by Peter David
It was embarrassing, breaking and entering like some sort of human. Transportation through time and space was within the demon's powers, but Morgan had been unsure of the exact physical location of the apartment where Gwen was staying. The demon could only transport to where it had already once physically been, and even that could be difficult. So skulking around was the only alternative.
But it had found her now. It could see Gwen lying asleep on the bed in the small spare bedroom. Her blanket was pulled tightly up to her chin; she was curled in a fetal position. Her breathing appeared ragged to the demon-clearly she was not sleeping well. It grinned and clicked its long fingernails together. Soon she would be sleeping forever.
It pulled its torso through the window, then one leg, then the other. It paused there inside the apartment, relishing the expected moment of the kill.
There was a single light cast from the hallway as it approached Gwen. Her lovely face looked drawn and harsh in the stark light. The demon crept toward here, careful to make not the slightest noise. As it passed the nightstand with the telephone, it thought eagerly of the blood that would soon be on its hands. It grinned, and the grin looked all the more hideous on that inhuman face.
The phone rang.
It froze. One eye was riveted on the phone, the other on Gwen. It was unsure whether to disappear or leap to the attack. That damnable phone!
The phone rang once again.
Miles away, Arthur paused. He'd changed his mind. He slammed the receiver back into its cradle, turned and looked outside at the moon again, wondering if he would ever understand (a) women, and (b) himself.
There was no further noise from the telephone. Slowly, bit by bit, the demon started to relax.
The phone had rung twice, stopped, and not resumed. Probably it had been someone who realized abruptly that they'd dialed a wrong number and hung up quickly to avoid embarrassment. It was, after all, midnight. Midnight, when the powers of creatures such as it were at their strongest. Midnight, when Gwen DeVere, lover of Arthur Pendragon, would cease to exist. For she had not stirred in the slightest when the phone rang, which meant that she was definitely easy pickings.
It leaned over her bed, grabbed her shoulder, and roiled her roughly onto her back.
It had thought she was asleep. But she was staring at it with eyes wide open and bright with fury.
The demon's first thought was, Drat, this may be a little tougher than I thought. Just how tough, it was soon to realize.
Gwen's right arm shot up, grabbing the demon by the left horn. She pulled down quickly, and unsurprisingly, the demon's head and body went with it.
Her left hand appeared. It had the skull-shaped knife. The tip was at the throat of the demon.
"Want to whistle when you breathe?" asked Gwen.
The demon gulped. It had a large Adam's apple which bobbed up and down and bumped against the point of the knife.
"Please," whispered the demon urgently. "Don't kill me. Don't-"
Gwen's voice was hoarse with strain and tension. "If I wanted to kill you, I could have done that already."
"Then why haven't you?"
"Because, you ugly spud, I need you. I need you to take me to Morgan.'*
"Ohhhh, you don't want to go to Morgan," said the demon. The back of its head was pressed against Gwen's lap, its body twisted around. Its arms, however, were free. Gwen felt the tension in its body begin to build and she pressed the knife ever-so-more gently against its throat. A small trickle of greenish blood appeared. The demon gasped.
"Oh, yes," purred Gwen. "I do. I do want to go to Morgan. And you'll take me there."
"But she'll kill me! And then she'll kill you." The demon tried to strike a conversational tone.
"Let's talk about this sensibly. We're both caught in circumstances here. No sense both of us dying, right? So let me kill you quickly and painlessly, and at least one of us can go on living."
"And what advantage would that be to me?" said Gwen.
The demon paused a moment, its thick eyebrows furrowing. "I'd ... I'd never forget you." But even the demon didn't sound completely convinced by that. And Gwen certainly wasn't.
"Nice try," said Gwen. "Take me to her. Now!"
"All right! All right!" The demon suddenly started to breathe rapidly. Gwen looked down at it frantically. "What the hell is it now?"
"I'm-" The demon gasped repeatedly. "I'm hyperventilating."
"Oh, Christ."
