Chapter 1: Fight at the Museum

The purr of the aged Roll Royce Phantom's engine was negligible compared to hustle, bustle and overall noise of night in New York City.

"Are you sure he's really here?" asked Dave Stutler, trying to prevent the state of his nerves from showing in his voice. He failed.

"Mostly sure," said Balthazar Blake without looking at him.

"How much is mostly?"

"I'm about seventy-five percent sure he's within a ten mile radius of…there," Balthazar pointed as soon as the stately stone building came into view.

"It's busy tonight," Dave noted. The amount of traffic around the museum was abnormal, as was the new valet service and finely dressed patrons. "Do you think something's going on?"

"If so, they have terrible timing," said Balthazar, and he parked the car in a nearby alley. Master and apprentice exited the vehicle.

"Grimhold?" Balthazar asked aloud.

"Check," Dave brandished the antique nesting doll. "Let's hope this goes according to plan."

"Does it ever?" Balthazar raised an eyebrow.

"No."

"Exactly. You're the Prime Merlinian, what do you have to be afraid of?"

"Lots of things," Dave admitted.

"Good. You're learning."

Closer to the entrance, Dave literally ran into a sign. Rubbing his bruised shoulder, he looked the information over. "Oh, there's some sort of charity gala going on. It's for the special opening of a new wing, filled with new historical stuff. The name of the exhibition is 'X marks the spot' and, oh of course."

"What?" Balthazar asked, not really listening.

"The keynote speaker is Benjamin Franklin Gates."

Balthazar snorted, "What kind of name is that?"

"A rich one," Dave admitted. "He found the Templer treasure, the greatest stash of historical artifacts ever discovered. He found the lost city gold under Mount Rushmore a few years ago too."

"Oh, explains why I haven't heard of him," Balthazar shrugged. "Spend ten years in an urn and you're bound to miss something."

Together, they joined the rich and famous of the academic world heading toward the entrance, gaining their fair share of odd looks in the process. "Look's like its black tie," said Dave.

"Nothing you can't handle," Balthazar said.

For a split second the man at the door thought he saw a skinny college kid wearing far more layers than was fashionably advisable, accompanied by a tall man with a stubbled chin, long, shaggy blonde hair and a scuffed leather trench coat. But by the time they arrived however, all he saw were two clean-cut, well-dressed men, one of whom was extremely familiar.

"Mr. Gates," the doorman greeted him, "I thought you were already inside."

"Thoughts can be deceiving," said Balthazar, confused. He showed his identification, and passed through all the security precautions without incident. Once he had gone, the doorman could not, for the life of him remember what the man's card had actually looked like, only that it had all been in order.

Dave and Balthazar found the museum transformed into a world of high-society, classical music and mediocre champagne. Though they didn't look out of place to anyone but themselves, Dave couldn't help but feel uncomfortable, out of his league.

At another time, he might have been interested enough to go see the exhibit soon to be unveiled, but if so he would be going in between classes on a weekday with a student discount. This wasn't his scene, or his thing.

"Let's split up, cover more ground," Balthazar decided.

"Great, how about you look around here, and I'll go this way," Dave walked and discreetly ducked under a velvet rope. The bright lights and dull noise faded behind him as he headed deeper into the darkened and deserted exhibit halls.

…

"Ben! There you are, we've been looking all over you." Balthazar was startled out of his thoughts by a pretty blonde woman who kissed him on the check. She was wearing a dark blue gown.

"I don't mean to be any trouble," he said, confused but in character. "Do I know you?"

"Of course," said the woman, "You remember George Washington's shoe size, of course you remember me. You're a great historian but a dreadful comedian. Now your speech is about to start so…"

…

Benjamin Franklin Gates emerged from the exhibit gallery content. He'd decided to make a last minute check on the new exhibit. He came away satisfied. A different man would have been extremely proud of his accomplishments, but Ben was more excited about the history and the artifacts themselves than the name on a plaque. Not that he minded the fact that his and the Gates family's reputation was now strictly reputable and even admirable, thanks to him.

