Merlin: Private Investigator

By John Lillie

The world has told a lot of stories about the wizard Merlin. I can assure you all of them are wrong.

I’ve only been in the twenty-first century for a year and a half, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s this. Magic still exists in a world that’s forgotten it. It still needs protecting, and that’s what those of us who use it have been called time and again to do.

Turns out the Religare Council has to bend a few rules now to let me expose that magic. There’s a darkness brewing here in New Mexico—something not even the Council and their ancient relics understand. So I guess that’s how a wizard like me—who’s only ever wanted one thing—gets to be a Private Investigator with magic on his side. Because if I don’t bend the rules too, we all lose a lot more than just magic.

My name is Merlin.

I served under Uther Pendragon and his son Arthur in the fifth and sixth centuries; and the people of England until 1671. In my third lifetime today, I serve your world. I can only hope it’ll finally bring me some peace.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Capitol Reef Entertainment
• Release date: Oct 17, 2019

Book preview

seemed.

Chapter 1

No matter where and when I’d been, I always found it hard to find a little peace and quiet. In this century, it was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Not impossible, if one kept an open mind and knew how to work a bit of magic. But difficult, as I’d always fought a short attention span and was distracted by this, that or anything.

Here, in the twenty-first century in this country called the United States of America, I found my peace and quiet in mundane tasks. At least those still existed fourteen hundred years after my first Instance.

The world had changed so much in that time, and still, so many things remained the same. Helping to maintain the property on which I’d lived for the last sixteen months was just what I needed to keep a little constancy.

I knelt in front of the wrought-iron fence lining the front lawn of the Locust Apartments main office. The day I met Margery and asked about available units, she’d paused and gawked when I asked to help out in exchange for rent. I understood, considering I’d arrived in this time with nothing but the clothes on my back and a few convoluted instructions.

Thankfully, the property manager jumped right on my offer when Margery saw for herself how willing and more than able I was to assist her with landscaping, maintenance, and odd jobs of carpentry and repair.

Almost six months later, I was sure Margery thought she’d received the better end of our deal. She hadn’t. I got to stay busy, live in one of her apartments for free, and bide my time. The odd jobs helped clear noise from my head. No amount of money in the world could do that.

Painting the worn fences was simple, repetitive, calming. Black paint on faded metal. A fresh coat now to help spruce up the two-story apartment building before the end of summer. And when the brush and the paint didn’t quite cover the inevitable signs of wear the way I wanted, a quick masking spell didn’t hurt, either. Helpful and harmless.

No one ever took the time to look at the fencing, of all things, but I’d always taken a certain pride in my work. Whether it was scrubbing pots and mucking stables, driving carriages, or mowing grass and fixing a few leaks, I felt any job worth doing needed to be done right. Some things in this world never seemed to change with time.

I’d just finished repainting the stretch of iron fencing when my relished peace and quiet was interrupted by one of those millions of voices no one else had ever heard.

This is gonna be great.

So many of the voices I heard throughout my several lifetimes I didn’t recognize. The next one, though, was familiar. Known to me. The voice of a ten-year-old boy and a person in this Instance I liked to consider a friend. To give him the opportunity I knew he wanted to catch my attention on his own, I kept painting.

Hey, Merlin.

I sat back on my heels and glanced over my shoulder. Jimmy, I answered with a grin. That, at least, I didn’t have to fake. This kid was one of the kindest, happiest people I’d met in this century. What’s up, kid?

Catch. The boy pulled back his arm and launched a football my way.

I shuffled my feet and used all the power in my red-and-white Converse sneakers to jump and catch the oncoming ball, marveling at how today’s population entertained itself.

Looks like you’re getting that spiral down, I told him. I wouldn’t be surprised to see you in the big leagues someday. Maybe playing for the Phoenix Suns.

Jimmy stopped suddenly as he walked over. He raised an eyebrow and lifted his chin. The Suns are a basketball team, dude. If I play for anyone, it’s gonna be the Cardinals.

Yeah, I meant the Cardinals, I said.

Jimmy chuckled, shook his head, then shuffled toward me again. You’re a weird guy, Merlin. I guess you know that, right? He clapped his hands and opened them for the football.

I smirked. But you never take me too seriously. I tossed the tapered leather ball back into his open hands. The kid was a good catch, too.

I don’t think I could, Jimmy said, turning the football over in his hands a few times. Hey, that fence looks a lot better with the paint.

Well, thanks. You know, the grass could use another mow soon. Think you’ll have time to take care of that for me on Monday?

The kid’s lips twitched into another smile. How much?

That made me laugh. Margery sets the prices. You know that. Same price every time.

Jimmy shrugged. Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. Hey, Aunt Sherry said we’ll go to Big Dipper after lunch. You wanna come with us?

