Knight Life by Peter David Page A

us.”
    Â Â Â Â  She frowned. “Arthur? Mayor? I would think that president would be more appropriate.”
    Â Â Â Â  Merlin shook his head and his image flickered on the screen. “You and Arthur, half brother and half sister, thinking alike. That was Arthur’s first inclination. But he has too much he has yet to learn, including,” he said ruefully, “the name of this country. But that is neither here nor there. A complete unknown cannot come sweeping into the greatest office in the land from nowhere. He has to establish a political track record. New York is a highly visible city. And they could really use him. So,” he concluded, “mayor of New York it is. It’s inevitable, so don’t even think about averting it. You do not have anyone to aid you any more, Morgan. Modred is long-gone bones. You command no legions of hell—human, mystic, or otherwise. It is just you, rusty in the use of your powers,versus me at the height of mine. You might say I’ve been working out.”
    Â Â Â Â  “Are you trying to scare me, Merlin?”
    Â Â Â Â  Instead of replying, Merlin merely smiled. Suddenly Morgan heard a low humming, as if power was building up from somewhere. She realized immediately that the television was the source of it, and an instant after that realization, sparks began to fly from the set. She dove for cover as heavy crackling and smoke followed the sparks. An instant later the TV screen blew outward, spraying glass all over the motel room. It flew with enough velocity to embed itself in the wall, in the carpet, and if Morgan had presented a target, in Morgan herself. She, however, had moved quickly enough to knock over and hide behind a coffee table, and so was spared the inconvenience of having her skin ripped to shreds.
    Â Â Â Â  And Merlin’s fading voice floating from the still-sparking speaker. “Trying? No. I believe I’ve succeeded. Stay out of my way, Morgan, or prepare to suffer dearly.” And then there was silence.
    Â Â Â Â  She waited until she was certain that the violence was over. Slowly she raised her head, picking a few shards of glass out of her hair. She looked around. Gray smoke was rising from the now silent television. There was faint crackling in the air, and her nose wrinkled at the acrid odor. She stood fully and then slowly, daintily, picked her way across the floor. She stood in front of the television and, somewhat unnecessarily, turned it off. Then she padded across to the telephone, picked it up, and waited impatiently for an outside line.
    Â Â Â Â  When it came she dialed a long-distance number quickly, efficiently. Her face was grim, but her spirits were soaring. She felt the blood pulsing in her veins for the first time in centuries. There was almost a sexual thrill, matching wits and powers with Merlin. She had been little better than dead all these decades.
    Â Â Â Â  The phone on the other end was picked up and a slightly whiny male voice said, “Yeah?”
    Â Â Â Â  Her eyes sparkled as she said, “He’s contacted me. They’re in New York.”
    Â Â Â Â  “They’re in New York?!” The voice was incredulous. “But I’m in New York! How could I not have known?”
    Â Â Â Â  “Because you’re a great bloody twit. I’m on my way up there now.” She paused, frowning. “We have only one thing going for us. Merlin is not as all-knowing as he believes himself to be. He thinks you do not exist, Mod-red. He thinks I am on my own. It may prove to be his fatal mistake.”
    Â Â Â Â  “Fatal?” There was an audible gulp. “You mean like dead?”
    Â Â Â Â  She sighed, and hung up without another word. Then she leaned back on the bed, brushed away pieces of glass, and closed her eyes.
    Â Â Â Â  “Great bloody twit,” she muttered.