Magick & Mayhem

by Sharon Pape

  “Doctors can kill a man faster than the plague. I can minister to my own wounds. How do you think I have lived to this ripe age?” I had no idea what to say to change his mind, and there was no point in pressing him about it until I’d seen the state of his wounds. “Does St. John’s Wort grow in this clime?” he asked. “What about the Cinnamomum camphora tree? I will need both for a liniment.”

  It was becoming more and more difficult to believe that this elderly man was merely pretending to be Merlin. Unless he was a botanist or a warlock, how would he have come by his knowledge of healing plants? Get a grip, Kailyn, I scolded myself. He’s some wacky old fool who’s probably in need of his medication. “To the best of my knowledge, that tree grows in warmer places than here,” I told him, “but I do have some St. John’s Wort flowers up front in the shop. I’m afraid the rest is on the floor here, along with most of my stock.”

  Merlin straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, which seemed to make him grow in stature. “As I may be to blame for the destruction, I will make complete restitution for your loss,” he said in an imperious tone.

  “I appreciate the thought, but most of this stuff has to be harvested in the wild.”

  “I’m well-versed in these botanicals and I will see to it that your shop is returned to its former state with alacrity.”

  I was about to tell him that an apology would be sufficient, but I had a feeling that apologies weren’t part of his repertoire, or he would have offered me one by now. In spite of his unkempt appearance, there was definitely something regal about him. As I led the way down the cleared path to the hallway, I glanced over my shoulder to see how he was doing. He was trying to tough it out and minimize his limp, but the pain was plainly written on his face.

  “Wait right here while I get the St. John’s,” I said. I left him to run up front. I locked the shop door and grabbed a jar with the yellow flowers floating in olive oil. I stroked Sashkatu’s back to wake him gently. “Time to go home,” I told him. He looked up at me, bleary-eyed, but then his whiskers twitched and he came completely awake and alert. Without further prodding or a single stretch of his limbs, he scooted down the stairs and made a beeline for the hall. I had to run to keep up with him. When we reached Merlin, he uttered a meow that was more like a chirrup of joy and wound his body around and through Merlin’s legs with so much pressure that he knocked the old man off balance. Merlin fell back against the wall, but when he saw me, he pulled himself upright again with a grimace of pain and determination. He didn’t seem at all surprised or put off by Sashki’s over-the-top greeting.

  I explained again that I was going to take him back to my house. He nodded and followed me to the rear door at the end of the hallway. I tried, without success, to make Sashkatu back off before he tripped Merlin and made an ER visit a necessity. Merlin mumbled something I didn’t understand. Sashki instantly stopped making figure eights and looked up at the old man as if awaiting further instructions. My head was caught in a riptide of questions. Could this old man really be Merlin? How could he be? Could he have traveled through time and space? Or just from the closest psychiatric ward?

  I set the security system, opened the door and the three of us stepped outside. I laced my arm through his, so he didn’t have to put as much weight on his feet. He started to pull away, but then must have thought better of it. We made our way slowly across the lawn, with me on one side of him and Sashkatu on the other.

  I didn’t expect any of the cats to greet us. They always know when a stranger enters their realm and they stay hidden until they deem the newcomer worthy of their time and effort. To my surprise, all five of them were waiting at the door when I ushered Merlin inside. They ignored me completely as they jockeyed for position around him, hissing and swatting at one another. Sashkatu, who never deigned to become involved in the other cats’ squabbles, joined in the frenzy as if he considered Merlin his personal property. Merlin reached down to stroke each of them, murmuring words I couldn’t make out. It wasn’t English, at least not modern English. But whatever he said to them, brought immediate results. The cats’ behavior changed as if he had flipped a switch inside them. They patiently took turns rubbing against his legs, purring like little engines. I was amazed to see Sashkatu interact with the other cats as though they were his equals. I’d have to remember to ask Merlin his secret. But attending to his feet was the first item on my agenda. Finding out his real name and address, so that I could get him back where he belonged, was the second.

