by Mari Mancusi
She cackled to herself, imagining Merlin's face when he realized his promised child, the one who he'd been training all these years, had perished at her hand. Only then would he realize her true power and finally bow down before her, begging for mercy.
She turned her attention back to the orphanage. She had to admit, it seemed a far nicer place then the institution where she was forced to grow up, and none of the children looked particularly undernourished or abused. In fact, some of them were shockingly fat. Evidently there was no famine in twenty-first-century America.
She'd done her best to fit in, casting a glamour on herself in order to appear as one of them. Now she wore the same short plaid skirt the other girls wore, along with a stiff white tunic top and woolen socks pulled to her knees. Unfortunately, the socks did little to prevent the bitter wind from biting at her legs, chilling her to the bone. She shook her head, not liking this future world already. The sooner she found her brother and did away with him, the sooner she could get back home where she belonged.
But she had to find him first. And with so many other orphan boys milling about, it was proving next to impossible to identify the one she was looking for. After all, she hadn't seen her brother for fourteen years, besides a flicker in the sacred spring. How was she ever going to recognize him amidst such a crowd?
Suddenly her ears picked up on a familiar tune. She whirled around to see a tall, lanky blond boy turn the corner and begin strolling casually in her direction, whistling as he walked.
It was a tune she knew well. After all, she'd sung it to her brother when he was a baby.
She slid behind the tree, studying the boy as he approached, her heart pounding. It was him! It was really him! And to think she'd thought she wouldn't know him. She could practically see her own face reflected in his.
Arthur. Her brother.
Her hand trembled as she pulled out the knife.
He stopped to address a group of students, laughing and patting one of them on the back. He looked so relaxed, so happy, for a moment she felt a pang of guilt and actually considered abandoning her mission all together. To let this poor boy go free. And not punish him for his father's sins.
But no, she couldn't do that. He may look innocent now, but he had Uther's blood running through his veins. And if given the chance to rise to power—to take his father's throne—who knew what he would eventually do? No, he must be destroyed. His tainted blood must spill. Uther's line must end here. Now. Forever.
Arthur said goodbye to his friends and continued to head in her direction, still whistling the tune she'd sung to him so long ago. She waited, tense, until the last second, then stepped into his path, the knife pressed firmly at her side. As they slammed into each other, she thrust the blade forward as hard as she could.
But instead of sliding easily into willing flesh, the dagger bounced off Arthur harmlessly, knocking her off balance and onto the ground. She shrieked in a mixture of pain and surprise.
“Are you all right?” Arthur asked, a horrified look on his face. He reached out his hand and helped her to her feet. She slid the knife into her pocket unseen.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I . . . wasn't looking where I was going.” Why hadn't she been able to stab him? It was as if he had some kind of invisible force field around him. But she could sense nothing.
She realized Arthur was looking at her with curious eyes. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“No, no, I don't think so,” she replied quickly, lowering her face to obscure it from view. She muttered a spell of scanning under her breath, trying to determine what had made him immune to her weapon.
And that was when she saw it. She drew in a shaky breath. The scabbard of power. The same one she had managed to steal from Uther in order to bring him down. The one the Companions had stolen back after Uther's death and had planned to present to Arthur at his crowning.
How could he have it in his possession already? That wasn't part of the plan!
“I'm sure I've seen your face before,” Arthur insisted, still staring at her.
“I am . . . a student here,” she said, her mind racing quickly. “And, well, I've heard that you own a very valuable relic. I was wondering if you'd let me see it.”
Arthur frowned. “Look, I'm not really supposed to be carrying it around. Some people think it's a weapon and I don't want anyone to take it away again.”
“I don't want to take it,” she lied quickly. “I just want to see it. I heard it was beautiful.”
Reluctantly, Arthur reached into his pack and pulled out the scabbard. Morgan's heart thudded as her eyes fell upon the powerful relic. It was almost too good to be true! If she could get rid of Arthur and acquire the scabbard once again—well, she would become unstoppable!
She reached out with hungry fingers, but Arthur snatched the artifact away a split second too soon. “Sorry,” he said apologetically. “It's really old. I'd rather just hold on to it, if you don't mind.”
Morgan tried casting a possession spell but to no avail. Her magic was weakened and the scabbard seemed bound to its master. She realized Arthur would have to drop it or willingly give it away if she was ever to claim it. Something he didn't seem very likely to do, even if he didn't understand its power.
She swore under her breath. To be so close and yet so far.
“I must go,” Arthur said, stuffing the scabbard back into his bag. “I'm sorry again for bumping into you.”
And with that, he headed down the path, whistling the same tune as before. Morgan watched him go, plotting her next move. She had to get that scabbard away from him, no matter what. Otherwise all would be lost.
It was then that she noticed she wasn't the only one with eyes on her brother. A tall, gawky-looking boy was walking in the opposite direction, staring at Arthur with eyes full of hate. As Arthur passed him, he stopped as if to greet the boy. Morgan couldn't hear what they were saying from that distance, but she could see the boy's expression twist into rage. He stuck his middle finger up and waved it at Arthur, then pushed past him, knocking his shoulder against her brother's before continuing on his way.
