said Merlin.
He didn’t give praise often, so Clary felt her cheeks warm with pleasure. Far below, Palomedes did battle with the illusion to the obvious pleasure of the paying guests. But that was only the first of many monsters, and Clary set about creating the next. A quick sideways glance showed Merlin had begun an incantation of his own. Clary wondered what it would be, but quickly pushed the thought away. She couldn’t get distracted.
With exquisite care, she wove the next spell bit by bit, checking and double-checking each element she added.
Seriously? said the voice in her head—the same voice that had plagued her at the café. This isn’t brain surgery.
Startled, Clary released her power an instant too early and it bobbled wildly. Then—without knowing how she did it—she reached out and patted it back into shape. Except it was the wrong shape. She’d planned on one oversize lion. Instead, two flightless raptors straight out of the Jurassic era popped into existence and began charging the knights at lightning speed. Clary stared at them in dismay. What did you make me do?
I upped your game. You should be grateful.
Stop it! Go away! You’re a hallucination! At least she’d hoped Vivian’s voice had been the product of her infected wound.
The voice in her head gave a wry snort. Do you feel feverish?
No, Clary felt physically fine. Better than ever, in fact—which meant even worse trouble. “Why are you doing this?”
She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Merlin gave her a quick glance. “Keep going.” Then he turned back to his long, intricate spell.
The show must go on. With a flick of Clary’s wrist, the demon summoned not one lion, but a whole pride. All at once, the knights were extremely busy.
Vivian! Clary protested. She wanted to round on the demon, glare at her, maybe punch her. Except it was impossible when the opposition was inside her head. What do you want?
Vivian’s gaze—in the form of Clary’s eyeballs—turned to Merlin. He took something from me and walked away.
An ominous feeling gripped Clary as if she’d just stumbled upon an unquiet grave. What?
Vivian didn’t answer. She was watching Merlin work, and Clary had a front-row seat to the demon’s emotions. They weren’t as deep or complicated as human feelings, but they were uncomfortably frank. Vivian liked everything about Merlin, from the straight line of his nose to the angle of his jaw. There was also distinct disappointment about how much of his body the robes concealed.
An image of Merlin, his hair longer and his clothes absent, flicked across Clary’s mental screen. The vignette revealed a lot of long, lean muscle and tanned limbs. Clary’s skin heated, suddenly too tight as her own desire melded with the demon’s.
I know his secrets, the demon mused. You wouldn’t worship him half so much if you knew the truth.
Clary struggled, now barely aware of the spectacle below. It’s none of my business.
He’s your flawed hero, your rebel prince. Of course you’re curious.
With horror, she realized Vivian was quoting her own thoughts. Fury pounded against Clary’s temples. This hopeless attraction was her own affair, buried where it couldn’t embarrass her.
Don’t bother, said Vivian. He thinks you belong to him, but that is a far cry from passion.
Clary’s nails bit into her palms. And what’s he to you?
Another sweep of eyes, another rush of need. It was all Clary could do to keep her hands at her sides and not reach out to touch the enchanter’s warm skin. Merlin Ambrosius was my soul mate, the one who filled the empty places in my heart.
Was the demon lovesick? Clary wondered with astonishment. She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hot and weak with their mingled need.
No. Vivian flexed her power—which Clary felt in a sudden head rush. I’m here to take my revenge.
He’ll stop you. Clary dug her nails into her palms, using the pain to focus. I’ll stop you. I’ll tell him you’re here.
Really? And you think there would be no consequences?
I don’t care what he does to me as long as he stops you.
Vivian laughed, a low, husky sound that belonged on a phone sex hotline. Oh, very good, but I’m not done with you yet. On the other hand, I have no use for your sister.
Clary’s lungs stopped working. Tamsin! She didn’t need the demon to say more. If Clary gave Vivian away, Tamsin would suffer.
Sorry it has to be her, Vivian drawled, but you don’t have a vast selection of loved ones to choose from.
That stung more than Clary liked. Leave her out of this!
But this is revenge, remember? Before I’m done, Merlin will wish he were dead. And if you don’t do exactly as I say, little witchling, so will you.
Merlin’s lips moved over silent words as he worked his spell. A faint glimmer sparked in the cloudless sky above the auditorium. It would look like nothing to one of the cheering spectators that crammed the seats, just a random flash of light, but to Merlin it was hard-won success. He’d practiced the spell the way a musician learned a piece from memory, going over and over each element until they formed part of his instincts. It was the way he taught Clary: ritual, rinse, repeat. The drill wasn’t just for the sake of perfectionism—it was as much for safety. With this amount of powerful magic in play, he couldn’t afford to stumble.
Which was why he couldn’t think about Clary, for all he felt her gaze on him. Her attention was like the heat of the sun, and all the more tangible because of his own disquiet. If only he hadn’t kissed her, because now he could not deny how she made him feel. He might have immense skill, knowledge and power beyond the fantasies of mortal men, but he was still flesh and blood. She was a happiness he wanted but could not have—and for an instant, he’d forgotten that last part.
His control had slipped after witnessing her death and revival. Still, that was no excuse. His enemies were too dangerous for a junior witch who was just beginning to master her talents. He had no right to draw their attention to Clary. At the very least, he had to be careful until he was sure Vivian was safely locked back in the Abyss. The demoness was definitely the jealous type.
So he ignored his student, keeping his focus on the spell. It was tricky but, unlike women, it followed a pattern of logic he understood. With the force of one driving a spike deep into bedrock, he fixed the silver glimmer to the canopy of the sky. From there it spun, growing larger and larger into a disk of shimmering light. If his thrust had been too great or too feeble, the swirl would have wobbled and collapsed, but this was as perfect as a whirling top. The momentum of the magic formed a tunnel between worlds, splitting open a passage between the mortal realm and the enchanted worlds beyond.
The perfection of the spell eased Merlin’s temper. The silver bled to a blue deeper than the surrounding sky. The audience
