Sword in the Stars (Once & Future #2) - Cori McCarthy Page 0,72

three directions, Gwen and Ari keeping to the path, Lam and Val setting off into the trees. Merlin waited until they were lost among the gloom and branches before he set his lips together lightly and hummed.

His magical sonar pinged off something in the woods. A bright and untarnished magic. Could that really be Old Merlin? Merlin pushed toward it, trees rudely sprouting up everywhere he tried to step. He dodged as quickly as he could, branches giving him a sound lashing. He walked for what could have been five minutes, though it was impossible to tell time in the woods.

And then he slowed, because he heard a scraping barnacle of a voice.

“You can’t keep wetting yourself, silly thing,” Old Merlin said.

Merlin peeked out from behind a great oak tree. The baby was abandoned on the ground in the hasty folds of a blanket. Their little fists crabbed, their eyes screwed up as if they were working up to a truly impressive wail.

Old Merlin whirled around before Merlin could even think to freeze him. The old man’s fingers shot up, a reflex that could lead at any moment to a magical first strike. “You shouldn’t have been able to find me, carbuncle. I used cloaking magic that could never be detected by a mere apprentice.”

“I’m not a mere apprentice,” Merlin cried. “I’m you!”

The old mage wouldn’t kill another version of himself, would he? Merlin had to believe that this last-ditch truth would save him… and not implode the entire space–time continuum.

Old Merlin looked more vexed than surprised. “At first I believed we had qualities in common, but—”

“No!” Merlin said, leaping involuntarily. “I’m not saying I’m like you. I’m saying that I’m actually you. We’re the same person! How can you not understand that after being around me for so long? After seeing our magic is the same? Have we always been this thick?”

Old Merlin puffed a breath that made his beard leap. “You’re being wildly accusative and going against my every wish. What has gotten into you?”

“I don’t know, perhaps you took my friends’ baby.”

As if on cue, the little one screamed, and sparks exploded through the clearing.

Old Merlin leaped back. Merlin fought his own surprise and swooped to grab the entire bundle, blanket trailing. The little one’s weight was warm and solid, even if they did wriggle a great deal.

The whoosh of Old Merlin’s freezing spell filled the air behind them as Merlin dodged, running helter-skelter into the trees. Old Merlin shouted, lighting up the woods behind him with magic and anger. The good news was that he ran much faster than his old self.

The bad news was that the infant in his arms really was soaked through with pee.

Apparently that made babies upset. This one’s cries could have been heard over the English Channel, let alone a quarter mile away in the same woods. “How can you even make that much sound? You’re tiny!”

Merlin found a dead-ish tree that had been hollowed out by animals and tucked in there to catch his breath. The baby was still shredding the night with wailing, though, which meant no hiding place would be safe.

A few gentle sparkles would have been a nice distraction to offer, but Merlin couldn’t afford to use magic if he wanted to stay old enough to take care of a baby instead of being a baby. What were his skills, outside of magic? “Music!” Merlin said. “Would you like a lullaby?” He tried “London Bridge.” He frantically whispered “Three Blind Mice,” then cut off when he realized it was only making things worse. “Really? They couldn’t do better than plagues and carving knives?”

But the truth of the past was so very ugly.

Merlin was officially out of ideas. What else did babies like? Breasts? Shiny things? He wished he still had a beard for the little one to tug on. Toys were in short supply in the middle of the night in a murder-forest.

“Wait!” Merlin fished in his pockets for the only object he’d brought from the future. He’d found it on Lionel as he and Val traipsed through the market together, eyeing all the things they’d buy for their own castle someday. A hopeful, foolish game. It made them feel like their days belonged to them, not to Mercer. Not the cycle. Not Nin, who had been watching even then, as he and Val stupidly simmered in happiness and Lionelian sunshine, taking stock of the copper pots and leather goods and anachronistic but charming T-shirts. When Merlin