I've found that the most paranoid people are that way because they know what they'd do to others, given the chance.
It was lunchtime when we made it back to the office. I got my lunch out of the refrigerator and ate while reading, making sure not to get crumbs on Owen's books.
The Camelot story was fascinating. I'd seen many versions of King Arthur's story, but this was different. It was history rather than fable, supposedly, and instead of focusing on the feats of Arthur and his knights, it focused on the activities of Merlin, the king's magician.
While Arthur was forming his round table, Merlin was forming his own society, an organization of magicians dedicated to advancing and policing their craft. A footnote said this was the beginning of what was now known as the corporation Magic, Spells, and Illusions, Inc. That was cool. To think, I was working at a company founded by Merlin himself.
With that revelation, I decided to put the history of magic on hold and read the company history Owen had sent. It picked up the story from Merlin's time, telling how once the organization was established, he had gone into a deep sleep in a cave of crystal as a form of retirement. He was to be awakened when Arthur returned to lead a victorious Britain, or when the organization he founded had dire need of him.
That triggered a memory in my brain. They'd talked about the big boss coming out of retirement because the company needed him. But that couldn't be the same thing, could it? I switched over to the magical biography book and looked up Merlin. The book gave many forms of his name. The Welsh form was Myrddyn Emrys, which meant Emrys from Myrddyn. And that translated into modern English as Ambrose Mervyn. The name "Merlin" seemed to have something to do either with Latin or a mistranscription of the Welsh.
"Holy cow," I whispered to myself. It couldn't be. He'd have to be more than a thousand years old, but I supposed it was possible that he didn't age while he was in that cave. I remembered bits and pieces of conversations, his stating what his name was in modem English, as if that meant something, talking about the New World, adjusting to the bustle of the city.
If Mr. Mervyn really was Merlin, it was a miracle he was coping as well as he was. I couldn't imagine the difference between Britain in the Dark Ages and New York City today. Had they at least let him wake up in England before bringing him here, or had he awakened in the middle of Manhattan and found himself suddenly at the helm of a multinational corporation that bore little resemblance to the organization he'd founded?
It was a measure of how my last couple of weeks had gone that I was more concerned with how he must be coping than I was startled by the revelation that I was working for the real Merlin.
I read the rest of his biography. The last paragraph said, "Merlin was recently brought out of his cave to steer the company he founded through a challenging situation that threatens the very fabric of the magical community." That sounded ominous, and far worse than dealing with a bad economy. You brought your founder and CEO out of retirement from his cottage in the Cotswolds or his cabin in Vermont for a bad economy or a corporate scandal. What would be so desperate that you'd revive an ancient and legendary enchanter from more than a millennium of magical slumber and bring him across an ocean to a world that must be as foreign to him as another planet? Whatever it was had to be bad, and that could be the reason they were so paranoid and so badly in need of verifiers like me.
I felt dizzy. I'd have breathed into my paper lunch sack if I didn't think it would draw unnecessary attention from my coworkers. I couldn't resist pinching my thigh under my table. Maybe I was stuck in a long, elaborately detailed dream. This sort of thing didn't happen to me, Katie Chandler. My life had been so very, very normal—boring even—up to this point. I'd managed to make even a magical job seem ordinary, with the drab verification office that was as bad as any secretarial pool I'd seen during the desperate days of temping I'd gone through when I first got to New York. Only I could turn working at Magic Inc. into a dull nine-to-five job.
They'd said repeatedly that verifiers were important to them, but what could someone like me possibly do in a situation bad enough to bring Merlin— the Merlin—out of a magical coma? I could run a small business and track the details of launching a marketing campaign. That was the extent of my skill base. If they were counting on my help, they were in bigger trouble than they realized.
After the confusion came anger. They'd left out that minor detail about the challenging situation during the hiring process. It would be like getting a job and then finding out on your second day that the company and its executives were under federal investigation, the company had just filed for bankruptcy, and its pension fund had been drained.
I needed to get to the bottom of this. I went back to the company history and flipped to the end. There were several blank pages at the back of the book. The last page with printing on it was only halfway complete. It mentioned the revival of Merlin and the challenging situation, but didn't give a lot of details. I flipped a few pages before that and was just starting to read when Gregor called my name.
"She's on lunch," Angie said before I could respond.
I ignored her and said, "Yes, Gregor?" She stuck her tongue out at me and went back to eating her lunch.
"Got a verification request for you, from R and D. They asked for you personally.
You'll be seeing Mr. Palmer."
Owen. I needed to have some words with him. I could see Rod trying to pull the wool over my eyes, but I expected more out of Owen. He'd acted so concerned about my well-being. How could he have let me take this job, knowing there was something going on, without telling me there might be trouble?
I closed my book and stood up. "I'm on my way." I noticed as I headed for the door that both Kim and Angie were glaring at me. Kim was probably jealous of me getting so close to someone whose star was clearly on the rise, while Angie envied my chance to cozy up to the hottie. I just hoped I had the chance to ask him about my discovery and get an explanation.