I glanced down at my white T-shirt and jeans splattered with black paint. It was all over my hands, too. Just let me get changed first.

Sure. We’ll come get you, weirdo.

Sounds good.

Jimmy tossed the football in his hands again, flashed me a smile, and ambled across the grass toward the building entrance.

I turned back and sized up the fence and my paint job once more. Satisfied, I decided I could quickly finish the rest tomorrow. I retrieved the brush and the tin bucket of paint, then headed back to the main office.

Margery kept all the supplies in a gray utility closet beside the bathroom. After positioning the paint bucket in its spot on the shelf, I muttered a little spell to clean out the used brush.

Old words, and useful. Not overly impressive, perhaps, but until I deciphered why I was here and what my recent welcome to this century really meant, I had to keep my magic sharp in any way I could. My wait of a year and a half had already been too long for me, but people studied utility closets about as carefully as they inspected the paint job on fences.

Just as I stepped back and closed the closet door, the front door to the office opened. A second later, Margery stepped inside with two plastic bottles of dark soda and a paper cup of ice. She smiled brightly at me, then worked her way slowly toward her desk in the back. How’s that fence coming along, Merlin?

Should be finished up by the end of the day tomorrow, I told her.

She set the drinks down and stared at me again. You told me four days.

I couldn’t help but smile as I responded with a casual shrug. I like conservative estimates.

Margery shook her head, a smile of disbelief easing the stress lines on her forehead. I swear, Merlin, she said. I don’t know how I kept this place running without you. Five contractors in the last four years, and none of them consistent. And you … well, you’ve done more in the last year than all of them together. I’m afraid I’m not paying you enough.

It’s more than enough, I told her. I enjoy the work you give me. Can’t complain about all the compliments, either.

Margery laughed and sat in the desk chair. Then I’ll keep ’em coming. Do you want a Coke, Merlin?

I eyed the bottles on her desk and declined politely. Margery drank two bottles of Coke every day after lunch, which always baffled me. I couldn’t stand the stuff.

You don’t know what you’re missing, she said. She unscrewed one bottle with a snap and a hiss before pouring the Coke into a paper cup.

I smiled, then headed toward the front door and lifted my right hand in farewell. You enjoy it for me. The sound of her gulping down so much sugar and who knew what else followed me out of the office, ending in Margery’s long sigh of satisfaction.

Every century had its vices, I knew. Soda was clearly one, but it’d only taken me a few months to recognize that it definitely wasn’t the worst.

---

Simplicity. Cleanliness. Functionality. In every place I’d ever lived, I’d always valued those elements. My apartment here in Albuquerque wasn’t any different. One bedroom with a single bed, nightstand, and dresser. One slightly frayed armchair in the living room and a dark-green couch, just because I enjoyed the comfort of stretching out on something soft and level, even when I was awake.

This century had overwhelmed me at first with its paradoxes of small luxuries everywhere, which these people apparently took for granted. It seemed they struggled constantly for more and yet still seemed so unsatisfied with the core of their lives. Even in poverty some people craved unnecessary excess, which had taken me a few months here to fully comprehend.

A round, wooden table filled most of my apartment’s kitchen. The sole reason the table had four chairs was that the vendor at the second-hand store insisted the pieces came as a set.

I’d never been much of an entertainer. Peace and quiet were paramount. Kitchens, though, baffled me. Almost every home had one—sink, refrigerator, stove in place of a cookfire. I noticed that people regularly left their homes if they wanted someone else to do the cooking for them.

I was pleased to see how quickly I’d grown accustomed to all the changes in the world since my second Instance seven hundred years ago. This Instance had left me with no choice but to accept and adapt.

The one thing I still hadn’t managed to assimilate months later was the variety of food so readily available. Packaged food. Canned food. Machine-made fare that didn’t do a thing for the body and only made it want more.

For the most part, people had lost touch with what their bodies needed, and they did indeed answer that cry with more—just more of the wrong stuff. That seemed to be the norm here, and the first time I walked into a market of the twenty-first century, I panicked.

It took me several months to find the food sources I wanted. Stores with all-natural foods. Healthy foods. My two lifetimes of growing, harvesting, cooking, and preserving my own food had defined how I chose to eat. I happily used the small amount Margery paid monthly for maintenance work for cheese, fruit, vegetables, bread, and nuts. An occasional hamburger.

If food came sealed and could sit in a pantry for over two weeks with no effect, I didn’t touch it. I kept sugar, flour, salt, and a few spices on hand, but even those went quickly when I cooked for myself every night.

Most people, I’d learned, called preparing one’s own food inconvenient. But I’d found comfort in cooking for myself and staying away from this century’s dietary convenience.

