The Legacy of Merlin

by Eloise Flood

  It took her only half an hour to leave the town completely behind. She gazed at the green, rolling fields. The sky was a soft blue, dotted with puffy white clouds. Crickets thrummed gently around her. Otherwise, there was no sound; she could have been the only person for miles. Piper inhaled deeply, loving the scent of sun-warmed grass.

  She consulted her wildflower book. “Let’s see . . . bloodwort,” she muttered. “ ’Red’— well, duh, with a name like bloodwort—‘with several small, many-petaled blossoms on a long stalk.’ And then there’s Daffyd’s mallow. That’s blue.” She frowned at the watercolor illustration. The flower looked a bit like a blue dandelion.

  She peered around. It didn’t take her more than a minute to find a whole clump of the mallow. And there were plenty of the little yellow-and-white daisies that the book called “star’s fire.” Piper picked a handful of blossoms and stuck them in the outer pocket of her backpack. That was easy, she thought.

  But she wasn’t having much luck with the bloodwort. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any red flowers in the whole field, as far as she could see.

  Ahead and to her right was a grove of tall, stately oak trees. Piper strolled slowly toward it, glancing from side to side. Aha! Bloodwort! She stooped to gather some of the tiny red blossoms.

  Then her head snapped up, as she heard the drone of voices coming from somewhere in the trees ahead of her. Many voices, both male and female, and speaking in unison. Chanting.

  In spite of the bright sunshine, a chill crawled down Piper’s arms. She crept cautiously forward, sticking to the deep shadows under the trees. The voices grew louder.

  She peeked out from behind the thick trunk of an old oak. Her eyes widened.

  In front of her was a large clearing. Two huge gray pillars of stone stood on end in the middle of the clearing. Piper had seen pictures of Stonehenge, and even though these stones had no crosspiece on top, she knew at once that they were the same kind of structure. It was also obvious that they’d been placed there ages ago. Their surfaces were deeply pitted and covered with gray-green lichen.

  A ring of men and woman in white robes surrounded the stones. Their hands were clasped. They were chanting softly in a language Piper had never heard before. A faint greenish glow hovered around the stones. As the chant rose and fell, the glow seemed to pulse in time with it.

  But Piper’s eyes were locked on the figures in the middle of the ring, between the stones. A man and a woman, they stood embracing each other. Their eyes were closed. The green glow played over their still forms.

  The woman was slim. She had long, auburn hair, pulled back with a fluttering scarf of pale green chiffon.

  And the man . . .

  Piper stared in sick dismay at his long, black hair. At his lithe, muscular torso, which happened to be bare. He was turned so that she saw his profile; saw his thin, hawkish nose and firm chin. He was instantly recognizable.

  Niall.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Without thinking, Piper took a step forward. For Phoebe’s sake, she had to be sure—even though she already knew that the man in the clearing was Niall. Crack! A dry twig snapped under her foot. In the stillness, the sound was like a gunshot.

  The chant broke off. The green glow flickered and vanished. A white-robed man with a beard turned sharply toward the spot where Piper stood. “Who’s there?” he demanded. He took a step forward.

  Piper didn’t hesitate. Whoever these people were, they had at least some command over magic. What’s more, she definitely didn’t want Niall to know she had seen him. Time to use her own power.

  She made a quick, flicking gesture with her right hand. In the blink of an eye, the group in the clearing froze. The bearded man stood with his foot raised, in the middle of a step. The woman next to him was caught midsneeze. A dragonfly hung motionless in the air above the nearer standing stone.

  Piper turned and hurried back through the trees. They should stay frozen like that for a good four or five minutes, she calculated—long enough for her to be well out of their sight, and on her way back to town. She needed to talk to her sisters immediately.

  It looks as if Prue was right about Niall, she thought. Which means we’ve got a big problem on our hands.

  Phoebe turned off the hot water and drew back the shower curtain. She stepped out of the old-fashioned claw-foot tub and squished down into a soaked bath mat. Whoops. Once again, she’d made a huge puddle on the bathroom floor. No matter how she fiddled with the shower curtain, she couldn’t seem to adjust it so that that water stayed inside the tub.

