Morgan threw a Kiss at her friend (which he promptly dropped, proving again that the last place he belonged was in a sporting goods store).
“What are you doing here, besides annoying me?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be minding your shop?”
Michael shrugged. “I’ve got that college kid keeping an eye on things. It’s not as though business is booming.” His lack of enthusiasm about the shop he’d inherited from his father was as chronic as it was pathetic. He refused to give up on the place because it was his father’s dream, but everyone knew Michael really had his heart set on a career as an actor.
“And you’ve had that ditzy Lucy chick minding the store most days recently, so you’re not one to talk, Missy.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he bounced on the balls of his sneaker-clad feet. “Besides, I have news. Big news!”
“Oh, really? she said. “What’s up?” Morgan tried to show some interest for Michael’s sake, although she wasn’t really in the right frame of mind to hear another long story about a possible audition, or worse, a possible new boyfriend. Especially since neither was likely to amount to much in the end. Still, he’d been nothing but helpful about the Arthur situation, after all (hopeless flirting aside).
Michael smirked at her. “You’ll never guess who was just in my shop.”
Morgan tried to work up the energy to care. “Um…Michael Jordan?”
He pouted. “Oh, come on, you can do better than that. I’ll give you a hint. It has something to do with your big red-headed pal.”
That woke her up. “Something to do with Arthur? Please tell me that Merlin just walked into your store and asked for a can of tennis balls to juggle with.”
“Ha! As if. Nobody’s asked for my balls in weeks.” He snickered.
Morgan rolled her eyes. The man took longer to get to a point than a politician.
“So, who was it? That creep Mortimer?” She clenched her fingers around a pencil and it snapped. If that weasel was trying to cast a love spell on another member of her coven, she was going to juggle with his balls, by golly.
“Nope. Not Mortimer.” Michael shook his head. “Are you sure he’s really Mordred? Because he seemed perfectly nice to me. Cute, even.”
Morgan slapped him gently on the side of the head.
“Focus, Romeo,” she said. “If it wasn’t Mortimer, who the hell came into your store?”
“Who is the last person you would expect to come see me?” he asked, apparently unaware of how close to serious injury he was. “I’ll give you one more hint: she’s a lot older than she looks.”
Morgan just about fell off her stool. “Fay LeBeau? Are you trying to tell me that Fay LeBeau is in your store?” She looked around wildly for something to use as a weapon.
Michael waved a languid hand at her and pulled another seat up to the counter, next to the chocolate. “Don’t worry, she’s long gone. She swooped in about a half an hour ago, made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, which of course I refused anyway. Then she took off again in a long white limo.” He peeled the foil off another Kiss. “Very posh.”
Morgan felt like pulling her hair out. Or possibly his. “What do you mean, she made you an offer you couldn’t refuse? Why didn’t you call me? What did she say?” Her words spilled out across the counter.
Michael laughed at her. “Oh, throttle back, missy. I’ll tell you everything, I promise. And I came right over to report to you as soon as she left.”
Of course, he then drew out the torture by sauntering to the back of the shop and pouring himself a cup of coffee, slowly adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, then sauntering back to the counter. Morgan had to give the man credit: he knew how to milk a scene.
Once he was settled in his seat again and assured of a properly attentive audience, he finally told Morgan what had happened.
“I was sitting there, minding my own business, maybe ogling the help a bit just to keep myself entertained, when in she strolled,” he said. “Of course, I recognized her right away—I loved her in that movie with the cowboy—but I played it cool and pretended to think she was just another customer.”
Morgan smiled to herself at the thought of Michael playing anything cool; undoubtedly Fay had seen through him right away, but she wasn’t about to burst his bubble.
“So anyway, she chatted with me for a few minutes, then casually introduced herself,” he continued. “I asked for her autograph, just to keep her happy, you know.”
Morgan stifled a snort. Oh, she knew, all right. There was no way Michael could have resisted getting the star’s autograph, even if she was their worst enemy. There was nothing the man liked more than his late night, B-grade movies.
“And then she started talking about how I have a really intriguing face, and have I ever thought about being in the movies.” He paused for effect.
“Are you serious?” Morgan said. “I mean, you do have an intriguing face, of course. But what was she up to?”
Michael made a “ta da” gesture in the air above his head. “Only offering me a part in her new film, baby.” He looked at Morgan to see her reaction. “What do you think of that? The woman actually tried to bribe me to spy on you and Arthur by offering me an acting job! As if I would ever do such a thing.”
Morgan smiled at him. “Of course you wouldn’t,” she said. “And I don’t know how she found out you are an aspiring actor, but it can’t have been easy to turn down your dream.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh and helped himself to another candy. “Broke my little thespian heart, I have to say. But still, there is no way I was going to turn traitor, just for a little walk-on role in some Hallmark Movie of the Week.” He winked at her. “Now, if had been the lead, I might have had to seriously consider it.”
Morgan did some considering of her own. “Maybe you should,” she said. Michael almost fell off his stool.
“What?” he responded. “What are you saying? I was just teasing! I would never betray you and the studly one. Not if she offered me a two hour monologue with a guaranteed Oscar.”
