Clary pulled her smartphone from the pocket of the boho-style dress Tamsin had loaned her to replace her bloodstained clothes. It was pink and flowery and nothing like what she usually wore. She held the phone up as if it was evidence. “I’m scheduled to be there at noon. He sent a text to confirm.”
“That’s probably his way of checking on you. You had a near death by demon, then a seizure.” Tamsin had that frozen look that said she wasn’t happy but was trying to be polite about it. “I think you can skip a session.”
“Normally, I’d welcome a day off, but as you say, I cost him a piece of expensive equipment. Showing up is the least I can do.”
“You feel guilty.”
“Pretty much.”
Clary’s mind immediately went to the kiss. Her cheeks heated at the memory, and she looked away from her sister. Merlin’s behavior was just one more strange thing to add to the list of yesterday’s weirdness.
“What else happened besides the demon who attacked you?” Tamsin asked. She’d always been able to read Clary’s expressions.
Clary rose from the table. “I need to get ready to go.” She suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore.
Tamsin—still protesting—drove her to Medievaland. They parked and passed a long line at the gate that proved the summer tourist rush was beginning. The weather promised to be warm, so the steady stream of paying customers would only increase as midday approached. And why not? Medievaland, with its jousts and feasts and rides and games, was good family fun.
Clary and Tamsin passed the turnstile and pushed through the knot of visitors milling at the information booth. A herald rode by on a milk-white mare, shouting directions to Friar Ambrose’s delicatessen and the noon show at the bandstand. To the right was the market area crowded with merchants selling all manner of handcrafts and snack foods; to the left the traditional arcade that led off to the rides, where the Dragon’s Tail—a roller coaster that challenged even Clary’s daredevil instincts—swirled high above the crowds. Tamsin’s destination was the Church of the Holy Well, the one truly medieval structure in the park. It had been moved, along with the stone knights, from the south of England and turned into the museum where Tamsin worked.
The two women stopped when they reached a fork in the path. “You’re absolutely sure you feel up to this?” asked Tamsin. “No headaches or weakness?”
“I feel fine,” Clary protested, and that much was almost true. “As if there was anything on the planet that could withstand your healing!”
“Then, be brave, little witchling.” Tamsin gave her a hug. “I’ll check on you in a few hours.”
Clary laughed at her childhood nickname. “You’re such a big sister.”
Tamsin made a face and left, heading toward the ancient church ahead. Feeling content for the first time since before barging into Merlin’s workshop, Clary took the path to the tourney grounds.
Jousting and other events took place in an amphitheater, where the audience could get a good view of the armored horsemen doing battle. Behind the large structure were the stables, changing rooms and other service buildings. As Clary hurried in that direction, she could hear the stampede of hooves and the crash of lance on shield. The crowd roared and applauded, which meant someone had scored a good hit. After a glance at her phone to check the time, she picked up her pace, ignoring the hawkers selling T-shirts and ball caps.
When she reached the change rooms, she grabbed a long blue gown out of her locker and quickly put it on. All the employees at Medievaland dressed the part, and by the time she was done, she’d added a long belt of glittering—if fake—jewels and pinned her hair under a fluttering white veil. Then she headed for the amphitheater, where she was to meet the enchanter in one of the high boxes that overlooked the field.
Nerves made Clary’s breath come faster. She was here because, despite yesterday, she still wanted Merlin as her teacher. She wanted to be an effective witch, ready to fight fae or demons or whatever threat darkened Camelot’s door. She wanted to belong here like Tamsin did. Still, she had to admit she’d come for other reasons, too. She needed to bury the anger between her and Merlin. He’d been a jerk, but she’d burst in on him. He could have handled everything better, but she’d resorted to a tantrum. Neither had been at their best with dying and exes and all.
And—here, she mentally shied away just a little—they had kissed. She had to face him with her head held high and not reveal how much more she desired. Sometimes attitude was all a person had.
When she saw Merlin, her step slowed so she could take in the sight. He wore long robes of deep blue and carried a tall staff of knobby wood. With his lean face and unusual amber eyes, he carried the fantasy-wizard costume well. Very well, and with the kind of brooding intensity that teased something low in her belly. He was gazing at the tourney ground, a thoughtful frown on his face.
“Hi,” she said.
He looked up, his expression startled for an instant before it settled into his habitual reserve. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she said, sounding as defensive as she suddenly felt. “I can work.”
A long moment passed in which Merlin studied her, his expression closed. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?” he asked.
If he was trying to keep her at a distance, it was working. All at once, Clary felt exposed in her feminine dress, the light breeze tugging and touching in ways that didn’t happen with her usual denim and leather. She wanted to say again how sorry she was for yesterday’s mistake, but the words died under his cool stare. His mood felt like punishment, but whether it was for himself or for her, she couldn’t say. It took a moment to get her lips to move. “Yes, I know what to do.”
“Good.” He turned back to the amphitheater. The packed dirt field had been cleared, ready for the next event. “Keep to the script, regardless of what else you might see. I’m raising the bar a notch for today’s show.”
Clary swallowed. The show would be grunt work for Merlin, but for her it would be tricky. She tried not to think about the time she’d accidentally teleported a moose into her hotel room. Be brave, little witchling. “I’m ready.”
Merlin gave a signal, and the voice of the announcer boomed through the public address system. “Lords and ladies, honored guests of Medievaland, welcome to this afternoon’s main event. This is the moment of dread, the true test of bravery and the battle you’ve all been waiting for—Medievaland’s courageous knights versus the enchanter Merlin’s monsters!”
The audience roared its approval. The gates at the far end of the amphitheater swung open, and the knights rode in two by two—Gawain and Hector, then Beaumains and Percival, and finally Owen and Palomedes. They parted, each pair splitting left and right to form a colorful double line. The last to appear was King Arthur, resplendent in blue and gold and riding a huge bay stallion. The amphitheater rumbled with enthusiastically stamping feet as the knights took up their position flanking the king.
Two musicians with long golden trumpets blew a fanfare, silencing the crowd. Merlin turned to Clary and gave a nod. She braced herself. She’d practiced this spell hundreds of times and now she recited the words of the spell exactly as he’d taught her. Then she released her power. With relief, she felt the magic shape itself, swirling until it solidified into an enormous