I was worried about how I'd get through the door once I made it to R&D, since Rod had needed a code to get through it, but the door swung open as I approached. I headed back to Owen's lair in Theoretical Magic. He wasn't in the lab where I'd seen him before. Instead, I found him in his office, which was a snug room lined with books. It looked like the study out of an old English manor house. I had a sudden craving for hot tea and a good mystery novel.
Owen sat behind the big wooden desk. Across from him sat a small, thin, nervous-looking man. Both men were intently studying a book that lay open on Owen's desk. I rapped lightly on the doorframe, and both heads turned to look at me. Owen smiled immediately. Just the tips of his ears turned red, and he was cute enough to defuse some of my anger. "Katie! Come in. Have a seat."
I entered the office and perched on the edge of the big leather chair next to Owen's guest. "What can I do for you today?" I asked.
"Katie, I'd like you to meet Wiggram Bookbinder. He's a rare book dealer who finds me most of my more esoteric resources. Wig, this is Katie Chandler, from our verification department. She's an immune."
I shook the man's hand, being careful not to squeeze too hard. His hand felt fragile, like the bones were barely held together. The man himself looked frail, swallowed by a faded black trench coat. Wisps of grizzled hair dotted his mostly bald head. There was more hair coming out of his ears than on his entire scalp. "Pleased to meet you,"
I said.
"Likewise," he replied, but his voice shook and he'd gone an ashy shade of pale. He certainly didn't look like he was pleased to meet me.
Owen folded his hands on top of his desk and said in a pleasant tone with a hint of ice behind it, "Now, Wig, is there anything you want to say to me before I ask Katie a question?"
The little man went even paler. His lips were now a ghostly shade of blue. He shook his head vigorously, causing his ear hair to flutter.
Owen then turned to me. "Katie, please take a look at the book on my desk and tell me what you see."
I sto
od up and moved over to his desk. The book was a giant tome, but it wasn't like the obviously ancient, leather-bound books on the shelves that lined Owen's office. It looked more like a modem hardcover. I closed the cover and found that it was just what I'd thought, only without the paper outer cover books are usually sold with. Then I checked the spine and couldn't hold back a grin.
"It's a Tom Clancy novel, not his latest, but one from a few years back. I gave this one to my dad for Christmas that year." I opened the book again and checked the copyright page. "It's not even a first edition. You could get it used for about five bucks."
"Thank you, Katie." Owen's voice was frosty, and he didn't take his eyes off Wig, who visibly trembled as he cowered in his chair. I suspected my task was complete, but since no one had dismissed me, I sat back in my chair to see what happened next. "That's a very interesting assessment, considering that Mr. Bookbinder here just told me it was one of three remaining copies of a sixteenth-century Welsh codex, worth a lot more than five dollars. Very nice illusion, Wig. You certainly had me fooled. Fortunately, I had Katie here to help."
Owen's voice remained pleasant and conversational, but it was the kind of pleasant that sounds menacing because it's too calm for the situation. I could practically taste Wig's fear, without me having a shred of magical talent. I could also sense the power behind Owen, and now I knew why he was considered such a rising star. It was a little scary, and also rather hot, even though I've never gone for the dangerous kind.
He definitely didn't fit the typical bad-boy mold that usually turns me off, not in those nice suits, though with his coloring I imagined he could work up a good scruffy look just by skipping a day of shaving. Did someone actually have to do bad things to be a bad boy, or was it all about the potential? If it was the potential that counted, then maybe it was the restraint that was so sexy, knowing that he could do something dangerous and powerful but had the restraint not to. If he had that kind of control in that area, then maybe it applied to other areas as well. I squirmed in my seat and hoped to high heaven that mind reading wasn't one of his gifts. If it was, they could put the pair of us on the roof and use our red faces as beacons to warn off approaching aircraft.
Owen shook his head in pity, and it looked like real pity, not the mock pity you show to someone you're about to destroy. "You must be really desperate to take that risk. Surely you knew you'd be found out?"
Wig opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out were gasps and stammers. I couldn't make a single word out of all he said.
"Now, what I find interesting is the fact that you were able to do such a solid, detailed illusion," Owen continued. "That has to mean that you've actually seen a copy of this codex. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to make this up so well.
You wouldn't still happen to have that copy around, would you?"
"Y-Y-Yes. I-I-I do."
Owen smiled. "I thought so. Otherwise, you wouldn't have risked offering it to me.
You know how much I need it, and you know I've been looking everywhere for it.
You must have thought you could sell this illusion to me, then when the spell wore off, I'd be so eager to get my hands on the real book that I'd pay extra to get it. But thanks to Katie, we can skip that part. Give me the real book, Wiggram." There was a hard edge to his last sentence that scared me, and I wasn't the one he was mad at.
Wiggram bent to the bulky canvas satchel at his feet and pulled out a book that was roughly the size and shape of the Tom Clancy book, but otherwise bore no resemblance. The cover was dark leather, worn smooth with the years, and the title was embossed in gold on the cover. I couldn't read the lettering, for it was in a language I'd never seen before. He laid the book down on Owen's desk, and Owen opened it and flipped through it, a look of awe on his face.