The demon's chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. "A-hunh! A-hunh! A-hunh!"
"Oh, Jesus Christ in the foothills. Wait here."
Gwen rolled out of the bed, dashed into the bathroom, and came back moments later with some Valium and a cup of water. She leaned over the demon and proferred them, her hands trembling but her face a mask of intensity. The demon took the offerings, swallowed the tranquilizers and washed them down quickly. Then it lay back full on the bed and tried to calm down. "I'm ... I'm sorry--"
"Be quiet. Just get yourself together." She shook her head. "All the demons in the world and she has to send me one who goes hyper in tense situations."
"Look!" said the demon. "There's demons and there's J 56
demons. We're all pretty much alike to you mortals, like you're pretty much all alike to us.
Some of us just handle tension better than others. If you'd just had the common decency to stay asleep and let me gut you like I'd planned, none of this would have happened.''
"Gee, I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you," she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
"You're not exactly Miss Tough-as-Nails either. Look at you. Your hands are shaking. Your eyes are glazed."
"Of course they are," snapped Gwen. "I haven't slept for four days now. I was certain Morgan would want to make some sort of attack on me prior to the election, to demoralize Arthur.
But I didn't know exactly when. I'm so loaded with uppers, I have to wear lead weights on my belt to keep my feet on the floor."
"Oh, dear."
"How do you think it feels, lying there at night, staring at the ceiling, waiting for someone or something-no offense- to come after me? I'd hoped it would be Morgan. So she sent a flunky. Okay, that's cool. As long as the end result is the same."
The demon regarded her with open curiosity. Gwen had pulled her strawberry-blond hair back in a tight bun. She wore a tight-fitting black sweater, black slacks, and black shoes.
"You're not at all the way Morgan described you. She made you sound like .. . like ..."
"Like a wimp?" She nodded. "Circumstances change people." She waved her knife. "Come on, up. Let's go. Let's move it."
The demon nodded slowly. "My name's Morty," it said. "You performed a service for me, helping me out when I was having my ... my problem a moment ago. The rules say that means I have to serve you now."
"Great. Fine. Let's go."
Morty stood and weaved slightly from side to side. "Ohhhh boy," it muttered.
"What is it now?"
"That tranquilizer is reacting more powerfully than I expected. I'm feeling really woozy."
"Well, let's get moving before you get too woozy to do anything useful. Where's your car, or whatever?"
"We transport. Just give me a second." It squinted at her. "You got a compact?"
"In the nightstand. Why, you planning to freshen up?" she asked incredulously.
It went over to the nightstand, rummaged through the drawer, pulled out the round compact and tossed it to Gwen. She caught it and looked uncomprehendingly.
"I'll explain on the way," said Morty. "I'll fill you in on a little trick I taught a guy named Pericles.
You'll love it."
The demon walked over to her, raised his arms and said, "Hold me around the waist."
Gwen complied. Her face against the demon's back, she said, "Is this necessary for me to be transported with you?"
"Not at all," said the demon. "But I get off on it."
Before Gwen could reply, they vanished i
n a puff of black smoke.
As they reappeared outside Morgan's New Jersey home, Morty had just finished filling Gwen in on the little trick it had taught Pericles.
Gwen looked up, saw the ominous house and shuddered. But something else took her attention more immediately. It was pouring rain. She hugged herself tightly and wiped the water from her face.
Morty was looking up in dismay. "Aw, nuts. It was so nice out earlier."
Gwen frowned. "Yeah. Yeah, it was. In fact..." Her eyes widened even as her clothes started to become plastered to her skin. "I heard a weather report earlier. It was great weather tonight in New York and New Jersey! They weren't expecting heavy rain until-"
She turned on him, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. "You idiot!" she shrieked into his face. "It was supposed to rain like this tomorrow! Not today. You jumped us through time!"
"Impossible!" bleated Morty. "If I had, your watch would have been automatically recalibrated through the nature of the spell I use. Look at your watch."
She looked at her watch. It was a digital. It read eight-ten P.M., November seventh.
