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Enchanter Redeemed
Sharon Ashwood


Ancient magic and new passion…In the last battle for Camelot, Merlin had to make a terrible choice. Now he must pay the price: a demon from his past has reappeared and she wants nothing more than to destroy the wizard. Now, to reap her vengeance as a lover scorned, the demon occupies the body of Clary – the apprentice who is capturing Merlin’s heart – and has the innocent behaving in uncharacteristic ways. Ways that push the forbidden desire Clary and Merlin share into heated play…







Ancient magic and new passion...

In the last battle for Camelot, Merlin had to make a terrible choice. Now he must pay the price. When a demon from his past reappears, she wants nothing more than to destroy the wizard. Now to reap her vengeance as a lover scorned, the demon occupies the body of Clary—the apprentice who is capturing his heart—and has the innocent behaving in uncharacteristic ways. Ways that push the forbidden desire Clary and Merlin share into heated play...


SHARON ASHWOOD is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk. Sharon is the winner of the 2011 RITAВ® Award for Best Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.


Also by Therese Beharrie

Possessed by a Warrior

Possessed by an Immortal

Possessed by a Wolf

Possessed by the Fallen

Enchanted Warrior

Enchanted Guardian

Royal Enchantment

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Enchanter Redeemed

Sharon Ashwood






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08199-3

ENCHANTER REDEEMED

В© 2018 Naomi Lester

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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This is for all you readers who like a bit of magic and romance in your stories, preferably at the same time.


Contents

Cover (#u04cdac12-3cbb-5a56-856c-9514d4bd299a)

Back Cover Text (#u49d15aab-6ce6-51eb-899d-461a8833c736)

About the Author (#ua1124877-8973-5a58-b3da-b69d0bdf81ef)

Booklist (#uc57edf34-eae4-55f8-b42a-5f777e20e486)

Title Page (#ub0676253-426c-59dc-b6d3-323207e2c779)

Copyright (#uaf230d70-8482-5bcc-baf7-9134af08ee85)

Dedication (#u6e642133-b7cd-5dc1-8ecf-0222fc081760)

Prologue (#u06f2035a-cdc1-57e7-9aad-59888585e949)

Chapter 1 (#uc799fa03-e93e-526b-857c-2f6034b99661)

Chapter 2 (#uf8ef8be5-c857-5f6c-8217-2b5971578065)

Chapter 3 (#u067a63a3-c768-5a1a-a5c5-db0fddc981bc)

Chapter 4 (#u7b225dd8-04d2-5453-89a0-907f542b4f48)

Chapter 5 (#u8befae23-5b34-5cc8-ac62-47a8b195c6f3)

Chapter 6 (#u07e2f9fd-3094-5bde-8e63-2fc911072fa2)

Chapter 7 (#u7fc964e3-977c-5694-b193-74bd7571cb6c)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)

Merlin had destroyed the world as he knew it. The question was what to do next.

As with many disasters, the beginning had been innocent enough. He’d lived in the kingdom of Camelot as the enchanter to King Arthur. Those were eventful years—someone was always trying to murder the king, antagonize a dragon or start a war. Often it was his rival in magic, Morgan LaFaye, who wanted Arthur’s crown for herself. In nearly every case, the first person Arthur called was Merlin, whether for magic, for advice or even just to complain. In that brief, wonderful time, the solitary enchanter had been part of a community. He’d had friends and drinking partners. He’d even kept pets.

Not that things were perfect. In those days demons roamed the mortal realms, causing untold suffering to everyone in their path. The witches, fae and human lords formed an alliance under Camelot’s banner to cast the demons out. Thousands of soldiers massed to do battle, but it was Merlin’s magic they counted on for victory. Merlin delivered and they won, but at a terrible cost. As a side effect of his final spell, the fae suffered irreparable damage and fled to nurse their wounds. In a parting shot, the fae swore to return and wreak vengeance on King Arthur and all of humankind.

No one knew when this attack would come. So, once again, Camelot turned to Merlin for answers. With a heavy heart, he summoned all the knights of Camelot to the Church of the Holy Well and put them into an enchanted sleep. For centuries they lay upon their tombs as stone statues, set to awaken when it was time to fight once more.

Centuries rolled by, and Merlin wandered many enchanted lands in search of a cure for the fae. Meanwhile, the Medievaland theme park bought the Church of the Holy Well and the stone knights and shipped them all to Carlyle, Washington, as a tourist attraction. In the process, many of Arthur’s knights were sold as museum pieces and curiosities.

When Merlin returned to the mortal realms, no one knew where the knights of the famous Round Table had gone. Camelot was in ruins. The fae—who had chosen Morgan LaFaye as their new and wicked queen—picked this moment to return, seeking vengeance. And, just in case his day wasn’t bad enough, the demons were back—including his ex.


Chapter 1 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)

Sorcerer, enchanter, wizard, witch, warlock—they were all job descriptions that were synonymous with “idiot.” A person could be born of witch stock and blessed or cursed with natural talents, but it was lunacy to make magic a profession.

This raised the question of precisely why Merlin Ambrosius had been a professional enchanter for over two thousand years and had earned the laughable title of Merlin the Wise. By most standards, he was the most powerful magic user in the land, but that wasn’t always an advantage. While Regular Joe Enchanter might have a bad day and blow up his cauldron, Merlin had ripped the souls out of the entire fae race. Merlin the Wise? Not so much.

And now here he was, about to peer through a portal torn through time and space to spy on the scariest creepy-crawlies to ever sprout horns.

His workshop was on the top level of an old warehouse, while the bottom floor was occupied by an automotive repair shop. It was a good arrangement, since Merlin preferred to work at night when the employees had gone home and wouldn’t be tempted to ask about funny smells, indoor hailstorms or a flock of flying toads. Today, though, the shop was shut and he had the place to himself. This was a definite bonus, even if it meant getting up before noon. Superstar wizard or not, stalking demons on a sunny afternoon was slightly less terrifying than on a dark and stormy night.

The ritual circle was drawn in chalk in the middle of the floor and the scant furniture pushed aside. The curtains were pulled, softening the light. Empty space yawned up to the rafters, the shadows untouched by the dozen sweet-scented candles flickering in the draft. A hush blanketed the room. Merlin sat cross-legged in the middle of the circle, his comfortable jeans and faded T-shirt at odds with the solemnity of the magic. The truth was, ritual robes didn’t matter. Only strength of will and focus would help with this kind of work—which was, in effect, eavesdropping.

Merlin needed information. Specifically, he needed to know what Camelot’s enemies had been doing in recent months, because rumors were flying on the magical grapevine, blog sites and social media accounts—not to mention Camelot’s spy network. On one hand, there were the fae. They had been far too quiet since the autumn—no attacks, no gratuitous death threats, no random monsters unleashed to trample a city—and the silence was making everyone nervous.

On the other hand, the demon courts were stirring. Arthur, with Merlin’s help, had thrown the hellspawn back into the Abyss during Camelot’s glory days. But no banishment lasted forever and sooner or later the demons would try to return. Was that what was going on?

He cupped his scrying stone in the palms of his hands, willing answers to flow his way. The stone was cool, smooth and heavy and he concentrated until it was the only object filling his senses. Popular culture loved the image of a wizard with a crystal ball, but to tune into Radio Demon, dark red agate was best. The good stuff was rare, and Merlin had searched for centuries for a flawless globe the size of a small pumpkin. When he’d finally found what he wanted, it had cost enough gold to purchase a small country, but it had been one of his go-to tools ever since.

He spoke a word, and the solid rock dissolved into a cloud of dark gray streaked like a bloody sunset. He still held a hard sphere, but it was like a bubble now. Inside was a window into a complex web of realities that included Faery, the Forest Sauvage, the Crystal Mountains and many more separate but connected realms. He nudged the vision until he was staring into the demon territory called the Abyss.

The mist parted and Merlin had a view of two figures. It wasn’t the best angle—he was somewhere above and to the left—but that was an advantage. Spy holes were unpredictable and he had no desire to get caught. Grumpy demons had sent the last unlucky eavesdropper home in a soup bowl.

At first he could only see two figures talking, but a quick shake of the ball fixed the audio.

“What do you mean, you were summoned?” asked the taller of the two in a scholarly accent. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, his head bald and his black beard neatly clipped. He would have looked at home in any metropolitan city except for the claws, pointy teeth and yellow eyes slitted like a goat’s. Merlin knew this demon’s name was Tenebrius. They’d had uneasy dealings before.

“I know,” replied the other demon, who called himself Gorm. He was small, about the size of a large cat or a smallish monkey, and his leathery skin reminded Merlin of an old shoe. “In these days of computers and binge television, who bothers to summon a demon? But there I was in a chalk circle just like the old days. Talk about retro.”

“Don’t try to be funny,” said Tenebrius, narrowing his eyes. “Who was it?”

“LaFaye. You know, the Queen of Faery?”

The image of Tenebrius stiffened. So did Merlin. Morgan LaFaye had caused most of Camelot’s headaches until she’d been imprisoned. She shouldn’t have been able to summon so much as pizza delivery from inside her enchanted jail.

“What does she want?” asked Tenebrius with obvious caution. He was staring at Gorm with something between suspicion and—was that envy?

Gorm shrugged. “Power. Freedom. King Arthur’s head on a platter.”

Tenebrius looked down his nose and clasped his hands behind his back, resembling a supercilious butler. “The usual, you mean.”

“She is a queen locked up and separated from her people.”

Tenebrius snorted, releasing a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. “She rose to power by trading on the fae’s grievance against Camelot. I’d hardly call that a good qualification for a leader. They’re better off without her, even if they have lost their souls.”

And that summed up the damage caused by the spell Merlin had used to banish the demons. Gone was the fae’s love of beauty, their laughter, their art. Now they were emotionless automatons sworn to take vengeance on Camelot and feast on the life energy of mortals. Old, familiar guilt gnawed inside him, no less sharp for all the centuries that had passed.

Gorm frowned. “Her Majesty has a grievance.”

“Don’t we all?” Tenebrius examined his claws. “Do you trust her?”

“Would you trust someone who summoned one of us?”

Tenebrius rolled his slitted eyes. “But why you? Was her magic so weakened by prison that she was forced to grab the first demon she came to?”

“Uh—” Gorm started to look up, as if sensing Merlin’s intense interest in the conversation, but was distracted a moment later.

“Who’s grabbing whom?” came a third and very female voice.

Merlin all but dropped the ball, his mouth suddenly desert dry. The image warped and churned until he forced it back into focus—and then wished he hadn’t. Vivian swam into view. She looked as good as she had the last time they’d wrestled between her silken sheets. Scholars claimed demons were made of energy and therefore had no true physical form, yet there was no question that Vivian was exquisite. She was tall and slender but curvaceous in ways that were hard to achieve except as a fantasy art centerfold. A thick river of blue-black hair hung to her knees and framed a heart-shaped face set with enormous violet eyes. Warm toffee skin—bountifully visible despite her glittering armor—stirred dangerous, even disturbing, memories. Beyond Vivian’s inhuman loveliness, her demon ancestry showed in the long, black, feline tail that twitched behind her.

Ex-lovers were tricky things. Demon ex-lovers were a whole new level of dangerous. Merlin still wanted to devour her one lick at a time. Merlin the very, very Unwise. He closed his eyes, hoping she’d disappear. Unfortunately, when he looked again, she was still there. Then he cursed the loss of those two seconds when he might have been gazing at her. Vivian had been his, his pleasure and poison and his personal drug of choice. He’d moved on, but she’d never completely left his bloodstream.

“Gorm got himself summoned,” said Tenebrius.

“Who was the lucky enchanter?” Vivian asked. She gave a lush smile with dainty, feline fangs.

“The Queen of Faery.”

“Oh,” said Vivian, quickly losing the grin, “her. It’s almost tempting to give the fae their souls again. Then they’d get rid of LaFaye themselves.”

Tenebrius gave her a sly look. “You don’t think the situation presents some interesting opportunities?”

Merlin wondered what he meant by that, but Gorm interrupted. “Is it even possible to restore their souls?”

“Theoretically,” said Vivian. “Everything’s possible with us.”