  “The British really don’t get this shower thing,” she grumbled aloud as she wrapped a towel around her hair. Pulling on one of the hotel’s fluffy white terry robes, she padded into the bedroom. She stopped in surprise at the sight of Prue, who was lounging on the sofa, leafing through a guidebook.

  “Hey!” Prue greeted her. “Slept in this morning, huh?”

  “Still jet-lagged, I guess.” Phoebe pulled the towel off her hair and began to comb it out. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to work all day.”

  “Me, too. But the dealer I was supposed to meet with today had to go to London, and he’s not coming back until the end of the week.”

  “That’s annoying,” Phoebe commented. She eyed Prue a little warily. I really hope she’s not going to try to talk to me about Niall today, she thought. Because I am so not in the mood to argue.

  But Prue just grinned. “It should be annoying,” she corrected. “But actually, I’m glad to have an excuse to play hooky. I was hoping we could all go see some sights together. I was reading about this ruined abbey about twenty miles south of here. It’s supposed to be incredibly beautiful. I thought maybe we could buy ourselves a picnic lunch, rent a car, and check it out.”

  “That sounds fantastic!” Phoebe felt a surge of relief. No fighting today. “As long as you drive. This whole driving-on-the-other-side-of-the-road thing really throws me. I keep looking the wrong way whenever I cross a street. I nearly got run over at least three times yesterday.”

  “I think I can handle it,” Prue assured her. She stood up, and Phoebe noticed that she was wearing cutoff denim shorts and a tank top instead of her business attire. “Hurry up and get dressed. We’ll go out and buy lunch while we’re waiting for Piper to come back.”

  Prue continued talking as Phoebe went into the next room and began to dress. “I know this great fruit stand—the place where I got those amazing strawberries night before last. The lady promised she’d have cherries today. And then I thought we could stop at that bakery on Castle Street to get some of those little turnover things filled with cheese and spinach.”

  “And a bottle of white wine, of course,” Phoebe put in as she pulled her shirt over her head. “Can’t have a picnic without white wine.” She stepped into a pair of jeans, smiling to herself. The day was shaping up to be pretty nice.

  It would be just perfect if I could invite Niall along, she thought. Then she shook her head. No, better not push it. Prue was obviously trying to patch things up; Phoebe felt she should meet her halfway. Anyway, she’d see Niall later that afternoon. They had made plans to go for a walk by the river.

  At the memory of their last stroll, Phoebe felt a faint tingle run over her skin.

  She pulled her still-wet hair back in two braids. Then she strapped on a pair of sandals and grabbed her sunglasses off the bureau. “Ready!” she announced.

  She and Prue headed up the block to Prue’s fruit stand. But as they neared the corner, Prue frowned. “That’s weird. Mrs. Jeffries’s table isn’t there.”

  “Maybe she’s playing hooky today, too,” Phoebe suggested.

  Prue shook her head. “It doesn’t seem like her. She said she was here every day, rain or shine.”

  As they stood there, the door to a house across the street opened and a thin, elderly man in a cardigan stepped out. When he caught sight of the girls he crossed the street to them.

  “Lookin
g for Blodwen Jeffries, are you?” he asked. “Eh, that’s queer, then. Blodwen is here every day in the summer. But I have not seen her today. I wonder where she is.” Shaking his head, he set off down the sidewalk, heading toward the center of town.

  Prue’s frown deepened. “I wonder if she’s sick or something,” she said. She bit her lip. “Phoebe, would you mind if we took a little detour? Her cottage is right down the street. I just want to stop by to make sure she’s okay.”

  Phoebe’s face must have reflected the surprise she felt, because Prue quickly added, “I know, I’m probably overreacting. It’s just that she lives alone. If she had a fall or something, she might not be able to get to a phone. But really, I’m sure everything’s fine. I’m sure she just had other things to do today.”

  “Whatever you say.” Phoebe gave her older sister a sideways smile. Prue might seem a little hard-edged sometimes, but really, she was as soft and tender as a marshmallow.