"It is! You moron! The polls just closed. The election's already over. It's only a matter of counting the votes now." 'Then what's the problem?" shouted Morty over the sound
of thunder rumbling in the storm. "Even setting Merlin free-" "I don't know," Gwen shouted back. "But Morgan's going to try something. I just feel it. And the only one who could stop her is Merlin."
Chaptre the Eighteenth
The Colonial Room at the Roosevelt Hotel, near Grand Central Station, had been made over completely in preparation for election night. The walls and ceilings had been festooned with balloons and crepe paper. Three televisions had been set up to monitor the election returns on the local news stations and network affiliates. Tables had been laid with several tons of food, including chicken legs, meatballs, and countless other munchies. The room was already packed with supporters, apprehensive campaign workers, news people, and whoever else had even a near-legitimate reason for being there.
Arthur was not present, however. Up on the third floor, in a suite with a fully stocked bar, he was pacing like a caged panther. He looked at his watch: 8:15. He turned to Percy, who was sitting there with infinite patience, and demanded, *'Where the hell is she? She can't have vanished into thin air."
"With all due respect, Arthur, you've made it more than clear to her that she is not your favorite person and you are just as happy when she's not around."
"Yes, but . . ." Arthur waved his hands in meaningless circles and then let his arms fall limply to his sides. "You're right, I suppose. Still, it's damned odd."
"Maybe."
"The polls are closed," said Ronnie, who was reclining on a sofa. "Early word is that this is going to be a tough election to call."
Arthur turned to him. "To call what?"
"It's a bizarre phenomenon, Arthur," said Ronnie be-musedly. "All the stations want to be the first to announce a winner. So over the years they've started predicting who the winner will be earlier and earlier in the evening. Sometimes with as little as one percent of the vote tabulated."
"Really?" asked Arthur, fascinated. "One percent? But that sounds so insane. I mean . . .
isn't that the equivalent of going up to a crowd of a hundred people, picking one person, getting his opinion, and assuming that the rest of the crowd can have their opinions guessed at from this one chap?"
Percy smiled. "It's more scientific than that, Arthur."
"Oh." Arthur nodded. "Science. Incomprehensible. Give me magic any day."
Morty walked quietly in front of Gwen, taking several steps, pausing and listening, then gesturing for her to follow. It was nervewracking, slow progress. Yet with this method they had managed to penetrate into the hallways of Morgan's house without detection. The demon had maneuvered itself and Gwen past the detection wards placed around the house, and now, as they crept through hallways dimly lit by candles along the wall, Gwen started to feel as if the corridor were closing in on her. "Oh, God," she moaned softly.
Morty turned to face her. "What?" it asked anxiously.
Her lips tight, Gwen hissed back, "I don't know. I'm starting to feel clammy. I'm sweating like the devil. My hands are trembling___"
It nodded, its inhuman face etched with very human concern. "We have to get you out of here."
"No. Arthur needs Merlin. So that's who I came here to get. Which way?"
The demon paused, for they had reached a corridor with a fork. It looked off to the right and to the left, then pointed left and said, "This way."
They padded noiselessly down the hallway. At the end of the hall Gwen saw that it opened out and there was brighter light at the end. Morty drew up short and she bumped into it. Her hand brushed against its furred rump. It grinned maliciously. "I didn't know you cared."
"Startup."
"Fine." It pointed toward the end of the corridor. 'That's Morgan's inner sanctum. That's where she was keeping Merlin, I assume. She's never let me in there."
She nodded, and the knife was in her hand. Its tip glittered in the dim light. She only wished that she could have wielded Excalibur. Even so, she still felt herself an enemy to conjure with.
They got to the end of the corridor, Gwen straining her ears for some sound that Morgan was in the vicinity. And she did hear something. It was a television, and it was tuned to the election returns.
Gwen pushed past the demon now, and bold as brass, walked into the inner sanctum of Morgan Le Fey.
