming.” She said this in a way that made it clear she thought anyone who could succumb to his charm was not all that bright, and Morgan Fairchild’s lips tightened slightly.
Behind her bush, Morgan grinned to herself. It was just like watching an old episode of Dynasty.
“The thing is, dear,” Fay continued, “Poor Merlin simply isn’t right in the head.” She shook her own blonde head sadly. “I know he appears to be perfectly sane, and as I said, he can be quite charming, but I’m afraid the poor dear has the most appalling delusions.” She gave a theatrical sigh that seemed to impress Morgan Fairchild not at all.
Her hostess gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, you mean that nonsense about being the mystical wizard? I don’t take that seriously.” She tilted her eyes coyly as she smiled back across the table at Fay. “Don’t tell me you do?”
Fay looked back at her coldly. “Well, of course I take it seriously. The man is deluded. He thinks he’s Merlin, the magician. From King Arthur’s court.” She pursed her lips. “You must understand that I need to take him home with me, where he can get the help he so desperately needs.” She bestowed another wintery smile on the woman across the table. “I have to look out for him, poor dear. That’s what friends are for, after all.”
In front of her, Morgan heard Arthur make a choking noise, and she put out a cautionary hand. For the moment, he stayed where he was as they continued to listen in on the conversation. Crystal, a little dazed as she had been since falling under Mortimer’s spell, seemed content to sit by and listen to the others talk. Mortimer just sat and scowled, glancing from his mother to their hostess with what appeared to be equal dislike for them both. At one point, he opened his mouth to speak, but subsided at a glare from Fay.
King Me! Page 20
