No Quest For The Wicked
But before I could let Owen know about needing to get Granny, the office doors blew open and a slight fog billowed around the floor. The Celtic version of elevator music tinkled in the background as three figures strode through the doorway and paused to pose against the backdrop of a golden light that couldn’t possibly have been natural, given that there was no window behind them. A wind that couldn’t have been natural, either, stirred the fog and made their cloaks billow dramatically.
Now back to his normal self, with no trace remaining of the feebleness he’d shown earlier, Merlin gave a casual wave, and then the music, light, fog, and wind disappeared, revealing three elves who would have looked pretty ordinary if it weren’t for the pointed ears and slanted eyebrows. The billowing capes turned out to be trench coats that had been left unbuttoned and unbelted. One of the elves was Lyle, still looking like the height of eighties preppy fashion (he even had the collar of his coat turned up). The one in the middle appeared to be in charge. He had an eighties-vintage Michael Douglas look about him—slick, expensive suit, wavy hair blow-dried back from his forehead, and a firm chin. He gave the impression that he was ready to stage a corporate takeover at any minute.
The third elf seemed like part of a “which one doesn’t belong?” exercise. He was younger than the other two—which meant he might have been only about a hundred years old while looking twenty-two—and instead of wearing expensive-looking clothes and a trench coat, he wore a faded War Games T-shirt and baggy jeans with an unzipped hooded sweatshirt. The points of his ears stuck up through messy hair. He looked more like a geeky college student dressed up as an elf for a science fiction convention than like an actual elf. I was tempted to see if the points of his ears came off.
If the elves were mad at Merlin for taking away their special effects, they didn’t show it. They still posed as though the spotlight was on them. They seemed to be having a staring contest with Merlin to see who would blink first—or speak first. I wasn’t sure if it was a defeat or a victory when Merlin finally said, “Sylvester, what brings you here?”
The head elf did blink at that. I got the impression that he and Merlin had never met and that Merlin wasn’t supposed to know his name. “I heard Merlin had returned,” he said. “You are he?”
“I am.”
“Oh.”
And then a wave of magic so strong it made the little hairs on my arms stand at attention swept the room, going back and forth between Merlin and Sylvester. It didn’t feel angry or vicious, more like a testing. A nimbus formed around Merlin, making him glow and blur ever so slightly. As soon as it appeared, one like it developed around Sylvester. Suddenly, all the magic stopped. Merlin and Sylvester appeared entirely unruffled, but I felt like I had to catch my breath. Owen’s gasp next to me reassured me that I wasn’t the only one.
“You are Merlin,” Sylvester said.
The three elves swept across the room. Sylvester and Lyle took seats at the conference table, leaving the third elf to stand behind them, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. There were plenty of seats, so there was no reason for him to stand. “Go ahead and have a seat,” I told him, giving him a welcoming smile.
“He doesn’t need a seat,” Sylvester said sharply, making the poor guy flinch. Then Sylvester narrowed his eyes at me. “I recognize Palmer, but who is she?”
“Miss Chandler works for me,” was all Merlin said. “Now, was there something you wanted to discuss? I hear your people have been trying to find the Knot of Arnhold, which has been inconveniently bonded with the Eye of the Moon.”
“Yes, that has been on the agenda today,” Sylvester agreed, smiling thinly. “As you have been seeking the Eye of the Moon.”
“That is rather a priority for us. You see, I remember the last time it was free in the world. Several wars began, killing thousands. I would prefer that not happen again. And why is it that you seek the Knot?”
“Because it belongs to me,” the elf lord said through gritted teeth. “It was stolen from my people.”
“There’s no other reason, then?” Merlin asked mildly. “You wouldn’t be planning to use it to gain invulnerability for yourself in, say, a power struggle?”
Sylvester gave another thin smile. “I have no immediate plans to use it. It is merely part of the traditional regalia of my office. Does the queen of England have a practical use for the crown jewels?”