Merlin gave her a benign, slightly puzzled look. “Really? I cannot imagine why.” He scratched his peeling nose with the end of the trowel absent-mindedly. “Tis not as though we got along all that well the last time.”
He glanced down at the dog at her feet and shook his head. “Now, Morgana, that’s really quite rude, even for you.” He gave the sigh of an older man who despaired of the manners of the younger generation. “I do hope you’re planning on turning her back soon. She was going to make me guacamole tonight, you know. Have you ever had guacamole? Amazing stuff. Made from something called an avocado. I was really looking forward to it.”
Morgan looked at Arthur with disbelief. This was the fabulous Merlin? This doddering old man whose only reaction to meeting up with his old enemy and seeing his long-lost friend was to worry about his dinner?
Surprisingly, Arthur didn’t seem at all upset by this bizarre reaction He had a broad grin on his face that spread from ear to ear and kept getting wider. His eyes shone with unabashed gladness and although he had one hand placed over the slash on his stomach, all his attention was focused on Merlin.
“Hello, old man,” he said softly. “It is about time you showed up. I was afraid you would miss all the fun.”
“Hello, young pup,” Merlin responded with amused disrespect. “Nice to see you, too.” He swiveled his head around to take in the tableau of bodies frozen into shocked inertia around the patio. “Care to introduce me to your friends?”
Arthur put one large hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “This is Morgan Fairfax. She is the witch whose magic spell brought me to this time. She has also been of great assistance to me in my quest to find you.”
Merlin raised one white eyebrow when Arthur mentioned Morgan’s name and looked from her to the spaniel currently sitting unhappily at Fay LeBeau’s feet, clearly making the connection between the similarity in names. The eyebrow went up even higher when the king mentioned her role in his magical arrival, but he said nothing. Instead, he gave a small but courtly bow in her direction.
“A pleasure, madam,” he said. “You are obviously a witch of great skill and fortitude.”
Across the patio, Fay made a choking sound. “She brought him back by mistake, you old fool! I have more magical ability in my little finger than she has in her entire body.” She nudged the shivering dog next to her with one stiletto-clad shoe to make her point, and the spaniel-formerly-known-as-Morgan-Fairchild gave a pathetic whimper in response.
Morgan gritted her teeth, wishing she had enough power to do something truly vile to Fay. Turning poor Morgan Fairchild into a dog was just uncalled for, as far as Morgan was concerned. Seriously—who does things like that?
Merlin cast a tolerant look at Fay, shaking his head at her outburst. “You always did have a problem with jealousy, Morgana,” he said, putting the basket of vegetables down on the ground. “I would have hoped you had have gotten over that after all this time.”
Turning back to Arthur, Merlin indicated the coven members currently standing on the far side of the patio. Lewis had his arm protectively around Crystal, who couldn’t seem to figure out why her boyfriend had attacked Arthur, and the rest of the group stood near them looking both fiercely defensive and understandably nervous. Nobody wanted to be the next one turned into something with fur and a tail.
“And these lovely people?” Merlin inquired benignly. “Who would they be, pray tell?”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “These are most of the members of Morgan’s coven.” He pointed to each one in turn. “The one with the gray hair and the strange shoes is Davis, that is Lewis with his arm around Crystal, and the twins are Charlotte and Clarice.” He nodded in Clarice’s direction. “She is not a nymph, by the way, she puts that color into her hair apurpose.”
Merlin gave a small bow in the direction of the rest of the group, and winked at Clarice.
“A pleasure,” he said, his manner far courtlier than his attire. “Any friends of Arthur’s are friends of mine.”
“Enough of this!” Fay screeched, her face red under her disarranged hair. “This isn’t a damn garden party! Stop making polite chit chat and surrender, already!”
Merlin looked at her, a puzzled expression on his placid face. “Why on earth would we want to do that, Morgana?” He tilted his head, giving him the appearance of a particularly quizzical owl. “By the way, are you wearing your hair differently these days? I am not at all certain that is a good style for you.”