  I took him into the bathroom and had him sit on the edge of the bathtub. I sat on the floor to get a good look at the soles of his feet. The cuts were mostly slits, but it was difficult to tell how deep they went. I took it as a good sign that they’d stopped bleeding on their own. Of course there was a chance they might start again when I cleaned them, but if I didn’t, he’d be courting infection. The cats had followed us and were sitting in an orderly group beyond the doorway. I’d never known cats to keep all four paws on the ground for this length of time. Merlin didn’t seem at all amazed by their behavior. The bathroom, on the other hand, had his undivided attention. He asked me a dozen questions about the various fixtures and appliances, while I was busy gathering gauze, surgical tape, and scissors.

  “This is all quite remarkable,” he said, as wide-eyed as a child visiting his first candy store. “Does everyone have such conveniences?”

  I was filling Bronwen’s old foot basin with warm, soapy water. “In this country, most people do.” I wanted to kick myself the moment the words left my mouth.

  “I take it your reference is to England,” he said.

  “Sure,” I agreed, “let’s go with that.” I wasn’t prepared to give him a summary of world history and geography since the Middle Ages or whenever it was that Merlin was supposed to have lived. Before he could come up with another question, I asked him to put his feet in the basin. “It may sting a bit at first, but it’s the easiest way to clean the cuts. He gave the basin a thorough appraisal before dipping the tips of his toes into the water. When nothing terrible happened, he immersed both feet. After a minute, a serene expression settled over his features. I let him enjoy what may have been his first foot bath, until the water started to cool.

  “Might there be a mortar and pestle I can use to prepare a poultice?” he asked, taking the towel from me to dry his own feet. I went into the kitchen to find a set. Even in the twenty-first century the primitive mortar and pestle were often better suited to a sorcerer’s needs than any modern gadget. While I was in there I set a kettle of water to boil on the stove. Then I brought the tools and the jar of St. John’s Wort flowers back to Merlin, who had used my absence to further explore the workings of the toilet. He’d removed the top from the water tank and was fiddling with the flush handle with the curiosity and delight of a child.

  “Remarkable,” he proclaimed, then got busy using the pestle to mash the oily flowers into a paste. “Judging by the materials in your shop, I take it you, yourself, are practiced in the art of sorcery.”

  “Yes, but hardly in the same league as the great Merlin. I would love to see you in action,” I added, thinking that his abilities, or lack of them, would help clear up the issue of his identity. In spite of my growing suspicion that he was, in fact, the famous wizard, I wasn’t willing to become an acolyte without some verifiable proof.

  Merlin’s lips curved up in a little smile as if he knew what I was thinking. “In due time,” he replied, “in due time.” Once he’d applied the poultice to his feet, I wrapped gauze around them and secured it with surgical tape. I was congratulating myself on my latent nursing abilities when I realized that if he kept walking around without shoes, the bandages and his wounds would quickly become dirty. I rummaged around in my dresser until I found him a pair of my old tube socks. The fit wasn’t great, because his feet were long and knobby, but they would do until I could find a more suitable pair. When I offered my hand to help him up, he pushed it aside, managing to stand on his own.


  The kettle had gone from whistling to screeching like a banshee, by the time I plucked it off the stove. Merlin stood in the middle of the kitchen, rotating like a clumsy ballerina, as he tried to take it all in. If he’d been intrigued by the bathroom, the kitchen rendered him nearly catatonic. Worried that he might pass out after all he’d been through, I urged him to have a seat at the table. The cats had followed us and were now arrayed in a circle around him.

  Merlin watched me pour the hot water into two mugs, add the tea bags, set out milk, sugar, honey, lemon, and a plate of Oreos, all without asking a single question. I knew it was only a matter of time before he regained his senses and the floodgates burst open. I offered him the cookies. Chewing might slow him down and give me a chance to explain the wonders he was seeing. And they did. I was able to provide a basic explanation of how everything in the kitchen worked, without having him constantly interrupting me with additional questions.

