Chapter 21: Witchcraft
"I like to think that the staff are joking when they call me a witch," Morgana said. "I like to think that it's a term of endearment, coming from them."
"If you were Glenda the Good Witch, maybe," Arthur replied, staring at the ceiling with an expression of innocence. "But I believe they simply call you a...witch."
It was Saturday morning, and he and Merlin were slouched on the massive sofa, upholstered in a highly slippery, satin-like fabric, in the sitting room of Morgana's one-bedroom suite. It was an elegantly furnished and well-lit space in a hotel that was, as Merlin had predicted, a good distance from Uther's temporary residence. She and Leon had arrived the evening before, and were scheduled to head back to New York on Monday.
"Just a long weekend," sighed Morgana, shrugging. "But we can ring up some old friends and I can do a bit of shopping. I'll have a few hours to stop in at the museums tomorrow, and Leon can spend time with his parents. We had a late dinner with them yesterday, after our flight arrived."
"I can see you're simply dying to spend some time in the bosom of your family," Arthur said sarcastically.
"Oh yeah, she talks about them all the time," Leon interjected, grinning. He had settled into an armchair where he fell asleep every ten minutes, to the amusement of everyone else.
"Boys, boys, you have no idea," Morgana said loftily, one hand twisting her heavy mass of raven hair. "You haven't a clue about how I truly feel about my family. Did you have a splendid time in Ealdor, Merlin? And how did Arthur behave? Did he cow the local populace and look down his nose at the accommodations?"
"No, he was actually very polite," Merlin replied, cutting off Arthur, who was making noises of outrage. He reached for a biscuit on the coffee table and slid off the sofa as a result. "He was lovely to my mum. She was delighted with him. For the rest of the time, he strode arrogantly amongst the locals, wreaking havoc in the hearts of the female population."
"It's not arrogance," Arthur insisted. "Ignore him, he's an idiot."
Merlin, on the floor, gave a tolerant little smile and rolled his eyes.
"No, he's right," Morgana said firmly.
"It's not arrogance," Arthur said again, emphatically. "It's...it's self confidence."
"Ha!" Morgana snorted, giving her stepbrother a glance of gentle scorn. "Now. Should I bring wine or flowers to Uther's this evening. And what's it like, the new place? Do you think they might keep it after our old house has been renovated?"
"I don't care what you bring, and they won't either," Arthur retorted. "And no, Father's planning to sell it as soon as the Belgravia house is ready to be lived in again. I understand you're dragging poor Leon to dinner tonight, you evil creature?"
All three shot a quick look in Leon's direction, but he had nodded off for perhaps the fifth time that morning.
"I know it sounds daring," Morgana said serenely. "But I want to bring Leon, and I don't care if it's risky. Uther won't dare sack him, should he figure things out, and even if he does, Leon has that professorship lined up. He won't be out in the cold, seeking employment."
"Leon's got courage," mumbled Arthur. "I'd hate to lose him, he's a great Head of Security, but I can understand that a professorship might be nicer for someone with his training, not to mention more prestigious. And to Father's way of thinking, more acceptable."
"Training?" said Morgana. "You make him sound like a racehorse, or a boxer. Uther is such a snob. I know you're rather fond of him, but you agree with me just the same. Incidentally, for the record, we're telling him that Leon's in the City to visit his parents, and I ran into him, oh, somewhere, and invited him to dinner."
"Well, this is a tangle," Arthur murmured, raising a corner of his upper lip in the sardonic smile he had perfected years ago. "You're supposedly here on your own, but you bring Leon to dinner. He just happens to be in London visiting his parents, and wouldn't you know it, he runs into you. Merlin and I share a flat in New York, and everybody knows it, but of course we can't even share a room in Father's house. Now Mordred's been yammering on about coming to New York with us, and he thinks we talk about particle physics in...in...when we're alone together."
"What?" asked Morgana, totally confused. "Particle physics? Oh, does Mordred really want to come to New York? Bless the boy. Uther must have had kittens when he said that. I suppose he could live with me for a while, if Le...if Mum doesn't object."