“But we could do it?” Gorm persisted.

Tenebrius shrugged. “The spell came from a demon to begin with. Therefore, demon magic could reverse it.”

By all the riches of the goblin kings! Merlin sat frozen. Hope rose, wild and shattering, and he squeezed the ball so that his hands would not shake. He had searched and searched for a means to fix the fae, but had found nothing. Then again, he’d been searching among healers and wielders of the Light, not hellspawn. Demons corrupted and destroyed. They did not improve.

And yet Tenebrius had just said that the demons could provide a cure. Impossible. Brilliant. Amazing. Merlin struggled to control his breath. How was he going to get his hands on a demon-crafted cure? Because it was immediately, solidly obvious that he had to, whatever the cost.

His gaze went from Tenebrius back to the she-demon again. At the sight of her sumptuous body, things—possibly his survival instincts—shriveled in terror while other bits and pieces heated with a toxic mix of panic and desire. Any involvement with demons was an appallingly bad move. Sex was beyond stupid, but he’d been there and done that and insanely lusted for more.

Vivian wanted him dead, and some of her reasons were justified. To begin with, he’d stolen from her. The battle spell that had gone so horribly wrong had come from her grimoire—the great and horrible book of magic that rested on a bone pedestal in her chambers. Maybe she had the power to help the fae—but that would mean facing her again. Now, there was a terrifying idea.

The door behind Merlin banged open with a loud crack. “Hey, you busy?”

Startled out of deep concentration, Merlin jumped, dropping the globe. With a curse, he snatched it up.

“Oops. Sorry, dude.” The new voice seemed to ring in the rafters, blaringly loud against the profound silence of the magical circle. A corner of Merlin’s brain identified the speaker as his student, Clary Greene, but the rest of him was teetering on the edge of panic. When he righted the globe, the swirling clouds parted inside the stone once more. He peered until the image of the room grew crisp. Three demon faces stared back at him with murderous expressions.

Merlin said something much stronger than “oops.”

Vivian’s eyes began to glow. “Merlin!” she snarled, his name trailing into a feline hiss that spoke of unfinished business.

Merlin quickly set the agate ball on the floor and sprang away, colliding with Clary’s slight form. His student’s pixie-like features crumpled in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Duck!” he ordered, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her to the floor.

Bolts of power blasted from the agate globe in rainbow colors, arcing in jagged lightning all through the room. With three demons firing at once, it looked like an otherworldly octopus, its tentacles grabbing objects and zapping them to showers of ash. Merlin’s bookshelf exploded, burning pages filling the air as if he was trapped in an apocalyptic snow globe.

“Making friends again?” Clary asked, flicking ash from her shaggy blond head. Her words were flippant, but her face was tense.

“Stay low. They’re demons.”

Clary’s witch-green eyes went wide. She was Vivian’s opposite—a lean, fair tomboy with more attitude than magical talent. She was also everything that Vivian was not—honest, kind, thoughtful and far too good to be in Merlin’s life. She was a drink of clean water to a man parched by his own excesses, an innocent despite what she believed about herself. Everything about her had beckoned, woman to man, but he’d kept their relationship professional. It was bad enough that she had begged him to teach her magic. He should have refused. Nothing good came to anyone who lingered near him.

And right now lingering was not an option.

“Move,” he snapped, forcing her to creep backward one step at a time. The slow pace was nerve-racking, but it gave him a moment to weave a protective spell around them both.

He was just in time. Lightning fried his worktable, shattering a row of orderly glass vials, and then his bicycle sizzled and warped into a piece of futuristic sculpture. Merlin scowled as the seat burst into flame. Maybe he should rethink the slow and steady approach.

Vivian’s clear voice rang from the agate globe. “Curse you, Merlin Ambrosius. I vow that you shall not escape me, but shall suffer due vengeance for what you have done!”

“What did you do?” Clary whispered. “She’s really mad.”

“Not now,” Merlin muttered. Not ever, if he had a choice.

He sprang at the agate ball, intending to break the connection between his workshop and the demon realm with a well-placed bolt of his own. Before he was halfway there, a purple tentacle of energy lashed out and fastened on his chest. A blaze of pain sang through him, fierce as a sword stroke. He thrust out a hand, warping the stream of power away before his heart stopped.

Then Clary cast her own counter spell, just the way he’d taught her. The blow struck, but only clipped the edge of the stone ball, rolling it outside the containment of the ritual circle. Merlin pounced, but the damage was done. Once outside the circle, the demons were free to cross over into his world. As he groped on the floor for the agate, Vivian’s armored boots appeared in his field of view. He looked up and up her long legs to her shapely body and finally to her furious eyes.

“Who is this witch?” Vivian pointed a claw-tipped finger at Clary. Her long black tail swished back and forth, leaving an arc in the ashes coating the floor.

“Darling. Sweetheart. She’s my student,” he said in calming tones as he got to his feet, still clutching the stone. The agate sparked with the demons’ power, as if he held a heavy ball of pure electricity.

“Does she know what you really are?” Anger twisted Vivian’s beautiful face. “Or should I say, does she have any idea how low you will stoop for power?”

Clearly, the demon was still mad that he’d stolen her spell. Or, more likely, she was furious that he’d left their bed without a word—but there had been no choice, under the circumstances. It was that or hand Camelot and everybody else over to the hellspawn.

Vivian’s furious form was just a projection of energy—half in her own world and half in his—and yet Merlin took a cautious step back. “Clary is only a student, Vivian. I can promise you that much.”

“I’m standing right here,” Clary snapped.

It was the wrong tone to take with an angry demon. Vivian flicked a bolt of power from her fingertips that hurled Clary against the wall. To Merlin’s horror, the young witch stuck there, suspended above the floor like a butterfly on a pin. Clary grabbed at her chest, tearing at the zipper of her leather jacket as if she needed air.

“Enough!” Merlin roared. “She is nothing to you.”

“But she is something to you. I can smell it!”

“She’s under my protection.” He lashed out, breaking Vivian’s hold.

The demoness rounded on him, fixing him with those hypnotic violet eyes. Her predatory beauty held him for a split second too long. As Clary crumpled to the floor, Vivian’s claws slashed at the girl, leaving long, red tracks soaking through the sleeve of thin burgundy leather. Vivian snarled, showing fangs. In moments, Clary would be dead—and for no reason other than because she’d interrupted his ritual.

Desperation knotted Merlin’s chest. He lifted the agate globe, infusing it with his power. Part of him screamed to stop, to guard his own interests, but the fever of his grief and guilt was too strong. With a howl, he smashed the globe to the floor. It exploded into a thousand shards, taking most of his earthly wealth with it. Vivian shrieked—a high, pained banshee wail—and vanished with a pop of air pressure that left his ears ringing. A heavy stink of burning amber hung in the air, borne on wisps of purple smoke. Clary began to cough, a racking, bubbling gasp of sound.

Merlin fell to his knees at her side. “It’s over.”

He put an arm around the young woman, helping her to sit up. The warm, slender weight of her seemed painfully fragile. Witches were mortal, as easily broken as ordinary humans, and Clary’s face had drained of color. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand to find her skin was cold.

His stomach clenched with panic. “How badly are you hurt?”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t breathing anymore.


Chapter 2 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)

Clary jolted awake. Power surged through her body, painful and suffocating. Her spine arched into it—or maybe away from it, she wasn’t sure. Merlin had one hand on her side and the other on her chest, using his magic like a defibrillator. The sensation hammered her from the inside while every hair on her body stood straight up. When he released her, she sagged in relief. A drifting sensation took over, as if she were a feather in an updraft.

Merlin’s fingers went to her neck, checking for a pulse. His hands were hot from working spells, the touch firm yet gentle. In her weakened state, Clary shivered slightly, wanting to bare her throat in surrender. She was a sucker for dark, broody masculinity, and he projected it like a beacon. All the same, Clary sucked in a breath before he got any big ideas about mouth-to-mouth. If Merlin was going to kiss her, she wanted wine and soft music, not blood and the dirty workshop floor.

Another bolt of power, more pain, another pulse check. Clary managed a moan, and she heard the sharp intake of Merlin’s breath. His hand withdrew from her pulse point as she forced her eyes open. He was staring down at her with his peculiar amber eyes, dark brows furrowed in concern. She was used to him prickly, arrogant or sarcastic, but not this. She’d never seen that oddly vulnerable expression before—but it quickly fled as their gazes met.

“You’re alive.” He said it like a fact, any softness gone.

“Yup.” Clary pushed herself up on her elbows. She hurt all over. “What was that?”

“A demon.”

“I got that much.” Clary held up her arm, peering through the rents in her jacket where the demon’s claws had slashed. Merlin’s zap of power had stopped the bleeding, but the deep scratches were red, puffy and hurt like blazes.

“Demon claws are toxic.”

“Got that, too.”

“I can put a salve on the wound, but you’d be smart to have Tamsin look at it,” Merlin said. “Your sister is a better healer than I am.”

“She’s better than anybody.” Clary said it with the automatic loyalty of a little sister, but it was true. “She’s got a better bedside manner, too.”

Merlin raised a brow, his natural arrogance back in place. “Just be glad you’re alive.”

She studied Merlin, acutely aware of how much magic he’d used to shut Vivian down. He looked like a man in his early thirties, but there was no telling how old he actually was. He was lean-faced with permanent stubble and dark hair that curled at his collar. At first glance, he looked like a radical arts professor or dot-com squillionaire contemplating his next disruptive innovation. It took a second look to notice the muscular physique hidden by the comfortable clothes. Merlin had a way of sliding under most radars, but Clary never underestimated the power he could pluck out of thin air. She was witch born, a member of the Shadowring Coven, but he was light-years beyond their strongest warlocks.

That strength was like catnip to her—although she’d never, ever admit that out loud. “What were you doing?” she demanded, struggling the rest of the way to a sitting position.

“A surveillance ritual.” His face tensed as if afraid to reveal too much. “There’ve been rumors of demon activity in the Forest Sauvage.”

The forest lay at the junction of several supernatural realms. “Demons show up there anyway, don’t they?”

“One or two of the strongest hellspawn can leave the Abyss, but only for brief periods. It’s not a regular occurrence. Yet Arthur’s spies report a demon has been meeting with the fae generals on multiple occasions.”

“You want to know what they’re up to,” she murmured, a horrible awareness of what she’d interrupted settling in. Gawd, how stupid was she? It was a wonder Merlin hadn’t kicked her out of his workshop after her first lesson. He would have to now.

“I was summoning information through a scrying portal. The conversation was growing interesting when you arrived.” His tone was precise and growing colder with every syllable. Now that the crisis was over, he was getting angry.

Clary pressed a hand to her pounding head. “They heard me come in?”

“Yes.”

She cringed inwardly, but lifted her head, refusing to let her mortification show. “Then Babe-a-licious with the tail showed up.”

“Yes.” There was no mistaking the frost in his tone now. “Vivian. Do you have any idea how dangerous she is?”

“She tried to kill me.” Clary’s insides hollowed as the words sank home. Dear goddess, she did kill me! And Merlin had brought her back before a second had passed—but it had happened. Her witch’s senses had felt it happen. The realization left her light-headed.

“She doesn’t get to have you,” he said in a low voice.

Their gazes locked, and something twisted in Clary’s chest. She’d been hurt on Merlin’s watch, and he was furious. No, what she saw in his eyes was more than icy anger. It was a heated, primal possessiveness that came from a far different Merlin than she knew. Clary’s breath stopped. Surely she was misreading the situation. Death and zapping had scrambled her thoughts. “What happened when you smashed the stone?”

“The demon returned to where she came from.”

“Will she come back?”

“If she does, it will be for me. She won’t bother you. You were incidental.”

Clary might have been insulted, but she was barely listening now. The events of the past few minutes fell over her like a shadow, pushing everything else, even Merlin, aside. She’d felt death coming like a cold, black vortex. She began to shake, her mind scrambling to get away from a memory of gathering darkness. She drew her knees into her chest, hugging them. “I shouldn’t have walked in on you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he said in a voice filled with the same mix of ice and fire. “You’d be a better student of magic if you paid attention to the world around you. That would include door wards.”