Scanning the crowd, Ben saw Abigail talking to…was that himself?

"Hey," Ben called, moving toward them. "What are you doing?" Abigail's eyes widened as she took in the pair of Bens. The imposter did a double take and excused himself, before he sprinted away.

Ben broke into a run, and hopped over a velvet rope in pursuit.

"Hello doctor, how's the champagne?" asked Riley Poole, coming up behind Abigail. He looked uncomfortable in his suit.

"Did you just see that?" she swirled the alcohol in her glass.

"See what?"

"I think I've had enough," Abigail said, and handed Riley her glass, before giving chase

…

There weren't many places creepier than a museum in the dark, Dave Stutler thought as the light from his fingers illuminated a row of African tribal masks. It didn't help that a part of him sincerely hoped he did not find who he was looking for.

Even a month ago, I would never have seen myself here today, Dave thought. He never would have expected that his ten-year-old hallucinations were all too real, and that he himself was a sorcerer. Not just any sorcerer, but the Prime Merlinian, a magical chosen one with near unlimited potential, and using both science and magic he'd been able to destroy Morganna, but most powerful and most evil sorceress of all time. Oh, and he was officially dating Becky, which was potential more unbelievable than anything else.

All this, and Dave still wasn't looking forward to facing Maxim Horvath again. It didn't help that Horvath was now three or four times as powerful as a standard sorcerer, having absorbed the powers of notable other dark sorcerer's in the recent past. Even the Prime Merlinian had to think twice being going up against that.

"Think of the devil and he appears," Dave gulped as he turned the corner.

"Oh, hello Dave," said Horvath looking up from the remnants of a shattered display case. The man who had haunted Dave's nightmare's for the last ten years looked the same as always: old-fashioned suit, bejeweled cane, fur coat, bowler and neat beard. He was holding the artifact from the case, an ornate metallic hourglass. While the ability to do magic had had an overall positive effect on Dave's life, he wouldn't have minded if Horvath had stayed imaginary, charming accent and all.

Dave summoned a plasma bolt, but Horvath was faster. He swung his cane like a baseball bat and the concussive blast threw Dave off his feet and slam into the ground yards away, knocking over a medieval suit of armor on top of him just to add injury to injury.

Dave sat up, wincing, already forming a ball of flame in his hand, but all that remained of Horvath was a distinct clatter of patent leather footsteps.

"Are you alright?" Dave quickly let the flame die as the blonde woman ran up to him. He couldn't tell if she looked more concerned about him or about the suit of armor.

"Yeah," he said. "Wait…you're Abigail Chase, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said. "Did you see a man in a tuxedo come running this way? Two men, actually, looking exactly the same?"

"And I am?" the young man behind her asked dramatically.

"No idea," said Dave getting to his feet.

"Come on, Riley Poole, I'm supposed to be co-finder of the Templer treasure," Riley groaned, "I'm the one with the book deal."

A crash sounded from somewhere ahead. Balthazar. "Look, um, stay here guys," Dave said quickly and sprinted toward the noise. He waved a hand and it looked as though the antique nesting doll lying nearby flew into his hand.

"Ben?" Riley asked.

"Most likely," said Abigail. They followed

…

The man no longer looked exactly like Ben, his disguise had washed away like a layer of wet paint as he ran, leaving him dressed in black with long hair and a longer coat. Still, Ben had to admit that the similarities between them, in face and body-type, were more than a little disturbing.

Oh, and it seemed they could run at exactly the same speed.

Suddenly, the man ahead skidded to a stop and half-turned around. "Get down!" he shouted. Something about his tone made Ben trust the man enough to duck behind a display case. Not a moment to late, as a wall of flame rushed down the corridor. The man in the trench coat was caught in the center of it, but was somehow unharmed, throwing up what looked to Ben, for lack of a better explanation, like a magical shield. Ben's cover protected him from most of the flames, but the heat was momentarily unbearable, and he was sure his eyebrows came out a bit singed.