"And to top everything off," Arthur continued, making such a horrible face that Morgana couldn't repress her laughter, "Father's talking about asking Aredian to do a little freelance work on Lord Moldywart."
"Aredian?" Morgana said, wrinkling her brow. "Oh no. That man is such a toad. I vote against it, whatever Uther says. Oh, Arthur! Aren't you meant to be visiting Cornelius Sigan, to look at that tapestry?"
"It's one miserable thing after another," Arthur growled. "Yes, on Monday. Shall I slit my wrists now, or just wait until afterward."
"Oh, will you shut up!" snapped Morgana. "I don't want to hear you say any such thing, ever again. You're a big boy, Arthur, you can cope with a little worm like Sigan if you have to."
"First toads and now worms," Merlin commented from the floor. "What's next? Ostriches?"
"Sigan actually looks a bit like one," Arthur said testily. "Will you get up off the carpet, Merlin, before someone steps on you? Morgana, I can assure you now that Aredian will not be coming to work for the Institute. And yes, I can handle Sigan; I'd simply rather not have to. Now, what is it we're all meant to be doing this afternoon? Would somebody please wake up Leon?"
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As it happened, Morgana devoted the hours between lunch and tea to spending a great deal of what Arthur said was her monthly salary. Brandishing handwritten lists, cash, and credit cards, she shop-hopped vigorously, at one point roping Leon, Arthur, and Merlin into accompanying her to a department store to find small gifts for friends and an evening garment for herself.
As Morgana to waited on a long line to pay for the items she had selected, Arthur overcame his dislike of shopping long enough to drag Merlin into the men's clothing department, where he purchased a fairly tame Vivienne Westwood jacket for his junior conservator.
"Arthur," said Merlin, sneaking a look at himself in the mirror. "I've told you not to buy me things...it isn't right."
"Why not?" Arthur responded, pulling out his Platinum American Express card. "It looks gr...I mean, it suits you."
"Because," Merlin mumbled, fidgeting with embarrassment as he gazed into the mirror at his suddenly svelt and fashionable self, "I can't buy you anything comparable in return, and it makes me feel like I'm your...your mistress...or a courtesan, or whatever the male equivalent is."
Arthur's head went back in that characteristic gesture as he burst out laughing. Ignoring Merlin's scowl, he tugged the jacket off his shoulders, marched to the checkout counter, and paid for it.
"Look on the bright side, Merlin," he said, still grinning as they emerged from the store. "At least I'm not buying you jewelry."
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It took a while to locate Morgana, who had vanished behind the massive glass doors of yet another expensive-looking shop.
Leon shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly, but Arthur was clearly annoyed. His annoyance grew when Morgana finally reappeared, bearing a huge shopping bag containing a rectangular box.
"Your broomstick, no doubt," he said snidely. "A folding one."
"It's pastries, for this evening," replied Morgana, sharply. "And now I'll make certain you don't get any. Honestly Arthur, did you think I'd gotten lost?"
"The thought had occured to me," Arthur said. "Lost somewhere between Armani and Vera Wang. Searching for you amongst the designer clothing racks would be like hunting down a rabid animal. What a relief we've found you."
"A relief," said Morgana, her lips beginning to tighten. It was plain that jet lag had not improved her temper. "A rabid animal? You didn't find me. In fact, you didn't even look. I found you. What do you mean, a relief?"
"Oh no," Leon said under his breath, nudging Merlin in the ribs.
"Well," Arthur went on blithely. "It was like the relief you feel when you've lost your wallet, and then you find it."
"Your wallet," Morgana said steadily, breathing hard through her nose.
"Yes," Arthur continued, heedless of his impending doom. "A leathery and old one."
Merlin effectively got between the stepsiblings before Morgana could hit Arthur over the head with her heavy (leather) bag.
"Shall we go back to your hotel, Morgana?" he asked with the most charming smile he could muster, warily eyeing the bag she still held poised in mid air. "You can tell us all about Gwen's bridal shower."
"Nice work, Merlin," Leon murmured as the four of them set off to find a taxi. "That's the sort of thing my staff and I have to do all the time. You'd be amazed at how many men think museums are the ideal place to tell their wives or girlfriends they've met someone else. The poor saps think the public surroundings will prevent the ladies from flying into a rage and slapping them in the face. How wrong they are."
