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 cheered in anticipation, believing they watched a special effect none of Medievaland’s competition could copy. In a way they did, because no other theme park could boast a guest appearance by a real live dragon.
With a lazy flap of wings, Rukon Shadow Wing floated through Merlin’s portal. A smile split Merlin’s face at the sight and he allowed the pleasant tiredness that followed a well-cast spell to claim him. Portals took a lot of energy, but they were worth the effort for a sight like this.
The great male dragon flew low enough that Merlin caught the scent of musk and cinders as the wings blotted out the sun. The dragon’s green head was long and narrow, the sinuous neck twisting to survey the ground below. As it turned, the light caught the bony ridge of spikes that traced its spine to the tip of its snakelike tail.
Rukon’s head bobbed toward Merlin in acknowledgment. The dragon’s visits were made in exchange for Camelot’s assistance last autumn, when Arthur and Guinevere had freed Rukon’s mate. Plus, preening before a crowd of unsuspecting humans seemed to amuse the beast no end.
It was only then, with the spell complete, that he could risk a good look at Clary. Her face was flushed with effort, her eyes wide with what looked like shock. Stomach tense, he followed her gaze to the field below.
Clary’s illusions sometimes had a mind of their own, but normally they were forms without substance, as dangerous as a puff of smoke. As long as they showed off the knights and their shiny swords, what else mattered? So he hadn’t paid much attention when triple the number of required monsters appeared from thin air. Apparently, that had been a mistake.
A lion raked its claws across the flank of Sir Palomedes’s steed. The horse screamed, rearing up to reveal a bloody gash. Surprised, the knight struggled to keep his seat, but the terrified horse threw him and bolted for the stables. Horror gut-punched Merlin, and he grabbed the cold metal railing before him. Illusions didn’t draw blood. Something was very wrong, and now the lions were circling Palomedes.
Merlin shot a glance at Clary, who had raised her hands and seemed poised to begin another spell. He grabbed her wrist. “Stop!”
She rounded on him. “I can’t!”
Her voice held a sharp edge of panic that clutched at Merlin’s instincts. She’d gone from flushed to bone-white, her lips trembling with panic. Normally, he made students fix their own problems—it was the best way to learn—but lives were at stake. Right now he had to take charge. He pointed to the bench at the back of the space. “Sit down!”
“I need to make it stop!” Tears stood in her green eyes. Her distress tugged at him, sharp as any beast’s fang, but until everyone was safe, he couldn’t afford pity. Not even for her.
He thrust her toward the seat. “Sit down and don’t touch anything. Whatever you do, don’t use magic.”
She collapsed so hard the bench squeaked against the concrete. “It’s not my fault.”
“I don’t care.” Blame could come later. He needed solutions now.
Merlin turned back to the chaos below. The wolf Clary had conjured was gone, the magic of the illusion spent. That was what was supposed to happen—and it was the only normal thing that had happened. The far-too-real lions were only part of the problem. There were a pair of prehistoric creatures straight from nightmare, and one of them had Beaumains cornered. The knight’s blade ran red with blood, and so did his sword arm. Merlin’s thoughts scrambled in confusion. What the blazes had Clary done?
The audience sensed something was wrong. A strained silence had fallen over the amphitheater, as if every spectator held his breath. The show was supposed to be make-believe, but the fearful whinnies of the horses were all too real. Then shadow fell over the field once again as the dragon flew another loop in the sky. Merlin looked up to see Rukon peering back, the slitted pupils of the huge topaz eyes wide with interest.
The lioness crouched, the motion of her hindquarters making it plain she was about to spring at Palomedes’s throat. The sight jerked Merlin back to life. He summoned a shimmering ball of lightning to his hand and hurled it. It struck the lioness square in the back with a flash of pure white brilliance. Air rushed in a thunderclap as the creature burst into a cloud of tiny black scraps that looked like bats. They arrowed upward in a chorus of shrill cries.
Merlin’s breath stuck in his chest. The cloud of flying darkness said this was demon magic. Rukon recognized it, too, for the dragon released a stream of blinding, blue-white fire that wiped the flapping shadows from the sky. The spectacle of a fire-breathing dragon changed the somber mood in an instant. The crowd erupted in a collective gasp of wonder and glee. Cries of “Whoa!” and “Go, Merlin!” drowned out the sounds of battle.
But Merlin was just getting started. He scanned the field, giving an involuntary wince at the sight of the dinosaurs. The raptors pranced around Beaumains like naked chickens sizing up a worm. One bled but seemed oblivious to the wound, a primitive need to kill stronger even than pain. Merlin’s chest tightened with apprehension as Beaumains stumbled, his own injuries obvious.
Merlin’s next fire bolt split in midair to target the two raptors. The fireballs struck the earth with a thwump and crackle that fried both monsters to ash. This time nothing flew out of the smoldering ruins. Demons were hard to kill, but enough raw power did the trick. Without sparing the