Tears stung behind her eyelids. Trust Merlin to use death as a teachable moment. “You could be sympathetic. At least a little.”

He made a noise that wasn’t quite a snort. “You asked me to teach you proper magic and not the baby food the covens use. If you want warm and fuzzy, get a rabbit. Real magic is deadly.”

Clary took a shuddering breath. “No kidding.”

He was relentless. “Today your carelessness cost me a valuable tool.”

She sighed her resentment. “I’ll get you a new stone.”

“You can’t. There was only one like it, and now I’m blind to what the demons are doing.”

Abruptly, he stood and crossed the room to kick a shard of agate against the wall. It bounced with a savage clatter. Clary got to her feet, her knees wobbling. Merlin was right about her needing Tamsin’s medical help. She braced her hand against the wall so she’d stop weaving. “I’m sorry.”

He spun and stormed back to her in one motion, moving so fast she barely knew what was happening. He took her by the shoulders, the grip rough. “Don’t ever do that again!”

And then his mouth crushed hers in a hard, angry kiss. Clary gasped in surprise, but there was no air, only him, and only his need. She rose slowly onto her toes, the gesture both surrender and a desire to hold her own. She’d been kissed many times before, but never consumed this way. His lips were greedy and hot with that same confusing array of emotions she’d seen a moment ago. Anger. Fear. Possession. Protectiveness.

Volatile. That was the word she’d so often used in her own head when thinking about him. Volatile, though he kept himself on a very short chain. Right now that chain had slipped.

And she liked it. Head spinning, she leaned back against the wall, trapped between the plaster and the hard muscle of his chest. Now that the first shock was past, she moved her mouth under his, returning the kiss. Hot breath fanned against her cheek, sending tingles down her spine. She’d never understood the stories about danger sparking desire until this moment, but now she was soaring, lust a hot wire lighting up her whole frame. Being alive was very, very good.

Merlin had braced his hands on either side of her head, but now he stroked them down her body in a long, slow caress. It was a languid movement as if he was measuring and memorizing her every curve. Clary let her arms drift up to link behind his neck.

“I think I’ll skip the fuzzy bunny and keep you instead,” she murmured.

The effect of her words was electric. He stepped out of her embrace as unexpectedly as he’d entered it, pushing a hand through his hair. “We can’t do this.” He turned away as if he needed to regain control.

After being killed, revived, scolded and ravished, Clary was getting whiplash. “Why not?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Vivian.”

“She was angry,” Clary conceded. “Did you and she have a, um, thing?”

He made a noise like a strangling bear. “She is everything unholy.”

Yup, Viv was an ex. For some reason, that sparked her temper in a way nothing else had. Clary wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

“I said you were incidental to her.” His voice had gone cold again. “Let’s keep it that way. Touching you was a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

Merlin faced her, frowning at her sarcastic tone. “Yes.”

“So Vivian is a jealous mean girl,” Clary snapped. “That’s not my problem, and I’m not a mistake. I don’t deserve that kind of disrespect.”

And yet she did. She was a screwup, a talentless hack of a witch and not much better with her personal life. She’d just proven it all over again by bursting in where she wasn’t wanted. The knowledge scalded her, but it also raised her defenses. It was one thing to reject her as a magician, but he’d just rejected her as a woman.

“Don’t be difficult,” he replied.

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m a person, not an error.” She’d never spoken to Merlin like this, but she’d never been this upset. She didn’t care if he had a point.

Clary pushed away from the wall. Merlin took a step forward as if to support her, but she wasn’t dizzy now. Anger had cleared her head and set her pulse speeding at a quick march. Her whole body sang with pain, but she stalked toward the door on perfectly steady feet.

“Clary!” Merlin said, his tone thick with irritation. “Come back here.”

“Don’t talk to me right now. And don’t come after me.” Clary slammed the workshop door behind her, taking the steps down to the main level of the warehouse at a run. She didn’t look back.

When she reached the street a minute later, the late May sunshine seemed strange. There was no darkness, no storms and certainly no demons. Sparrows flitted through the last blossoms of the cherry trees lining the streets, and a senior couple walked matching Scottie dogs in the leaf-dappled shade. It was the perfect day for a cross-country bike ride, the kind that might take her fifty or sixty miles. Clary shook her head, feeling as if she was suddenly in the wrong movie.

She started walking, the residue of her anger still hot in her veins. Merlin’s workshop was at the edge of Carlyle’s bustling downtown and a twenty-minute walk from her sister’s apartment. If Clary went for a visit, she could get her throbbing arm checked and complain to Tamsin about men at the same time.

Tamsin would be sympathetic for sure. Clary was the baby of the family and her uncertain talent upset a cartload of familial expectations, but she was an accomplished computer programmer and was making a new career as a social media consultant for Medievaland. Tamsin would tell her she was doing fine, which was exactly what she needed right now.

The social media job had been a stroke of luck, something she’d pitched to Camelot when she’d moved across the country to study with Merlin. In fact, she was his first student in a hundred years because she’d refused to take no for an answer the moment she’d found out her big sister had met the man. In her imagination he’d been the ultimate enchanter, a rebel prince of the magical world. He’d turned out to be short-tempered and demanding, arrogant and aloof. She’d been crushed.

It wasn’t that Merlin was a bad teacher—he was fabulous. He drilled her remorselessly, showing her three or four ways to launch a spell until they found one that worked for her. Fighting spells, spying spells, portals, wards—he taught far more practical application than theory and approached every lesson with resolute patience. Her skills had leaped forward. It was just that he was so very Merlin.

Clary swore under her breath. You’d think he could have put a sign on the door to keep visitors out. Sure, she’d dropped by unexpectedly with a question about the homework he’d given her and, yes, there had been a ward she disarmed to walk in, but he always had a ward on the door. Sometimes he put them there just to test her. How was she to know he’d be chatting with hellspawn?

And as for the rest, why was she surprised? It had been a kiss in the moment, a rare moment of compassion from a very dark horse. Merlin was the greatest enchanter in written history. She was so far down the food chain she wasn’t even on the menu. There would never be anything more between them, however much that one embrace made her imagination explode.

She ground her teeth. Maybe she should have stuck with computers. At least software didn’t have claws. At least it didn’t kiss her and then shut down the moment with a wall of ice.

Clary’s thoughts scattered as she neared Tamsin’s street. This block was lined with low-rise storefronts featuring a drugstore, a used-clothing exchange and a place that still sold vinyl records. The neighborhood was like a small town where shopkeepers greeted their customers by name and residents knew which child belonged to which mother. Normally, she enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere, but she was starting to feel sick again. Whatever fury she’d been running on was draining fast. There was a café with a few outdoor tables, and she sat down on one of the ornate metal chairs. She rested her head on her good hand and cradled her injured arm in her lap. I should call Tamsin, she thought, but the pocket with her phone seemed miles away.

Her heart was hammering, perspiration clammy on her skin. It took her a moment to recognize the sensation as raw, primal fear. But why? She was out of danger now, wasn’t she? Hadn’t Merlin said Clary herself was of no interest to the demons? And yet, it felt as if something was looking over her shoulder. She jerked around, but saw nothing except a passerby startled by Clary’s frown.

The sudden motion sent spikes of pain up her arm. She pushed up the torn sleeve of her jacket to see the scratches were swelling now. She touched the pink skin and discovered it was hot. Infection. Wonderful. No wonder she felt queasy. She slumped in the chair, aware of the clatter and bustle of the coffee shop though it seemed far, far in the distance.

She fished her phone out and set it on the table, realizing she’d have to dial it left-handed because the fingers of her injured hand had gone numb. Clary had managed to punch the code that unlocked it when a wave of pain struck her. It was like the shock of power Merlin had administered, but on steroids.

Clary hunched over the table, robbed of the breath even to cry out. A white haze swallowed the world around her, turning everything to static. Sound vanished, a high, thin hum filling her brain. She began to shake—not a ladylike trembling, either. Her head lolled back as her jerking knees rattled the table. All at once she was on the ground, her cheek pressed to the gritty sidewalk.

Blackness.

Hands gathered her up. Voices distant and muffled as if she was underwater. She was in the chair again, the cold metal beneath the seat of her jeans. Hard to stay in the chair because her limbs were like spaghetti.

“Miss? Miss?”

There was a sound like a bubble popping, and she could see and hear again.

“By the Abyss!” Clary gasped as the world smacked her like cold water. Sounds, colors, smells all seemed out of control. Clary blinked, wiping her eyes with the back of her good hand.

“Can we call someone for you?” asked a voice.

Clary squinted, recognizing the square, pleasant face of the woman who ran the coffee shop. She searched for the woman’s name, but it was gone. “Huh?”

“You passed out,” the woman said slowly and carefully. “You might have had a seizure.”

Goddess! She should probably be in the hospital, but then she’d have to explain the claw marks. Clary looked around. Her phone was still on the table. “Tamsin,” she said but couldn’t manage more. A wave of disorientation swamped her. Her voice sounded wrong, but she wasn’t sure why.

“Tamsin who lives in the apartment building down the street?” the woman asked.

Clary nodded, afraid to speak again.

“She ordered a birthday cake for the weekend. I have her number.” The woman bustled back inside.

Clary closed her eyes. Whose birthday was it? The name bobbed just out of reach of her thoughts. Facts and memories receded, as if her consciousness was a balloon that had come untethered. When she opened her eyes again, she caught sight of her reflection in the cafГ© window and froze.

Her face was familiar, and it was not. So this is what it’s like to be human.

Clary’s thoughts swerved. What the blazes?

She’d recognized the voice in her head. Cold needles of fear crept up her body, turning her fingers and nose so cold it felt like January. Something had been watching her, and now she knew it was Vivian.

Or what’s left of me after Merlin smashed his precious globe. Immortals are hard to kill, but I was vulnerable when he did that. I needed a safe harbor and your body was empty for a split second before he brought you back. Hope you don’t mind a roomie.

Clary sat up straight, fighting a sudden urge to scream. Her head, seemingly of its own accord, turned back to her reflection. She took in the mop of shaggy blond hair, the ragged, bloody clothes and her wide, frightened eyes.

It’s not the body I’m used to, but beggars can’t be choosers. Still, we need to do something about the wardrobe.


Chapter 3 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)

Surely it had all been a horrible hallucination. The next morning found Clary sitting at her sister’s kitchen table, a cup of black coffee before her. Everything seemed normal, and Clary felt as loved and cared for as Tamsin could manage. She’d slept in her sister’s tiny second bedroom and still had a crick in her spine from the lumpy futon.

“How are you feeling?” Tamsin asked, putting a hand over Clary’s. Gawain, Tamsin’s soon-to-be husband, had already left for the day and the two women were alone. Normally, Clary would have been disappointed. She liked Gawain, and he’d spent almost as much time teaching her self-defense as Merlin had spent teaching her magic—if there was to be a fight with the fae, she needed to be ready. But today she wanted alone time with her sister.

Clary looked up from staring into her cup. Like Clary, Tamsin was green-eyed and fair-haired, her long locks pinned up in a messy bun. The similarity in coloring was deceptive. Tamsin was actually a stepsister who had joined the family when Clary’s mom had married a second time. They had all been lucky—Stacy, the eldest, and Clary, the youngest, had readily accepted their new middle sister. Tamsin was easy to love and Clary adored her. She’d been the gentle hand that had led Clary through a rebellious adolescence when their mother had all but given up in despair.

“My wound feels better,” Clary answered, pulling up her sleeve.

Tamsin angled Clary’s arm for a better look. Besides working as Medievaland’s historian, Tamsin’s magical specialty was healing. After a round of smelly ointments and ritual, the wounds on Clary’s arm were now just scratches, as if Clary had lost an argument with an alley cat.

“I’ve met demons, but I’ve never treated any injuries they caused before now. I never knew they had poisoned claws,” Tamsin said, releasing Clary’s arm.

“Do you think that’s what caused the seizure?” Clary sipped her coffee, welcoming the caffeine as it hit her bloodstream. She hadn’t said anything about the hallucinations. She’d stopped hearing that voice in her head by the time Tamsin had finished doctoring her, and decided to keep the crazy to herself. “Maybe the infection was messing with my brain?”

