Since she’d made a deal with Ghost to escape her death and come to the Merlin Gate, that was technically accurate, but Marci didn’t appreciate the way he said it. She was about to tell him as much when Myron sat up, moving his hand at the same time as if he were yanking on something.
When his fist stopped, she saw it was a string. A silver ribbon, specifically, covered in spellwork and wrapped multiple times around his hand. She was trying to read what the spells did when ribbon suddenly became a minor concern compared to what was at the end of it.
Something was climbing out of the manhole beside Myron. It looked vaguely human in the dark, but it moved like a rodent, skittering behind Myron like a rat running for cover. The combination reminded her of the megarats she and Julius had hunted in the DFZ back alleys when money really got tight, but despite the urban legends, Marci had never personally seen one bigger than a Doberman. By contrast, the thing cowering behind Myron now was the size of a car, with eyes that glowed like orange streetlights and the gleam of silver wrapped around its neck.
“That’s a spirit, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quiet and angry as she fixed the older mage with a deadly glare. “What did you do, Myron?”
“Nothing worse than you,” he replied, clutching the silver line in his fist as he stood up. “Every Merlin needs a Mortal Spirit.”
The creature on the chain hissed and scurried away, its teeth flashing like knives in the dark as it gnawed at its bindings. When the silver didn’t give, it made a pitiful sound, and Marci’s fists clenched. “That is not how this goes,” she growled. “A Merlin workswithher spirit. You have that thing chained up like a dog. What’s it even a spirit of? Terror?”
“That is none of your concern,” Myron said, looking down at her, which was rich given the circumstances.
“And you had the nerve to criticize Ghost.”
“Judge me all you like,” he replied haughtily. “But unlike you, I have no illusions about what I’m doing. You tried to make friendswith oblivion, to reason withdeath, but I understand that these are forces that cannot be controlled. Mortal Spirits are not our allies. They’re our shadows, the imprints left by humanity’s lowest common denominator, and they’ll be the end of everything if we do not strike first.”
Marci stared at him in disbelief. “You sound like Algonquin.”
“She would know, wouldn’t she,” he snapped. “Algonquin has always been our enemy, but that doesn’t make her wrong. She understands better than any living thing that Mortal Spirits are monsters.Ourmonsters, made by our flaws, and like any other evil of humanity, they must be curtailed.”
Marci crossed her arms over her chest. So that’s what this was about. “I see Algonquin found someone willing to take the job I turned down. Let me guess: you’re here to clamp down the magic and shut off the Mortal Spirits before they can rise, and in return, you get to be the first Merlin.”
“Almost,” he said, pulling the silver leash tight. “But I’m not just here to be the first Merlin. I also mean to be the last.”
He turned on his heel and walked to the pillar, dragging his spirit behind him like a disobedient dog. When he reached the wooden door, he wrapped the silver lead tight around his palm, raising his fist to knock.
Just as when Marci had done it, the knock rang like a gong through the swirling magic. The door opened immediately, sending light flooding into the dark again as Shiro, Abe no Seimei’s shikigami, the same bound guardian who’d shut the door in Marci’s face, lowered his head in greeting just as he had for her.
“Welcome,” he said, his mouth moving not quite in sync with the words as they filtered through the translation spell. “He who would be Merlin.”
“Thank you,” Myron said, smiling warmly as if he’d come here as a dinner guest and not someone bent on destroying everything. “I’m Sir Myron Rollins, Undersecretary of Magic for the United Nations, Chair of Tectonic Magic at Cambridge University, Master of Labyrinths, and Bound Mage of the DFZ.”
Marci’s eyebrows shot up. “Mage of the DFZ?” she cried. “Since when?”
“He means his spirit,” Ghost whispered, nodding to the ratlike thing at the end of the silver ribbon, which was still pulling against Myron with all its might.
“No way,” she said. “That’sthe DFZ? As in the place we live?” He nodded, and her eyes went wide. “A city can be a Mortal Spirit?!”
“Anything humans value can be a Mortal Spirit,” Amelia said irritably, leaning forward on Marci’s shoulder until she almost fell off. “Now hush. This is about to get good.”
Marci didn’t see how anything involving Myron becoming Merlin could ever be termed “good.” But that must not have been what Amelia was talking about, because while Shiro was still smiling politely at Myron as he had for Marci, his inhumanly dark eyes were as hard as slate.
“You have indeed bound a Mortal Spirit,” he said, glancing distastefully at the giant rat-thing pulling at the end of Myron’s leash. “But her magic is not her own. She has been flooded with the blood of lesser spirits, and she reeks of Algonquin’s water.”
Marci didn’t understand what he was talking about for that the first part, but now that he’d mentioned it, therewasa strong smell of lake water coming off Myron’s spirit, but not the usual kind. Even when it was flowing under the Skyways, Algonquin’s water always smelled clean. The stench coming off this thing reminded Marci of the storm drain she, Julius, and Justin had climbed through what felt like forever ago. She was wondering if the spirit was sick when Myron stomped his foot.
“What does it matter where her magic came from?” he demanded. “She’s a Mortal Spirit, and I am her bound master. That gives me the right to walk through this door.”
“There you are wrong,” Shiro said, looking more disgusted than ever. “You have no rights here, mage. As I told the young lady behind you, Merlins are champions of humanity. They cannot be beholden to foreign masters. You have bound a spirit in servitude, but as long as you yourself are the servant of the Lady of the Lakes, I will not allow you to enter this sacred place. You may try again when you have freed yourself from Algonquin’s influence. Until then, you are unworthy to stand in the light of this gate.”
And then he slammed the door in Myron’s face.
Marci laughed out loud. “Serves you right,” she said as Myron stumbled back. “I can’t believe you agreed to work for Algonquin. You’re such a traitor. How did General Jackson not shoot you, too?”
“Because I didn’t give her the chance,” Myron said, glaring over his shoulder at her with a look of pure hate. “Don’t confuse us, Novalli. I am nothing like you. You’re a PhD dropout who lucked into a spirit she never deserved. You’ve never known what you’re doing because you did nothing to earn it. All you’ve ever had is dragons willing to use you and your own arrogant grasping, which apparently extends even after death. But I’m no dragon lackey, and I’m not Algonquin’s servant, either. I am the Master of Labyrinths, the greatest living mage! Everything humanity knows about Merlins or Mortal Spirits comes frommyresearch.Iam the one who deserves to be here, and I will not be kept out.”
The smile slipped off Marci’s face. “Hold up,” she said, putting up her hands. “Just what are you planning to—”
