her contempt was a childlike confusion about human relationships. That didn’t make Vivian any less dangerous or passionate. Rather, it was more like being trapped in an elevator with a toddler—a toddler armed with a flamethrower.
She saw Merlin striding toward her. He was still wearing his enchanter’s robes and drawing stares from the crowd. His face was stony.
“Come with me,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the stream of pedestrians.
“What’s going on?” she asked, tension swarming through her. “Is everyone okay? How mad is the king? Am I fired?”
“You’re not fired yet, but unless we get out of sight that may change.” As he spoke, patches of color flushed his high cheekbones. “The only reason you’re not in the king’s custody is because I’ve promised to investigate this afternoon’s events. If I don’t find satisfactory answers, we’re both in trouble.”
He was putting himself on the line for her. Clary felt Vivian’s twinge of satisfaction, followed by the image of Tamsin’s face. A plain warning.
Clary pulled out of Merlin’s grasp. “You don’t need to do this for me.”
“You’re my student. I know what you’re capable of, and none of that should have happened.” He glared down at her. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Sorry that offends you.” She wanted to get away, to put as much distance between Merlin and Vivian’s revenge as she could. And yet one look at his face said he wasn’t letting her leave his sight.
“You put everyone, especially yourself, at risk.” He put an arm around her shoulder, propelling through the exit and into the parking lot. It might look like an affectionate gesture, but Clary felt the steel in his arm. “I can’t let this slide.”
He led her to a four-door black SUV, one of Camelot’s vehicles. Merlin himself didn’t own a car, more often using magic to travel, but after a show he often drove to conserve energy. He pulled the robes over his head and threw the costume in the backseat. He was left wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.
Clary folded her arms. “So what do you intend to do?”
“Go for coffee.” He opened the passenger door, releasing warm air that smelled vaguely horsey. One of the knights must have driven the car right after jousting practice. “You and I need to talk.”
He drove to Mandala Books, which had a coffee shop and bakery in the back. The merger of the two businesses—and of the old Victorian houses that contained them—had been recently completed and the scent of new paint and sawdust still lingered in the air. Nimueh, the fae Lady of the Lake, was still a silent partner in the business, but she and Sir Lancelot du Lac rarely visited anymore. Most of their time was spent in the Forest Sauvage, keeping watch on the prison of Morgan LaFaye.
Merlin chose a table far in the back of the café, where they had some privacy. A server brought black coffee and a cinnamon bun before Merlin had to ask, which said something about how often he went there. Clary ordered a London Fog and looked around the place. It had wooden floors and pine tables with checkered cloths, geraniums in the window boxes and chandeliers made from old mason jars. An enticing view of the bookstore peeped through the archway that joined the two buildings. It was homey and simple.
“This doesn’t seem like your kind of place,” she said to Merlin as the waitress set the vanilla tea latté before her.
He shrugged. “Nimueh placed powerful protections around it, which makes it safe. Plus, they have an excellent bakery.”
She watched him take a huge bite of the cinnamon bun. She’d never pegged Merlin as having a sweet tooth. Usually he was all about vitamins and lean protein. “That thing has enough calories to feed a small village.”
He shrugged. “I burned it off during the show. Fireballs take energy.”
She looked away, her mind’s eye fixed on memories of lightning and dragon fire. “Why did you protect me from Arthur?”
“I need to understand what happened.” He washed the pastry down with coffee, his shoulders easing a little. “Tell me what you experienced when you cast those spells.”
She could feel Vivian come alert inside her, and so she chose her words with care. “The show started okay. The spell that made the wolf worked normally. Then the next one had a mind of its own and then—I can barely remember.”
He studied her through critical eyes. “You’re holding something back.”
“So are you,” Clary retorted. It was a random strike, but the fleeting alarm in his expression said she’d struck home. She sucked in a breath. “Trust works both ways, doesn’t it? There was more to that ritual you did than you’re saying.”
“I told you already. I was conducting surveillance on the demons, which you interrupted.” He made a face. “A demon has been sighted in the Forest Sauvage in the company of the fae. The king and I wish to know why.”
“Did you learn anything?” Clary sensed Vivian’s interest and wished she hadn’t asked.
“Perhaps.”
“What?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“I got hurt. That makes it my concern.” Clary pushed her tea away. More than anything, she wanted to demand he evict the demon from inside her head. Despite Vivian’s threats, the need for privacy was like a maddening itch.
Don’t, warned Vivian. If he knows I’m here, he will do his best to destroy me. Your mortal form is too fragile to withstand such an assault.
How long are you going to keep this up? Clary demanded.
As I said, you are too weak a vessel for an open fight. I will have to take him by surprise. Therefore, I need you until that moment.
Clary’s lips parted in surprise. She had to say something—this was unbearable.
Remember your sister.
Clary let loose a sob, but covered her mouth. Merlin was looking at her, a furrow creasing his brow.
But the demon chose to drive her point home. Paralysis crept from Clary’s tongue all the way to her lungs. When she tried to inhale, nothing happened. A fiery pain spread through her chest. Clary strained, starting to choke. Please! Please let me go! Fear clawed at her insides until Vivian suddenly released her. Clary dissolved into a spluttering fit of coughing. Merlin jumped up, making the dishes rattle. He bent over her, patting her back until she stopped. “Did you choke?”
She nodded, mopping her eyes with a napkin. “Something stuck in my throat.”
“Perhaps an explanation you aren’t telling me?” he asked, sliding back into his chair. Now that the crisis was over, he was once again cool and professional. “You have a secret and I want an answer. I suspect they are exactly the same thing.”
And Clary was almost certain whatever he wasn’t telling her contained the answers to her predicament. They were in a deadlock. Merlin had dirty laundry—dirty, demonic laundry.
“If you hate demons so much, why did you