She could hear the pleading in her voice. She felt okay now, and desperately wanted to put yesterday behind her.

“I’d bet the two are connected.” Tamsin picked up Clary’s hand again. It was a comforting gesture, but Clary could feel the faint tingle of Tamsin’s magic course through her. Tamsin leaned forward and kissed her forehead as if Clary was a little girl again. The gesture salved Clary’s hurts the way no medicine could.

“You’re still not a hundred percent,” Tamsin said, “but I don’t detect any lingering damage. Take it easy for a few days.”

“I’m supposed to be at Medievaland today.”

“In the office?”

It was a reasonable assumption. Clary handled pretty much all of Medievaland’s online presence. Since King Arthur and a handful of his knights had awakened to join the modern world, they’d become famous for the mock tourneys hosted by the theme park. The knights now had a rapidly expanding fan base, which Clary fed with judicious tidbits of insider knowledge—none of which included the fact that they were born centuries ago and had returned to save humanity from soul-sucking fae monsters. She tried to keep things upbeat.

However, today’s activities weren’t about posts and blogs. “Merlin’s doing the special effects at today’s show and he wants a second pair of hands.”

Tamsin frowned. “You should call in sick. Obviously, he’d understand.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I broke his ball.”

Tamsin arched an eyebrow. “Just one of them?”

Clary grimaced. “Crystal—stone—ball. His spy camera to the demon realms. He had to smash it to save me from Vivian.” She was feeling more than a little guilty about that.

“Yeah,” Tamsin replied, drawing the word out. “Those stones are expensive and rare.”

“He said it was one of a kind.”

“Are you sure you’re still his student?”

Clary pulled her smartphone from the pocket of the boho-style dress Tamsin had loaned her to replace her bloodstained clothes. It was pink and flowery and nothing like what she usually wore. She held the phone up as if it was evidence. “I’m scheduled to be there at noon. He sent a text to confirm.”

“That’s probably his way of checking on you. You had a near death by demon, then a seizure.” Tamsin had that frozen look that said she wasn’t happy but was trying to be polite about it. “I think you can skip a session.”

“Normally, I’d welcome a day off, but as you say, I cost him a piece of expensive equipment. Showing up is the least I can do.”

“You feel guilty.”

“Pretty much.”

Clary’s mind immediately went to the kiss. Her cheeks heated at the memory, and she looked away from her sister. Merlin’s behavior was just one more strange thing to add to the list of yesterday’s weirdness.

“What else happened besides the demon who attacked you?” Tamsin asked. She’d always been able to read Clary’s expressions.

Clary rose from the table. “I need to get ready to go.” She suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore.

Tamsin—still protesting—drove her to Medievaland. They parked and passed a long line at the gate that proved the summer tourist rush was beginning. The weather promised to be warm, so the steady stream of paying customers would only increase as midday approached. And why not? Medievaland, with its jousts and feasts and rides and games, was good family fun.

Clary and Tamsin passed the turnstile and pushed through the knot of visitors milling at the information booth. A herald rode by on a milk-white mare, shouting directions to Friar Ambrose’s delicatessen and the noon show at the bandstand. To the right was the market area crowded with merchants selling all manner of handcrafts and snack foods; to the left the traditional arcade that led off to the rides, where the Dragon’s Tail—a roller coaster that challenged even Clary’s daredevil instincts—swirled high above the crowds. Tamsin’s destination was the Church of the Holy Well, the one truly medieval structure in the park. It had been moved, along with the stone knights, from the south of England and turned into the museum where Tamsin worked.

The two women stopped when they reached a fork in the path. “You’re absolutely sure you feel up to this?” asked Tamsin. “No headaches or weakness?”

“I feel fine,” Clary protested, and that much was almost true. “As if there was anything on the planet that could withstand your healing!”

“Then, be brave, little witchling.” Tamsin gave her a hug. “I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

Clary laughed at her childhood nickname. “You’re such a big sister.”

Tamsin made a face and left, heading toward the ancient church ahead. Feeling content for the first time since before barging into Merlin’s workshop, Clary took the path to the tourney grounds.

Jousting and other events took place in an amphitheater, where the audience could get a good view of the armored horsemen doing battle. Behind the large structure were the stables, changing rooms and other service buildings. As Clary hurried in that direction, she could hear the stampede of hooves and the crash of lance on shield. The crowd roared and applauded, which meant someone had scored a good hit. After a glance at her phone to check the time, she picked up her pace, ignoring the hawkers selling T-shirts and ball caps.

When she reached the change rooms, she grabbed a long blue gown out of her locker and quickly put it on. All the employees at Medievaland dressed the part, and by the time she was done, she’d added a long belt of glittering—if fake—jewels and pinned her hair under a fluttering white veil. Then she headed for the amphitheater, where she was to meet the enchanter in one of the high boxes that overlooked the field.

Nerves made Clary’s breath come faster. She was here because, despite yesterday, she still wanted Merlin as her teacher. She wanted to be an effective witch, ready to fight fae or demons or whatever threat darkened Camelot’s door. She wanted to belong here like Tamsin did. Still, she had to admit she’d come for other reasons, too. She needed to bury the anger between her and Merlin. He’d been a jerk, but she’d burst in on him. He could have handled everything better, but she’d resorted to a tantrum. Neither had been at their best with dying and exes and all.

And—here, she mentally shied away just a little—they had kissed. She had to face him with her head held high and not reveal how much more she desired. Sometimes attitude was all a person had.

When she saw Merlin, her step slowed so she could take in the sight. He wore long robes of deep blue and carried a tall staff of knobby wood. With his lean face and unusual amber eyes, he carried the fantasy-wizard costume well. Very well, and with the kind of brooding intensity that teased something low in her belly. He was gazing at the tourney ground, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Hi,” she said.

He looked up, his expression startled for an instant before it settled into his habitual reserve. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said, sounding as defensive as she suddenly felt. “I can work.”

A long moment passed in which Merlin studied her, his expression closed. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?” he asked.

If he was trying to keep her at a distance, it was working. All at once, Clary felt exposed in her feminine dress, the light breeze tugging and touching in ways that didn’t happen with her usual denim and leather. She wanted to say again how sorry she was for yesterday’s mistake, but the words died under his cool stare. His mood felt like punishment, but whether it was for himself or for her, she couldn’t say. It took a moment to get her lips to move. “Yes, I know what to do.”

“Good.” He turned back to the amphitheater. The packed dirt field had been cleared, ready for the next event. “Keep to the script, regardless of what else you might see. I’m raising the bar a notch for today’s show.”

Clary swallowed. The show would be grunt work for Merlin, but for her it would be tricky. She tried not to think about the time she’d accidentally teleported a moose into her hotel room. Be brave, little witchling. “I’m ready.”

Merlin gave a signal, and the voice of the announcer boomed through the public address system. “Lords and ladies, honored guests of Medievaland, welcome to this afternoon’s main event. This is the moment of dread, the true test of bravery and the battle you’ve all been waiting for—Medievaland’s courageous knights versus the enchanter Merlin’s monsters!”

The audience roared its approval. The gates at the far end of the amphitheater swung open, and the knights rode in two by two—Gawain and Hector, then Beaumains and Percival, and finally Owen and Palomedes. They parted, each pair splitting left and right to form a colorful double line. The last to appear was King Arthur, resplendent in blue and gold and riding a huge bay stallion. The amphitheater rumbled with enthusiastically stamping feet as the knights took up their position flanking the king.

Two musicians with long golden trumpets blew a fanfare, silencing the crowd. Merlin turned to Clary and gave a nod. She braced herself. She’d practiced this spell hundreds of times and now she recited the words of the spell exactly as he’d taught her. Then she released her power. With relief, she felt the magic shape itself, swirling until it solidified into an enormous black wolf. It bounded toward Palomedes, jaws open to reveal a lot of drool and fangs.

“Nice,” said Merlin.

He didn’t give praise often, so Clary felt her cheeks warm with pleasure. Far below, Palomedes did battle with the illusion to the obvious pleasure of the paying guests. But that was only the first of many monsters, and Clary set about creating the next. A quick sideways glance showed Merlin had begun an incantation of his own. Clary wondered what it would be, but quickly pushed the thought away. She couldn’t get distracted.

With exquisite care, she wove the next spell bit by bit, checking and double-checking each element she added.

Seriously? said the voice in her head—the same voice that had plagued her at the café. This isn’t brain surgery.

Startled, Clary released her power an instant too early and it bobbled wildly. Then—without knowing how she did it—she reached out and patted it back into shape. Except it was the wrong shape. She’d planned on one oversize lion. Instead, two flightless raptors straight out of the Jurassic era popped into existence and began charging the knights at lightning speed. Clary stared at them in dismay. What did you make me do?

I upped your game. You should be grateful.

Stop it! Go away! You’re a hallucination! At least she’d hoped Vivian’s voice had been the product of her infected wound.

The voice in her head gave a wry snort. Do you feel feverish?

No, Clary felt physically fine. Better than ever, in fact—which meant even worse trouble. “Why are you doing this?”

She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Merlin gave her a quick glance. “Keep going.” Then he turned back to his long, intricate spell.

The show must go on. With a flick of Clary’s wrist, the demon summoned not one lion, but a whole pride. All at once, the knights were extremely busy.

Vivian! Clary protested. She wanted to round on the demon, glare at her, maybe punch her. Except it was impossible when the opposition was inside her head. What do you want?

Vivian’s gaze—in the form of Clary’s eyeballs—turned to Merlin. He took something from me and walked away.

An ominous feeling gripped Clary as if she’d just stumbled upon an unquiet grave. What?

Vivian didn’t answer. She was watching Merlin work, and Clary had a front-row seat to the demon’s emotions. They weren’t as deep or complicated as human feelings, but they were uncomfortably frank. Vivian liked everything about Merlin, from the straight line of his nose to the angle of his jaw. There was also distinct disappointment about how much of his body the robes concealed.

An image of Merlin, his hair longer and his clothes absent, flicked across Clary’s mental screen. The vignette revealed a lot of long, lean muscle and tanned limbs. Clary’s skin heated, suddenly too tight as her own desire melded with the demon’s.

I know his secrets, the demon mused. You wouldn’t worship him half so much if you knew the truth.

Clary struggled, now barely aware of the spectacle below. It’s none of my business.

He’s your flawed hero, your rebel prince. Of course you’re curious.

With horror, she realized Vivian was quoting her own thoughts. Fury pounded against Clary’s temples. This hopeless attraction was her own affair, buried where it couldn’t embarrass her.

Don’t bother, said Vivian. He thinks you belong to him, but that is a far cry from passion.

Clary’s nails bit into her palms. And what’s he to you?

Another sweep of eyes, another rush of need. It was all Clary could do to keep her hands at her sides and not reach out to touch the enchanter’s warm skin. Merlin Ambrosius was my soul mate, the one who filled the empty places in my heart.

Was the demon lovesick? Clary wondered with astonishment. She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hot and weak with their mingled need.

No. Vivian flexed her power—which Clary felt in a sudden head rush. I’m here to take my revenge.

He’ll stop you. Clary dug her nails into her palms, using the pain to focus. I’ll stop you. I’ll tell him you’re here.

Really? And you think there would be no consequences?

I don’t care what he does to me as long as he stops you.

Vivian laughed, a low, husky sound that belonged on a phone sex hotline. Oh, very good, but I’m not done with you yet. On the other hand, I have no use for your sister.

Clary’s lungs stopped working. Tamsin! She didn’t need the demon to say more. If Clary gave Vivian away, Tamsin would suffer.

Sorry it has to be her, Vivian drawled, but you don’t have a vast selection of loved ones to choose from.

That stung more than Clary liked. Leave her out of this!

But this is revenge, remember? Before I’m done, Merlin will wish he were dead. And if you don’t do exactly as I say, little witchling, so will you.


