The Legacy of Merlin Read online

  Identity Crisis

  “Why don’t you start by telling us who you really are and what you want with Phoebe?” Prue suggested to Niall, the handsome and mysterious stranger Phoebe had gone on a date with the night before.

  “What’s Phoebe got to do with anything?” Niall demanded.

  “Is this all part of some elaborate ploy to get the Power of Three? Because it isn’t going to work,” Piper said angrily.

  “The power of what? I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. He stood up and started for the door.

  Prue made a flicking gesture with one hand. Niall flew backward, thudding into an armchair with such force that it skidded a few inches across the carpeted floor.

  He gaped up at Prue, openmouthed. “Are you— are you a witch?”

  “We’re the most powerful witches around,” Piper answered. “Believe me, you really don’t want to get on our bad side. So I suggest you tell us what we want to know.”

  Charmed ™

  The Power of Three

  A novelization by Eliza Willard

  Kiss of Darkness

  By Brandon Alexander

  The Crimson Spell

  By F. Goldsborough

  Whispers from the Past

  By Rosalind Noonan

  Voodoo Moon

  By Wendy Corsi Staub

  Haunted by Desire

  By Cameron Dokey

  The Gypsy Enchantment

  By Carla Jablonski

  The Legacy of Merlin

  By Eloise Flood

  Pocket Pulse

  Published by Pocket Books

  THE LEGACY OF MERLIN

  An original novel by Eloise Flood Based on the hit TV series created by Constance M. Burge

  POCKET PULSE

  New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET PULSE published by

  Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  ™ & © 2001 Spelling Television Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-7434-2436-0

  POCKET PULSE and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  THE LEGACY OF MERLIN

  CHAPTER

  1

  Hey, look!” Phoebe Halliwell pressed her palms against the window of the airport minibus and stared out eagerly at the soft, rain-washed English countryside. “There’s a ruined castle on that hilltop!” Her brown eyes gleamed. “I wonder what it’s called.” “Relax, Phoebe,” her oldest sister, Prue, said with a smile. “It’s not Camelot.”

  “Are you sure, Prue?” Piper, the middle Halliwell sister, put on a mock-serious expression. “I could have sworn I just saw Lancelot riding in at the gate. I’d know that silver armor anywhere. And that helmet with the boar’s head design.”

  “Oh, I know,” Prue said. She closed her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh of rapture. “I see the knights of the Round Table in my dreams every night!”

  “Funny. Very funny.” Phoebe sat back in her seat and held up both hands, half exasperated, half amused. “So I’m a little hung up on Arthurian legends. Can I help it if my British folklore professor was really fantastic? Besides, this is where it all happened! I mean, the west of England, Wales—we’re here, we’re in the heart of Arthur’s realm, you know? Can’t you guys just feel the magic in the air?”

  “I’m trying not to,” Piper said dryly. “Vacation, remember?”

  “Anyway, it’s not the knights of the Round Table that I’m really interested in,” Phoebe went on. “It’s Merlin. He is such an intriguing character.”

  “I never knew you had a thing for older men, Phebes,” Piper teased.

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Phoebe shrugged. “Although maybe, if he were young and cute . . . Wouldn’t it be perfect to have a boyfriend who really understood magic?”

  “Phoebe!” Prue said, her ice-blue eyes widening. She jerked her head warningly at the minibus driver.

  Phoebe cast a glance at him, but he didn’t seem to be paying any attention. Anyway, they were sitting all the way in the back of the minibus, and there were no other passengers to overhear them. Speaking openly seemed safe enough—not that she had said anything dangerous. Prue had a tendency to be overcautious.

  To be fair, though, Phoebe had to admit that Prue had good reason to be wary. All the Halliwell sisters did. They had a major secret to protect: They were witches.

  In fact, Phoebe, Prue, and Piper were three of the most powerful witches in history—the Charmed Ones. They were descended from a long line of witches dedicated to fighting the forces of darkness. And since the day they’d found out about their incredible powers, they had been stalked by the agents of darkness— warlocks, demons, and other things that were even worse.

