Disclaimer blah blah blah. Remarkably little happens this chapter, but I felt like the Merlinians needed some screentime. Also, Horvath isn't my favorite character, but damn his dialogue is fun to write.
Candelario's car is newer than mine, incidentally.
"Okay, okay," Balthazar raised his hands conciliatorily, stifling a wince as sore back muscles complained. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. But it's over 3000 miles from New York to France…as the steel eagle flies. Why you would think you could just glide off into the night—and you do realize how cold it gets at high altitudes? Your girlfriend would have been a Popsicle before you got there."
Dave glared at him over his coffee cup. "I could have improvised. We went over teleportation."
"…teleportation, yes, but when you're already going 60 miles an hour it becomes 60 times more difficult." The old sorcerer rubbed his temples. "I don't want to argue about this. I really don't. I…owe you. A lot. Just please try not to kill yourself before I can pay you back?"
The Prime Merlinian scuffed a toe on the turnaround floor. After Balthazar and Veronica had retrieved him and Becky, they had all settled in the lab for the night, camped out on the floor amid books and Tesla coils. Dave and Becky had kept an awkward distance apart out of mutual respect, but Balthazar and Veronica had curled up together like puppies, as if afraid to be separated while they slept. Now, while Becky showered and Veronica slept, Master had pulled aside Apprentice for a talk.
"You…don't owe me anything," Dave muttered into his coffee. "You saved me a couple times, too."
"With some sort of look in my eyes, apparently." He smirked. "I'd love to know what you meant by that. But that wasn't what I was getting at. You stepped up to a responsibility you never asked for, with a bare minimum of time to train and get used to the idea. And you succeeded. You are truly the Prime Merlinian." Balthazar wasn't looking at him, but there was pride in his voice, and Dave fought to keep from blushing.
"Um. Y-yeah," he fidgeted. "So…what now?"
This time, Balthazar did look up, and his gaze was piercing. "To a significant degree, that's up to you. Horvath is still alive, evidently, and I wouldn't put it past him to be a nuisance. But you've done all I asked and more. If you want to put all this behind you, that's your right. I can't promise it will never come back to bite you in the ass, but I'm willing to run interference. Maxim is my problem."
Dave took a gulp of his coffee. He could hear the water running upstairs as Becky showered, and he fancied he could hear her singing, too. He wasn't sure it was fair to ask her to deal with the weird world he had fallen into unwittingly at the age of ten. On the other hand, she had been more than understanding so far. She had stepped up, too. Without her help in breaking the Morganian circle in the sky, they would have had a lot more foes to deal with.
She also hadn't complained about breakfast in France falling through. He would see to a raincheck, that was for sure.
And then there was the infuriating, enigmatic man now helping himself to the remainder of the coffee while he waited for Dave to speak. He had waited far longer than Dave for a chance at a little peace. Abandoning him now seemed heartless.
"I know there's more to learn," he said slowly. "I don't even know what degree I'm at."
"Two-hundred-thirty-some," Balthazar said. "Technically not an adept, and there are some holes. But you're quite accomplished, considering."
Dave smiled faintly. Balthazar was a little reserved with praise, but he gave credit where credit was due. "Thanks. What I mean is…this is who I am now. I'm not about to quit college or anything. I still want to get my PhD someday, maybe hook up with a lab or, I don't know, NASA or whatever. But I need this, too."
The older man looked at him and nodded slowly. "For what it's worth," he said, "I think you could go all the way to the 777th, if you keep it up. I've only known a handful who made it there. And we're the last Merlinians. Maybe the world still needs us, and maybe it doesn't, but I hate to just let the line die out."
"You could have said that in the first place."
"It wouldn't have been your choice, then." He shrugged, then turned as Veronica stirred, anxiety and excitement lighting up his expression. He set aside his coffee cup and limped hurriedly to her side as she opened her eyes and sat up. She smiled and took his hands. Dave had no idea what language they greeted one another in. Middle English? Latin? Welsh? He turned away and crouched to tie his shoe, giving them privacy. It was a little weird to see Balthazar acting like a lovesick puppy, anyway.
When he straightened, Becky was less than a foot away from him, her golden hair hanging in wet curls around her face. He jumped, and she started in response, having not intended to startle him.
"Whoa! Sorry!" She laughed. "Guilty conscience?"
"No! I just didn't hear your stealthy approach." He grinned sheepishly.
"I'm like a ninja." She put her arms around him tentatively. After only one passionate kiss and a brief eagle ride, they were still feeling their way around one another's personal space. He took the bait gladly, though, and hugged her close. She smelled like his own shampoo, which was a bargain brand he picked up in bulk when he could. On her it smelled incredibly sexy. Maybe it was some kind of girl pheromone thing.
"I didn't know ninjas were so pretty," he said, belatedly and a little hopefully, looking for brownie points.