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “But Fay doesn’t. And maybe we can find a way to use that to our advantage.”
Later that evening, Morgan and Michael sat at the kitchen table and had a council of war with Arthur and Granny over a pot of tea and more cookies. The cheerful yellow walls and shining copper pans hanging from a ceiling rack made a strange backdrop to the tense conversation. Young Angus and ET sat under opposite ends of the table and studiously ignored each other.
After Arthur got over being indignant about Fay’s—admittedly not altogether unexpected—underhandedness, he agreed with Morgan that Michael should take the actress up on her offer.
“Truly, ‘tis the best solution for all of us,” he insisted when Michael protested. “You are able to pursue your ambitions and we will have a spy in Fay’s camp.”
“Yes,” added Morgan, “and she’ll think she has a spy in ours, when she really doesn’t.” She gave an evil smile. “I like the idea of turning the tables on the sneaky b—.” She glanced at Granny, serenely munching a cookie across the table. “Er, the sneaky Witch.”
Granny smirked at her, brushing crumbs daintily away from the corner of her mouth with one finger. “Oh, don’t bother to clean up your language for me, lass. I learned how to cuss from yer Grandda, and he could turn the air blue if he was in the mood.”
“I don’t like the idea of pretending to betray you,” Michael said, shaking his head. One lock of dark brown hair slid into his eyes, and he gave Morgan a pitiful look. “Everyone in the coven will hate me.”
She handed him a cookie for consolation. “I explained why we couldn’t tell them you were actually a double agent. Somebody would be sure to let it slip to Crystal eventually.” She smiled at him and laid on the flattery. “After all, not no one else in the group is as good an actor as you are.”
“Hmph,” Michael said, only partially convinced.
“They will und
erstand when it is all over, and we tell them how brave you were,” Arthur added. “The women will think you are a hero.”
“Oh, great,” Michael muttered under his breath. “That’s a big help.” Morgan kicked him under the table.
“The point is, she’ll think she knows what we’re doing and if we get a lead on Merlin. But in reality, we’ll know what she’s up to instead. And she won’t be trying to sneak the information through someone else if she thinks she can get it from you.” Morgan looked at Arthur hopefully as a thought hit her. “Maybe Fay will even have Mortimer take the spell off Crystal if she believes she has Michael to spy on us instead.”
Arthur shook his shaggy red head with regret. “Alas, it is not in that woman’s nature to give up an advantage once she has it. I am afraid we must leave Crystal under Mortimer’s control for a while longer if we want Fay to believe we do not suspect her.”
Morgan frowned. “I can’t help but think we should get Crystal back her free will, even if that does mean Fay will know that we know that she knows that we know—hell, you know what I’m trying to say!”
Tea sloshed over the side of Morgan’s cup as she pounded the table with frustration, and ET uttered an indignant yowl as a few drops hit his back. It was bad enough he had to put up with the presence of that mangy black furball, but getting attacked by his own mistress was just too much. He got up and stalked out of the room.
“Sorry, ET,” Morgan yelled at his hind end, mopping up tea again. She explained to the others, “I just get so angry when I think about that slimy Mortimer making Crystal believe she’s in love with him. I don’t see how we can let him keep on doing it.”
Granny peered out from underneath wispy white brows. “So ye think ye could break his spell, do ye?”
“Oh, well, I’m pretty sure I could,” Morgan said. “Especially with your help. He may have learned a thing or two from his mother, but if he’s using a spell as cheesy and old as you say it is, he’s probably not half the witch Fay is. I could probably snap Crystal out of it.” She looked pensive. “Unless Fay cast the spell herself. I’m not sure I could counter her magic. But I still think we should try.”
Unexpectedly, Michael disagreed with her. “Look, I don’t like the idea of Crystal being used by that creep any more than you do. But you know she wanted to help Arthur any way she could. And I don’t think she’d be happy to find out we sacrificed an advantage to save her from a few bad dates.”
Morgan pondered this for a while. “Do we know if she’s actually, uh…you know?”
Michael shook his head. “I talked to her on the phone earlier, and she was gushing about what a gentleman he is.” He made gagging noises and rolled his eyes. “I think our pal Mortimer doesn’t want her for anything other than a conduit into our group. You saw the way he treated her when he was here before—he tolerated her displays of affection, but just barely. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he plays for my team. ” He tapped his chin and attempted to look sage. “I think we can assume her virtue, such as it is, is safe.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Morgan conceded, not happily. “But you get to deal with her after this is all over.”
Granny smiled at her granddaughter and patted her on the arm (leaving a smear of chocolate, but she meant well). Her eyes gleamed in her wrinkled face.
“It’s good that ye are so concerned for your friend, Morgan,” she said, slurping her tea. “But I think ye may have missed the meaning of all this.”
“What are you talking about, Granny?” Morgan asked. “What have I missed?”
Granny grinned at the three sharing the table with her. “Do none of ye realize what this means, that Michael is going to pretend to work for Fay?”
Arthur figured it out first. “The spy in your vision! It was Michael!”
A smile broke out on Morgan’s previously gloomy face. “Are you sure, Granny? Your vision was wrong?”