Fay curled her hands into tight fists, a fierce scowl further disfiguring her already distorted visage. Morgan thought she saw actual steam coming out Fay’s nostrils, as if a long-ago dragon ancestor was suddenly making itself known.
The earth underneath them shook, reflecting her rage, and the wind picked up again, blowing a speck of dust into Morgan’s eye. Through the tears it caused, she focused on Fay, trying to raise enough magical power of her own to try and counter whatever spell the sorceress was cooking up this time. But she knew it was futile—the woman was completely out of her league.
“That’s it!” Fay shouted, raising her voice over the agitated howling of the wind. “You have insulted me for the last time, you senile old has-been!” She raised her hands above her head and sparks showered down onto the stones of the patio. “I have been waiting a long time for this moment, and I am really going to enjoy snuffing out your miserable existence.” She aimed her arms toward Merlin, but glared in Arthur’s direction with hotly glowing eyes.
“And when I’ve finished with him,” she screamed over the gale, “ I will deal with you, Your Majesty.” Her lips curved in a demented grin as her upraised hands began to glow. “Oh, yes, I have waited for this moment for a long time. And now you are both going to—“
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Sorceresses. Why do they always have to make these long speeches just to tell you what you already know?” He pointed his garden trowel carelessly in Fay’s direction, and with a twist of his wrist it unexpectedly transformed into a short wooden wand carved with arcane symbols, a gleaming crystal set in its tip.
Before Fay could move, a point of light shot out of the end of the wand, and hit the spaniel. With a dazzle of sparks, the dog promptly turned back into Morgan Fairchild. The sorceress shrieked with fury and started toward Merlin, who sighed and aimed the wand at her.
There was a puff of smoke, and when it cleared, where Fay had been sat a pure white ferret. It stood on its hind legs and chattered indignantly at Merlin.
Morgan put her hand over her mouth and choked back a laugh. Somehow changing Fay into a ferret seemed so-o-o-o-o appropriate.
The space around the patio was suddenly quiet. The wind died down and the sound of thunder faded away. For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Merlin turned to the ferret that has been Morgana Le Fay and said with a smile, “Sorry, Morgana, but I guess you’ll have to wait a little longer. I hear it’s very hard to cast a spell when you’re a rodent.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
From beyond Arthur, there came a cry of rage, and Mortimer staggered to his feet. He stared at what remained of his mother in disbelief.
“I can’t believe you did that!” he yelled at Merlin, veins popping out on his forehead. “That’s just, that’s just, you—“ he stuttered to an incoherent stop. Apparently it had never occurred to him that he and Fay might lose the battle. Of course, to be fair, it had probably never occurred to Fay either, and she had clearly been the brains of the team.
Merlin raised one white eyebrow. “Yes, young Mordred?” The old man turned to Arthur while picking up his basket of vegetables and putting it down on the table. “The boy seems a bit upset. Do you think he would like a carrot? They’re quite nice this year.”
Mortimer/Mordred stamped his foot on the stone pavers, looking like he was on the verge of tears. He ignored the carrot Merlin held out to him and thrust out his lower lip.
“You turned my mother into a ferret!” He said with disbelief. “A ferret!”
Merlin shrugged and munched on the carrot himself instead. Morgan thought he looked like an over-the-hill Bugs Bunny, what with the dangling greenery and the shorts. She tried not to laugh out loud. After all, she didn’t want to be a ferret too.
“Well, Mordred,” Merlin said serenely between chomps, “she started it.”
Mortimer sputtered a few archaic obscenities. “She deserved to have her revenge, after what he did to her.” He pointed one slightly visibly trembling finger at Arthur, who looked indignant.
Merlin sighed, tossing the rest of the carrot into the bushes where it narrowly missed hitting a small green frog. The frog gave a startled ‘ribbit” and hopped a few inches to the left.
“Young man,” he said to Mortimer, “the only thing Arthur ever did to your mother was to foolishly encourage the idea that they might be lovers. Since they were both about sixteen at the time, I hardly think such a mistake merits a lifetime of bitter enmity.” He stopped and thought for a moment, then added. “Several lifetimes, by now, I suppose.”