  “Coming into Hay-on-Wye now, ladies,” the minibus driver called, snapping Phoebe out of her reverie. “Ahead on your left, that’s what’s left of Hay Castle. The original was built by the Lady Matilda of Hay back in the thirteenth century. They do say she was a giantess and could hurl great boulders farther than the eye could see, and that she ate anyone as displeased her.” He spoke in a perfect deadpan voice.

  “Excellent!” Phoebe gazed at the town with delight, taking in the narrow streets and the tightly packed, ancient-looking buildings.

  “I’ve got to admit, you just don’t find legends like that back home in San Francisco,” Prue murmured. She brushed back her long, thick black hair. “I wonder where Evan Rhys’s bookshop is. I’ve got an appointment with him in”—she glanced at her watch—”three hours. He has a medieval book of hours that may be what I’m looking for.”

  “You’re starting work already?” Piper exclaimed. “Wow, you don’t waste any time, do you? I kind of figured we could relax on our first day here, maybe walk around town and do the tourist thing.”

  “You two can,” Prue said. “This is a vacation for you. But I’m here on an assignment, remember? I’m getting paid to find books for Lloyd Claiborne.”

  “You know Prue,” Phoebe told Piper. “ Business before pleasure.” She gave Prue a crooked grin. Sometimes she wished she had a little more of her oldest sister’s drive. Prue always seemed to know exactly how to get wherever she was going in life. Me, I’m still trying to figure out where I am, Phoebe thought. And I’m the witch with the visions!

  The minibus pulled up in front of a pretty ivy-draped brick building near the center of town. “The Trelawney Hotel,” the driver announced.

  The girls piled out. Piper paid him, and then they quickly checked in and went up to their suite. It was lovely, with sheer white curtains and wallpaper dotted with tiny flowers. The bedroom contained a big double bed, and there was a wrought-iron daybed in the sitting room. Phoebe sat down on it and bounced
experimentally.

  “Perfect! I’ll sleep in here.” She broke into a grin. “Thanks to Lloyd Claiborne. Prue, how do you luck into these rich clients? I can’t believe he’s putting you up in a suite. And this hotel is so elegant!”

  “What can I say? He’s got style.” Reaching into her suitcase, Prue pulled out a cosmetics bag. “Okay. As the one who got us this great vacation, I call the first shower. See you two in a few.” She flashed her sisters a smile over her shoulder. “I’ll try not to use up all the hot water. But this is England, after all, so I’m not making any promises.”

  Fortunately, the Trelawney had plenty of hot water. An hour and a half later, the three sisters headed out, clean and refreshed. Prue had on a blue linen tank dress, while Piper and Phoebe wore jeans and halter tops. Phoebe had woven a section of her hair into tiny braids bound with colorful beads. Piper had pulled her straight, silky brown hair back in a ponytail.

  It was a gorgeous June day. The Halliwells ate lunch in a crowded outdoor café facing the Marketplace, the spot where Hay-on-Wye’s weekly outdoor market was held.

  “There sure are a lot of used bookstores here,” Piper commented as they lingered over iced coffee. “We must have passed ten on the way here—and the hotel is only three blocks away.”

  “Well, Hay is one of the world centers for antiquarian books,” Prue replied. “There’s a lot of junk here, but the town is also one of the premier places for serious collectors.”

  “There’s a neat-looking place over there,” Phoebe added, pointing at a shop with a huge multipaned picture window across the cobbled square from them. Her gaze sharpened as she read the name on the awning. “Caer Wydyr? Oh, that’s just too cool!”

  She turned eagerly to her sisters, then noted their blank looks. “In Celtic mythology, Caer Wydyr is the name of Merlin’s castle,” she explained. “Supposedly he built it out of some kind of magical glass. It was where he kept all his books of magic lore. Sounds like a pretty interesting bookshop, no?”

  “Mmm,” Piper said with a sigh. “Here we go again with the Arthurian stuff.”

