As she spoke, the noise stopped. They all looked at the purse dubiously.
“I’m not sticking my hand in there,” Clarice declared. “There’s no telling what that woman had in her bag of tricks.”
Morgan looked at Arthur. Arthur looked back. They shrugged at each other.
“Okay, why doesn’t everyone just stand back,” Morgan suggested. She felt as if she’d somehow gotten an honorary membership in the bomb squad. But shouldn’t she have been issued a HAZMAT suit or something?
Merlin stayed where he was, looking pensive and tapping his garden trowel on the edge of the table, but everyone else backed away a couple of feet, leaving Arthur and Morgan holding the bag. So to speak.
They each took a side and held it open, then working together, they dumped the contents of the purse out onto the stones of the patio. For a moment, nobody breathed.
Morgan looked down at the jumbled innards of Fay’s portable life. Everything looked pretty normal: a fancy tube of lipstick, a compact, a red leather wallet, a complicated looking cell phone and a frog.
Morgan blinked and looked again.
Yes, a frog. A small cute, green, slightly gay looking frog.
The frog looked up at her and said “urrruuupp?” Then he hopped a couple of feet in the direction of the little green frog Merlin had nearly bopped earlier with his carrot.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Morgan said, leaning down to scoop up the cute frog from amid the purse debris. “I really don’t think he’s your type.”
She put the frog down on another one of the metal chairs, hoping it hadn’t gotten too hot in the sun. She wasn’t a big fan of French food, especially frog legs.
“Is this who I think it is?” she asked Merlin.
Merlin scratched under his beard with one prong of the trowel. “Oh, I expect so. Although with Morgana Le Fay, one never knows. In theory it could be anyone from a barista who made her latte incorrectly to a meter maid.”
Arthur looked baffled and Morgan Fairchild lifted one delicate shoulder in a partial shrug.
“I took him to town a few times,” she explained. “He really likes Starbucks.”
“Never mind that,” Morgan interjected, pointing at the frog. “Can you turn him back to normal?”
Merlin waggled his trowel until it became a wand again and waved it at the frog. The frog gave a loud “urp!” and became a slim dark-haired man wearing chinos and a button-down shirt.
“Excuse me,” Michael said, politely covering his mouth with his hand. “Goodness. Spend a few hours as an amphibian and there go the manners.” He looked around the table. “Hello Morgan, hello everyone.” Waggling his eyebrows flirtatiously, he added, “Hello Arthur. You’re looking marvelous.”
Merlin shrugged at Morgan. “Sorry. That is as normal as he is going to get, I fear.”
“That’s okay.” Morgan beamed in happiness at having all her friends back together, safe and reasonably sound. “Normal is highly over-rated anyway.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“How did you end up as a frog?” Morgan asked Michael a little while later, after they’d all moved inside to the more comfortable surroundings of Morgan Fairchild’s plush living room. She took a sip from her chilled martini and sighed with relief. It felt nice not to be worried about Fay or the fate of the world for a change, although there were still a few concerns to be resolved. She purposely didn’t look at Arthur, sitting sprawled in long-legged ease on one of the large white sofas.
Michael flicked his tongue at his own glass, then stopped himself when he realized what he was doing. Apparently it took a while to recover from being in another form.
“I’m afraid it was my own fault,” he said looking downcast. “After I got off the phone with you, I decided to try to get a peek inside Fay’s bag to see if I could find a clue to Merlin’s whereabouts.” He winced in remembered discomfort.
“She walked in on me when I was rummaging through the purse,” he continued. “I tried to convince her I was just looking for some eyeliner, but she didn’t buy it.”
“Really?” Charlotte said brightly. “I would have.”
He made a face. “Yeah, well it would have helped if I wasn’t already wearing some.”
Charlotte and Clarice tittered and even Davis had to look down at his loafers to keep from laughing. That was such typical Michael.
Morgan was just grateful to have her friend back, especially considering how close she’d come to losing him.
