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 have one as a girlfriend?”
Merlin’s face was like stone. And now, the one time Clary wanted the demon to chime in, Vivian was mute. Okay, then. Apparently, there was a juicy story there.
He leaned forward, fixing her with his amber eyes. “Are you going to help me?” he asked softly.
Clary had to tell him something, so she gave him the merest sliver of truth. “What if Tamsin didn’t cure everything? What if there is a lingering demon poison that affected my magic?”
She felt Vivian’s claws prick the inside of her mind, threatening to shred her from the inside out, but Clary stood her ground. The demon needed her alive for the moment, and she hadn’t given away the whole truth. They had to compromise to get through this.
Merlin’s face remained still, but his eyes closed as if in thanks. “That’s possible.”
“Can you test for something like that?”
“Sort of.” His face fell as he put money for their coffee on the table.
“Just sort of?”
“There are one or two methods that do not harm the subject.” He looked uncomfortable.
“You’re such a romantic,” Clary said, and then gripped the edge of the table, blackness nibbling at the edge of her vision. Her heart drummed in her ears, leaving her hot and weak.
Merlin circled the table, kneeling beside her. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.”
Clary struggled to answer, and this time it wasn’t the demon who froze her tongue. It was the horrific realization it hadn’t been her that had spoken. You’re such a romantic. That had been Vivian’s thought, Vivian’s words. She was losing control to the demon.
Clary met Merlin’s eyes, holding his gaze and willing him to understand all the things she couldn’t say. A crease formed between his brows, and he put a hand to her cheek, his palm cool against her fevered skin. Slowly, his thumb stroked her cheekbone, the gesture offering her a shred of comfort.
“Help me,” she begged.
Merlin’s hand covered hers. “Of course.”
Clary closed her eyes, not able to meet his gaze any longer. She concentrated on the feel of his touch and the long, strong fingers wrapping around hers. She was being split in two, but he was a solid anchor. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Come.” Merlin’s hands were gentle as he pulled her to her feet.