Chapter 4 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)

Merlin’s lips moved over silent words as he worked his spell. A faint glimmer sparked in the cloudless sky above the auditorium. It would look like nothing to one of the cheering spectators that crammed the seats, just a random flash of light, but to Merlin it was hard-won success. He’d practiced the spell the way a musician learned a piece from memory, going over and over each element until they formed part of his instincts. It was the way he taught Clary: ritual, rinse, repeat. The drill wasn’t just for the sake of perfectionism—it was as much for safety. With this amount of powerful magic in play, he couldn’t afford to stumble.

Which was why he couldn’t think about Clary, for all he felt her gaze on him. Her attention was like the heat of the sun, and all the more tangible because of his own disquiet. If only he hadn’t kissed her, because now he could not deny how she made him feel. He might have immense skill, knowledge and power beyond the fantasies of mortal men, but he was still flesh and blood. She was a happiness he wanted but could not have—and for an instant, he’d forgotten that last part.

His control had slipped after witnessing her death and revival. Still, that was no excuse. His enemies were too dangerous for a junior witch who was just beginning to master her talents. He had no right to draw their attention to Clary. At the very least, he had to be careful until he was sure Vivian was safely locked back in the Abyss. The demoness was definitely the jealous type.

So he ignored his student, keeping his focus on the spell. It was tricky but, unlike women, it followed a pattern of logic he understood. With the force of one driving a spike deep into bedrock, he fixed the silver glimmer to the canopy of the sky. From there it spun, growing larger and larger into a disk of shimmering light. If his thrust had been too great or too feeble, the swirl would have wobbled and collapsed, but this was as perfect as a whirling top. The momentum of the magic formed a tunnel between worlds, splitting open a passage between the mortal realm and the enchanted worlds beyond.

The perfection of the spell eased Merlin’s temper. The silver bled to a blue deeper than the surrounding sky. The audience cheered in anticipation, believing they watched a special effect none of Medievaland’s competition could copy. In a way they did, because no other theme park could boast a guest appearance by a real live dragon.

With a lazy flap of wings, Rukon Shadow Wing floated through Merlin’s portal. A smile split Merlin’s face at the sight and he allowed the pleasant tiredness that followed a well-cast spell to claim him. Portals took a lot of energy, but they were worth the effort for a sight like this.

The great male dragon flew low enough that Merlin caught the scent of musk and cinders as the wings blotted out the sun. The dragon’s green head was long and narrow, the sinuous neck twisting to survey the ground below. As it turned, the light caught the bony ridge of spikes that traced its spine to the tip of its snakelike tail.

Rukon’s head bobbed toward Merlin in acknowledgment. The dragon’s visits were made in exchange for Camelot’s assistance last autumn, when Arthur and Guinevere had freed Rukon’s mate. Plus, preening before a crowd of unsuspecting humans seemed to amuse the beast no end.

It was only then, with the spell complete, that he could risk a good look at Clary. Her face was flushed with effort, her eyes wide with what looked like shock. Stomach tense, he followed her gaze to the field below.

Clary’s illusions sometimes had a mind of their own, but normally they were forms without substance, as dangerous as a puff of smoke. As long as they showed off the knights and their shiny swords, what else mattered? So he hadn’t paid much attention when triple the number of required monsters appeared from thin air. Apparently, that had been a mistake.

A lion raked its claws across the flank of Sir Palomedes’s steed. The horse screamed, rearing up to reveal a bloody gash. Surprised, the knight struggled to keep his seat, but the terrified horse threw him and bolted for the stables. Horror gut-punched Merlin, and he grabbed the cold metal railing before him. Illusions didn’t draw blood. Something was very wrong, and now the lions were circling Palomedes.

Merlin shot a glance at Clary, who had raised her hands and seemed poised to begin another spell. He grabbed her wrist. “Stop!”

She rounded on him. “I can’t!”

Her voice held a sharp edge of panic that clutched at Merlin’s instincts. She’d gone from flushed to bone-white, her lips trembling with panic. Normally, he made students fix their own problems—it was the best way to learn—but lives were at stake. Right now he had to take charge. He pointed to the bench at the back of the space. “Sit down!”

“I need to make it stop!” Tears stood in her green eyes. Her distress tugged at him, sharp as any beast’s fang, but until everyone was safe, he couldn’t afford pity. Not even for her.

He thrust her toward the seat. “Sit down and don’t touch anything. Whatever you do, don’t use magic.”

She collapsed so hard the bench squeaked against the concrete. “It’s not my fault.”

“I don’t care.” Blame could come later. He needed solutions now.

Merlin turned back to the chaos below. The wolf Clary had conjured was gone, the magic of the illusion spent. That was what was supposed to happen—and it was the only normal thing that had happened. The far-too-real lions were only part of the problem. There were a pair of prehistoric creatures straight from nightmare, and one of them had Beaumains cornered. The knight’s blade ran red with blood, and so did his sword arm. Merlin’s thoughts scrambled in confusion. What the blazes had Clary done?

The audience sensed something was wrong. A strained silence had fallen over the amphitheater, as if every spectator held his breath. The show was supposed to be make-believe, but the fearful whinnies of the horses were all too real. Then shadow fell over the field once again as the dragon flew another loop in the sky. Merlin looked up to see Rukon peering back, the slitted pupils of the huge topaz eyes wide with interest.

The lioness crouched, the motion of her hindquarters making it plain she was about to spring at Palomedes’s throat. The sight jerked Merlin back to life. He summoned a shimmering ball of lightning to his hand and hurled it. It struck the lioness square in the back with a flash of pure white brilliance. Air rushed in a thunderclap as the creature burst into a cloud of tiny black scraps that looked like bats. They arrowed upward in a chorus of shrill cries.

Merlin’s breath stuck in his chest. The cloud of flying darkness said this was demon magic. Rukon recognized it, too, for the dragon released a stream of blinding, blue-white fire that wiped the flapping shadows from the sky. The spectacle of a fire-breathing dragon changed the somber mood in an instant. The crowd erupted in a collective gasp of wonder and glee. Cries of “Whoa!” and “Go, Merlin!” drowned out the sounds of battle.

But Merlin was just getting started. He scanned the field, giving an involuntary wince at the sight of the dinosaurs. The raptors pranced around Beaumains like naked chickens sizing up a worm. One bled but seemed oblivious to the wound, a primitive need to kill stronger even than pain. Merlin’s chest tightened with apprehension as Beaumains stumbled, his own injuries obvious.

Merlin’s next fire bolt split in midair to target the two raptors. The fireballs struck the earth with a thwump and crackle that fried both monsters to ash. This time nothing flew out of the smoldering ruins. Demons were hard to kill, but enough raw power did the trick. Without sparing the time or energy for satisfaction, he turned his attention back to Palomedes and the circling lions.

Clary—ignoring his orders as usual—was back at Merlin’s elbow in time to see Palomedes swing his blade at a shaggy-maned beast. The knight’s sword sliced into the lion’s hide, driving deep into the massive shoulder. The great cat roared, but the sound twisted into an unholy shriek as the beast dissolved into a flurry of blackness. Merlin flinched, every reflex recoiling at the sight.

“What just happened?” Clary demanded, her voice rising as she pointed at the sight. “Are those crows? Bats?”

“Demon magic does that,” Merlin replied, giving her a hard look. “The filth break apart and reform as some other monster.”

Her expression raised the hair along his arms, though he couldn’t say why. The scowl was Clary’s—he’d seen it often enough during their lessons—but there was something else, too. And then the look was gone, leaving him wondering if the battle with Vivian had left him paranoid.

Above, Rukon banked and turned to pass over the field once more. The wind in his huge wings rumbled like rippling thunder. Merlin gathered himself, every movement deliberate, and returned his attention to the lions. He hurled another ball of lightning that smashed into the pride and sent dirt fountaining into the air. One by one, the great cats burst into flurries of squeaking shreds of blackness. They swirled upward in a spiral, no doubt preparing to meld into some other, more horrific creature. Merlin searched for a fresh spell, something powerful enough to prevent a demonic attack on the crowd of innocent humans. Was this what the hellspawn had wanted all along? A means to infect this world with their evil?

If so, they had forgotten about dragons. A blast from Rukon’s flame scoured the bats from the sky. Merlin felt the clean heat on his upturned face, fanned by the stroke of Rukon’s wings. The stink of charcoal tickled his nose, but not before he caught a distinctive whiff of spice and sulfur. Vivian.

Then every thought was driven from his head by the roar of the crowd. They were on their feet, stamping and howling appreciation as the unprecedented spectacle wound to a new close. As if on cue, Rukon looped upward, climbing toward the open portal with another flourish of flame. The dragon rose with seemingly weightless ease and was soon swallowed by the azure sky of the Crystal Mountains. But his long neck curved backward for a last glance at Merlin. It didn’t take magic to read the message written in Rukon’s topaz eyes: be careful. And then the portal sealed with the efficiency of an invisible zipper, and the dragon was gone.

Merlin gripped Clary’s arm, holding her at his side while they stepped forward to take their bow. He was carefully blind to the knights below, acting as if their wounds and bewildered fury were all part of the entertainment. They’d finished the show. No one was dead and the demon magic dispelled. The audience was none the wiser. The only thing left was to exit the stage—and then he could start asking hard questions.

After three standing ovations, the audience finally let them leave. By then, Merlin’s temper was at a new peak. He dragged Clary into the corridor that led to the locker room, striding at top speed.

“Slow down!” Digging in her heels, she tried to wrench free of his grip.

He stopped, but didn’t let go as he turned to face her. The harsh overhead lights bleached the color from her face, adding to the shadows beneath her eyes. He crushed a rising panic that told him she was in trouble. “Very well.”

She blew out a long breath, but otherwise seemed tongue-tied.

He let his voice drop to something near a growl. “Let’s take this slowly. Start talking.”

She was shuddering as if plunged into Arctic waters. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Velociraptors? Really?”

“I didn’t mean to! I—” She broke off, her face flushed with confusion. She looked as if she couldn’t decide what to say.

Merlin’s chest tightened with foreboding. “If you didn’t mean it, then why did it happen?”

Clary sucked in a breath as if he’d struck her. The sound was loud in the echoing corridor.

Her expression gut-punched him. “What did Tamsin say about your wound?”

“She thinks it’s okay.” She pulled up her sleeve to show her arm. “It doesn’t look like much now. She fixed it.”

And yet Clary had started casting random spells far beyond her level of skill. That didn’t say fixed to him. Her gaze turned to him, now empty of everything but fear and pleading. The look broke him.

Like a man in a dream, Merlin reached out, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. They came away wet with her frightened tears. For that, he would have cheerfully sent every demon back to the Abyss all over again. As the pounding of his heart slowed, anger caught up with him, along with a profound sense of awe. Something had given Clary immense, even stunning, power. Demons were the obvious answer, but how?

Clary was the least talented student he’d ever taught. Could a mere scratch have changed everything? He really didn’t know. Demon magic followed different rules—if you could apply rules to its chaotic nature—and not even Merlin the Wise understood every last nuance. A hard knot of worry gathered in his chest. He could not resist the urge to touch her, brushing back a wisp of hair that was falling in her eyes.

Somehow that innocent gesture turned into an embrace. He’d sworn to himself that wouldn’t happen again, but her lips were against his, soft and uncertain. The first kiss ended, her breath warm and a little too fast against his face. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself this kind of intimacy—not just physical need, but with emotion attached. Everything around him—the concrete walls, the dull roar of the crowd—fell away, leaving only this woman and her haunted gaze. It was plain she was seeking reassurance, someone to catch her and put her on her feet again. If he was a better man, he’d be a little less literal about the catching part, but he couldn’t seem to take his hands from her waist.

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his costume. “What are you doing?”

This unguarded, vulnerable side of her destroyed his equilibrium. “Making certain you’re well.”

He pushed back the veil of her costume and tangled his fingers in her shaggy blond hair. She tilted her head, studying him from beneath her lashes. “You can’t tell anything by kissing me.” And yet she looked afraid that he might find something.

He released her, but didn’t back away. Her eyes were their usual color, like new leaves in the golden light of May. Her skin glowed the same delicate cream, her mouth still invited him—and yet something was different. It prickled against a sense that had no name.

She put one hand on his sleeve, the lines of her face going tight. “Tell me what I should do.”

He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know how to put his uneasiness into words.

The moment ended when a door slammed behind him. Heavy footsteps marched their way. Clary took a short, sharp breath.