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By the time they were sitting once again in the hotel suite, Morgana's sense of humor had reasserted itself, and she was actually sniggering over having been compared to an old wallet.
The plan was that Arthur and Merlin would return to the Kensington house after tea, and Morgana would arrive with Leon just before dinner. But just now, Leon was back in his armchair, looking drowsy again, and Arthur and his stepsister perched on the sofa, with Merlin between them, "To keep the peace," as Arthur said smugly.
Arthur's arm was across the back of the sofa, which meant that it was more or less across Merlin's shoulders. He gestured as he spoke, and every now and then, his hand accidentally brushed the back of Merlin's neck. Merlin could see that Morgana was watching them out of the corner of her eye, but this was hardly new. Arthur had once joked to him that Morgana was dying to catch them in the act...some sort of act, any kind of act...and although Merlin felt that this was an exaggeration, he too was aware of Morgana's intense curiosity about their private life.
"I brought gifts for everybody in the family, from New York," Morgana was saying brightly. "For Mum, Uther, and Mordred. I also remembered to bring all sorts of choc bars. Does he really want to move to New York? To live?"
"Erm, that's what he says," Merlin replied, privately thinking that Uther would undergo spontaneous combustion at the very thought of his younger son growing up in an American city.
"Perhaps he should spend some time living in New York," Morgana suggested, wrinkling her brow. "Even go to school there. You know, with real children, his own age..."
Most of Mordred's classmates in his school for gifted children were older then he was by several years.
"No!" shouted Arthur, aghast at the thought of Mordred living in his flat, with himself and Merlin. Joining them at dinner, invading their sitting room with his Wii, and demanding to know what was going on at the Institute. Rearranging all of the books on their bookshelves according to size and color. Filling his kitchen cabinets with lollies and choc bars. Barging into their bedroom to discover whether or not they discussed physics and quantum theory between the sheets.
"He needn't live with you, Arthur," Morgana said patiently. "He could live with me, if Mum doesn't mind too much. After all, I'm, well, more or less living alone, except for the weekends..." She cast an ambiguous glance at Leon, who was asleep again. "It might do him some good. He's never been able to live like a normal child, he's never spent a great deal of time with ordinary children. And Mum could come and visit quite often, I suppose."
"I don't think Elaine would stand for it," Arthur said, frowning. "Her youngest child moving away?"
"He'll be twelve in a year or so," Morgana sighed. "So many little boys go off to school as full boarders by his age, if not earlier, and only come home for the holidays."
"I don't know," muttered Arthur, still frowning, his fingers toying absently with the ends of Merlin's hair, lightly skimming over his nape. Then he realized what he was doing, and stopped. "What would Leon think?"
"Oh, Leon likes children," Morgana said casually, flicking a glance in his direction. "He's good with them."
"Father won't like it," Arthur said abruptly. "He probably has high hopes for Mordred. His first-born son has disappointed him, opting to spend more than half of his time in the States, avoiding matrimony with any of the daughters of daddy's aristo mates, and...and sharing his living space with some fledgeling conservator who hasn't a bean to his name."
It was Merlin's turn to make outraged noises, and Arthur swatted the back of his head.
"I do so have a bean to my name," stated Merlin reproachfully. "I have a savings account. And a checking account. And enough spending money to pay for my Starbucks ventis, thank you very much."
"So I don't know how you could possibly convince him," Arthur went on, ignoring this minor outburst but secretly admiring the way his conservator's blue eyes had gone darker, the pink flush that had spread across those cheekbones. "Unless you want to use witchcraft, Morgana. God, look at the time! We'd better leave, Merlin, if we want to get home before these lovebirds arrive. Morgana, wake up Leon, and tell him we'll see him at seven. Merlin! For pity's sake, don't forget that jacket!"
Sorry, I couldn't resist paraphrasing some lines from Bradley James' recent and amusing interview for Digital Spy, comparing Prince Arthur's relief at finding Morgana to the relief one would feel upon finding a lost wallet (leathery and old).