King Me!

by Deborah Blake

  She and Arthur had brought the other coven members up to speed on what they thought had happened to Crystal, and everyone had reluctantly agreed that it was safer to leave Mortimer alone for now. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch poor, sweet Crystal walking hand in hand with that oily spy.

  “Morgan,” a deep voice said from behind her, “you are grinding your teeth again.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to loosen her tight jaw, without much success. “I know,” she said to Arthur without looking around, keeping her voice low even though Mortimer was across the room. “I just can’t help it. I hate seeing them together. I hate the fact that I know he is taking advantage of Crystal and I’m not doing anything to stop it.” She stopped and purposely unclenched her jaw again. “The man is a toad. And he makes everyone nervous when he’s jabbering at them.”

  Arthur’s big hand came down lightly on her shoulder. “I know, Morgan. I am having a difficult time not striking him, myself.”

  Morgan smiled down at her shoes. “Well, maybe when this is all over you’ll get your chance. It’s something to look forward to, anyway.”

  The king chuckled in her ear. “Tis a fond dream of mine, I assure you.”

  Morgan’s smile slipped away as a commotion broke out across the living room. Two volunteers were arguing, piles of envelopes sliding unheeded to the floor. A minute later, one of them got up and stalked out of the room, slamming the front door behind him. Charles Snodgrass hurried after the worker, looking concerned. In the silence that followed, Morgan noticed Mortimer slithering away from the scene of the confrontation, a smug smile tugging at his thin lips.

  “He did it again,” she growled. “How the hell does he manage to get people fighting with each other? I was looking right at him this time and I didn’t see a thing. The man’s a weasel!”

  Arthur shook his head. “I do not know. But I agree; he does seem to be at the root of all the disagreements we have observed. He used to do the same thing in Camelot. I once asked Merlin if Mordred was using magic to upset those around him, but the wizard insisted it was simply a natural gift for causing fear and distrust.” He pushed his rust-colored hair back from his face restlessly. “No doubt it is something he inherited from his mother.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Granny said from under Morgan’s elbow.

  Morgan jumped. “Great goddess, Granny! Stop sneaking up on me!” Then she took in what the old woman had said and jumped again in alarm. “Wait, what do you mean, speak of the devil?”

  “She’s on the phone for ye,” Granny said calmly, pointing at the handset sitting on the kitchen table. “She told me to tell ye not to let on to Arthur that she was calling, and to get ye to the phone secret-like.” She smirked up at Arthur, still standing by Morgan’s side. “Pushy lass, that one. But she forgot to tell me not to tell.”

  Morgan looked up at her tall companion, a question in her eyes. “Do you think I should talk to her?” She glanced across the room at Mortimer, but he seemed unaware that anything was going on. Had he been expecting his mother to call? She had no clue. Surely he would have been gloating if Fay were calling to say she’d found Merlin?

  Arthur shrugged his massive shoulders. “I do not see what harm it can do. And you might as well see what the sorceress wants—she is persistent enough to keep calling until you speak to her.”

  “Do you want to come listen in on the conversation?” Morgan asked, starting toward the kitchen. “I know you were upset the last time I talked to her.”

  “Morgan.” The soft, serious tone of the word stopped her in her tracks. He reached out and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up into his warm brown eyes.

  “Yes, Arthur?” She was mesmerized by his low voice and the earnestness of his gaze. Sometimes she forgot just how forceful his personality could be, until he turned it full force on her.

  “I trust you, Morgan,” he said. His eyes never wavered from hers. “I do not believe there is anything either the sorceress or her son could do to change that.”

  Her heart thudded in her chest for a moment before settling back into its normal cadence. What a gift he had just given her, this man who had ruled thousands and yet been betrayed by those few he had trusted absolutely. His trust, so freely offered, meant more than she could say. She struggled to find words to tell him so.

  Arthur smiled at her, his wicked grin breaking the solemn spell he had cast. “Had you not best get to the telephone, Witch?” he said, pushing her gently in the direction of the table. “After all, it does not do to keep an evil sorceress waiting.” He chuckled. “Granny and I will wait here for you, in case Mortimer is watching to see whether or not you follow his mother’s instructions. It would be best if she still thinks you are considering making a deal with her.”

  Morgan agreed, and reluctantly walked over to pick up the phone.

  “Yes?” she said, as if she didn’t know who waited on the other end. “Who is it?”

  “Hello dear,” responded the familiar voice, as smooth as caramel, “it’s Fay LeBeau.” There was a weighted pause. “And how are you, dear? Everything going well, is it?”

  Morgan gritted her teeth and answered in her own sweetest tones. “Quite well, thank you. Arthur and I are getting along so well; it is a pleasure having him in my home.”

  The woman on the other end of the phone let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, do enjoy him while you have him, dear. You know you’ll have to give him up eventually, one way or the other.”

  Damn. Point to Fay. “Of course, Fay,” she answered evenly. “Nothing is forever. Except for you, apparently.”

  There was a hissing sound that might have been static. “So, dear, have you been thinking about our little talk? I was afraid it might have slipped your mind, what with all the fuss about Arthur’s possible senate seat keeping you so busy.”