“Merlin!” came a booming voice that rang against the concrete walls.

Merlin turned to see Arthur Pendragon, still in full armor, closing the distance between them. The king’s russet hair was brushed back from a face dominated by pale blue and furious eyes. He came to a stop just feet away, chain mail rattling with the sudden halt. His fingers tapped once on the helmet clutched under his arm. “What happened? My knights were injured, two of them badly.”

Arthur’s gaze went from Merlin to Clary, demanding answers.

Silently, Merlin stepped between them, blocking the king’s view.


Chapter 5 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)

Merlin never protected me that way, Vivian commented inside Clary’s head, her tone haughty. I never needed it.

No doubt the comment was meant as an insult, but Clary didn’t care. One look at Arthur’s scowl said she needed all the protection she could get, and one of the few people who could face Arthur down was Merlin. The king and the enchanter had a long, if sometimes volatile, friendship.

“How are Beaumains and Palomedes?” Merlin asked.

“They will survive,” the king replied. “Fortunately, Tamsin was working at the church today and could come in minutes.”

“That’s good news,” said Merlin.

Clary literally gulped, wondering how bad the wounds might be. Her stomach felt like ice.

Don’t worry, said Vivian. Those wounds are clean. I don’t bother with poison when simple fangs and claws will do.

Why do it at all? Clary shrieked inside her head, but as she peered around Merlin’s straight back at the king, she understood. Arthur was furious. Of the hundred and fifty knights of the Round Table, only a handful had awakened in the modern era. They were his friends, the only familiar faces from his old life, and they were all he had to fight the armies of the fae. What better way to pit Arthur against Merlin than threatening his men?

“You put my knights in danger,” said the king in a low, rasping voice.

“That was not our intent.” Merlin shifted, blotting out her view of Arthur’s flushed face.

“Perhaps it was not yours, but I know the script of the show.” The king’s tone rose, sharp with anger. “Your student was responsible.”

Again, people were talking as if Clary wasn’t there. Her temper stirred, but she didn’t dare protest when this was her fault.

“There was a mistake,” said Merlin with icy calm.

“A mistake?” Arthur snarled. “If it was not for Tamsin, Beaumains would never hold a sword again!”

Clary squeezed her eyes shut, heartsick. Beaumains was a good friend—cheerful, kind and almost like a brother. He would be an in-law once Gawain and Tamsin married, since he was Gawain’s youngest sibling. And her hands had cast the spell that had nearly killed him. The knowledge made her stomach roll.

“I want answers.” Arthur’s demand gave no room to refuse.

“We all do,” Merlin said evenly. “I will find the cause of what happened.”

Clary fell back a step. Answers were the one thing she needed and the last thing she could ask for. The demon inside her was still, and yet she could almost hear it snicker. Clary took another step, this time toward the exit to the locker rooms. The distance gave her a view of the two men. Arthur had one finger planted on Merlin’s chest. The king’s expression was thunderous, but Merlin’s was like stone.

Merlin looked at her, moving only his head. “Go get changed and I’ll meet you at the concession stand. Don’t leave until we’ve talked.”

Cringing with guilt, Clary wasted no time making her retreat. She’d put Merlin at odds with his king. She’d put the knights in danger. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was hiding the vengeful demon behind it all. She was a coward—but Vivian had threatened her sister. What was she supposed to do?

Frustration made her move quickly. It took less than five minutes to change and walk to the concession stand, where happy throngs of tourists were buying Knightly Nachos and Jalapeño Dragon Fries by the bucket. Clary stood beside the booth with the straws and napkins, watching the path for Merlin’s approach. Normally, she’d be tweeting or posting pictures from the afternoon’s show, but she wanted to hide instead. Even the smell of the food, usually so tempting, turned her stomach.

The familiarity of the place oppressed her, too, as if Medievaland itself knew what she’d done. So many of her hopes and dreams were tied up in the place. She’d spilled blood on this earth during her endless sparring matches with Gawain. There had been countless midnight practices with Merlin on the tourney ground, throwing balls of energy until she hit the target. He’d drilled her mercilessly, not just in illusions but in portals and farseeing, summoning and casting. The big empty grounds had been perfect for the messes she’d inevitably made. Merlin never seemed to care, but just made her do the spells over and over and over...

She didn’t notice the couple approach until it was too late. They were both in their teens, the boy tall and rangy and the girl with a short afro and ebony skin. “Are you Clary Greene?” the boy asked with an infectious smile.

Clary managed to nod.

“We saw you with the wizard today. That show rocked.”

“Would you?” the girl asked, handing her a program and a pen decorated with moons and stars.

“Sure.” Clary took the pen and paper and managed what she hoped was a friendly smile. She didn’t want to celebrate her role in the show, much less take a bow for something that was actually a disaster. Still, she couldn’t confess to launching homicidal demon constructs. Those conversations never ended well, even with other witches.

Vivian’s amusement hit her like heartburn. Grinding her teeth, Clary braced the program against the side of the booth and started to write, then blinked. Rather than her own name, she’d scrawled an elaborate rune. Well, sighed the demon, you can’t blame me. No one’s ever asked for my autograph before.

That’s not a spell that will harm the girl? Clary demanded.

And injure my first human fan? Goodness me, no. I haven’t had this kind of adoration since I was revered as a goddess, and that was simply ages ago. I’m feeling generous.

After a moment of confusion, Clary scrawled her name beside the rune and handed the pen and paper back to the girl.

“Cool!” the girl said, peering at the scribble. “Thanks a lot!”

Clary barely noticed them leave, directing her thoughts inward instead. Don’t do things like that! You’ll give us away.

Do you care that much for my safety? The words dripped with sarcasm.

Don’t play games. Clary shifted, finding a patch of deeper shade. You’ve already threatened to harm Tamsin if you’re found out.

Do you think I’d blame you for something I did?

You’re a demon. Isn’t that the kind of thing demons do? I care for my sister too much to risk it.

You do care for your sister. I can feel it like a warm fire in your soul. The sarcasm was gone. And you care for Merlin, though that is a very different fire.

Merlin had kissed Clary right after the show—she hadn’t had time to take that in before now, and the memory made her palms grow damp. It hadn’t been the angry, frustrated kiss he’d demanded from her after the ritual—this time his touch had been gentle, as if meant to comfort. She’d never seen that side of him before, and it left her a little shaken, almost humbled. Merlin the Wise never dropped his guard.

Oh, for pity’s sake, haven’t you ever had a lover before? Vivian sounded irritated.

Sure. Clary stiffened. Lots.

Why aren’t you with one of them? Vivian’s curiosity was a tangible thing. Surely there is a better fit for the likes of you.

Yeah, well, the witches have an expression. They didn’t waft my wand.

There was a beat of blessed silence where Clary was free to watch the hot dog–munching public come and go. A warm breeze rippled through the maple trees, promising a pleasant evening. Then Vivian broke into her thoughts again. Why not? Why weren’t they enough?

Clary’s temper stirred. None of your business. You’re not my BFF.

To her surprise, Vivian fell quiet again without a fight. Still, Clary could feel her presence like a dull toothache. There was something wistful about her mood, as if beneath her contempt was a childlike confusion about human relationships. That didn’t make Vivian any less dangerous or passionate. Rather, it was more like being trapped in an elevator with a toddler—a toddler armed with a flamethrower.

She saw Merlin striding toward her. He was still wearing his enchanter’s robes and drawing stares from the crowd. His face was stony.

“Come with me,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the stream of pedestrians.

“What’s going on?” she asked, tension swarming through her. “Is everyone okay? How mad is the king? Am I fired?”

“You’re not fired yet, but unless we get out of sight that may change.” As he spoke, patches of color flushed his high cheekbones. “The only reason you’re not in the king’s custody is because I’ve promised to investigate this afternoon’s events. If I don’t find satisfactory answers, we’re both in trouble.”

He was putting himself on the line for her. Clary felt Vivian’s twinge of satisfaction, followed by the image of Tamsin’s face. A plain warning.

Clary pulled out of Merlin’s grasp. “You don’t need to do this for me.”

“You’re my student. I know what you’re capable of, and none of that should have happened.” He glared down at her. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Sorry that offends you.” She wanted to get away, to put as much distance between Merlin and Vivian’s revenge as she could. And yet one look at his face said he wasn’t letting her leave his sight.

“You put everyone, especially yourself, at risk.” He put an arm around her shoulder, propelling through the exit and into the parking lot. It might look like an affectionate gesture, but Clary felt the steel in his arm. “I can’t let this slide.”

He led her to a four-door black SUV, one of Camelot’s vehicles. Merlin himself didn’t own a car, more often using magic to travel, but after a show he often drove to conserve energy. He pulled the robes over his head and threw the costume in the backseat. He was left wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.

Clary folded her arms. “So what do you intend to do?”

“Go for coffee.” He opened the passenger door, releasing warm air that smelled vaguely horsey. One of the knights must have driven the car right after jousting practice. “You and I need to talk.”

He drove to Mandala Books, which had a coffee shop and bakery in the back. The merger of the two businesses—and of the old Victorian houses that contained them—had been recently completed and the scent of new paint and sawdust still lingered in the air. Nimueh, the fae Lady of the Lake, was still a silent partner in the business, but she and Sir Lancelot du Lac rarely visited anymore. Most of their time was spent in the Forest Sauvage, keeping watch on the prison of Morgan LaFaye.

Merlin chose a table far in the back of the cafГ©, where they had some privacy. A server brought black coffee and a cinnamon bun before Merlin had to ask, which said something about how often he went there. Clary ordered a London Fog and looked around the place. It had wooden floors and pine tables with checkered cloths, geraniums in the window boxes and chandeliers made from old mason jars. An enticing view of the bookstore peeped through the archway that joined the two buildings. It was homey and simple.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of place,” she said to Merlin as the waitress set the vanilla tea latté before her.

He shrugged. “Nimueh placed powerful protections around it, which makes it safe. Plus, they have an excellent bakery.”

She watched him take a huge bite of the cinnamon bun. She’d never pegged Merlin as having a sweet tooth. Usually he was all about vitamins and lean protein. “That thing has enough calories to feed a small village.”

He shrugged. “I burned it off during the show. Fireballs take energy.”

She looked away, her mind’s eye fixed on memories of lightning and dragon fire. “Why did you protect me from Arthur?”

“I need to understand what happened.” He washed the pastry down with coffee, his shoulders easing a little. “Tell me what you experienced when you cast those spells.”

She could feel Vivian come alert inside her, and so she chose her words with care. “The show started okay. The spell that made the wolf worked normally. Then the next one had a mind of its own and then—I can barely remember.”

He studied her through critical eyes. “You’re holding something back.”

“So are you,” Clary retorted. It was a random strike, but the fleeting alarm in his expression said she’d struck home. She sucked in a breath. “Trust works both ways, doesn’t it? There was more to that ritual you did than you’re saying.”

“I told you already. I was conducting surveillance on the demons, which you interrupted.” He made a face. “A demon has been sighted in the Forest Sauvage in the company of the fae. The king and I wish to know why.”

“Did you learn anything?” Clary sensed Vivian’s interest and wished she hadn’t asked.

“Perhaps.”

“What?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“I got hurt. That makes it my concern.” Clary pushed her tea away. More than anything, she wanted to demand he evict the demon from inside her head. Despite Vivian’s threats, the need for privacy was like a maddening itch.

Don’t, warned Vivian. If he knows I’m here, he will do his best to destroy me. Your mortal form is too fragile to withstand such an assault.

How long are you going to keep this up? Clary demanded.

As I said, you are too weak a vessel for an open fight. I will have to take him by surprise. Therefore, I need you until that moment.

Clary’s lips parted in surprise. She had to say something—this was unbearable.

Remember your sister.

Clary let loose a sob, but covered her mouth. Merlin was looking at her, a furrow creasing his brow.

But the demon chose to drive her point home. Paralysis crept from Clary’s tongue all the way to her lungs. When she tried to inhale, nothing happened. A fiery pain spread through her chest. Clary strained, starting to choke. Please! Please let me go! Fear clawed at her insides until Vivian suddenly released her. Clary dissolved into a spluttering fit of coughing. Merlin jumped up, making the dishes rattle. He bent over her, patting her back until she stopped. “Did you choke?”

