“And no one else put two and two together and figured that this mysterious child who showed up in the home of two magical leaders might be the missing spawn of evil?” I asked.
“That is not as uncommon as you might think,” Merlin said. “We lose magical children all the time within the child welfare system, since untrained magical powers tend to create problem children. You can imagine the potential for disaster when a child doesn’t understand his power and his parents don’t understand what he’s doing. In addition, many of the details about the Morgans were not a matter of public record. I had access to privileged information. Very few people would have had reason to make that connection.”
“Who else could have known?” I asked. “And did anyone know officially?”
“It is possible that those who were on the Council at the time knew or suspected, but no one has ever discussed it with me.”
“You never mentioned this to Owen?” I asked.
Merlin shook his head. “It was nothing more than a suspicion, and I didn’t think it mattered. He has more than proved himself to be a good man.”
“Yeah, but now Ramsay and Idris have the perfect scapegoat for their crimes, while they can pretend to take the high road and fight him,” Rod snapped.
“That’s probably the part we need to focus on now,” I said. “We need to clear Owen’s name and show Ramsay up for what he is.”
“But what is he?” Rod asked. “Has he really been behind this all along, and how far back does it go?”
“Do you really think Phelan Idris was worth bringing Merlin back?” I asked. “I’m guessing it has something to do with that. The problem is that he’s set himself up in a no-lose situation. He can make accusations against Owen that are impossible to deny through anything short of a DNA test. Meanwhile, Ramsay is acting like the savior of all magic, so if we fight him, then we look like the bad guys. Before we can defeat him, we have to prove that he’s been the bad guy all along. It’s a PR war more than a magical battle, and I’m not sure how we can fight it.”
“We will need evidence of Ramsay’s wrongdoing,” Merlin said.
“Unless he’s been keeping a diary of his evil deeds, I doubt he’s left a paper trail,” Rod said.
“Maybe Owen’s situation is the key,” I suggested. “For Idris to make that accusation, he had to have information from somewhere, which was probably Ramsay. I think it’s suspicious that Ramsay killed the Morgans and also happens to know Owen’s identity, which he hasn’t said anything about until now. Was he the one who kept Owen hidden?”
“That will be your assignment,” Merlin said. “See what you can learn about Owen’s origins.”
He stood and gave a smile that was like ice water down my back. “Meanwhile, if Ivor Ramsay wanted Merlin, then Merlin he shall have,” he said, his voice taking on an eerie booming quality. He strode to one side of the office and waved his hand over a section of wall. A narrow cabinet popped open, and he took out an elaborately carved staff that was taller than he was. From another cabinet he took robes of an iridescent blue-black. I hurried over to help him settle the robes around his shoulders. He got out a tall, pointed hat, then hesitated. “Is the hat too much?” he asked. “Modern wizards don’t seem to hold with the old regalia.”
“You’re giving them Merlin,” I reminded him. “Go all-out with the old regalia.”
Rod and I followed close behind as Merlin swept downstairs to the building entrance. I didn’t want to miss seeing this, and it looked like Rod was on the same wavelength. We stood in the doorway as Merlin moved out onto the sidewalk under Sam’s awning.
The crowd was still there, though Ramsay had gone. Some were actively protesting while others just milled about like they were waiting for something to happen. Merlin struck his staff against the sidewalk and thunder boomed. A burst of wind rushed up the street and swirled around the protesters, who scrambled for cover. As suddenly as the micro-storm had come up, it dissipated into absolute silence. Then Merlin spoke.
“What is your business here?” he intoned in that same eerie, reverberating voice he’d used earlier.
The protesters mumbled to each other and moved away from the building. One brave soul stepped forward and said, “You’re Merlin, aren’t you?”
“That is what some call me. That was my name in the Latin tongue in the days of Arthur, and that is my name in legend.”
An awestruck gasp fluttered through the crowd, and a few people snapped pictures with their cell phones. “So, it’s true?” one woman asked skeptically. “You’re the Merlin, brought back to life from the Dark Ages?”