  Morgan bit her lip. That damned Mortimer. Then she realized Fay had another source as well, since they’d purposely been keeping Michael up to date so he could occasionally slip his co-star a tidbit of harmless information. The Sir Walter Scott quote she’d first heard at her mother’s knee popped into her head. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive.” And it was true—Morgan’s head was spinning as she tried to remember what Fay was supposed to know and what they were trying to keep from her.

  Oh, well. The information about Arthur being in contention for the newly opened senate seat was public knowledge anyway, on the evening news a couple of times a week. It couldn’t hurt to talk about it. Maybe she could even find out if Fay had anything to do with the mysterious ease with which Arthur had gotten a new identity.

  “It is exciting, isn’t it?” she said to Fay. “Imagine how good a senator he would be, after all his experience running Britain.”

  “Being a senator is hardly in the same league as being King of the Britons,” Fay sniffed. “It’s a waste of his time. I don’t know why he’s bothering.”

  Morgan tried to tell whether Fay was truly against the idea. It would have been easier if they had been face to face, although, on second thought, since Fay lied as easily as she breathed, Morgan wasn’t sure it would have made any difference.

  “Besides,” Fay added slyly, “shouldn’t the two of you be devoting your time to searching for Merlin? I’d think that would be a much greater priority than chasing after some silly political position.” She paused. “Although no doubt I will be able to make something useful out of his being a senator, once we are married.”

  Aha! Morgan thought. She’s double-checking to make sure we haven’t found Merlin yet and somehow kept the news from Mortimer. That means she hasn’t found him either. Excellent! On the other hand, she’s talking about marrying Arthur. Not excellent at all.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Fay, we can do both. We’re very talented people, you know.” She figured it didn’t matter if she admitted they hadn’t found Merlin yet, since Fay was probably fairly certain that was the case. At least they now knew she did
n’t have him. She couldn’t wait to tell Arthur the good news. Or at least the good “lack of news.”And she wasn’t going to dignify the married comment with a response.

  “Oh, yes, dear, I’m well aware of your talents,” Fay said. “They’re what started this whole mess, after all.”

  Ow. Well, the woman had a point. Damn it. Morgan tried to come up with a good rebuttal that didn’t make her sound as defensive as she felt.

  “If you mean that I brought Arthur forward into this time when you couldn’t, well, yes, I guess that’s true.” She paused. “That is what you meant, right?”

  She heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line and held the handset away from her ear for a moment, in case of explosive cross-country curses. But Fay collected herself and continued the conversation in her usual dulcet tones.

  “Certainly, dear. That was very clever. Of course, it would have been more impressive if you had done it on purpose, wouldn’t it?” Fay said with good cheer.

  Morgan ground her teeth. At this rate, she was going to need dentures.

  Fay returned to what had undoubtedly been the reason for her call. “And speaking of your magical talents, have you given any thought to the proposition I made you the last time we chatted?”

  Lowering her voice, as if she didn’t want Arthur to overhear, Morgan said, “You mean the one where I give you Arthur in return for you teaching me to be an uber-witch? That proposition?” She paused and added more loudly, “Because if you were suggesting something more personal, I’ve got to tell you, you’re not my type.”

  That tinkling laugh floated down the wires again. It was starting to get on Morgan’s nerves.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” Fay said, a hint of silk in her voice, “if I ever proposition you in that way, you’ll know it.”

  Morgan shivered slightly. An element of promise in Fay’s voice was so inviting, it pulled at something deep inside her—and Morgan had never been even mildly interested in her own sex. No wonder men fell at the sorceress’s feet. Thank goodness Michael was as gay as they came, or she’d be worried about him.

  She pulled herself together with an effort she hoped wasn’t obvious on the other end of the phone. “Oh, well, that’s good to know. Forewarned is forearmed, they say.”

  “Indeed they do,” Fay agreed. “So, about that other proposition?”

  “I need more time to think about it,” Morgan said. “It’s a big decision.”

  “Fine,” Fay answered. “I’m a reasonable woman.” She paused for dramatic effect. “I’ll give you one week. After all, I think I’ve been more than patient. But I tire of waiting. So either you hand over Arthur in a week, or we will do things the hard way and I will come to get him myself.” In the moment that followed, Morgan could feel the weight of the threat in the silence between them.

  Then Fay spoke again, the velvet of her tone a contrast to her harsh words. “You had better consider my offer very carefully, Morgan Fairfax. I will not make it again. And when I take Arthur—and I assure you, I will take Arthur—you will be left with nothing but the knowledge that you had a chance at great power and threw it away for the sake of a man who could never be yours.”

  There was a moment of silence, and when she spoke again, there was a venomous poison in her voice that made the hair stood up on Morgan’s arms. “And you wouldn’t want the entire world to suffer because you couldn’t give up one man, now would you?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Well, the good news is, Fay hasn’t found Merlin yet either,” Morgan said a few hours later to the small group assembled in her living room. The “persuade the governor to pick Arthur for senator” volunteers had finally finished their efforts and left. Charles Snodgrass had promised to be in touch as soon as he heard anything and trailed off behind them, leaving a finally-uncluttered living room behind him.