I had to laugh at myself. Eating at Big Dipper didn’t exactly follow my strict rules about eating, but I knew every rule had its exceptions. And I’d learned right off how impossible it was to turn Jimmy down for anything.

Still, I needed lunch first, so I pulled together a quick meal. Shredded chicken. A chunk of the aged Cheddar I’d picked up earlier. Forget those bland, cheese-flavored slices to unwrap that did not fully melt on anything.

I smiled as I also helped myself eagerly to two slices of buttered French bread, followed by a spinach salad complete with fresh tomatoes, red peppers, balsamic and olive oil.

This everyday lunch was undoubtedly better than what I’d usually eaten in my previous two Instances. As a rule I always tried to avoid food that made me feel sluggish and slow—not that life expectancy applied to me.

Maybe it was the magic helping me know what my body needed. Maybe I’d struggled so long with the voices that I knew I had to take better care of myself. Why didn’t matter—only what I did with my time in this Instance moving forward. I never knew when that would change.

Suddenly I realized how long I’d been sitting at the kitchen table. A light, playful knock on my front door helped remind me of my plans with Jimmy and his aunt.

I stood, put my plate in the sink, and wiped the breadcrumbs off my shirt. The paint stains were still there, with a few black splotches scattered on my jeans, too. I waved a hand down my chest and over my legs, and the paint disappeared. Just like magic.

I reached the front door just as the rhythmic knock started again. When I abruptly pushed the door open, Jimmy stood there, surprised, his fist frozen in mid-air. He grinned at me, then suspiciously eyed my clean, unblemished shirt. I thought you said you had to change.

I did.

He folded his arms in disbelief and smirked at me. "So, weirdo, do you only wear a white shirt and jeans, or what?"

Jimmy … his aunt scolded from behind him. Sherry put a hand on his shoulder and gave her nephew a mind your manners look that adults in all centuries mastered when they became adults and sometimes sooner.

What? Jimmy chuckled. He turned to Sherry. Really, have you seen him wear anything else?

It’s a classic look, I said, stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind me. Incredibly comfortable. And I’m pretty sure I saw you wear the same sweatpants for a week straight during winter break.

Yeah, but at least I changed my shirt. Jimmy laughed playfully as Sherry guided him down the hallway with a hand on his back.

Sherry looked back at me over her shoulder and mouthed, Sorry.

I just shrugged, grinning as I trailed them down the hallway to the apartment stairwell. I didn’t mind what Jimmy had said about my wardrobe. He’d come to live with his aunt last November, and he’d been just as observant the first day I’d met him in the hallway.

Back then, the youth had taken one sweeping glance at my apartment through the open door. He’d asked right off where the TV was, and he’d been shocked speechless when I said I didn’t have one. Those glowing boxes of pictures and sound overwhelmed me more than I liked.

The first time I saw a TV, I thought this century had developed an advanced form of teaching—the wondrous ability to send and receive messages in ways unheard of during my last two Instances. It turned out that was what cell phones were for, and TVs were less for learning than escaping. I still preferred a book or a long walk through the woods.

On occasion I wondered how clearly Jimmy saw through all the small disguises I’d cobbled together for myself in this life. After all, the kid had been pretty spot-on; I hadn’t changed my clothes. But I couldn’t tell him that. Nobody here knew what I could do, and even if the Law of the Council hadn’t dictated this secrecy, I’d want to keep it that way.

The new Instance I found myself in was both nerve-wracking and unfamiliar. Waiting dutifully to discover my new purpose while others around me gawked at my magic, called me a sham, or spurned me for revealing myself to them would only make my latest journey that much harder. And as usual the Religare Council would have more than a few words to condemn me with, anyway.

The kind of magic I possessed was everywhere in this world. It always had been. My job—as much as I knew of it—was to protect the magic and the people who’d chosen to believe they’d been abandoned. In this century, though, I still didn’t know what I had to protect them from. But I knew it was coming.

Chapter 2

Big Dipper was also on Sandy Grove Road, just a few blocks down from our apartment building and right next to the public park. Any more than a ten-minute walk in New Mexico’s summer heat was pretty much unbearable.

Fortunately, the walk only took us half that long. I was pretty sure ice-cream parlors had been invented for that reason—to escape the heat with a cold and delicious treat.

The pistachio gelato in this parlor was one of those rare exceptions to my eating habits. So far, I hadn’t regretted my indulgence once. I ordered myself a small cup of gelato and also paid for sundaes for Jimmy and Sherry.

You really didn’t have to do that, Sherry told me as we headed toward a booth.

I grabbed a few spoons off the counter and handed her one. I know.

The look she gave me said it all. Gratitude. A sense of familiarity. A bit of embarrassment. This woman and her nephew lived two apartments over, and in the time I’d gotten to know them, I could’ve said they were the closest thing I had to family in this life.