Morgan wasn't there. Morty came in behind Gwen and peeked over her shoulder. Its sigh of relief was audible.
Gwen's glance took in the large pillows, the black walls and tables, and then over on one side, as if it were a trophy, the column of crystal with Merlin embedded inside.
Gwen's breath caught. "Oh, God," she murmured, her fingers interlacing as if in prayer. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."
She started across the room to Merlin, caution thrown aside. Morty was right behind her.
"Gwen," it started to say, "I don't think we-"
Suddenly there was a dazzling flash of light and Gwen felt as if something had exploded behind her with concussive force. She rolled forward, the strength of the blast carrying her, and her left shoulder impacted with the crystal column that held Merlin prisoner. She rolled over and looked behind her, where the blast had originated, and squinted against the fading light.
Where Morty had been there was now a small pile of steaming ashes. Gwen moaned, deep in her throat. Then, her jaw set, she looked past the remains of the demon to see Morgan standing on the other side of the room. Her left hand rested affectionately on Lance's shoulder. Her right hand was still smoldering from the force of the spell she'd just unleashed.
Morgan looked at the mound of ashes and shook her head. "It's so hard," she lamented, "to get good help nowadays."
The desk clerk looked with great distaste at Chico and Groucho. "Sirs, I am afraid that Mr.
Penn does not wish to be disturbed. I am not going to tell you what room he's in. My understanding is that he will be coming down to greet his constituents-"
"Look," said Chico reasonably. "We knew this was gonna be a fancy hotel and everything.
Percy said we should have ties and everything, and we did." He rummaged in the pocket of his beat-up duffel jacket and pulled out a wrinkled brown tie. He waved it in the desk clerk's face. "See?"
"Yes. I see." His brow clouded. "And I also see that I'm going to have to call the police unless you-"
Groucho leaned forward. "Now listen," he said intensely. "We're not, what you said before, constituents. We're knights. We're the first ones. Arthur said so. Arthur wouldn't bullshit us, the way you are. Now either you ring his room and tell him we're here"-and his voice lowered as he delivered the most horrendous threat he could pull to mind-"or we're gonna go into the middle of your lobby and take our clothes off."
The desk clerk picked up the phone immediately, his eyes nev
er leaving the two unsavory characters. The phone up in Arthur's suite was picked up on the second ring, and the desk clerk said, "Sir, I hate to bother you, but two rather disreputable looking characters have-"
He stopped talking as he heard something on the other end that he clearly had trouble believing. Then he nodded slowly and put the phone down. "Room three twelve," he said without looking at them.
"Thanks, man," said Chico. He headed over toward the elevator, but Groucho remained there, glowering at the desk clerk. Chico took him by the elbow and dragged him over to the elevator. One showed up almost immediately. They stepped in, and as the doors started to close, the desk clerk shouted, "I'm glad I didn't vote for him!"
Groucho lunged as the doors closed on him. The desk clerk grinned and went back to his work.
Minutes later Groucho and Chico were in the Royal Suite, helping themselves to the bar. The television was already on in the corner. Ronnie was saying, "Now in presidential elections, the polls were closing three hours earlier on the east coast than on the west coast. Then the networks started doing their predicting thing, saying that one candidate had won before thousands of people in the west had gone to the polls. So they didn't bother voting. Quite a brouhaha."
"I've had enough of this," said Arthur abruptly, heading for the door. "A true leader doesn't hide from his men when the final campaign begins. He's at their side. Why am I hiding up here?"
"Drama, Arthur!" said Percy. He sipped his seltzer. "The people expect it. They want it. They need to look forward to your appearance if the evening's going to build to any sort of climax for them. That's your one problem, Arthur." He finished his seltzer and poured another glass.
"No sense of drama."
Ronnie suddenly said, "Arthur. First returns are in. Only one percent of the vote in-----"
Arthur looked at Ronnie, hunched in front of the set, and turned away. He stared at the drink in his hands. "Have they predicted a winner?"
"No. Not yet. Too early."