She nodded, mopping her eyes with a napkin. “Something stuck in my throat.”

“Perhaps an explanation you aren’t telling me?” he asked, sliding back into his chair. Now that the crisis was over, he was once again cool and professional. “You have a secret and I want an answer. I suspect they are exactly the same thing.”

And Clary was almost certain whatever he wasn’t telling her contained the answers to her predicament. They were in a deadlock. Merlin had dirty laundry—dirty, demonic laundry.

“If you hate demons so much, why did you have one as a girlfriend?”

Merlin’s face was like stone. And now, the one time Clary wanted the demon to chime in, Vivian was mute. Okay, then. Apparently, there was a juicy story there.

He leaned forward, fixing her with his amber eyes. “Are you going to help me?” he asked softly.

Clary had to tell him something, so she gave him the merest sliver of truth. “What if Tamsin didn’t cure everything? What if there is a lingering demon poison that affected my magic?”

She felt Vivian’s claws prick the inside of her mind, threatening to shred her from the inside out, but Clary stood her ground. The demon needed her alive for the moment, and she hadn’t given away the whole truth. They had to compromise to get through this.

Merlin’s face remained still, but his eyes closed as if in thanks. “That’s possible.”

“Can you test for something like that?”

“Sort of.” His face fell as he put money for their coffee on the table.

“Just sort of?”

“There are one or two methods that do not harm the subject.” He looked uncomfortable.

“You’re such a romantic,” Clary said, and then gripped the edge of the table, blackness nibbling at the edge of her vision. Her heart drummed in her ears, leaving her hot and weak.

Merlin circled the table, kneeling beside her. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.”

Clary struggled to answer, and this time it wasn’t the demon who froze her tongue. It was the horrific realization it hadn’t been her that had spoken. You’re such a romantic. That had been Vivian’s thought, Vivian’s words. She was losing control to the demon.

Clary met Merlin’s eyes, holding his gaze and willing him to understand all the things she couldn’t say. A crease formed between his brows, and he put a hand to her cheek, his palm cool against her fevered skin. Slowly, his thumb stroked her cheekbone, the gesture offering her a shred of comfort.

“Help me,” she begged.


Chapter 6 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)

Merlin’s hand covered hers. “Of course.”

Clary closed her eyes, not able to meet his gaze any longer. She concentrated on the feel of his touch and the long, strong fingers wrapping around hers. She was being split in two, but he was a solid anchor. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Come.” Merlin’s hands were gentle as he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s take care of this.”

Clary followed him to the car. “Where are we going?”

“To your sister’s.”

“Tamsin’s?” she asked in horror. The last thing she wanted was to put Vivian and her sister in the same room.

Merlin shot her a curious look as they got into the SUV. He started the engine. “Is there a problem with that?”

Vivian’s claws dug into Clary’s mind, sharp as any physical pain but far more frightening. Somehow she knew whatever injuries the demoness might cause to her mind and soul would never heal. She cleared her throat. “Tamsin’s done what she can already.”

Merlin pulled away from the curb into Carlyle’s afternoon rush. “Maybe, maybe not. I have an idea she can help me with.”

“She won’t have time. She’ll still be at Medievaland, healing the knights.”

“I already asked her to meet us at her place when she’s finished.” He gave her an inscrutable glance. “We talked before I met you at the concession stand.”

Defeated, Clary sank back into the leather seat of the SUV. How was she going to keep Vivian in check? Even if there was a cure for her demon problem, surely Vivian would fight back.

You’re quite right, little witch, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your lovely sister hasn’t had a patient quite like you and me before.

And she’d failed to detect Vivian’s presence once. There was every chance she’d miss it again.

Just so. If Merlin trusts her healing skills to find me, her failure will work in my favor.

Clary understood. After all, Vivian wanted to catch Merlin by surprise. However, if Tamsin made a correct diagnosis... Clary dropped that train of thought, already feeling a wave of nausea clog her throat. There was no way to win. She stared at the passing streets, scrambling for an answer where no one got hurt.

When they arrived at Tamsin’s door, the smell of tomato sauce filled the apartment hallway. Her sister answered Merlin’s knock, a wooden spoon in her hand.

“It’s Gawain’s favorite dinner,” Tamsin said in explanation. “He’ll be home soon and after today, we all want comfort food.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Clary asked, noting the dark circles under her sister’s eyes. “You must have just got home.”

She followed her into the kitchen. Tamsin moved the pot of sauce and turned off the burner, her movements brisk. “Of course I’m tired, but I just did the cleanup. I didn’t fight.”

Then she turned to face Clary, fear tightening her jaw. “I’ve seen demon-born monsters before. What were you doing?”

Clary took a step back. She could see the picture forming in Tamsin’s head—Gawain, brave knight and love of her life, perishing in the jaws of Clary’s creation. Tamsin’s future destroyed by her hapless kid sister. The scene wasn’t far off the mark.

“I’m sorry,” Clary said softly. “In perfect honesty, I don’t know exactly how that happened.” And for all our sakes, she willed her sister, don’t look deeper.

Emotions cycled through Tamsin’s expression. Anger. Fear. Compassion. The last was the worst because it was so familiar. Once again, Clary was the weak magical link in the family. The only difference now was that her incompetence had hurt their friends.

Tamsin licked her lips, seeming to come to a decision. “Go have a seat in the living room. Send Merlin in here so I can talk to him.”

Clary’s first instinct was to object on principle. As the youngest child, she’d been shut out of adult conversations too often. This time, though, she’d be keeping Vivian out of earshot. Clary did as she was told and turned on the TV to make eavesdropping impossible.

You think you’re being clever, Vivian sneered.

Yes. Clary changed the channel to a home renovation show. She didn’t care about fascia boards and roof tiles, but the shirtless construction guys were cute.

Vivian snorted, but her attention drifted to the show. Do humans truly have to rely on teams of physical workers to keep the rain off their heads?

Clary rolled her eyes at the demon’s appalled tone. Pretty much. When you don’t have magic powers, you need helping hands. That’s how this world works.

And sometimes the magically gifted needed help, too. When Tamsin and Merlin reappeared, her sister was holding a clay goblet filled with steaming brew. Clary turned off the TV and accepted the cup. The mixture smelled of woodlands and flowers, more like a herbal tea than a strong medicinal. Nevertheless, Vivian’s interest zeroed in on it with laser focus.

“What is it?” Clary asked.

With a weary sigh, Tamsin sank into Gawain’s oversize leather chair. “Just drink it.”

Merlin sat on the sofa to Clary’s left, putting her between the two of them. His expression was, as usual, guarded and cool. “It will stimulate the body’s natural healing and help the infection pass from your system.”

Clary took another sniff. “There are raspberry leaves in here.”

Raspberry? Vivian scoffed. That’s supposed to stop me?

Clary looked up at her sister, who folded her arms. “Drink up,” Tamsin said.

Clary lifted the goblet, feeling the steam against her cheeks.

Wait! Vivian demanded. There has to be something else in there. Something she’s not saying.

Clary—and the demoness—studied Tamsin for answers, but her sister’s expression gave nothing away. And, concentrating as she was, Clary didn’t feel the needle Merlin stabbed into her thigh until it was too late. Brew splashed as she dropped the goblet in surprise. It thunked to the carpet and rolled to Tamsin’s feet.

What was that? Vivian shrieked. Clary felt the slash of claws, but they were already blunted, rendered harmless by whatever had been in the needle.

With a shaking hand, her sister picked up the goblet and set it on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, little witchling. We had to do it.”

Clary watched her sister with an open mouth, too surprised for any deeper emotion, then spun to face Merlin, who still held the hypodermic. He glanced at it, and it dissolved into smoke.

“You tricked me!” she said, accusing them both.

“Apologies,” he said. “We had no way of knowing if this lingering infection of yours might try something.”

Bewildered, Clary glanced down at the stain on the carpet.

“It was just Pixie Forest blend from the local tea shop,” said Tamsin, not meeting Clary’s eyes. “The most it was going to do was make you sleepy.”

Betrayal stung almost as much as the fiery sensation crawling up her leg. They didn’t trust her to take whatever cure they offered. Worse, they saw her as a genuine threat that had to be managed. Her mind understood, but her heart hurt.

“Then what was in the shot?” she asked, her voice gone rough.

The pain had reached her belly. Vivian howled—or maybe it was her. Clary doubled over, clutching her middle. Merlin steadied her with firm hands, easing her back onto the couch. “It will put whatever you have to sleep. It might interfere with your powers for a time, but the trade-off in safety will be worthwhile.”

Merlin the Wise always knows what’s best, said Vivian in a sarcastic snarl.

But he spoke the truth. Clary could feel Vivian draining away, disappearing to somewhere too deep inside for Clary to detect. She wanted to test for the demon’s presence, poking around as she would for a sore tooth, but her thoughts scattered. The pain rippling through her was like wave after wave of fire.

At the same time, that feeling of being watched was finally gone. “There was a demon’s voice talking in my head,” she gasped. “It was Vivian.”

“I suspected something like that.” His face unreadable, Merlin stroked a hand over her bowed head just once, more apology in his gesture than his words. “Demon essence leaves echoes behind. Demons are energy and Vivian was caught between worlds. It’s not surprising that a bit of her touched you during the ritual.”

Sure, during the part where she blew into messy demon bits as the portal closed. Clearly, those bits had tried to reassemble themselves inside Clary.

“Witches are vulnerable because demons can attach themselves to another person’s magic.” Despite Merlin’s closed expression, his voice was gentle. “It’s serious, Clary. It can drive people mad.”

“How long will this cure last?”

Tamsin knelt before her, pressing a damp cloth to Clary’s face. It was wonderfully cool. “It’s hard to say, but it should hold until the infection leaves your system.”

“She’ll come back. She’s more than just an echo.”

“Hush,” Tamsin murmured, putting a hand to Clary’s face. “We don’t know that yet.”

Clary wanted to argue, but her head was pounding now. A tide of sickness rose up, swamping every other consideration. She jumped up, pushing past her sister, and ran for the bathroom.

The only good thing was that she hadn’t had much to eat. Too bad whatever drug Merlin had given her didn’t care if her stomach was empty. At some point, she locked the door to keep Tamsin out. Her sister might be a healer, but Clary needed privacy more than soothing words. After a while, Tamsin’s anxious voice faded and Clary slumped on the cold tile in peace.

What was she going to do? If the cure wasn’t permanent, she’d be back in the same hopeless place the moment Vivian woke up. Except it would be worse. Vivian would be furious, and Tamsin would be in even more danger. Merlin would be vulnerable, because now he believed Clary was, if not cured, at least inert.

She needed to get away, far away, to someplace where Tamsin and Merlin would be safe. Her own Shadowring Coven was on the opposite coast of the continent. Better yet, she could go to a circle of witches where she didn’t know anyone and there would be no friends or family Vivian could use as hostages. The moment she formed that thought, it became her plan. It was clear, simple and the right thing to do.

Clary already hated the idea. It made sense, but she craved emotional comfort, too. She’d always been the independent misfit, whistling her way through scrape after scrape, and yet home had always been there. So had her sisters. Cutting herself off wouldn’t be easy.

She heard Merlin’s voice, muffled by the door and distance to the next room. Tamsin replied. The words weren’t clear, but her sister’s concern was evident. Clary didn’t have much time before someone was knocking on the door again. If they stopped her before she got away, it would be twice as hard to leave them behind.

Eventually, Clary got to her feet. Pain made her knees wobble as she stood. She drank some water, then stole some mouthwash to get the vile taste out of her mouth. Finally, she looked in the mirror, confirming she looked as awful as she felt.

Slowly, she opened the bathroom door. Merlin and her sister were in the living room down the hall, their view of her blocked by the angle of the wall. To Clary’s left, just a few steps away, was the apartment door. A glance told her that Tamsin hadn’t locked it when they’d come in.

