Morgan: the energy and drive of youth combined with the wisdom and skill of an older man. An unbeatable combination, wouldn't you say, Morgan?'
She leaned back, uncaring of her nudity. Her long hair hung discreetly over her breasts. 'You would certainly say so, Merlin. Unless you let yourself be overwhelmed by your staggering sense of self-complacency. I will admit I'm impressed. Magic wards were placed all around the cave in which you were imprisoned long centuries ago. How did you get through them?
Even at the height of your power-'
'Remember what I taught you, Morgan. Wards are nothing more than mystic prison bars.
These were small enough to contain any man. However, sliding between the ward bars in a child's body was quite simple, really.'
'So you simply allowed time to take its course.'
'Quite true.' Merlin slid forward, alighting on his feet, and came 'closer' to the screen. 'And I'm sure you realize that I subsequently arranged for Arthur's release.'
'Time off for good behavior, no doubt.'
This time Merlin did not even try to smile. 'Now listen carefully, Morgan. I did not have to contact you this way. I can assure you that mystically you would never have found us.
However, before too long Arthur is going to be in the newspapers. Rather than give you the satisfaction of locating us, I decided to expend the smallest aspect of my power to issue you a warning.'
She raised an eyebrow. 'Warning, is it?'
'It is. Arthur will be running for mayor of New York City. As I said, you would undoubtedly read of this in the newspapers, for Arthur is destined to be quite a controversial candidate. I would not wish you to think for even a moment that we were living in fear of your discovering us. So I give you our city of operations ahead of time, secure in the knowledge that there is not a damned thing you can do to deter us.'
She frowned. 'Arthur? Mayor? I would think that president would be more appropriate.''
Merlin shook his head and his image flickered on the screen. 'You and Arthur, half brother and half sister, thinking alike. That was Arthur's first inclination. But he has too much he has yet to learn, including,' he said ruefully, 'the name of this country. But that is neither here nor there. A complete unknown cannot come sweeping into the greatest office in the land from nowhere. He has to establish a political track record. New York is a highly visible city. And they could really use him. So,' he concluded, 'mayor of New York it is. It's inevitable, so don't even think about averting it. You do not have anyone to aid you any more, Morgan. Modred is long-gone bones. You command no legions of hell-human, mystic, or otherwise. It is just you, rusty in the use of your powers, versus me at the height of mine. You might say I've been working out.'
'Are you trying to scare me, Merlin?'
'Trying? No. I believe I've succeeded. Stay out of my way, Morgan, or prepare to suffer dearly.'
Morgan opened her mouth to reply, when sparks began to fly from the television. She dove for cover and ducked as, with a low hum followed by heavy crackling and smoke, the TV screen blew outward, spraying glass all over the inside of the hotel room. It flew with enough velocity to embed itself in the wall, in the carpet, and if Morgan had presented a target, in Morgan herself. She, however, had moved quickly enough to knock over and hide behind a coffee table, and so was spared the inconvenience of having her skin ripped to shreds.
She waited until she was certain that the violence was over. Slowly she raised her head, picking a few shards of glass out of her hair. She looked around. Gray smoke was rising from the now silent television. There was faint crackling in the air, and her nose wrinkled at the acrid odor. She stood fully and then slowly, daintily, picked her way across the floor. She stood in front of the television and, somewhat unnecessarily, turned it off. Then she padded across to the telephone, picked it up, and waited impatiently for an outside line.
When it came she dialed a long-distance number quickly, efficiently. Her face was grim, but her spirits were soaring. She felt the blood pulsing in her veins for the first time in centuries.
There was almost a sexual thrill, she thought, matching wits and powers with Merlin. She had been little better than dead all these decades. How had she survived all this time? she wondered, as a phone rang at the other end. How could she possibly have-.
The phone was picked up and a slightly whiny male voice said, 'Yeah?'
Her eyes sparkled as she said, 'He's contacted me. They're in New York.'
'They're in New York?!' The voice was incredulous. 'But I'm in New York! How could I not have known?'
'Because you're a great bloody twit. I'm on my way up there now.' She paused, frowning.
'We have only one thing going for us. Merlin is not as all-knowing as he believes himself to be. He thinks you do not exist, Modred. He thinks I am on my own. It may prove to be his fatal mistake.'
'Fatal?' There was an audible gulp. 'You mean like dead?'
She sighed, and hung up without another word. Then she leaned back on the bed, brushed away pieces of glass, and closed her eyes.
'Great bloody twit,' she muttered. 'This is going to be tougher than I thought.'
Chaptre the Sixth
'You're late.'
Gwen stopped in the doorway, openly surprised. Lance was seated at the kitchen table, his chair tilted back against the wall. He looked impatient, even huffy. And she realized with a shock that it had been ages since she'd really taken a look at him, so rarely had he been around these days.
He pushed his thick glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. The unhealthy pallor he'd acquired had not improved. In addition his lips were dry and cracked. The blue check shirt he'd worn for four days straight was taking on a life of its own. His jeans were threadbare at the knees, and his socks were standing over in the corner, retaining the shape of his feet from memory.
'Lance,' she managed to get out. She glanced at her watch. 'Am I really that late? It's only a little after six.'
He tapped a bony forefinger on the tabletop. 'I expect dinner by six p.m. sharp.'
She looked askance at him as she removed her coat and hung it on a hook near the door.
'Since when, Lance?'
'Since when what?'
'Since when do you expect your dinner at six p.m. sharp. You're usually not home then. And even if you are, you might be asleep, like as not.'
'Are you criticizing me?' He'd spoken in a tone that was guaranteed to make her back down, to force her into a sniveling apology. But as she crossed the room and sat down across from him, he realized with a distant sort of surprise that such an apology was not to be forthcoming.
'I am not criticizing you,' she said slowly, thoughtfully. 'If you have a regular schedule you'd like to maintain, I'll be more than happy to aid in maintaining it. But don't try to change things on me and then get mad because I can't read your mind.'
His eyes narrowed wolfishly. 'I don't think,' he decided, 'that I like your attitude.' He had tilted the chair forward, and now tilted it back, interlacing his fingers in a gesture he imagined made him look very authoritative. 'I think you should give up your job.'
Her eyes widened. 'Stop working for Art? Are you nuts?' Her voice went up an octave.
'He's the best thing that's ever happened to me! The past two weeks I've been working for him have been- '
He wasn't listening anymore. 'Wait a minute. Best thing? What about me? I thought / was ostensibly the best thing that's ever happened to you.'
She huffed in irritation. 'Well, of course you are, but I'm talking about two different things.'
'Best thing means best thing. It doesn't mean anything else.' He stood up, swaying slightly, and it was only then that Gwen realized he had a few drinks in him. The alcohol was easily discernible in the air now. 'I should know. I'm a writer.'
'So you say,' she replied, and immediately wished she could have bitten her tongue off. She stood quickly and started to head for the bedroom when Lance's hand clamped on her shoulder. She turned and faced him, and his eyes were smoldering.