Mortimer said, “But—“
“No, boy,” Merlin replied, overlooking the fact that the boy in question was in his twenties (give or take a century or two). “It is done. I realize your mother raised you on lies and half-truths, but you spent enough time at Court to have learned for yourself the kind of man Arthur truly is. If you cannot see who is at fault here, I shall not waste my breath arguing with you.”
He sat down heavily in a chair, suddenly looking his age. Morgan wondered if all the magical work he had done had finally caught up with him or if he had just been out in the afternoon sun too long. She poured a glass of iced tea for him and he accepted it with a grateful smile.
Merlin addressed himself to Mortimer again once he’d had a few rejuvenating sips of tea.
“I’m too old and tired to keep playing this game with the two of you. If you won’t see reason, I’ll just have to send you back to Avalon and let the Druids deal with you.” He shook his head and muttered something under his breath that sounded like “nap.”
Mortimer snarled at the wizard, the picture of someone who couldn’t see reason if you gave him binoculars, contact lenses and a map.
“Turn my mother back,” he demanded. “Right this very minute.”
“Oh, no,” Merlin said, “I think not.” He pointed at the small white animal, still chittering angrily in his direction and waving its little clawed paws in the air. “Look at the woman—she is still trying to cast a spell on me, even in that form.”
Morgan jumped, and he patted her reassuringly on the arm.
“Don’t worry, my dear, it can’t be done.” He picked up another carrot and gnawed on it absentmindedly. “Once transformed into a non-human form, even a sorceress like Morgana can’t perform magic. If she had done the transformation on herself, she would have been able to turn back into a human, but that is the extent of it.” He looked across the patio, frowning. “She will be a ferret until I turn her back. And in the meanwhile, at least she can cause no more harm.”
“No!” Mortimer cried. “I’ll get you for this!” He ran over and scooped up the ferret in his arms, then stood there glaring at Merlin, Arthur and Morgan in turn. “I’ll get you all for this! I’ll find a way to turn my mother back and then we’ll both get you all for this!”
Still holding his now-furry mother in his arms, he ran off out of the yard. From the distance, Morgan could hear him faintly calling, “I’ll get you for this! I’ll get you for this!”
Arthur tilted his head in puzzlement. “Merlin, do you not think you should have stopped him?”
Merlin shrugged. “The sorceress is trapped in the form of an animal and that young man never had a thought of his own in his life. I doubt they will cause us any further difficulty.” He guzzled the last of his iced tea. “Besides. It is hot and I am tired, and I still have this mess to clean up.”
He gestured around the patio with the hand holding his wand and everyone ducked involuntarily.
Arthur and Morgan looked at the scene in front of them. Across the patio, Crystal was weeping onto Davis’s thin shoulders. Mortimer’s spell had been broken when he ran away and it sounded like Crystal’s heart had broken at the same time. Morgan started to go to her friend, but then veered over to where Morgan Fairchild was attempting to sit up, broken arm held gingerly against her body.
Arthur went with her and they each took one side as they helped the actress to her feet. Despite the beating she’d taken, her blue eyes were still bright (even if one was swelled mostly shut) and her back was straight.
“Merlin, honey,” she said in a slightly hoarse voice, “I hope that woman wasn’t really a friend of yours. I can’t say I liked her at all.” She shook her blond head ruefully. “Although she does pack a mean punch, I’ll say that for her.”
Merlin laughed. “No, Morgan, I believe I can safely say she was no friend of mine.” He gestured at Arthur. “This big fellow, however, is the one I told you about. I knew he would show up eventually.” He waved from Arthur to Morgan Fairchild and back again. “Morgan Fairchild, meet Arthur, King of the Britons. Arthur, my hostess Morgan Fairchild.”
“Charmed,” Arthur said, bowing deeply.
“You aren’t really King Arthur, are you?” Morgan Fairchild asked, glancing from Arthur to Merlin and back. “That’s just one of Merlin’s little jokes, isn’t it?” She looked uncertain as she said it, no doubt remembering that she had just seen her sweet-tempered guest turn a woman into a ferret, and bowed back, wobbling a bit because of the broken arm.