The pages of this book were thick and uneven. It was obviously not a book made in mass quantities on a machine. It looked like it had been made by hand. Even the lettering looked like it was written by hand. The room already had a faint scent of old books, but this one had a stronger, older scent to it.
"I think it's the real deal," I said to Owen softly, so I didn't interrupt his inspection.
"It's obviously old, the cover is leather, and the pages are handwritten on uneven paper. I don't know if it's what you're looking for, but it's not a Tom Clancy novel."
He nodded in acknowledgment, then said, "I'll pay your asking price, minus a thousand for trying to cheat me."
Wig nodded enthusiastically. "Y-Yes, sir, very good, sir, thank you. And please keep the novel as a gift. It's a very good book."
"My dad liked it," I put in.
Owen nodded, not taking his eyes off his new toy. "Go down to Accounting. They'll cut you a check. And, no, we won't pay you in cash. For a transaction this large, we need a paper trail."
"Of course, sir, thank you." Wiggram stood, collected his bag, then bowed to me and handed me a card. "Please keep me in mind for your rare book needs. I've also got a wide selection of nonmagical books." I took the card, even though I doubted he'd have copies of any of the out-of-print romance novels I was looking for. He hurried out of the office like someone had set his coat on fire.
Owen still sat poring over the book. He seemed to have forgotten I was there. "So, that's why you need people like me," I said.
He looked up, blinking. "Oh. Yes, yes, that's why we need people like you. Thank you. You were brilliant. There's more to verification than just telling the truth, you know. If you present the truth in the right way, it can be quite effective."
"I guess it's showbiz, as much as anything." I glanced toward the doorway where Wiggram had disappeared. "You're letting him wander free like that in the building?"
"He's being monitored. And I have his book already, so he's going to want his money. Speaking of which, excuse me for a second." He put his hand on the crystal ball thingy that sat on his desk, but he didn't speak. After a second or two he withdrew his hand and turned back toward me.I knew he wanted to look through his new book, but I also wanted some answers.
"Thanks again for the books you sent me. They're really interesting. I do have a question, though."
He smiled. "Yes, he is."
I shook my head. "You don't know what I was going to ask."
"Yes, I do."
"How?" I hoped it wasn't mind reading, not after the mental image I'd had a few minutes ago.
He shrugged. "I just do. Besides, you're smart enough. I was sure you'd eventually see the connection."
"Would it have killed you to tell me up front? It can't be too big a secret, not if you were willing to give me those books that made it so obvious."
He looked enigmatic, which must have been a real trick for him, given that his emotions were usually so visible on his face. "Let's just say that it's not a secret if you've got the initiative to do research and the brains to figure it out, but it is a secret if someone has to tell you."
"So we're working for the real Merlin, as in Camelot, and all that?"
"Not quite like in Camelot. That was highly fictionalized. But yes, he's the real thing."
"Why was he brought here now? It would have to be something pretty big, right?"
"That, I can't tell you."
"Because you don't know, or because I'm not supposed to know?" He continued to look enigmatic. "Okay, I get it. Company secret. Fine. But I want it on record that I'm not happy that you hid the possibility of a crisis from me when you were hiring me."
"Would it have changed your decision?"
I sighed. "Probably not. You guys did a great sales job."
"Don't worry. You'll find out eventually."
"Or I'll figure it out." I tapped my forehead. "Smart, remember? Now I'd better head back to the pit of despair." I got out of my chair and headed toward the doorway.
"Thanks again for your help," he called after me, but before I was out the door he was already buried in his book.
The laboratories were busy, but the hallway leading
to the exit was nearly empty. I noticed a man coming toward me, not wearing the white lab coat that seemed de rigueur in these parts. As he approached, I smiled and nodded, but he didn't respond at all. He acted like he couldn't see me—or like he thought I couldn't see him. I didn't recognize him, but I didn't know most of the people in this department.
"Hi," I said to him. His eyes cut my way, then he went back to looking right past me.
Either I'd come across the least friendly employee in the whole company or there was something fishy going on here. "Hey!" I called out. He flattened himself against a wall, like he was trying to look invisible. I noticed he had something hidden beneath his jacket. That was definitely not right.
He tried to ease past me, but I got directly in his way. He sidestepped me, and now I was sure he wasn't supposed to be there and that he thought no one could see him.
"You aren't invisible, you know," I said, rolling my eyes. "I can see you."
He looked startled, glancing around to either side like he was looking for an exit or for verification that he was more visible than he thought he was. That proved something was wrong.
"Hey!" I yelled again, this time to anyone within earshot rather than to him.
"Security! Intruder! Help!"
nine
The guy looked like he was going to run for it. I grabbed his jacket and held on. He muttered something in Latin and I felt a charge in the air, but nothing happened. That startled him, and I took advantage of the opportunity to reach for his arm. If he was going to get out of here, he was going to have to drag me with him. I tried to dig my heels into the floor, but the tile didn't give me much traction. All this time I was screaming at the top of my lungs. "Hello! Help! Security! Somebody!" Finally, in desperation, I yelled, "Owen!" He better have meant it when he said to just ask if I needed help.
Enchanted, Inc Page 12