  It was a relief to be rid of the invasion forces and to be able to gather for a strategy session with the coven. They’d finally persuaded (bullied, really) Mortimer into taking Crystal home, leaving the rest of the group, Arthur, Granny and Young Angus. And ET, of course. Somebody had to be in charge.

  She wished she had more good news to report.

  “So what’s the bad news?” Clarice asked, chewing on a piece of green hair as if it was lettuce. She resembled a demented tattooed rabbit. It didn’t help that her nose was cute and had a tendency to wiggle when she got excited.

  Morgan glanced at Arthur. He’d been waiting patiently to hear her report on the conversation with Fay, since they’d been unable to speak in private before now. Mortimer had been especially intrusive all afternoon, and Morgan had worried about how she’d get him to leave so they could have this meeting. She couldn’t wait until they were through pretending to like the little worm and could finally get rid of him once and for all.

  Which brought her back to the bad news.

  “The bad news,” she told everyone, “is that Fay has given me one week to make up my mind to hand Arthur over to her in exchange for her teaching me to be a more powerful witch. Or else.”

  Arthur raised a ginger eyebrow. “Or else?”

  “Or else she’s coming to get you without my help. And possibly do something unspecified but no doubt dreadful to the planet. She didn’t say what. But she’s determined to have you, one way or another, and we’ve only got one week to figure out how to stop her.”

  “Can she really harm the Earth? And take Arthur away from us?” Charlotte asked, her voice going up an octave. Morgan was impressed she’d put the planet first.

  Davis looked grim. “Every indication is that she is powerful enough to pull it off, even if all of us combine our magical strength together. And we’re already down two people, with Michael in Hollywood and Crystal stuck to Mortimer like glue.”

  “Can’t we call Michael back from California?” Lewis asked. “I mean, if Fay is coming here anyway, it doesn’t do us much good to have him there.” He gnawed absent-mindedly on a chocolate chip cookie, although his expression said his heart wasn’t in it.

  Morgan shook her head. “For one thing, he can give us a heads up when she leaves there, so we know when to expect her. And this movie is awfully important to him—I’d hate to pull him away if he can’t do any good here anyway.”

  She turned to Granny, who so far had sat knitting quietly in the corner rocking chair, Young Angus snoring softly at her feet.

  “What do you think, Granny? If you help us, do you think we might be able to stand against her?” She waited hopefully for a positive answer.

  But Granny shook her white head. “Nay, lass, I’m afraid not. Even in my best days I was not the equal of a witch of her ability. And ye have the potential to be much more powerful than I ever was, but even so…I dinna think we’d be a match for her.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do, Granny?” Clarice asked. She liked to think of herself as a tough woman, and the idea of being powerless in the face of Fay’s sorcery was clearly annoying her. Morgan sympathized. It wasn’t making her any too happy either.

  Granny scratched her head absently with a knitting needle while she thought.

  “Weeelll, I’m guessing we could keep her out of the house all right,” Granny said. “That’s Morgan’s most accomplished spellwork and it is set deep into the wood and fabric of the place. All the rituals ye have performed here over the years have helped to make it yer own sacred space, and that would help us, too. As long as ye were all in the house, anyway.”

  Clarice and Charlotte perked up and Lewis looked relieved. “That’s great!” he said enthusiastically. “So we can beat her after all.”

  Davis shook his head in silent negation. Clearly he’d seen the drawback to Granny’s suggestion, even if the others hadn’t. He looked at Morgan sympathetically, an ironic smile playing around his lips.

  Clarice’s head swung back and forth between him and Morgan. “What’s wrong with you two? Why aren’t you happy?” She bit her lip in frustration. “Arthur’s goin
g to be safe—you should be celebrating.”

  “It is not that simple,” Arthur broke in with his deep voice. “Is it, Morgan?”

  Morgan shook her head regretfully. “No, it’s not.” She looked at Clarice, feeling a rush of warmth at the friendship and loyalty hidden underneath the eccentric exterior. “Sorry, Clary, but Granny’s plan would only work temporarily. It would be a stalling tactic, and that’s only worth doing if you have another plan to follow up with—and we don’t.”

  “I don’t understand,” Clarice said. “All we have to do is stay here and keep Arthur in the house, so Fay can’t get at him.” She paused as what she’d just said sank in. “Oh. Right.”

  “What?” Her twin asked, exasperation written clearly on her metal-strewn face. “What are you all NOT saying?”

  Morgan held up her hands. “We’d all have to stay here. All the time, Char. And Arthur would have to stay here. All the time. Forever. As soon as we broke the circle we’d stop having enough power to hold off Fay. If Arthur left the house, he’d be vulnerable, since he couldn’t take the house’s protection with him. And it doesn’t do anything to prevent Fay from taking out her anger on the rest of the world, either. It’s a short-term solution at best, damn it all. Which means it’s really no solution at all.”

  They sat around for another hour, tossing around ideas (all of them bad) and eating cookies (all of them good). Eventually, the witches all wandered off to their respective houses, leaving Granny, Morgan and Arthur sitting amid crumbs and the stale air of a failed brainstorming session.