Kay Hooper - The Wizard Of Seattle

"Can you read her thoughts?"

Merlin shook his head. He wasn't about to confess that Serena had an absolutely unprecedented ability to slip into his consciousness; that had shocked him to his bones, and he had no doubt it would horrify his father.

"Is that why you accepted her when she came to you? Because you couldn't read her thoughts?"

"That, and the power I could feel in her. It honestly didn't occur to me that I was doing anything seriously wrong. I barely remembered the law."

"Until she got older?"

Merlin sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and stared at his father. "Yes. Until she got older. What does it mean? As a child Serena was no threat; as a woman she is. Yes, she makes me feel uneasy, wary sometimes-but why? She would never harm anyone. Least of all me."

After a moment the judge shook his head. "I don't know why. Why the law exists, what prompted it, or why we feel it so deeply. Our writings are ancient, but I've never found any reference to the creation of the law. All I know is that there must be no female wizards. And that we must never trust any woman."

"You trusted Mother," Merlin said.

The judge looked at his son, and there was an old, old pain in his eyes. "No. I didn't."

Merlin was only dimly aware that he had risen to his feet. "She lived with you for twenty years," he said slowly. "Bore you a son. And she kept your secret. How could you not trust her?"

"She asked me the same thing. Over and over again she asked me. I never could give her an answer." The judge hesitated, then went on softly. "She asked me that night, and when I had no answer for her, she rushed out of here in tears. An hour later her car crashed into a wall."

"Are you telling me-"

"I'm telling you that… accident… shouldn't have happened. That's all I'm saying. That's all I can ever know."

Merlin turned away from his father to stare into the bright heat of the fire. Suicide? Dear God, had his mother killed herself? Clearly his father believed it, or at least believed it was possible. Was that the price she had paid for loving a wizard?

"Richard, you can't blame me for being what I am. Any more than I can blame myself."

"Why couldn't you trust her?" he demanded harshly, not looking at his father because he didn't know if he could.

"It's not in me to trust a woman, just like it isn't in you."

"I don't believe that."

"You'd better. For your own sanity if nothing else, you'd better. You feel it's true even if you don't think it is, and that kind of conflict will tear you apart. Go back to Seattle, Richard, and take her powers away as gently as you can. And then send her out of your life before both of you are destroyed by this."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. You have to. Because you don't have a choice."

Serena was not, by nature, a patient woman. So it was very difficult for her to hang on to what little tolerance she had when Merlin returned on Friday afternoon and shut himself in his study. Since she was at work when he got home, she didn't even see him.

"He said he's not to be disturbed. For any reason," Rachel informed Serena when she came home.

"He has to eat," Serena objected.

"That's your problem, at least until Monday," Rachel said, a gleam of amusement in her eyes as she put on her coat and picked up her umbrella. "Dinner's in the oven, but I've a feeling you'll be eating alone tonight."

To Serena's frustration, the housekeeper was correct. Merlin's study was barred to her-just as it had been once before. The door was unlocked, she knew that, but he wasn't going to allow anybody to cross the threshold until he was ready.

That weekend turned out to be the longest one of Serena's life. Reluctant to leave the house until she found out what had happened at the meeting of the Council-a group about which she was intensely curious simply because Merlin had told her very little about them-she occupied herself as best she could with her studies.

On Saturday afternoon she canceled a planned shopping trip with Jane. By Saturday night she found herself sitting on the stairs gazing at that dosed door with what she didn't realize was so much intensity that she actually started in surprise when she felt the barrier vanish.

Hesitantly she crossed the foyer and knocked softly on the door.

"Serena." The acknowledgment was unmuffled by the thick oak of the door.

She opened the door and went into the study. Lighting kept the room from being too dark, but the study was still overpowering, filled with the ancient writings of a mighty race. The tall shelves, normally bursting with age-darkened heavy volumes written in odd scripts and ancient scrolls dust-dry and fragile, now showed gaps among the old books. Volumes were stacked, open and closed, on the floor, piled on the desk, and overflowed two chairs.

In the chair behind his cluttered desk, Merlin sat in an apparently relaxed position, his hands clasped together on the parchment pages of the book open before him. He was gazing across the room at her, impassive.

He looked tired, the sharpened planes of his face telling of too many long hours of study without food or sleep. His deep-set black eyes burned with the inner energy that was always a part of him, but there was something else, something even more vibrant than she was accustomed to seeing radiating from him.

"It's been more than twenty-four hours," she offered.

He was mildly surprised. "Oh? I hadn't realized."

"You have to eat."

"Do I?"

She blinked. "Don't you?"

With a sudden, slightly rueful smile, Merlin said, "Of course I do. But I'm not hungry right now. Sit down, Serena. We have to talk."

Those four little words were enough to make her feel extremely apprehensive, and his smile didn't reassure her a bit, but she removed several books from the chair nearest his desk and sat down.

Muster and Apprentice, that's all we are. Master and Apprentice. There can't be anything else.

With forced lightness she asked, "How was the Council meeting?"

"Difficult." Without elaborating, Merlin abruptly changed the subject. "Do you trust me?" he asked her.

"Of course." Her answer was instant, unthinking, and she felt an odd jolt when he seemed to wince. Was her answer unexpected, or simply unwelcome? She didn't know. His features smoothed out quickly, and his voice was calm when he went on.

"Good. Because I'm going to have to ask you to hold on to that trust with both hands."

She eyed him warily. "Why? Are you going to do something to make me doubt I can trust you?"

"I hope not," he murmured, then shook his head a bit. "Serena, I can't explain everything just yet. I know you're tired of hearing that, but please try to be patient. I have my reasons, and they're good ones. You have to trust me on that point."

"All right," she said, slowly and reluctantly-but he definitely had her interest. Since she did trust him, it didn't seem too much to ask. For the moment.

"Thank you. If it helps, I believe you won't have too many questions left by the time we get back."

"Back? Where are we going?"

He looked down at the book lying open on his desk. "We're going through a gate, Serena. A gate into time."

That surprised her so much that she could only stare at him when he went on somewhat broodingly.

"We'll have to be careful. Our presence alone could have unimaginable consequences. To change the past is to change the present. And the future."

Serena was trying to fathom the undercurrents she could barely sense in him. It was as if he had severed some tie, burned his bridges behind him, and that unnerved her. How much was she to take on faith? Everything? Or could she ask questions? Uncertain on that point, she opted for a simple statement. "You haven't taught me about time travel."