"Ninjas are hungry. They need breakfast after a busy night of helping save the world." She kissed the tip of his nose.
He immediately offered her Balthazar's coffee.
"Hey!" The older Merlinian was quick to notice. "I thought I had dibs."
"Ladies first." Dave frowned at him.
Veronica seemed to be trying not to laugh. "We could go out somewhere," she suggested. "I saw shops on our way here last night."
She was quick to acclimate. Dave had to admire that. "Maybe that would be better," he admitted. "Balthazar already drank out of this cup. He probably has 1300-year-old germs."
Said sorcerer rolled his eyes but didn't put up a defense for the moment.
"There's a café up the street," Becky smiled and took the cup out of Dave's hand, setting it back on the counter. "Let's all go. I know the assistant manager, she'll give us a discount. And anyway, I want the unabridged version of what last night was all about."
Veronica stood, smoothed her hair, and scanned first her own gown, then Becky's clothing. There was a flicker of liquid light over her body as her clothes adjusted to her will, and she was left in simple blue jeans and a lacy violet blouse. "Will this blend in appropriately?"
"…That works," Becky was still a little dazzled by magic, but taking everything in stride.
"How come she can adjust to modern fashion and you can't?" Dave smirked at Balthazar.
Balthazar looked a little dazzled by Veronica. "…because, I…shut up, Dave." He took his newly restored lover's hand and stood stiffly, still aching from being thrown around Battery Park the previous night. Veronica kissed his cheek chastely, and together they made their way up the steps out of the turnaround.
The younger couple followed. "They're kind of sweet, aren't they?" Becky murmured.
"Uh…" Dave glanced at the back of Balthazar's head warily. "Sure."
"Look," Drake said slowly, "I don't want to make a big production, but my cousin here is only in town today, and she's really interested in historical monuments. Churches, museums, that kind of thing. What if I made a contribution?" He shoved the bag of produce into Abigail's arms and patted his pockets in search of his wallet.
She staggered a little but made no complaint. The back entrance of the Church was guarded by a formidable older woman and a younger assistant. She wasn't sure whether they were nuns or lay-leaders of some sort, but neither was kindly disposed toward curious visitors.
"I'm not sure what you think you have to gain here, Mr. Stone," the older woman said with a scowl, "but bribe or no bribe, I simply can't let you wander around the grounds without permission from the board. Plus, we're waiting for the insurance adjustor, so now is not the time."
"Have you seen any butterflies around?" Abigail cut in abruptly.
Both Drake and the older woman looked at her like she had grown a second head. The younger woman, however, frowned quizzically. "They're all over," she said. "The big yellow things, right? I thought it was odd, but maybe it's some kind of migratory pattern."
"All over where?" She set the bag down impatiently and met the woman's eyes.
"What's this about?" Drake had his wallet in hand now, but he was frowning at Abigail.
"I saw one on the street earlier. It's abnormal to see them this time of year. I can almost see my breath. It's too cold."
His eyebrows went up, and he glanced up at the sky as if looking for the insects.
"There are half a dozen or so in the building," the younger woman said. "Four stuck on the ladies' room ceiling, and maybe two more in the office. We sometimes get ladybugs swarming this time of year." She was perplexed.
"We'll buy them from you," Drake said decisively. "You don't even have to let us in. Just stick them in a jar with some holes in the lid. I have…" he peered in his wallet. "…a little over two hundred in here right now, but if you have your people call my people, I can arrange a lot more."
"Is this some kind of practical joke?" The older woman bristled. "First you want a tour, now you want butterflies?"
"I…I think I can catch them," the younger woman said. "I just need to get out the stepladder."
Drake pulled out a handful of bills and held them out. There was a moment's hesitation, but in the end it was the older woman who accepted them. "…We'll call it a donation to the general fund," she sighed.
"Be cautious fetching the insects," Abigail told the younger woman as she turned to go in. "It would not do for you to fall and get injured."
Both women vanished into the building, leaving the two Morganians outside a locked door. Drake tucked his wallet away and looked at Abigail. "Horvath told me butterflies were kind of a thing for Sun-Lok. Something about them carrying the souls of the dead to the afterlife."
"You think they're carrying his soul, then?"
"Best lead we've got so far." He shrugs.
"What else do you know about this man?" She sat on the stoop.
"Not a lot. Didn't seem to matter once he was out of the picture. But…" Drake settled next to her. "I did take a peek in the Encantus, out of curiosity, after I talked to Horvath. He was born in the 19th century, early on, but he didn't really join us until 1870-some, and he'd already done some weird stuff to himself."
"Such as?" She crossed her ankles primly and rested her hands in her lap.
"Hard to be sure. Multiple layers of spells, but there's also some reference to him hooking up with a low-level demon."
"I…have never heard of a case in which that has actually occurred before."