But they could never be family. I’d already been down that road, and I still hadn’t figured out how to step off it although I tried. Sometimes, Sherry reminded me so much of my Anna that it was hard to keep thoughts in this century, this Instance, this new life. Especially when Sherry looked at me with all her unsaid hopes.

If I’d been anyone else, I might’ve done what seemed impossible and shared more with her. But I’d learned enough in two lifetimes to know that I could never be anyone other than exactly who I was.

That didn’t leave much room for sharing more of my life than taking a kid to an ice-cream parlor in the middle of summer. It had barely left enough room for Anna.

I cleared my throat and swept the memories aside as Jimmy and Sherry slid into the booth. I then stuck a spoon into Jimmy’s sundae and sat down next to him. Jimmy dug in the way I had the first time I tasted the pistachio gelato. Sherry tried to hide her smile behind her own spoonful.

I started on my gelato and firmly planted my elbows on the table. You know, kid, I can’t tell if you like it or not, I teased. Sherry giggled.

When Jimmy looked up at me, his eyes were wide, shining with the pure delight children in any time period captured so well. He swallowed his mouthful and licked the chocolate off his spoon. It’s really good. Thanks, Merlin.

Any time. I ate more gelato and wondered if I looked as happy as he did.

I suddenly felt a sense of buzzing around in my head, and Jimmy decided to say what he felt out loud before his thoughts reached me.

You’re weird, he said, but you’re cool. My parents … He frowned and lowered his gaze to the half-eaten sundae. They didn’t do stuff like buy me a football or treat me to ice cream. They … had a lot of problems.

The maturity in that one statement made me pause. I glanced at Sherry, who still smiled, but now it carried all the sadness I knew she tried to hide every day. People have problems sometimes, I said. But your parents loved you very much, Jimmy.

He slapped his spoon against the sundae. I know.

And you’re really lucky to have someone like your Aunt Sherry who cares and loves you just as much.

Sherry scooped the cherry off the top of her sundae and popped it in her mouth. I knew she was trying to keep the conversation light, to act like this wasn’t a heavy subject for both.

As she chewed the cherry, Sherry nudged Jimmy’s shoulder with her elbow. You’re a good kid, Jimmy. If I have to remind you with a little ice cream sometimes, I’m okay with that.

Jimmy looked up at her and nodded. Then he raised his pointer finger and smiled big, like he’d just realized something. But didn’t Merlin buy us ice cream?

His aunt playfully slapped his arm, and the kid smirked down at his spoon before shoveling another big bite into his mouth. "He did. Sherry looked back up at me with a smile that said a lot more than her words. The next one’s on me."

I just nodded. That was really all I could do for now. Whatever the reason I’d been brought into this Instance, in this time, it couldn’t hurt to fill a small, supporting role in this kid’s life.

Jimmy had been through so much in his ten years. If his friend Merlin being here helped the boy feel safe, appreciated, and like he mattered, my time and energy were well spent.

Once I found my purpose here, I had no idea if I’d be available for Jimmy in the same way anymore. Carpe diem. Now there was a phrase everyone understood, because the phrase was older than I was.

---

I hadn’t even finished half of my gelato by the time Jimmy all but licked his bowl clean. He looked up at his aunt, then at me, and I waited for the next oddly insightful or wisecrack remark to come from his mouth. But his eyes darted toward the ice-cream parlor’s front doors instead. Hey, it’s Max and Avery.

Sherry and I both turned to see two other boys Jimmy’s age standing against the glass doors. One waved erratically, a huge grin on his face. The other boy mimed a throw with a football. I’ll bet they’re going to the park, Sherry said, turning a sly smile on her nephew.

Can I go with them? Jimmy asked.

That’s pretty much what summer’s for, right? Sherry winked slyly at him, and Jimmy bucked in his seat until he realized he couldn’t get out of the booth without someone moving first.

Yeah, yeah, I mumbled. Waiting on the old guy. I slid from the booth and stood aside to let him scramble out.

Make sure you’re home at five, Sherry said. Dinner.

Got it. Jimmy was already halfway to the door. See ya, Merlin.

Have fun.

The sound of boys’ laughter burst through the open door, then Jimmy’s friends were slapping him on the back and pulling him down the sidewalk toward the park on the corner.

I watched the three boys until they disappeared, grateful that kids still played outside in a world that had shifted so much of its focus inward to four walls and a roof and things. Most kids, anyway. Then I slid back into the booth.

"You’re not that old," Sherry said.

I choked on my mouthful of gelato, swallowed, and chuckled. Feels like it, some days.

I hear ya. I never knew having a kid around would make me feel so much younger and older at the same time.

When I looked up at her, Sherry had a dreamy, pensive look—like a person trying to remember what they