“So then what happened?” she asked him.
Michael squirmed. “Ick.” He gave a heartfelt shudder that sloshed the olives in his glass. “Fay said, ‘if you want to get inside my purse that badly, I’ll just lend you a hand.’ I heard thunder and everything went wonky. The next thing I knew, I was little and green and underneath her wallet.” He took a large swig of martini as if to get a bad taste out of his mouth. “I’ll never look at handbags the same again.”
Lewis, who was sitting next to Michael on the other couch, patted him on the back consolingly.
“Don’t worry,” Lewis said. “We’ll have you back to New York State and your regular life before you know it. Soon this will all be a bad memory.”
“Uh,” Michael looked at the floor.
“Michael?” Morgan’s voice went up a notch. “What aren’t you saying?”
He mumbled something, still avoiding her eyes.
“What? I couldn’t hear you,” she said. “Is something wrong?” She paused. “I mean, other than the fact that you were turned into a frog for the better part of a day.”
Michael looked at Morgan and then at the other coven members, pain in his soft brown eyes. Charlotte reached out and grabbed her sister’s hand for support, knowing intuitively that they weren’t going to like whatever was coming.
“I’m not going home,” he said softly. Then in a stronger, unusually decisive tone, he added, “I can’t go back to that damned sporting goods store.”
Morgan started to speak, but he held up a hand to stop her.
“No. I’m sorry, Morgan. Everyone. Really I am. But I can’t go back to that life.” Michael took a deep breath, trying to figure out how best to explain his decision to his best friends.
“I love you all, really I do,” he said, blinking rapidly and swallowing hard. “But I have to stay here. I love acting. I love this town. This is where I’m meant to be.”
“But Michael,” Lewis protested, “won’t Fay’s movie be shut down once they figure out she’s disappeared?”
Michael nodded. “Oh, probably. And it’s too bad—I did some great work in that thing.” He shrugged. “But if I stay, I should be able to get another part. The director really liked my work.” He gave them a wink. “He’s my kind of guy, if you know what I mean.”
Morgan groaned. “But Michael, what will you do until you get another role? Where will you live?”
“Oh, will you all stop ‘but Michael-ing’ me.” He crossed his arms resolutely. “I’m sorry, but I’ve waited all of my life for this break. I put up with being turned into a frog, for goodness sake. This is my big chance and I’m going to take it. I’ll figure something out.”
Morgan gave her friend a watery smile. “Of course you will, Michael. I’ll just miss you, that’s all. I’m really happy for you, honestly I am.” She tried not to think about how barren her life would be without both Arthur and Michael.
“You know,” Morgan Fairchild said pensively, “I might have an idea.”
“Really?” asked Michael, hope lighting up his eyes. “What kind of idea?”
She tapped the tip of one French-tipped fingertip against her full lips. “Well, I’ve been meaning to look for a new assistant. My last one ran off with the pool boy a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t been able to keep track of my appointments since she left.”
Morgan Fairchild gazed at Michael, taking in his dapper appearance and kind, open face.
“It’s a live-in position, of course, but the hours are flexible, so you’d
be able to act as long as you stick to roles that were shooting here in town,” she said, giving him a gleaming smile. “I would never want to stand in the way of anyone’s acting career, since mine means so much to me.”
Michael stared at her in wide-eyed adoration. “You mean it? I could live here?” He swiveled his head wildly around, taking in the casual opulence of the house. “And work for you?”
Morgan couldn’t help but grin at his unbridled enthusiasm. Her friend’s dream had finally come true. How could she not be glad for him?
Morgan Fairchild nodded her head. “Absolutely. I think we’ll get along just fine.” She narrowed her eyes and looked at him thoughtfully. “But you know, I think I’ll make sure the next pool boy is a girl. Safer that way.”
Everyone laughed.
“Well, now that that’s settled,” Morgan Fairchild said pleasantly, “I’ll go and see what the cook can whip up for dinner. I assume you’re all staying?” As various heads bobbed up and down in concurrence, she got up and walked out of the room.