“Tch,” Granny scolded. “My vision was perfectly accurate, young lady.” She pointed at Michael meaningfully. “I told ye I saw a spy in your midst, and so I did.” The old woman scowled down at her plate. “I just dinna see that we would know all about it, that’s all.”
Arthur put his large hand over her smaller, wrinkled one and consoled her. “Not even Merlin could have foreseen that, Madam Granny,” he said. “It is amazing enough that you saw what you did.” He gave her a gallant half bow from where he sat. “You are truly quite remarkable.”
The old woman blushed. “Ach, listen to ye go on.” But she looked pleased, nonetheless.
Morgan felt a little jealous, although she tried to ignore it. Arthur never said anything that nice to her. Still, he made Granny happy and that could only be a good thing.
“So now that we know the meaning of your vision, will you be heading back to Scotland?” she asked her grandmother.
Granny treated her to an obviously fake look of sorrow. “Ach, and are ye so eager to get rid of your old Granny, now that I’ve traveled half the world to see ye?” She wiped away a nonexistent tear with one arthritic finger. “I suppose I could go back home, if ye don’t want me here…”
Morgan threw her hands up in disgust. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” She kissed the old woman on one soft, crumpled cheek. “You know I love having you here.”
“Me too, Granny.” Michael chimed in.
Arthur just smiled.
“Well, that’s good,” Granny said with a wink. “Because if ye think I’m leaving before I see how this all turns out, ye are crazier than I am.” Then she looked serious for a moment. “Besides, I have a funny feeling that ye will need all the help ye can get before too long. That Fay is one determined woman, and she’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants.”
She looked pointedly at Morgan. “And what she wants is your man. So ye had better figure out a way to stop her, before it’s too late.”
Chapter Twelve
Arthur sat in the passenger seat of Morgan’s little Honda as they returned from the airport after seeing Michael off to Hollywood. Briton’s former king was still having a hard time adjusting to automobiles—encountering airplanes had nearly made his head pop off. To think of it: a man could get into a metal bird and a few hours later get out in another land. It was astounding. And more than a little frightening.
Arthur had a moment of intense homesickness for his own land and time. Unfortunately, no airplane could take him there, and he doubted Morgan could reverse her amazing, but admittedly accidental, magical feat. No, only Merlin could return him to the place where he belonged. And they were no closer to finding the magician than they had been before.
After Morgan had stopped blushing and stammering over Granny’s comment referring to Arthur as “her man” (something which amused Arthur mightily even as he was offended that Morgan was so adamant in her denials) the four companions had talked long into the night, honing their plans to send Michael to Fay.
There was much discussion of the best way to accomplish this, now that Michael had turned her down, but eventually Arthur had persuaded them to just wait. Fay, he’d insisted, would never give up so easily. And so it proved to be.
Two days later, a movie script had arrived in Michael’s mail, a juicy heroic sidekick role highlighted in yellow with his name written next to it. Accompanying this temptation was a huge bouquet of flowers and a simple note that read, “You were born to play this part. Join me, Fay.”
Upon reading the script, Michael had been heard to mutter under his breath, “It’s a good thing we came up with a plan that called for me to take her up on this,” as he disappeared into the bathroom to practice in front of the mirror.
Arthur had watched Morgan fret during the days that passed between Michael’s call to Fay accepting the part (and not so incidentally, the role of spy) and his departure. Watching her now as she guided her metal beast carefully through a herd of other such creatures, Arthur rather thought she fretted still, although she was doing a better job of covering it up. He wishe
d he could find some way to erase the worry lines that creased her forehead.
Not that he was any fonder of her than he had been in the beginning; heaven forefend. After all, she was still a witch. And she still had no respect, nor manners—how hard could it be to learn how to bow—and mostly treated him with a polite distain that would have gotten her thrown into the dungeon during any civilized era.
Why, look at how rudely she had protested when Granny suggested that Arthur might be her man, as if he would ever have the wench. Most women would have been flattered at the thought, but not Morgan, oh no. She acted as if Granny had suggested she was being courted by a goatherd. One with spots and a limp.
Arthur snorted, distracting Morgan momentarily from her driving. When she turned to look questioningly at him, he quickly smiled and shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for her attention to be on him, instead of the metal beasts that surrounded them. He still did not understand how all those people knew where they were supposed to be in this complicated dance. He supposed it was much like being in a joust; it seemed like chaos and confusion, but everyone had a place and job. Still, it was enough to make even the bravest of men take pause.
And yet Morgan made it look easy. Arthur had to admit that, respect and courtesy aside, she was turning out to be a remarkable woman. And truly, she seemed courteous enough with others. It was only Arthur who continuously received the knife-sharp edge of her tongue. Well, and Michael, occasionally, but that was more in fun, like the squabbling of siblings.
And she was certainly beautiful. At least when she wasn’t scowling at him and giving him evil looks. Her long dark hair and bright green eyes made a striking combination, and while no noblewoman of his time would have allowed her skin to be so darkened by the sun, he had to admit that the golden hue looked most wondrous on her. Not that he cared. But a man noticed such things. Just in passing, as it were.
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