  “The tea is barely passable, but these pastries are a delight,” he said smacking his lips. He was on his sixth Oreo when I heard the front door creak open. It was either a burglar or Tilly. She had her own key to what my family jokingly called “the ancestral home,” where I now lived with the cats. “Aunt Tilly?” I called out, to be sure I didn’t need to arm myself with a knife.

  “It’s me,” her voice floated into the kitchen several seconds before she did. “Is everything okay? I went to your shop, but it was . . .” Her feet and tongue stopped dead at the kitchen doorway. Merlin, who’d just discovered the fun of twisting open an Oreo and licking the creamy filling, didn’t bother to look up.

  “Kailyn?” Tilly finally uttered, looking from me to him and back again.

  “I’ll explain more later, Tilly, but I’d like you to meet—” I stopped, momentarily stymied by how to introduce my guest. Was Merlin his first name or his last? Did he go by one name the way Elvis had? I decided to go with Merlin, since that was how he’d introduced himself to me. “Merlin”—I patted his arm to get his attention—“this is my aunt Matilda.”

  When he saw Tilly standing there, he jumped up, nearly toppling his chair in the process. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” he said with a bow and a mouth ringed with cookie crumbs. “I must say—your hair is of a most remarkable shade.”

  “Why thank you,” Tilly beamed, recovering her composure enough to fluff her hairdo like a preening bird. “I see we’re having tea?” Either she hadn’t heard his name or she was too busy flirting to process it.

  “I’ll be glad to make you some,” I said, “but it’s store-bought.” I tacked on the disclaimer, because my aunt was a tea snob. She brewed her own mixture and eschewed all tea that came in a bag. To her way of thinking, the tea bag was the first nail in the coffin of civilization. I wasn’t crazy about it myself, but I kept it in the cabinet for emergencies like this, although I’d never actually imagined an emergency quite like Merlin.

  “That’s fine, dear,” she replied, lowering herself daintily into the chair beside Merlin. And not fifteen minutes ago, I’d been thinking that this day couldn’t get any more bizarre. When the water was hot, I poured her a cup and a refill for Merlin. Then I added more Oreos to the plate. They were Tilly’s favorite too. Of the store-bought variety, she always pointed out.

  She spent the next hour, happily answering an endless string of Merlin’s questions, each answer leading inexorably to another question. Updating the man on the past fifteen hundred years could take a lifetime in itself. When she stopped long enough to sip her tea and make a face like she’d been poisoned, I seized the moment. “Merlin, it’s been so nice getting to know you, but I’m sure there are people worried about you. I really have to get you back where you belong.”

  “I fear that will not be an easy task,” he said with a heavy sigh. “As I told you earlier, I believe I was caught up in an energy wave that pulled me out of my time and into yours. And from what your lovely aunt has told me, I’ve landed in another part of the world as well. The irony of my situation is that I’ve devoted a good portion of my life attempting to travel through time, but never succeeding. Then, out of the blue, it happens all on its own. Mayhap, a delayed reaction to my efforts. But I have no idea how to reverse the process.” He didn’t seem particularly concerned about the problem.

  Although I heard everything he said, what I took from it was the simple fact that I might well be stuck with him. Of course I still had to check all the hospitals in a twenty mile radius to be sure they weren’t missing a patient. If those efforts came up empty, I could call the police, who would no doubt send him off to a hospital to be evaluated anyway. From there it was sure to be a quick trip to a locked psych ward. And there he might spend the rest of his days. If he was actually Merlin, how could I do that to him? In that moment, my decision was made. If he was able to convince me of his claim with a display of magick worthy of the renowned wizard, I would let him stay, at least until we had more time to sort things out.

  Chapter 7

  “What say you?” Merlin sputtered indignantly. “I am required to prove who I am?” I’d clearly taken him by surprise. Replete with Oreos, he had allowed himself to relax in spite of his current predicament of time and space. We were still seated around the kitchen table, our cups empty, with the exception of Tilly’s, and the plate picked clean of cookies.