Years of teenage misbehavior had made her an expert at sneaking out. Clary slipped away, silently shutting the door behind her. Since she didn’t carry a purse, she still had her keys, wallet and phone in her pockets. Nothing was left behind at her sister’s place. All she had to do was make it home to pack a suitcase, and she’d leave town. A quick mental check told her Vivian was still gone.

Clary ran down the apartment stairs, not bothering with the elevator. The exit emptied into the parking lot, and she strode across the sunny pavement with renewed confidence. And nearly ended up a speedbump for Gawain’s motorcycle.

Oh, hell! She jumped back, plastering a smile on her face and waving brightly. The Scottish knight waved back, used to her coming and going. That would only buy her minutes at best. The instant he opened the door and mentioned that he’d seen her, the search would be on.

Clary slipped out of sight and ran. Now going straight home wasn’t an option. In fact, all the places she knew—Tamsin’s, her own apartment, Medievaland, Merlin’s place—were bound to be under Merlin’s magical surveillance. She wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe head to the bus station and catch a ride out of town?

She entered an alley that crept between a gas station and a pub. It was smelly and narrow, the brickwork on either side black with age and dirt. Patches of straggling grass grew under rusted downspouts. Clary looked over her shoulder even though she’d barely taken two steps into the confined space. But that was stupid. She was a witch with a demon on board. That made her like a bomb in an action-adventure movie, one that had to be dumped in an ocean or shot into outer space before it nuked the free world. She could blast any mugger to smithereens.

Squaring her shoulders, Clary pushed on. It was broad daylight, and she could tell this alley was a shortcut to the main road ahead. Going this way would put distance between herself and well-meaning friends.

Halfway across, she heard music from a window above. It was an ordinary pop tune, barely worth remembering, but someone with an exceptional voice was singing along with the words. That was special.

The sound vanished as quickly as it had come, but Clary paused just long enough to look up. There were curtains and knickknacks in the second-floor windows, and the sash of one was pushed up. That had to be where the voice had come from. There was only one kind of being that could sing so beautifully—a fae.

Despite the lovely song, Clary drew back. The soul-sucking monsters found witches especially tasty. She spun on her heel, ready to run, but a figure dropped from the window right into her path. The male rose from his crouch as if this was a perfectly normal way to say hello. He was tall and slender, casually dressed but for an elaborately tooled belt of green leather. A long, silver-handed knife hung at his hip. He sniffed the air, as if confirming it was she who had smelled so tasty.

“Great,” Clary muttered under her breath.

“Where are you going, my girl?” asked the fae. He had dark olive skin that showed off the bright green of his eyes. His long, white hair was pulled back to reveal a fine-boned face that would have put him on the front of any fashion magazine.

“I’m going past you.” Clary raised her hands, ready to weave a spell that would hurl the fae into the next block. Except no power flowed through her body, ready to shape to her will.

She was helpless. Merlin had warned her that the injection might mess with her magic, but she hadn’t expected this.

The fae must have seen her confusion, because he burst into a cruel laugh.


Chapter 7 (#u4033ed0e-a828-5f35-8f33-3b5c44d16274)

Panic made Clary stagger back. Her magic had never been brilliant, but it was as much a part of her as sight or hearing. She clenched her fists, fighting a need to scream. Her struggle seemed to amuse the fae even more. Or maybe amusement was the wrong word. While fae had no feelings, they still seemed to enjoy tormenting their prey.

“Who are you, pretty boy?” Clary demanded, mostly to make him stop sniggering.

“I am Laren of the Green Towers.” He waved a hand at the alley. “Or perhaps I should say the back streets. The hunting is far better here.”

By hunting, he meant stealing the life essence of mortals. Drinking mortal souls restored a fae’s emotions, their love of beauty and ability to create—but only for a short while. Those addicted to the rush left a trail of dead or mindless victims in their wake. At least Laren appeared physically healthy, which meant he hadn’t been a soul-eater for long.

“What happened to your witch’s tricks?” he taunted.

“I’m on a cleanse.” She shifted her feet, bracing to run. Fae were incredibly strong despite their slight appearance. Unless Clary found a weapon, she’d lose the fight before it began.

“Afraid to face me, wench?” Laren glided forward, his steps silent. His intent, predatory posture reminded her of the velociraptor’s.

“The name’s Clary. I’d stay and brawl, but my calendar’s full.”

She spun and ran, pumping her legs for all she was worth. She’d made it past a row of garbage cans before Laren tackled her to the ground, his arms wrapped around her waist. Apparently, the fae were as fast as they were strong.

Clary’s knees exploded with pain as she fell, the fae’s weight driving her into the ground. She raised her arms to protect her face, but not before a blur of gravel and straggling weeds filled her view. Her lungs emptied in a rush. Stunned, she lay helpless as Laren flipped her over and straddled her waist.

It was then she met his eyes. They were green like her own, but a vibrant shade unlike any mortal’s. And they were utterly, chillingly void of feeling. The loss of his soul had turned him into something alien. She might as well have been pinned by a shark.

Terror flooded her, robbing the last shreds of her strength. She had no magic and no weapon. She drew in a shaking breath, fighting down the urge to wail.

His lips drew back from his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “What a pretty thing you are.” He placed a fingertip between her eyes and traced downward, over the tip of her nose and the bow of her lips. “You will be delicious.”

Clary shuddered at the naked hunger in his face. It promised a brutal end, and a primitive instinct to live took over. She twisted beneath him, arching her back against his weight. Laren pushed her down again, but not before the knife in his belt caught her eye, its silver hilt gleaming in the alley’s muted sunlight. A fae hunter would need such a thing to finish his victims. It taunted her, promising death or just maybe deliverance.

She widened her eyes, letting all her fear show. Laren’s nostrils flared as if scenting her distress. His knees tightened against her hips and he grabbed her jaw, using one hand to pin her head in place. That was all he needed to control her. Compared with his strength, her arms might have been helplessly beating wings.

Or not. Clary plucked the knife from its scabbard with a quick hiss of steel on leather and drove it toward his ribs. It would have worked, if not for fae reflexes. He twisted with the agility of a cat, his free hand clamping around her wrist in an iron grip.

A chilling sound of regret escaped his lips. “Very good. I see I’m growing careless.” He peeled the knife from her fingers and tossed it just out of reach. Clary heard it fall with a ping of metal on stone. Clearly, he wasn’t a warrior obsessed with keeping his blades in perfect condition.

Then he bent over her again, the smell of his skin and sweat far too intimate. He grabbed her jaw once more, forcing her mouth open with bruising insistence. “Give yourself to me,” he whispered. “Give me your joy and tears and hope.” His lips sealed over hers.

The assault on her soul was far, far worse than she had ever imagined. It felt as if her insides were being torn through her throat, leaving an icy vacuum behind. She pushed against his chest, but he was solid as granite. Her hands fumbled to his face, poking and clawing and finally to his hair, but nothing made him flinch. Sight and sound vanished, leaving only an unholy pain. Finally, Clary screamed, but Laren drank that down along with everything else.

Then something hurled him back. Clary collapsed backward, hitting her head on a sharp rock. The universe swam for an instant before she rolled to her side to see Merlin standing over Laren. She expected Merlin to pound the fae into a pulp, shock him with thunderbolts—something—but the enchanter stood poised and unmoving, a look of naked curiosity on his face.

Then she realized that the fae writhed on the ground in agony, his grinding moans like nothing she’d ever heard. Taking no chances, Clary fumbled for the knife he’d thrown aside and staggered to her feet, using the filthy wall for support. Slowly she approached, the long blade gripped in one hand.

Laren’s eyes had rolled back into his head until only the whites showed. Foam coated his lips and he trembled with long, violent spasms. Merlin’s face was grim as he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, scanning her slowly from head to the scuffed toes of her shoes. He squeezed her gently, angling his arms as if for a reckless moment he might decide to pull her close. After an odd hesitation, he let his hands fall away. “Thank the gods you’re all right,” he said quietly.

For an instant, she saw possessive anger storm over Merlin’s face, lighting his odd amber eyes. The primitive heat stirred an answering call deep in her core. Her response was as inevitable as the autumn flight of birds—or perhaps the rage of earthquakes. It was that deep and mesmerizing.

And then the heat in Merlin’s eyes was gone, buried again—but this time she saw the effort it took him to hide it, as if it was growing harder to smother. But why does he care about me, especially after the trouble I’ve caused? Not that she’d let him see her doubt. That would leave her cracked open like an egg dropped from its nest to the pavement below. And this wasn’t the time for confessions, anyway. She’d just about had her soul snatched. After a long moment, she stepped back, heaving a long breath. She was grateful he’d come and angry he’d stolen her power, and she didn’t have the strength to deal with either of those things right then.

Instead, she pointed at the fae writhing at their feet. “What happened to him?”

“I’m not certain, but my first guess would be indigestion,” Merlin replied drily.

A slightly hysterical laugh escaped Clary. Her world wavered and she gripped Merlin’s arm. Humor aside, the enchanter’s remark made no sense, but the evidence was before her eyes. Still, how could her life energy be toxic to a fae? It was ludicrous, and just a little embarrassing.

She opened her mouth to say so just as she passed out.

* * *

Clary woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom. After jerking into a sitting position, she pressed a hand to her aching head and found a lump where she’d hit the pavement. An involuntary groan escaped her as she blinked the room into focus. She was clothed and lying on a king-size bed. One wall of the room was exposed brick, the floor wide planks of hardwood sanded to a soft sheen. Another wall was a balcony with a view of the sun fading over the distant hills. This had to be one of those trendy lofts in the downtown’s converted warehouses. The furniture was plain but top quality, the bed linens definitely not from a big box store. Whose place was this?

She swung her feet off the bed and took a second look around. The room was nice, but the clutter said a real person lived there. A bookshelf spawned stacks of books around it, like seedlings around a tree. Unfolded laundry was heaped in a chair and spilled over onto the floor.

Slowly, Clary bent and pulled on her shoes, which someone had removed and left beside the bed. Her head throbbed with the change in angle, but it was manageable. When she stood, she caught sight of the T-shirt on the floor by the closet. It was black with a faded logo of a metal rock band, and she’d last seen it stretched over Merlin’s chest. Was this his place? It looked too—she searched for the word—normal.

She left the bedroom, curiosity in full flood. The room opened directly into the main living area, and she caught an impression of more wood, brick and large windows hung with plants. “Anybody home?” Clary called.

Merlin appeared around the corner. “Ah, you’re up.” His usual mask was firmly in place—cool and slightly amused, as if the world were a movie and he’d already seen the credits. The only clue to his mood was the vertical pleat between his brows.

“Do you live here?” she asked.

He nodded, sipping from a glass of something green. “How are you feeling?”

“Not sure yet.” She wrinkled her nose. His drink smelled like lawn clippings. “Is that brew from the Fabrien Spell Scrolls?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “It’s wheat grass from my juicer. Want some?”

Clary shuddered. “Not unless we’re going for a true exorcism. Why am I here?”

“Medical observation. You’ve been through a lot in the past few days.” His eyes were thoughtful as he sipped his disgusting drink. “Why did you run from your sister’s place? Imagine my surprise when Gawain lumbered in to announce he’d seen you crossing the parking lot.”

She looked away. “I’m putting everyone in danger.”

“The danger won’t vanish with a change in location. You’ll just take it somewhere else.”

Clary heaved a breath. “Vivian wants revenge on you, and she threatened Tamsin so I would cooperate. We’re dealing with more than a slight touch of possession.” There, she’d said it. She watched Merlin’s face for a reaction.

To her disappointment, he just shrugged, hard to read as ever. “That’s Vivian.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” For an instant, his composure slipped and she saw lines of tension bracket his mouth. “I suspected as much about halfway through the show at Medievaland. Not even demons are typically that skilled at conjuring, but she is.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Her tone grew sharp.

He tossed back the rest of the wheat grass, making a face as he swallowed. “What would Vivian have done if I’d confronted her?”

Clary swallowed, not liking the truth. “She’d have lashed out.”

“And that would not have ended well for anybody, especially you.”

Clary buried her face in her hands. Of course Merlin had figured it out. He’d just kept his cards hidden from his ex-lover. She hated him for it, but knew her life depended on his skills. “Vivian will come back, you know.”




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