Believe (3 page)

The figment didn’t so much as twitch but at once a chair appeared before her with the abruptness of a bad film edit. She tried not to flinch and cast him a condescending glance. “Oh come now. A folding chair? A lousy old metal folding chair from a Wizard Extraordinaire and Counselor to Kings? Surely you can do better than that?”

“Please, forgive me. What was I thinking?” Amusement lurked in his eyes. “Is this better?”

The folding chair vanished. In its place stood what could only be called a throne. A seat fit for a king or an emperor or a fantasy. Huge and golden, with jewels encrusted along every carved, gilded curve, and the heads of lions as armrests, the massive chair fairly filled the small room. Tessa gasped, then bit back a giggle. “I think that’s a little too much. Can’t you do something in between?”

The throne disappeared, replaced by an aged but extremely comfortable looking recliner.

“Hey, that’s my dad’s.” Tessa grinned with delight and plopped into the chair, running her hands affectionately over the arm rests. “I’ve always loved this chair.”

“I know,” the figment said smugly.

“Don’t you dare try to take any credit for this.” She stretched against the faux leather, reached down and pulled the lever that flipped up the footrest. “This is all part of my subconscious. I’ve made this up. I’ve made you up. And I’ve done a surprisingly creative job of it too.” She reclined the back of the lounger, folded her hands behind her head and grinned.

“If you’re quite ready?”

“By all means.” If she had to be stuck in this crazy coma or dream or whatever, she might as well be comfortable. “Please, go on.”

The figment rolled his eyes heavenward as if asking for divine guidance then stared at her with a gaze steady and firm. A gaze that would have made her more than a little uneasy if, of course, he wasn’t something she’d made up.

“As I said before, I have brought you from your time—”

“Are you comfortable standing there like that?” she blurted, abruptly uncertain that she was at all ready to hear what he had to say.

“Quite comfortable, thank you. Now as I was say—”

“Are you sure? Because you can have this chair. Or maybe whip up another one?” Why did she want to put off his explanation? If she was so confident all this was the product of an injured mind, a hallucination or simply a bad dream then why this overwhelming reluctance to listen to him?

“Very well.” A chair similar to her own popped into the space beside her with the figment already seated in it. “Now, may I go on?”

“I suppose,” she said in a weak voice.

“As I attempted to explain earlier, I have removed you from your time and brought you to mine.”

“Okay.” Why did his words strike fear into her heart? Why did she want to cover her ears, curl into the corner of the recliner and hide from him and his whole world? A world she’d made up. A world she’d invented in the deep recess of her mind. A world that couldn’t possibly be real.

But what if it was?

He studied her, as if he knew her thoughts. But of course he knew her thoughts. He
was
one of her thoughts. And absolutely nothing more.

“Why?” she said with a sudden resolve to face this illusion or whatever it was head on. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Then…” his words were slow and measured, “you believe me?”

“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you exist. In fact, I don’t believe you ever existed.” She snapped the chair into an upright position and bounded to her feet. “If any of this is real, and I still question that wholeheartedly, there’s no way you can be Merlin, Wizard whatever and counselor to anybody.”

He reclined in the chair and gazed at her idly. “Oh, and why not?”

“Because, there never was a Merlin. There never was an Arthur. There never was a Camelot. There’s no evidence, no proof and nothing that you can touch or see. There never was anything but a make-believe story. A myth. A legend.”

“What if…” An emery board appeared in one hand and he casually filed the nails of the other. “You’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she said with far more confidence than she felt.

“But what if there was a Merlin—”

“There wasn’t.”
Was there?

“—and an Arthur—”

“There couldn’t be.”
Could there?

“—and everything else that goes along with your so-called legend?” He held his hand out in front of him and eyed his nails critically.

“Never.”
Maybe?

“And let us further suppose…”—his gaze drifted above his hand to meet and lock with hers—“that Merlin, who is quite accomplished in the ways of magic and what you think of as science—”

“Wizard Extraordinaire,” she whispered.

“—wanted the world yet to come to believe that which he had nurtured and helped create and loved with his whole heart and soul was nothing but a fairy tale. A story. A myth. A legend. And worked his magic to make the world so believe?”