“Nice woman,” Arthur observed after she left.
“Very nice,” Merlin agreed. “I think I shall stay around for a while longer myself.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “That cook is a wonder. And Morgan promised me she would make guacamole. I love her guacamole.”
“So I have heard,” Arthur said dryly. Then he gave Merlin a serious look. “But Merlin, I don’t understand—why didn’t you come find me? I’ve been searching for you since Morgan woke me up.”
Merlin looked puzzled. “What are you talking about, Arthur? Did you not get my ravens?”
Arthur looked blank. Everyone else just looked confused.
“Ravens? What ravens?” he asked, scratching his head.
Charlotte and Clarice both jumped up at the same time. (It’s a twin thing.)
“Ooh, ooh!” Clarice said, while Charlotte added, “The ravens! Of course!”
Morgan looked at Merlin with awe. “Those were yours?”
“Of course,” he answered, a trace of smugness in his voice. “I sent them out to Arthur as soon as I awoke.”
“Oh.” Morgan chewed on a fingernail until she noticed she was doing it. “We didn’t get him out of the box until the next evening. I think he was still asleep at that point.”
“Well, yes,” Merlin agreed reluctantly. “I did come to that conclusion later. I suppose I awoke as soon as the spell from Avalon was broken by your magic. But I sent another batch.” He turned to Arthur. “Did you not get that message either?”
Arthur still seemed lost, but something trickled back into Morgan’s memory.
“Oh. Dear.” She cast a rueful glance at Arthur. “Don’t you remember? That day, uh, the first time we almost, um, kissed…”
Arthur snapped his fingers. “Oh! Those ravens.” He heaved his massive shoulders in a shrug aimed at his wizard. “How was I supposed to know they came from you?”
“You get a lot of people sending you ravens, do you?” Merlin asked, exasperation coloring his voice.
“Well, it doesn’t matter about the birds,” Davis interjected, ever the peacemaker. “We’ve found Merlin. Now Arthur can go home.”
A ponderous silence fell over the room.
Davis looked around, his head swinging from person to somber person.
“What?” he asked plaintively into the empty air. “What did I say?”
Chapter Thirty
Well, there it is. Morgan thought. The elephant in the room is out in the open.
Davis still looked confused. Charlotte, Clarice and Lewis all developed a sudden interest in the décor, their fingernails or checking their cell phones for messages. Crystal just seemed sad, but then, she’d been that way since Mortimer’s spell had vanished along with him and his mother, the ferret.
Morgan couldn’t decide which was worse: checking the expression on Arthur’s face, or not checking it. She compromised by glancing over at his knees, but they didn’t tell her much.
“What?” asked Davis again of the room at large. “This is what we wanted, right? We’ve been trying to find Merlin so he could send Arthur back where he belongs. So why aren’t we celebrating?” He scratched his head with one thin finger and sat back on the couch with one ankle neatly crossed over the other. Morgan suddenly noticed that his socks didn’t match and tried not to giggle.
Now is no time to get hysterical, she said sternly to herself. She reminded herself that she loved Arthur, and therefore wanted whatever was best for him. Even if it broke her heart. She took a deep breath and prepared to be supportive if it killed her.
“Of course, Davis, you’re absolutely right,” Morgan said, clenching her fists until her nails bit into her palms. “That was the plan all along: find Merlin and send Arthur back to his own time.” An unshed tear seemed to get caught at the back of her throat and threatened to choke her, but she sat up straight in her chair.
“It’s time to clean up the mess we made. The mess I made, when I wrote the spell that brought Arthur here.” She looked across the room at Merlin. “You can send him back, can’t you?”
Merlin shrugged his bony shoulders, making the picture of the dragon on his tee shirt appear to fly.
“Of course I can,” he said, miffed that anyone might doubt his abilities. “I built Stonehenge, did I not?”
The coven members all stared at each other and then at Merlin.