Morgan smiled, stepping into the boy's path. Any enemy of her brother's was definitely a friend of hers.
Chapter 26
Mortimer trudged back toward school, heading to the locker room to grab his helmet, which he'd accidentally left on the bench. Not that it mattered really; it wasn't like he was going to get a chance to play that afternoon. Not since the amazing and wonderful Arthur had crossed the pond and, as of today, been declared an official Sacred Mary Knight.
He was in. Mortimer was definitely out. Not that he was ever really “in” to begin with.
Mortimer scowled. He should have cried foul when Arthur changed places with Lucas in the first place. When he had stolen Mortimer's one chance to prove he was better than a benchwarmer. His one chance to get Ashley Jones to notice him. To get anyone to notice him. And now the new kid was the freaking hero of the school. A star, a celebrity. And Mortimer had sunk deeper and deeper into obscurity.
Caught up in his misery, he didn't notice the girl step into his path. In fact, he saw her so late, he almost tripped over his football cleats trying to stop from running into her.
“Sorry,” he muttered, keeping his eyes to the ground. He tried to step around the girl without looking up. “I didn't see you.”
“It's all right,” the girl murmured in an English-accented voice that sounded strangely like the tinkling of Christmas bells. Intrigued, Mortimer dared take a peek, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
She was beautiful. No—that wasn't enough. She was stunning. Slightly older, maybe in college? With long waves of jet black hair and huge, violet-colored eyes. Her perfectly smooth skin was as pure white as snow and her lips a startling ruby red. She was dressed in the same uniform as all the girls in school, but she somehow made it look ten times more attractive. He'd never seen anyone like her in his life.
Using all his willpower, he fo
rced his eyes back to the ground, admitting defeat before even trying. He knew who he was. He knew his place at the bottom. And he knew better than anyone that a girl like this would never be caught dead talking to a boy like him. And so he muttered an apology for almost bumping into her and started back on his way.
But to his total shock, the girl stopped him, planting a dainty white hand squarely on his chest with a strength that surprised him. Her touch sent a chill down his spine and he forced himself to look back up again, while attempting to swallow the mammoth lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.
“Hello,” the girl purred. “My name is Morgan.”
Morgan. What a beautiful name. “Um, I'm, I'm Mortimer,” he managed to squeak out, feeling embarrassed and confused all at the same time. What did she want with him? Was this some kind of trick like the popular kids always seemed to do in the movies? Get the pretty girl to talk to the loser boy and trick him into thinking he was worth something more?
She smiled sweetly. “Mortimer,” she repeated, mouthing his name as if it were a caress. “What a lovely name. May I ask you a question, Mortimer?”
Mortimer nodded dumbly, dimly realizing that at this point she could have asked him to jump off the Empire State Building and he'd likely have complied without argument.
“That boy you were just talking to. The one down the path.” Morgan pointed in the direction Mortimer had come. He turned and saw Arthur heading down to the practice field with Lucas. “Do you know him?”
Mortimer's heart sank. Of course. Like everyone else in this pathetic school, she just wanted to know about Arthur. He should have known. After all, no one this beautiful would ever want anything real from him.
“Sorry, I don't know anything about him,” he muttered, trying again to step around her. But she deftly blocked his escape.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her mesmerizing eyes searching his face. Mortimer suddenly felt a bit queasy inside. “You seemed angry when he spoke to you. Do you want to tell me why?”
Mortimer's mouth was now as dry as sandpaper as the girl reached out to trace the side of his face with a long finger, her expression full of sympathy. Suddenly he felt the undeniable urge to confess everything.
“He took my place,” he found himself babbling a moment later. “It should have been me making that touchdown, not him!” The story tumbled from his lips—every excruciating, embarrassing detail.
“And now everyone loves him and I'm still as invisible as I've ever been,” he finished lamely.
He waited for her to laugh or roll her eyes or turn away. But instead she surprised him by pulling him into a warm embrace.
“Poor, poor boy,” she murmured, stroking his hair. He breathed in and his nose filled with an intoxicating spicy scent. “How could he have wronged you so? If I were you, I'd be very angry at him. In fact, I'd want nothing more than total revenge.”
Mortimer pulled away from the hug, surprised. He looked up at her. “Yeah right,” he said. “What am I supposed to do to him? I'm no one. He's the most popular kid in school. Completely untouchable.”
“Now, now Mortimer,” Morgan scolded, “Everyone has their weaknesses. Even Arthur. You just have to figure out what they are.”
Mortimer scratched his head. “But how—”
Morgan's face seemed to cloud over for a split second, then masked itself with sweet serenity once again. She smiled down at him. “It's simple,” she said. “You must become his shadow. Watch his every move. His every interaction. Find out what he cares about. What makes him happy. What makes him angry.”
“And then what?”
“Then return to me,” she replied firmly. “And I shall tell you what to do next.”
Mortimer shuffled from foot to foot. It sounded good in theory, he guessed. And he liked the idea of finally having someone on his side. Someone who understood that Arthur wasn't as perfect as everyone made him out to be. That he needed to be put in his place. But something seemed strange still. Her eagerness, perhaps. Her willingness to help a stranger get his revenge.
