Enchanter Redeemed. Sharon AshwoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
Surely it had all been a horrible hallucination. The next morning found Clary sitting at her sister’s kitchen table, a cup of black coffee before her. Everything seemed normal, and Clary felt as loved and cared for as Tamsin could manage. She’d slept in her sister’s tiny second bedroom and still had a crick in her spine from the lumpy futon.
“How are you feeling?” Tamsin asked, putting a hand over Clary’s. Gawain, Tamsin’s soon-to-be husband, had already left for the day and the two women were alone. Normally, Clary would have been disappointed. She liked Gawain, and he’d spent almost as much time teaching her self-defense as Merlin had spent teaching her magic—if there was to be a fight with the fae, she needed to be ready. But today she wanted alone time with her sister.
Clary looked up from staring into her cup. Like Clary, Tamsin was green-eyed and fair-haired, her long locks pinned up in a messy bun. The similarity in coloring was deceptive. Tamsin was actually a stepsister who had joined the family when Clary’s mom had married a second time. They had all been lucky—Stacy, the eldest, and Clary, the youngest, had readily accepted their new middle sister. Tamsin was easy to love and Clary adored her. She’d been the gentle hand that had led Clary through a rebellious adolescence when their mother had all but given up in despair.
“My wound feels better,” Clary answered, pulling up her sleeve.
Tamsin angled Clary’s arm for a better look. Besides working as Medievaland’s historian, Tamsin’s magical specialty was healing. After a round of smelly ointments and ritual, the wounds on Clary’s arm were now just scratches, as if Clary had lost an argument with an alley cat.
“I’ve met demons, but I’ve never treated any injuries they caused before now. I never knew they had poisoned claws,” Tamsin said, releasing Clary’s arm.
“Do you think that’s what caused the seizure?” Clary sipped her coffee, welcoming the caffeine as it hit her bloodstream. She hadn’t said anything about the hallucinations. She’d stopped hearing that voice in her head by the time Tamsin had finished doctoring her, and decided to keep the crazy to herself. “Maybe the infection was messing with my brain?”
She could hear the pleading in her voice. She felt okay now, and desperately wanted to put yesterday behind her.
“I’d bet the two are connected.” Tamsin picked up Clary’s hand again. It was a comforting gesture, but Clary could feel the faint tingle of Tamsin’s magic course through her. Tamsin leaned forward and kissed her forehead as if Clary was a little girl again. The gesture salved Clary’s hurts the way no medicine could.
“You’re still not a hundred percent,” Tamsin said, “but I don’t detect any lingering damage. Take it easy for a few days.”
“I’m supposed to be at Medievaland today.”
“In the office?”
It was a reasonable assumption. Clary handled pretty much all of Medievaland’s online presence. Since King Arthur and a handful of his knights had awakened to join the modern world, they’d become famous for the mock tourneys hosted by the theme park. The knights now had a rapidly expanding fan base, which Clary fed with judicious tidbits of insider knowledge—none of which included the fact that they were born centuries ago and had returned to save humanity from soul-sucking fae monsters. She tried to keep things upbeat.
However, today’s activities weren’t about posts and blogs. “Merlin’s doing the special effects at today’s show and he wants a second pair of hands.”
Tamsin frowned. “You should call in sick. Obviously, he’d understand.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I broke his ball.”
Tamsin arched an eyebrow. “Just one of them?”
Clary grimaced. “Crystal—stone—ball. His spy camera to the demon realms. He had to smash it to save me from Vivian.” She was feeling more than a little guilty about that.
“Yeah,” Tamsin replied, drawing the word out. “Those stones are expensive and rare.”
“He said it was one of a kind.”
“Are you sure you’re still his student?”
Clary pulled her smartphone from the pocket of the boho-style dress Tamsin had loaned her to replace her bloodstained clothes. It was pink and flowery and nothing like what she usually wore. She held the phone up as if it was evidence. “I’m scheduled to be there at noon. He sent a text to confirm.”
“That’s probably his way of checking on you. You had a near death by demon, then a seizure.” Tamsin had that frozen look that said she wasn’t happy but was trying to be polite about it. “I think you can skip a session.”
“Normally, I’d welcome a day off, but as you say, I cost him a piece of expensive equipment. Showing up is the least I can do.”
“You feel guilty.”
“Pretty much.”
Clary’s mind immediately went to the kiss. Her cheeks heated at the memory, and she looked away from her sister. Merlin’s behavior was just one more strange thing to add to the list of yesterday’s weirdness.
“What else happened besides the demon who attacked you?” Tamsin asked. She’d always been able to read Clary’s expressions.
Clary rose from the table. “I need to get ready to go.” She suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore.
Tamsin—still protesting—drove her to Medievaland. They parked and passed a long line at the gate that proved the summer tourist rush was beginning. The weather promised to be warm, so the steady stream of paying customers would only increase as midday approached. And why not? Medievaland, with its jousts and feasts and rides and games, was good family fun.
Clary and Tamsin passed the turnstile and pushed through the knot of visitors milling at the information booth. A herald rode by on a milk-white mare, shouting directions to Friar Ambrose’s delicatessen and the noon show at the bandstand. To the right was the market area crowded with merchants selling all manner of handcrafts and snack foods; to the left the traditional arcade that led off to the rides, where the Dragon’s Tail—a roller coaster that challenged even Clary’s daredevil instincts—swirled high above the crowds. Tamsin’s destination was the Church of the Holy Well, the one truly medieval structure in the park. It had been moved, along with the stone knights, from the south of England and turned into the museum where Tamsin worked.
The two women stopped when they reached a fork in the path. “You’re absolutely sure you feel up to this?” asked Tamsin. “No headaches or weakness?”
“I feel fine,” Clary protested, and that much was almost true. “As if there was anything on the planet that could withstand your healing!”
“Then, be brave, little witchling.” Tamsin gave her a hug. “I’ll check on you in a few hours.”
Clary laughed at her childhood nickname. “You’re such a big sister.”
Tamsin made a face and left, heading toward the ancient church ahead. Feeling content for the first time since before barging into Merlin’s workshop, Clary took the path to the tourney grounds.
Jousting and other events took place in an amphitheater, where the audience could get a good view of the armored horsemen doing battle. Behind the large structure were the stables, changing rooms and other service buildings. As Clary hurried in that direction, she could hear the stampede of hooves and the crash of lance on shield. The crowd roared and applauded, which meant someone had scored a good hit. After a glance at her phone to check the time, she picked up her pace, ignoring the hawkers selling T-shirts and ball caps.
When she reached the change rooms, she grabbed a long blue gown out of her locker and quickly put it on. All the employees at Medievaland dressed the part, and by the time she was done, she’d added a long belt of glittering—if fake—jewels and pinned her hair under a fluttering white veil. Then she headed for the amphitheater,