  The two girls hurried down the block until they reached a little whitewashed Tudor-style cottage surrounded by a wall of mellow red bricks. A white wooden gate opened into a shady garden fragrant with the scent of ripe peaches and cherries.

  Prue led the way up a flagstone walk to the wooden front door. There was no bell, so she knocked briskly.

  Creeeaaakkk! The door swung open.

  Whoa, Phoebe thought. That’s a little unusual. She glanced at Prue, whose expression was troubled.

  “Mrs. Jeffries?” Prue called. She took a step inside. “Are you here?”

  No answer. Prue took another step inside.

  Phoebe was right behind her. She peered around the shadowy interior of the cottage, letting her eyes adjust after the bright sunshine outside.

  She could hear tinny big-band music coming from somewhere inside. The air was close and musty, with a faint odor of cooking cabbage.

  The back of Phoebe’s neck prickled. She wasn’t sure why, but something felt wrong here.

  “Come on.” Prue led the way slowly through the living room, which was furnished with two shabby but carefully mended armchairs and a small sofa, all covered in the same worn flowered chintz. The mantelpiece over the fireplace was crowded with porcelain figurines. Even in the dimness, Phoebe could see that they’d all been dusted not long ago.

  The tinny music grew louder as they approached a swinging wooden door. Prue pushed it open, and Phoebe found herself staring into an old-fashioned kitchen. Like the living room, it was worn and shabby, but spotlessly clean.

  The cooking smell was much stronger in here, and it was immediately obvious why. A plate of half-eaten beef and cabbage sat on the wooden kitchen table. One of the two straight-backed chairs was pushed back from the table, as if someone had just stood up. On the counter, a small fifties-era transistor radio blared out swing music.

  Prue crossed to the table and looked down at the half-eaten meal. “It looks as if it’s been sitting here for at least a few hours,” she said, making a face.

  Phoebe came up next to her. “Judging from the way she keeps this house, it doesn’t seem likely that she’d just leave it there and go to bed. Not unless she was feeling sick or something.”

  “I think I’d better go up and check the bedrooms,” Prue murmured. “She could be unconscious up there.”

  Phoebe nodded. She put her hand on the back of the crooked chair, intending to push it into place.

  Instead, her fingers clamped around the top rung of the chair back as a vision struck her.

  An old woman with short, curly white hair. Seated in this very chair, at this very table. Plate in front of her, fork in her hand. She was gazing up at another woman who stood over her. Her eyes were wide with dread.

  Phoebe shuddered as the vision suddenly vanished. She opened her eyes. Prue was staring at her with a look of alarm.

  “What?” Prue asked immediately. “What did you see?”

  Phoebe drew in a deep breath. Her visions always left her feeling shaky and a little sick. “Mrs. Jeffries, I think. Does she have curly white hair?”

  At Prue’s nod, Phoebe continued, “She was sitting here, eating her dinner. There was another woman here with her. Someone she was obviously terrified of.”

  “And that’s it? That’s all you saw?” Prue asked urgently.

  “Not exactly. I mean, that’s where the vision ended, but there is one other thing,” Phoebe admitted. She swallowed hard. “Prue, I recognized her. The other woman, I mean. It was Niall’s friend Diana.”

  “What?” Prue sucked in a long breath. “Phoebe, are you sure?”

  Phoebe nodded miserably. “With that long red hair, she’s pretty hard to miss.”

  “She was talking to Mrs. Jeffries just yesterday. That’s where I saw her. Mrs. Jeffries was pretty freaked out by her,” Prue added. She gave a grim smile. “She said the way Diana looked at her made her believe in witches.”

  Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “Okay. So we’re pretty sure Mrs. Jeffries didn’t just take off for a spur-of-the-moment trip. Whatever happened to her, Diana had something to do with it,” she said. “But it doesn’t necessarily follow that Niall is involved. Does it?” She gazed pleadingly at Prue. “I mean, maybe he has nothing to do with any of this. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

  Somewhat to her surprise, Prue’s voice was gentle as she replied, “It’s possible, Phoebe. And for your sake, I hope it’s the truth. But right now we need to concentrate on finding out what happened to Mrs. Jeffries. Come on, let’s make sure she’s not in the house.”