Drake shrugged. "The Encantus wasn't very definite, but it seems like his dragon was never a dragon so much as a polymorphic energy monster."
"He must have been very powerful, then."
"Must still be."
She frowned. "…and potentially insane."
They looked at one another worriedly.
"We'll keep him on a tight leash," Drake said after a moment.
"How?" she whispered. "We have no access to our magic."
"Maybe not, but I still have two Swiss bank accounts and 7 million in stock options," he muttered. "Most people in this world are still sane enough to accept a big fat wad of cash."
"That may be," she said, "but if he-"
The door opened, cutting her off. The older woman was carrying two large pickle jars full of yellow butterflies, each the size of a toddler's palm. Behind her, the younger woman was limping.
"You jinxed me," she said to Abigail with a rueful smile. "One of them flew in my face. I think I sprained an ankle."
"I did no such thing!" Abigail took the accusation literally and looked startled and offended. Drake soothed her with a gentle nudge to the shoulder.
"Ssh," he said, then gave the injured lady an apologetic smile and his business card. "Call that number if you end up needing the doctor. I'll cover it."
He reached to take one of the jars, and Abigail stood and took the other.
"Looks like there are nine of the little monsters total," said the older woman. "Enjoy."
"Thank you," Abigail nodded politely.
When the women had gone again, Drake held up his jar and peered inside. The butterflies folded and unfolded their wings fitfully. "Dunno if you're in there, old man," he said, "But I hope you can give us a hand."
"What's this?" Horvath stared at the kitchen table blankly.
"Breakfast. What does it look like?" Candelario was on his second cup of coffee and his third jelly donut, but he had given his guest the benefit of the doubt where diet was concerned. There were scrambled eggs, thin-sliced bacon, and English muffins laid out on the table, in addition to the box of pastries he himself lived off of.
The Morganian quirked an eyebrow at him, prodded the pile of eggs with the handle of his fork, then gave a slight shrug and took a cautious bite.
"Well?" Candelario scowled at him. "You'd rather I made you pentacle burgers?"
He wasn't sure, but he thought that prompted just the twitch of a smile from the sorcerer. "I wasn't expecting to be fed at all, quite honestly. Not that I object, by any means."
Candelario took that as thanks, grunted quietly, and took another sip of coffee.
They ate in silence, but Horvath carried his dishes to the sink when he was done. "I have errands," he said. "Which I can run on my own, but I expect you to be available when I need you later on."
"…I gotta work. Four to nine tonight."
"Mn. Are your hours regular?" He turned to peer at him over his shoulder.
"Sort of. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday evenings. I'm semi-retired, you know?"
"If you have vacation time coming, I suggest you take it. I will fetch you from the diner if I want you, and if I come to fetch you, you will do as I say."
"I'm not a genie. I don't pop out of the bottle on command." He kept his tone even despite his annoyance. "Can you give me some idea what your plans are?"
"Well, that depends." Horvath smiled at him. "How are your scruples these days?"
"Could use a tune-up. I don't want to get in trouble with the law. I'm too damn old to go to jail. But give me a hypothetical situation and I'll tell you how I feel about it." He polished off his coffee and joined Horvath at the sink, rinsing out the mug.
"My first order of business will be getting some funds together. My accounts will be long since forfeit, but I have item caches all over the world. I'll make a few black market sales today and tonight. In the meantime, I'd like for you to do a simple background check for me. A private detective will do, but I want the information quickly."
"No problem." Candelario was relieved. "Information I can get you."
"The name is David Stutler." He spelled it slowly, watching Candelario's attentive nodding. "I want a biography, a credit history, and most especially a family tree. If he has living relatives, I want to know where they can be found. The closer the better. Blood relations, mind you. Adopted ones will do me no good."
"Can do. Hell, I bet I can Google half of that."
Horvath's expression was blank. He had had time to catch up with some technology, but the internet was still a little foreign. "…I don't care how you do it, just make sure what you give me is accurate. Incidentally, do you have a car?"
"Uh…I have an '86 Chevy that runs, but it's not really your style, is it?"
"I'm a sorcerer, Candelario. I can make it my style."
"It's across the street." Candelario shrugged and led his guest to the door, pointing out a battered black car through the open doorway.
"It will do. I'll see you when you return from work," Horvath produced a coat out of nowhere and slung it over his shoulder.
"…should I bring dinner?"
"Not from your dismal little diner, no. If you care to stop somewhere less depressing, I like seafood and Italian." He exited the building and crossed the street. As Candelario watched, he took the driver's seat, then laid his hand on the door of the old Chevy. With a shimmer and a watery ripple, it became a sleek, white and silver antique, then started with a deep purr and pulled off down the lane.
Between one thing and another, Horvath had grown a little jealous of Balthazar's '35 Phantom; however, he himself had always been a Bentley man.