The man in the trench coat was lifted of his feet and slammed into the wall, pressed against it by some unseen force, as another man, dressed just as eccentrically, approached. "Balthazar Blake," said the man genially, "I wish I could say I was happy to see you. But I'd be lying if I did."

"Nothing new for you, Horvath," Balthazar grunted. He summoned all his magic to break away, but Horvath's focus was too strong. "What's that you've got?"

"A trifle really," Horvath weighed the hourglass in his hand, "Something to while away the hours. I'll have to do something once I've killed you, won't I?"

Ben crouched in his hiding place, and his hand found an antique pot. It was to late to factor the impossibility of events, but not to early to do something about him. After a second of silence in memorandum of such a priceless artifact, Ben hurled the pot. It shattered across Horvath's shoulders. "What?" the sorcerer looked up distracted, and saw him for the first time.

It was all the distraction Balthazar needed. Jumping to the ground, Balthazar hurled a bolt of energy. Horvath deflected it, sending it to burst against the ceiling, and swung his cane, Balthazar fell as if tripped. His next plasma bolt met its mark, Horvath was knocked of his feet, and his cane and the hourglass both went sliding across the floor.

Ben dived for the cane, but Horvath kicked him in the jaw with an expensive leather shoe, and pulled the walking stick from his grip in time to block another plasma bolt.

Horvath summoned the hourglass, it flew toward his grip, but Balthazar rammed into him, tackling him around the waist. The two sorcerers went down in a tangle of limbs and blows.

Ben grabbed the neglected hourglass, recognizing it as one of the odder pieces of the Templer treasure collection.

Horvath seized a handful of Balthazar's shoulder, and flames danced around his hand. Balthazar screamed and punched Horvath across the face.

The cane-toting sorcerer angled his walking stick, and a narrow jet of energy shot from the tip to disappear within the hourglass. Ben stared as the sand within began to twist and writhe like a cyclone. It was mesmerizing.

"Don't-" Balthazar tore away from Horvath, and yanked the hourglass from Ben's hands, hurling it toward the ground.

It seemed to Ben as though the world around him darkened and melted into a whirlpool of burning sand.

…

"No," Dave shouted. His mentor and the historian-treasure hunter Ben Gates both faded into nothingness before his eyes. He wasn't sure which loss was worse.

"Yes, actually," Horvath was already up and retreating, prejudiced against facing the Prime Merlinian again so soon. Dave brandished the Grimhold, but Horvath hurled a collection of kitchen knives from the folds of his coat.

The blades passed Dave harmlessly, flying straight toward Abigail and Riley. Dave waved a hand, knocking all the knives to the ground, but by that time Horvath had vanished.

Dave growled in anger, and kicked a nearby sarcophagus. The coffin rolled over onto his foot, making him scream all the louder, "Balthazar."

Abigail was staring at the floor, eyes glazed, "Ben…" her tone was disbelieving.

"Magic," said Riley, equally disbelieving, looking down at the knives.

Dave nearly jumped out of when skin as Abigail grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. "What the hell is going on?"

"What he said," Dave pointed at Riley. "I really should be going, and you should be staying…"

"No chance of that," Riley said quickly, picking up one of the knives for further scrutiny.

"You're going to tell me what happened to Ben, and that other guy," Abigail ordered Dave.

Dave raised his hands in surrender, "I don't know really. They might even not be dead. Either way, I'm working on it."

"This seemed to have something to do with it," said Riley, picking up the antique hourglass, no worse for the wear from its rough treatment.

"That's as good a place as any," said Dave. "I know just the person to ask-"

"You know we're coming with you, right," Abigail told him.

Dave paused. Balthazar would say no, and probably wipe their memory or something. But for the life of him Dave couldn't remember how to wipe someone's memory, he'd hadn't gotten that far in the encantus yet and it wasn't as if they hadn't been exposed to magic already…

"Sure," he said. "The more the merrier."