The Magician's Mistake (The Fay Morgan Chronicles Book 1) by Katherine Sparrow Page A
Book: The Magician's Mistake (The Fay Morgan Chronicles Book 1) by Katherine Sparrow
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Authors: Katherine Sparrow
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me yes, so that your destruction might be all the more delicious.”
“Um,” I said and bit my lip. I glanced at Kestrel. The man I’d shared the Grail with. The man I’d utterly forgotten.
His eyes burned into mine. He mouthed something.
“What?” I said.
Guinevere’s head snapped toward me. “I said nothing.”
Hurry, Kestrel mouthed. A moment later he held up his wooden staff, and blasted Guinevere with a gale wind spell. It hit her protection spell and bounced off wildly, moving left and hitting a small bagel stand before bouncing off of that and ripping apart a coffee bar.
I blinked and remembered his hands, holding me and … .
Focus. I closed my eyes and reached for my magic, for the wells of power I had spent lifetimes gathering. I drew up hate magic, a huge column of it, thick, choking, and red. I pulled out despair and depression, the twinned gray powers that sought to swallow the world. And anger. So much anger, white hot and burning. I braided it together, quickly, artlessly. No spell-making here, just pure magic. I opened my eyes.
Guinevere faced away from me, sneering at Kestrel as he threw a pink cloud of a spell at her. This one rebounded off her protection spell and floated up toward the ceiling.
I held my palms out in front of me, and let the raw magic flow out of me. It flowed instinctively straight into the amulet Guinevere held in her hand. For a moment the amulet glowed bright as the sun, as it took in the magic that flowed out of me like a raging river.
Before Guinevere had time to sever her open connection to the amulet, that same magic flowed straight into her.
She had used the other women’s life magic to make her young and powerful.
My magic? It would not so easily do her bidding.
It choked her as it flooded into her throat. It distended her belly and wound down her legs. Guinevere let out a low moan and sank to her knees. My foulest magic pulsed beneath her skin and her features blurred. One eye bulged out. Her left arm grew swollen and huge. She screamed. Guinevere fell onto her back and clawed at her own flesh.
And still the magic flowed out of me, into the amulet, and into her.
Kestrel walked closer to Guinevere, watching her thrash on the ground. “You have a lot of darkness in you, don’t you Morgan?” he said, glancing over at me.
He took off his coat and laid it on the ground near the fallen Queen of Camelot. He muttered something, I couldn’t hear what, and the coat fluttered and changed. It darkened and became a door, a passageway, into some other realm.
Wet, wrinkled, and gray hands reached blindly out of that door.
“Do the honors?” Kestrel asked me.
“Gladly.” I kicked Guinevere’s writhing form toward the hole. She was punching herself in the face and hardly seemed to notice her own exit as she fell out of this world and into another.
Kestrel muttered another word, and knelt down and picked up his coat. Just a coat now. The portal was closed.
“You think she’s gone for good?” I asked, looking at his coat. That he wore such a thing on his back? It meant he was arrogant, or had great power, or both.
“Cockroaches. Bed bugs. And Guinevere. She’ll be back. Though it may take a couple of centuries.”
“Kestrel,” I said. “My mind. I—” The memories reached for me, on all sides.
“You don’t have to call me that anymore, do you, lass?”
“Merlin,” I said. And fell as something broke open within me, a terrible wrenching apart of what had held me together. And I remembered.
Some of it, at least.
11
Remembered
I was named after my mother and born on Avalon, the island of apples and fairies, sunshine and rain. I was the eldest born of a large family who loved me. A humble and human beginning, and yes there was magic everywhere with witches, druids, and people of the knowing who used their power well. We had no ruler or monarch, no feudalism or knights to keep their violent order. What need had we of those
“Um,” I said and bit my lip. I glanced at Kestrel. The man I’d shared the Grail with. The man I’d utterly forgotten.
His eyes burned into mine. He mouthed something.
“What?” I said.
Guinevere’s head snapped toward me. “I said nothing.”
Hurry, Kestrel mouthed. A moment later he held up his wooden staff, and blasted Guinevere with a gale wind spell. It hit her protection spell and bounced off wildly, moving left and hitting a small bagel stand before bouncing off of that and ripping apart a coffee bar.
I blinked and remembered his hands, holding me and … .
Focus. I closed my eyes and reached for my magic, for the wells of power I had spent lifetimes gathering. I drew up hate magic, a huge column of it, thick, choking, and red. I pulled out despair and depression, the twinned gray powers that sought to swallow the world. And anger. So much anger, white hot and burning. I braided it together, quickly, artlessly. No spell-making here, just pure magic. I opened my eyes.
Guinevere faced away from me, sneering at Kestrel as he threw a pink cloud of a spell at her. This one rebounded off her protection spell and floated up toward the ceiling.
I held my palms out in front of me, and let the raw magic flow out of me. It flowed instinctively straight into the amulet Guinevere held in her hand. For a moment the amulet glowed bright as the sun, as it took in the magic that flowed out of me like a raging river.
Before Guinevere had time to sever her open connection to the amulet, that same magic flowed straight into her.
She had used the other women’s life magic to make her young and powerful.
My magic? It would not so easily do her bidding.
It choked her as it flooded into her throat. It distended her belly and wound down her legs. Guinevere let out a low moan and sank to her knees. My foulest magic pulsed beneath her skin and her features blurred. One eye bulged out. Her left arm grew swollen and huge. She screamed. Guinevere fell onto her back and clawed at her own flesh.
And still the magic flowed out of me, into the amulet, and into her.
Kestrel walked closer to Guinevere, watching her thrash on the ground. “You have a lot of darkness in you, don’t you Morgan?” he said, glancing over at me.
He took off his coat and laid it on the ground near the fallen Queen of Camelot. He muttered something, I couldn’t hear what, and the coat fluttered and changed. It darkened and became a door, a passageway, into some other realm.
Wet, wrinkled, and gray hands reached blindly out of that door.
“Do the honors?” Kestrel asked me.
“Gladly.” I kicked Guinevere’s writhing form toward the hole. She was punching herself in the face and hardly seemed to notice her own exit as she fell out of this world and into another.
Kestrel muttered another word, and knelt down and picked up his coat. Just a coat now. The portal was closed.
“You think she’s gone for good?” I asked, looking at his coat. That he wore such a thing on his back? It meant he was arrogant, or had great power, or both.
“Cockroaches. Bed bugs. And Guinevere. She’ll be back. Though it may take a couple of centuries.”
“Kestrel,” I said. “My mind. I—” The memories reached for me, on all sides.
“You don’t have to call me that anymore, do you, lass?”
“Merlin,” I said. And fell as something broke open within me, a terrible wrenching apart of what had held me together. And I remembered.
Some of it, at least.
11
Remembered
I was named after my mother and born on Avalon, the island of apples and fairies, sunshine and rain. I was the eldest born of a large family who loved me. A humble and human beginning, and yes there was magic everywhere with witches, druids, and people of the knowing who used their power well. We had no ruler or monarch, no feudalism or knights to keep their violent order. What need had we of those
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