  They quickly searched the upstairs. There were two small bedrooms up there, hardly more than attic rooms. Both were neat and empty.

  While Phoebe checked the closets on the ground floor, Prue had a quick look around the basement. She came up the steep stairs shaking her head. “No trace of her,” she said.

  Phoebe bit her lip. “Do you think we should go to the police? Maybe file a missing persons report?”

  Prue shook her head again. “I think you have to be missing for forty-eight hours or something before they can do anything. Besides, I get the feeling that there’s magic involved here. The police can’t help with that.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Come on,” she said after a moment. “Let’s go find Piper. We need to talk.”

  By the time Piper reached the Trelawney Hotel, she was flushed and sweaty. She glanced at her watch. She’d covered a mile in less than fifteen minutes. Not bad, for someone who gave up jogging years ago, she thought.

  She raced through the lobby and dashed into the elevator just as the doors were closing. Please, let Phoebe be in the room, she begged silently. Then she winced as she thought of the bad news she was bringing. Ugh. This wasn’t going to be a fun conversation.

  She fished out her room key and flung open the door. Then she stopped short. Both Phoebe and Prue were sitting on the daybed. They glanced up as she walked in, and she noted that both their expressions were strained.

  Well, if they’re fighting about Niall again, I know just how to end it, Piper thought.

  “Finally! You’re back!” Prue said, getting to her feet. “Piper, we have a problem. We—”

  “You bet we have a problem,” Piper broke in. “Listen to me, both of you. You aren’t going to believe what I just saw.”

  Swiftly, she described the circle of chanting men and women, and the green light around the standing stones. “There was a woman there with long, curly red hair, tied back with a green scarf,” she said.

  “Diana,” Phoebe muttered. Briefly, Piper noted that she didn’t seem surprised.

  “I guess so,” she agreed. “Whatever spell those people were casting, she was one of the people they were doing it to, if you know what I mean.” She paused and took a deep breath. “But, Phoebe, here’s the hard part. There was a man there, too. He was the other person being put under their spell. He and Diana were embracing.” She sat down next to Phoebe and put a hand on her arm. “Phoebe, it was Niall.”

  Phoebe’s face
drained of all color. She bent over as if she’d just been punched in the stomach.

  Piper felt an ache in her own throat as she stared at Phoebe’s bent head. “I’m sorry, Phebes,” she said softly. “I really am.”

  “I know.” Phoebe’s voice was muffled. “It’s not your fault. It’s just that . . . I was sure he was one of the good guys. And I—I liked him so much.”

  “Well.” Prue cleared her throat. “I’d say that clinches it.”

  “Clinches what?” Piper stared at her older sister. “You mean there’s more?”

  Prue smiled grimly. “Oh, there’s more. I have a feeling we stumbled into something pretty major here.” She got to her feet. “Phoebe, will you fill Piper in? I’ve got to make some phone calls.”

  “You’re working? ” Piper sputtered. “At a time like this?”

  “It’s not exactly work,” Prue said. “I’m going to call Darryl Morris.” She checked her watch. “It’s just about . . . three A.M. back in San Francisco. Oh, well. Guess Darryl’s having an early start today.”

  “Huh?” Piper wasn’t following. “Darryl Morris as in . . . friend on the San Francisco homicide squad? What are you calling him for?”

  “We need some help from someone official,” Prue explained. “Someone who can check up on things like credit histories and criminal records.” There was a determined glint in her eyes. “I think it’s time we found out everything there is to know about Niall Oldman.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  Thanks a million, Darryl. And I really am sorry I woke you up,” Prue said into the phone. She listened for a moment. “Okay, okay, I owe you one. Yes, something big. I’ll bring you back a present from England, okay? No, I promise it won’t be a beer mug with the queen’s face on it. Right. Okay, thanks again. Talk to you soon.” She hung up and turned to her sisters, who were gazing at her expectantly. “Darryl’s on the case. He’s going to call a friend at New Scotland Yard and another friend in Interpol,” she reported. “He’ll call us back as soon as he has any news. Phoebe, did you find that picture of Niall?”