Morgan took pity on her. “Here, why don’t you sit down?” she said, pulling one of the chairs out for Morgan Fairchild to sit in. “I’ll try to explain. And maybe we should call an ambulance for you.”
Morgan Fairchild bit her lip in pain as she took her seat. “Oh, no, I’d rather hear your explanation first. This ought to be good.”
The other members of the coven came to stand around the table, Crystal’s tears slowing to an intermittent sniffle. Morgan looked at them helplessly, trying to find words that wouldn’t make her sound like a total nutcase. Lewis shrugged at her and Clarice rolled her eyes, so Morgan just came out with it.
“You see,” she said to Morgan Fairchild, “I’m a witch.”
Morgan Fairchild’s eyes widened. “Good grief.”
“Don’t worry,” Morgan reassured her, “I’m a good witch.”
Charlotte and Clarice snickered at each other.
“Oh, shut up,” Morgan said good-naturedly, then turned back to her namesake. “You see, it all started a couple of months ago, when the coven cast a spell to bring forth a hero to save the world from itself—”
Merlin burst into gales of laughter. “You foolish, foolish girl! Tell me you did not!” He laughed so hard he dropped his wand on the ground and had to bend down and pick it up. Morgan tried not to scowl.
“Do you not know that you cannot save people from their own stupidity with magic?” The old wizard’s long nose quivered with ill-suppressed mirth. “No wonder your spell did not work the way you intended it to.”
“Yeah, well, I figured that out eventually,” Morgan muttered to her shoes. It really had been a foolish attempt. But her heart had been in the right place. And speaking of hearts…
She turned to Arthur. “Now that we’ve found Merlin—“
“Excuse me,” Morgan Fairchild interrupted. “I don’t mean to be rude, but if you can turn someone into a ferret, Merlin, don’t you think you could maybe do something about this arm?” She gestured down at the appendage in question. “It really hurts.”
Merlin clapped himself on the head with the end of the carrot. “Oh, my goodness! I am so sorry. I really am getting to be quite thoughtless in my old age.”
He twirled his wand counterclockwise three times and aimed it at Morgan Fairchild. There was a great puff of smoke, and with a cough, their hostess was returned to her former splendor. No sign of her run-in with Fay remained. Even her makeup was perfect.
&n
bsp; Morgan blinked. Now that was a handy trick.
She pointed at Arthur’s torso, still bleeding sluggishly. “Um, while you’re at it…”
“I am perfectly fine,” Arthur protested. “Tis but a scratch.”
Merlin ignored him with the ease of old habit and pointed his wand at Arthur. Once the king was back to his usual rugged self, Merlin spun the wand over backwards and it fell to the table, a garden trowel once more.
“Wow,” Morgan said, more than a little impressed, “can you show me how to do that?” And she thought to herself, and if Merlin had been on the battlefield when Arthur fell under Mordred’s sword, Arthur would never have been taken to Avalon, and none of this would have ever happened. What a strange world.
Merlin chuckled. “Maybe some other time, my dear,” he said with a crooked smile. “It’s been a long day and for now, I’d just like to enjoy being reunited with my old friend.”
Charlotte clasped a hand to her mouth. “Old friend! Oh, no!”
“What is amiss, Charlotte?” Arthur asked, his face creased with concern. He looked around the yard as if expecting Fay and Mortimer to show up again.
“We let Mortimer go, and we never got him to tell us what Fay did with Michael!”
Tears welled up in Charlotte’s eyes and Morgan felt like she was going to join her. She couldn’t believe they’d forgotten about Michael. Hurriedly, she tried her cell phone again, but there was still no answer.
There was, however, a strange, shrill buzzing sound coming from somewhere under the table. Everyone jumped back as though it might be a bomb.
Arthur reached cautiously underneath the glass table and pulled out a large bag that had gone unnoticed in the confusion. The tinny humming seemed to come from inside.
“That’s Fay LeBeau’s purse!” Morgan said, feeling stunned. “She must have dropped it when she attacked Morgan Fairchild.” She poked at it hesitantly with one finger. “But why is it making that noise?”
King Me! Page 22