His eyes held her spellbound, her question was little more than a breath in the still of the chapel. “Why?”

“To save it from the denigration of history. To preserve what was, for one bare moment in time, the best man had to offer. Not of his science or his knowledge but of himself. His loyalty, his gallantry, his honor.” His gaze burned into hers with an intensity that reached inside her and chilled her very soul. “It did not last long. The nature of flesh-and-blood men predestined it to certain failure. But for a moment, it was man at his finest and he has never reached such heights again.”

“Sounds swell.” Her voice squeaked with fear and a growing acceptance of what she already suspected. This was no dream, no coma-induced hallucination, no fantasy. “So…what does that all have to do with me?”

“You? You!” Merlin rose out of his recliner like an avenging spirit and her heart dropped to her toes. She stifled the impulse to cower and forced herself to stand straight with the set of her shoulders firm and her head held high. And prayed her knees wouldn’t collapse be
neath her. He aimed a long finger in her direction and she wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see flames shoot out the tip. “You do not believe.”

“So…who does?” She cringed at her own flippant words. Not exactly the way to pacify an irate sorcerer. Real or not.

“But they do not go around preaching their lack of acceptance, their doubts, their disbelief with an unwarranted passion, that goes far beyond the bounds of academia I might add, to classrooms full of young, innocent minds.”

“Wait, hold it right there, pal.” Indignation swept away her fear. “Young, innocent minds? I teach at a university. The youngest I get are freshmen and ‘innocent’ is not exactly how I’d describe any of them.”

“Still, you are encouraging their skepticism!”

She glared at the indignant wizard. “Isn’t that exactly what you wanted? You just said you wrapped Arthur and company in your magic to keep them from being seen in the harsh light of reality. To keep them from being judged as real people are judged by history and the passage of time. I don’t see your problem. I’m doing exactly what you want.”

Merlin flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder. “I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind? What do you mean, ‘you changed your mind’?”

Merlin shrugged. “I am not infallible, you know, I do make mistakes. I’m only human.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Well, perhaps
human
is not entirely accurate; regardless, every now and then, with the passage of the centuries, I get extremely annoyed at having my
accomplishments, and the accomplishments of Arthur and the others, seen as little more than a delightful story for children at bedtime.”

“That’s it? That’s what this is all about?” Relief surged through her. “No sweat, pal. I’m more than willing to change my line about your little world. In fact, I’ll even tell students, personally, I believe in Merlin and Arthur and all that other stuff. Piece of cake.

“Now that we’ve got that settled,” she nodded with satisfaction, “why don’t I just close my eyes and you can zap me home? Back to the library or the hospital or wherever. Your choice. However you want to work this is fine with me.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Nothing happened.

“Anytime now. You go right ahead.”

Still nothing.

She sighed and opened her eyes. “Do I have to click my heels together and say ‘There’s no place like home’ or what?”

Merlin chuckled. “Now that
was
a fairy tale.”

“Oh, I see. Don’t believe in Oz but do believe in Camelot. Is that how this works?” She fisted her hands on her hips. “You’re not sending me home, are you?”

“I’m afraid not. At least not yet.”

“Why not? You’ve already convinced me of at least the possibility of the existence of”—she waved impatiently at the chapel—“all this. Whether it’s real or not, I admit, I’m willing to rethink my position. So…why can’t I go?”

“It has a great deal to do with him.” Merlin nodded toward the knight.

“Him? He doesn’t even look alive.” Tessa stepped to the still figure and peered at him closely. “See, he’s not breathing.”

“Oh, he is indeed breathing. You simply cannot see it.”

She hesitated for a moment than placed her hand flat on his back, just below his broad shoulders. “No, he’s definitely not breathing. I don’t feel any movement at all.”

“You cannot feel it because we are not yet on the same level of existence with him.” A thoughtful frown creased his forehead. “Perhaps I have not explained this as thoroughly as I should have.”

“You think so, Mr. Wizard?”