  “My apologies,” I scrambled to explain, “but before I invite you to stay here with me, I need to be sure I can trust you. The world is not a safe place today, in spite of how much we may have progressed since your time. In many ways, it’s a lot more dangerous. In the past, you had to come face to face with the person you killed. Today someone on the other side of the world can steal your identity or blow up a city with the push of a button.” Having lived hundreds of years before the discovery of basic electricity, Merlin was clearly having trouble understanding the concept. Before we got bogged down, answering endless questions, I tried another tack. “You told me earlier that you would show me your magick,” I reminded him.

  “Everything has a price,” he grumbled. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the awful state of the modern world or the cost of proving himself to me, but it didn’t matter. “Since I do remember agreeing to a display of my abilities,” he went on, “so be it.” He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to do?”

  My aunt sprang up from her seat, more nimbly than she had in years. “Glamour me.”

  “Tilly wait,” I said, grabbing her arm as if that might actually stop her.

  She pulled her arm free of my grasp and turned to Merlin. “Can you make me look like a fire-breathing dragon?”

  I cringed. What if he couldn’t reverse the spell, and she had to live the rest of her life appearing that way to the world? It would be a whole lot worse for business than having her psychic powers abridged. “Why not start with something simpler?” I suggested. “The poor man should have a chance to warm up. After all, he’s probably got the worst case of jetlag in history.” I went for the laugh, knowing that it was easier to win Tilly over with humor than with argument. While she mulled it over, I grabbed the napkin holder from the table. “Merlin, would you please make this look like a vase of flowers?”

  Merlin looked from Tilly to me and scratched his head, clearly trying to decide to whom he owed his allegiance. Although he’d landed in my store, nearly destroying it in the process, Tilly of the red hair won out. “I’m perfectly capable of a little glamouring before I rest,” he said with a bit of pique. And right then I realized my mistake. I’d challenged his machismo in front of a female admirer. Not much had changed in that respect, between his time and ours.

  “Wait, don’t you need your wand?” I knew I was grabbing at straws, but I hadn’t seen one in his possession, so it was worth a shot.

  His wooly eyebrows gathered into a frown. “I was whisked away from home so abruptly that I didn’t have time to take anything with me. I suppose I should be gratefu
l I wasn’t naked at the time. No matter. The wand is helpful, but not always essential.”

  Not always essential—hardly words that engendered confidence, but they didn’t seem to diminish Tilly’s enthusiasm in the least. She was grinning from ear to ear like a kid going to the circus for the first time. Since I was out of arguments, I zipped my lips. If ever I could have used my mother’s input, this was it.

  “Should I be standing or seated?” Tilly asked. “I don’t want to ruin the chair with my claws or scales.”

  “You won’t actually be a dragon,” I reminded her. “You’ll just appear that way to anyone looking at you.” I glanced at Merlin for corroboration, but he was staring into space, mumbling a string of words I didn’t understand. He looked up finally with a satisfied expression, turned to Tilly and began the foreign sounding incantation. When he was finished, nothing had changed. Tilly was still Tilly in her floral muumuu. I thanked whatever angels were watching over us. Prematurely, as it happened. A moment later she morphed into a large, green dragon with flaring nostrils and malevolent yellow eyes. As fearsome as the creature looked, it was impossible to take it seriously, not just because I knew it was my aunt, but also because it was still wearing her muumuu, which could now pass for a bib. I started to giggle, which clearly irritated the Tilly-dragon. She opened her mouth, exhaling a flash of fire. It was getting way too real for me. “That’s it, Merlin, enough,” I said. “Reverse the spell.”

  Merlin had his head in the pantry. “Might there be more of those cookies?” he inquired.

  “No, but I can go to the store and buy more of them, after you change my aunt back into herself.” I knew how to drive a hard bargain.

  “Yes, yes, very well.” He left the pantry grudgingly to focus on the Tilly-dragon. He recited the spell. This time I knew to be more patient and wait a bit for the results. A minute passed and then five more. Merlin tried rewording the chant. Nothing happened. I was getting more worried by the second.