“Why do you care?” he asked at last. “I mean, you've got to have better things to do than worry about my pathetic life.”
Morgan paused for a moment. “Let's just say I have my own history with Arthur,” she said at last. “And I have been looking for a friend who feels the same way to assist me.”
Of course! That made total sense. Mortimer shivered with delight. A friend. She wanted to be his friend. And maybe it would turn out to be something more, if he played his cards right. If he was able to truly help her get her own revenge against Arthur. He bristled at the idea of the stupid new kid hurting this goddess of a girl in any sort of way. She was too beautiful, too sweet, too amazing to have suffered as Mortimer had, at Arthur's hand. Yes, he would help her. And by doing so, he would win her trust and respect. Who knows what could happen after that?
“But how will I reach you?” he asked. “Do you want to give me your cell or something?” His voice trembled with the question. After all, he'd just asked for a girl's number. Not just any girl, either. The most beautiful girl in the world. He held his breath. Would she give it to him?
But Morgan only gave him a confused look. “I don't have a . . . cell?” she said after a moment. “Just meet me here tomorrow at the same time and same place and tell me what you've learned.” Her expression shifted and her voice dropped to a serious tone. “Don't disappoint me, Mortimer,” she added.
“I won't,” he blurted out, looking at her with adoring eyes. “I would never disappoint you!”
Her expression softened. “I know you wouldn't,” she purred, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. He about fell over in shock, dropping his gaze to the ground. He'd been kissed! She'd actually kissed him!
“See you tomorrow,” he babbled at his goddess.
But when he looked up, she was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 27
“Hey, Mom, we're home!”
Arthur followed Lucas into the house he was already beginning to think of as his new home. It was hard not to, seeing as it was always warm and cozy and dry—unlike the drafty, leaky castle he was used to back home. Not to mention Lucas's mom was a terrific cook and there was always plenty of food to go around. Just a few more reasons why the future was far superior to the past.
Of course he knew he couldn't stay here forever. Lucas had made up the excuse that Arthur's host family had “bailed” at the last second and the exchange student needed a place to stay for a few weeks till he could find a permanent place to live. But perhaps if Arthur made himself useful, they'd invite him to stay with them, at least as a servant. He'd be more than happy to do dishes in exchange for dinner and a bed.
“Hi, darling. Hi, Arthur,” Lucas's mother greeted. She was sitting in front of her magic mirror again—a TV, Lucas had called it the day before. Evidently everyone in this century had one and spent a great deal of time sitting in front of it as it revealed the happenings of the world. “Come here for a second.”
Lucas headed over to her, glancing at the TV. “What's up?”
His mother gestured to the screen. “They're talking about that missing kid from your school again. Do you know him?” she asked, peering up at her son. Arthur stole a peek at the TV and saw a reflection of a boy around his own age with curly brown hair staring back at him.
The TV spoke. “Fourteen-year-old Stuart Mallory was last seen in his room Sunday afternoon in the Park Heights neighborhood. If you have any information as to his whereabouts, please call the police at 911.”
Arthur scratched his head. Stuart Mallory. The name sounded very familiar, but he couldn't place it at first. Then he suddenly remembered.
“Wait—Stu's your brother!” he exclaimed to Lucas, surprised. “He's still missing?” In all the craziness of the past couple days, he'd all but forgotten that Lucas had been searching for his brother when he'd first met him at Medieval Manor. But now it all came raging back to him. At the time, Lucas had been wo
rried. Wondering where his brother had taken off to. So why hadn't he mentioned him the last two days? Especially if he was still missing. And why was his mother asking if Lucas knew him? Something wasn't adding up.
Even more so when Lucas gave him a confused look. “Dude, what are you talking about?” he asked.
Arthur bit his lower lip, trying to remember the details. “You were looking for him. That's why you were at Medieval Manor to begin with. When I first met you . . .” Was he somehow mixing things up? No, he was positive he was right.
But Lucas just shook his head. “What the heck is a Medieval Manor? I met you outside of school yesterday, remember? Arguing with Mr. Moody?” Arthur's friend gave a dry chuckle. “Geez, first Sophie, now you. Is this Play a Joke on Lucas Day and no one gave me the memo?”
Arthur's heart leapt guiltily at the sound of Sophie's name, all thoughts of the mysterious Stu fading from his mind. He'd tried to find her after school, to give her the scabbard to take to Merlin, but didn't know where she'd gone. He felt bad about earlier—he hadn't meant to disappoint her and he truly didn't want to make Merlin worry. If only they could understand why he'd decided to stay. Why life here was so much better.
The TV picture flickered and a man with red-rimmed eyes appeared on the screen. 'If anyone has seen my son, please let me know,” he begged in a choked voice. “We miss him so much. We love him and just want to know he's safe. We're offering a reward for any information.”
Lucas's mother observed the crying man thoughtfully. “You know, I met him once,” she remarked, “in line at Applebee’s. He was very nice.” She paused, then grinned. “Of course there's no one for me but your father.”
Lucas made a face. “Gross. Please don't start! Why can't you be like regular married people and be divorced or something?”