He chortled, waving one hand in the air. “Oh, you should see all your faces.” Snickering, he banged a hand on one knee in mirthful exuberance. “I did not really build Stonehenge. I am old, but I am not that old.”
“Merlin, will you please be serious,” Arthur said sternly. “This is no time for your childish sense of humor.”
“Hmph,” Merlin pouted. “Tough room.”
He took a sip of the cola he’d requested instead of a martini (apparently wizards were allergic to alcohol—who knew?) and peered near-sightedly at Arthur.
“Do you really want to go back there, Arthur?” he asked. “I am not quite certain you have thought this through.”
Davis got a scholarly look in his eyes. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back?” His fingers twitched, as if he wished he could be taking notes for posterity. “Wouldn’t he still be king?”
The wizard shook his head. “No, of course not. In the time we came from, Arthur died.” He paused, reconsidering his words. “Well, it was assumed he died, anyway. The country moved on. Petty warlords and princes squabbled over the throne and eventually the country was divided again.” He sighed. “It took a remarkable man to unite such a large collection of independent areas. Once Arthur was gone, eventually it all fell apart again.”
Arthur’s face was a study in conflict. On the one hand, it was good to know that he had been missed. On the other hand, all that effort, and for what?
“So it was all for nothing, Merlin?” He looked so sad, it was all Morgan could do not to go to him and put her arms around him. But now wasn’t the time.
“Not at all, my boy,” Merlin twiddled his trowel absently, turning it from a garden tool into a wand and back again. “The country made remarkable advances under your rule and many of those improvements remained, regardless of the circumstances that followed.”
“And you set an example that is famous to this day,” Davis interjected eagerly. “People still talk about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and the rules of chivalry, even though they don’t know for certain that you even existed. You made your mark on history, Your Highness, I assure you.”
Arthur leaned back, appeased. “Well, that is good to know, at least. I would hate to think it was all for naught.” He seemed pensive, an unusual state for a man more inclined to action than to deep thought.
“But if he went back, couldn’t he put the country back together again?” Lewis asked. “Start all over?”
Arthur winced at the thought. “To be honest, I do not know that I have it in me to begin again. It was a long hard road to walk, and the last
time I was much younger when I started.”
“But wouldn’t you be able to avoid some of the mistakes you made from youth and ignorance?” Davis wanted to know. “Maybe it would be even better the second time around.”
Merlin shook his head, making his beard wobble to and fro. “Stop, stop,” he said. “This is all irrelevant.”
Everyone stared at him.
“Think a minute.” Like a stern professor instructing a class of not very bright students, Merlin held up one finger. “A, time has already moved on. If Arthur goes back, he will be in the time he came from, but everything else will still be as it was.” He held up a second finger. “B, history does not tell of King Arthur returning from the dead and rebuilding his kingdom, does it?”
Everyone shook his or her head. Davis appeared particularly embarrassed to have missed this obvious point.
Charlotte asked the question the others were all thinking. “So what happens to Arthur if he goes back? If he isn’t king, then what?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow at his old mentor. “Yes, Merlin, what am I, if I am not king? Merely a ghost of my former self, haunting the land I once ruled?”
The wizard gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “It wouldn’t be quite that bad, my boy.” He walked across the room and sat down next to Arthur, nudging Charlotte over to sit closer to her sister. He patted Arthur’s hand affectionately with the hand not holding his trowel.
“Well, if not a ghost, then what, old man?” Arthur asked, clearly not in any mood to be consoled. “Do I disguise myself as a peasant and live out my days scratching out a living on the land?” He gestured at the tool Merlin held. “And if so, can I borrow that?”
Morgan wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Poor Arthur. After you ruled an entire country, anything else was bound to feel like a demotion. And somehow, she couldn’t see him spending the rest of his life raising chickens and harvesting rutabagas.
Merlin’s beard quivered as he smothered a chuckle. No doubt he’d had the same vision of Arthur trying to lead the life of a simple farmer.
King Me! Page 23