He ignored her and continued. “We are, you and I, between moments, as it were. We exist in the space between his last breath and his next.”

“I don’t get it.” She pulled her brows together and tried to make sense of his so-called explanation. “Are you saying we’re moving in fast-forward and he’s moving one frame at a time?”

“I would not have put it that way, precisely, but I suppose it’s a fairly appropriate description.” Merlin shrugged. “It’s very much dependent on your point of view. Time is relative, my dear. Your own Albert Einstein recognized that.”

“You mean the theory of relativity, and the space-time continuum?”

“My, I am impressed.” A wicked twinkle danced in his eye. “I would have thought Einstein’s theories would have been in the realm of myth for you. After all, they’re not something you can touch or see.”

“Maybe not but Einstein was real.” She smiled smugly. “You are not.”

“I taught him everything he knew,” Merlin said under his breath.

Tessa groaned. “I give up but I’ll play along. Okay. We’re between moments. I’m here in the wonderful world of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.” She raised a questioning brow. “You haven’t come right out and said it, so this is just an assumption on my part but this is Camelot, right?”

“Very good. My faith in your intelligence has not been misplaced.”

“Thanks loads. And I’m here, first of all, because you’re pissed that history has treated you exactly as you wanted to be treated, as a legend. Right?”

“When you put it that way it does sound rather fickle of me,” Merlin said thoughtfully.

“Doesn’t it though?” She couldn’t resist a satisfied smile. “And the second reason has to do with him.” She waved at Sir Hunk. “So who is he anyway? Arthur? Lancelot?”

“My goodness, no, he is much too young to be the king or Sir Lancelot. That, my dear, is Galahad.”

“Galahad?”

“Lancelot’s son.”

“I knew that.” She circled the kneeling knight. “He’s the one of the knights who found the Holy Grail. Depending on which version of the legend you look at, Galahad and, I think, Perceval and Bors were the only knights to succeed in the quest.”

“I am relieved to note that in spite of your disbelief, you are well versed.”

“I do my homework.” Tessa studied the stationary warrior. He looked as good up close as he had in the illustration but not quite as perfect. Tiny lines creased
the corners of his eyes and Tessa wondered if it was from the glare of the sun on the polished blade of his sword or if it was a result of laughter, loud and unrestrained. The set of his chin wasn’t merely defiant but resolute, as if this was a man, firm and unyielding, who carried himself with the arrogance born of unquestioned confidence. And she was right about his eyes. They were blue, so deep and dark she thought at once of—

“Velvet? Sapphires? The sea?” Merlin said.

“No,” Tessa said absently. “I was thinking more that dark, blue-black color of the sky right before a thundersto—” She glared at the sorcerer. “Would you stop that.”

His eyes widened with innocence. “What?”

“Reading my mind.”

A smirk creased his lips. “I had no need to read your mind. Only a fool would fail to recognize your thoughts about—” He cleared his throat. “Sir Hunk.”

Heat rushed up her face. “If you don’t mind, let’s keep that one to ourselves. I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”

“Or you.”

“Or me.”

“Although, I daresay, Galahad would not be surprised at the title. Once he understood its meaning, of course.” Merlin chuckled. “He’s not unaccustomed to a great deal of attention from the ladies of the court.”

“I’ll bet.” She blew out a long breath and met Merlin’s gaze with her own. “So what do I have to do? About him that is.”

“You know his destiny is to find the Grail. What
you do not know is that he cannot succeed in his quest alone, without help.”

She stared into Merlin’s black eyes. “You’re kidding.”

“I am as enamored of a good jest as the next man but no, my dear, I am not kidding.”

“Wait a minute.” Tessa shook her head. “I’m not going on any Grail quest. Absolutely not. The only place I’m going is home. And then I’m going to Greece. And that’s it. Where I’m not going is on a guided tour of the Middle Ages, even with a guy who looks as good as this one does. I’m sure there are dozens of cute little medieval sweetie pies running around Camelot who would just love to spend some quality time with Galahad here searching for the Cup of Christ.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Get one of them to accompany your knight in shining armor. I’m not interested in the Arthurian version of
Mission Impossible
.”