  Prue glanced at her watch. “Well, I’d better get going,” she said. “My appointment is in fifteen minutes. Anyone want to tag along? I hear Rhys’s shop is one of the best.”

  “I’ll come,” Piper said, getting to her feet.

  Phoebe shook her head so that her tiny braids danced. “Not me. I’ll meet you guys back at the hotel later. I want to check out Caer Wydyr.”

  A tiny, concerned line appeared between Prue’s dark eyebrows. “Okay, Phoebe,” she said. “But if it is a shop that specializes in magic books, just . . . be cool, all right? You never know what kind of people you’ll run into in a place like that.”

  Phoebe laughed. Sometimes Prue took things a little too seriously. “Don’t worry,” she said. Standing up, she brushed a few crumbs off her lap. “I’m just browsing. What could possibly happen?”

  Piper and Prue looked at each other. “Famous last words!” they groaned in unison.

  “It would be vintage Phoebe to find some weird book of black magic in there and call up a demon or something,” Prue grumbled as she and Piper walked along.

  “She’ll be okay,” Piper said absently. “She’s more sensible than she seems.”

  “I know, I know. Actually, I’m more concerned about you.” Prue gave Piper a sideways glance. “You’ve been awfully quiet all day. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just—” Piper sighed, searching for the words to express her feelings.

  “Let me guess,” Prue said gently. “Leo?”

  Piper sighed again. “Mmm-hmm. Leo. It all started bubbling up again when Phoebe said it would be great to have a boyfriend who understands magic.” She gave a short laugh. “Take it from me, it doesn’t make things perfect.”

  Leo, Piper’s boyfriend, definitely understood magic. He had first come into her life when he did some repairs to their house in San Francisco. But it had turned out that he was much more than just a handyman; he was a White Lighter, a kind of guardian angel whose mission was to protect good people—and good witches—from the forces of darkness.

  “I try and I try, but I just can’t get used to this whole coming-second-to-his-work thing.” Piper paused for a minute as they overtook an elderly man walking a spaniel. “I mean, I totally accept that what he does is really important,” she went on as soon as they were out of earshot. “It’s just that I can’t help resenting it when he has to whoosh off in the middle of dinner or . . . or other stuff.” Her cheeks grew warm. “You know what I mean. Or when I have to worry because I know he’s facing some powerful Dark Lighter and he could be in real danger, and I might never see him again. And then I feel guilty for being so selfish, and then I resent him for making me feel guilty.”

  She clamped her lips together, frustrated, then glanced up at Prue. Prue was gazing at her with one eyebrow raised. “Well, you did ask,” she mumbled.

  Prue laughed and slung an arm around Piper’s shoulders. “I did ask. And I really wanted to know. But I think you’re being a little silly. I mean, the most important thing is that you love Leo, and he adores you. You don’t have any doubt about that, do you? Because, FYI, he does. Totally.”

  “I know.” Piper nodded, feeling foolish. “I know.”

  “Here we are,” Prue said. She pushed open the door and stepped into the cool, dim interior of Evan Rhys, Inc. Piper followed. She inhaled deeply, letting the musty scent of old leather fill her nostrils.

  “This could take an hour or so,” Prue told Piper. “But afterward I’ll be free for the rest of the day. Let’s go shopping—for clothes, I mean. Deal?”

  “Deal!” Piper grinned. As Prue headed off to the back of the shop, Piper wandered down one of the aisles, gazing at the racks of books. The ones in this aisle all seemed to be Victorian.

  Piper pulled one off the shelf at random. It was called Wild Flowers of the Wye Valley, by Percy P. Throckmorton. Piper began paging idly through it. It was filled with beautiful pen-and-ink drawings.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said at Piper’s elbow. She glanced up. A stocky, balding man in a brown tweed jacket stood next to her, peering nearsightedly at the shelf. He reached up and took down a book called The Care and Nurture of Roses. Piper noticed that it was also by Percy P. Throckmorton.

  She smiled and held up her wildflower book. “I guess this Throckmorton guy knew a lot about flowers, huh?” she said.

  “Eh?” the man said. He squinted at the book in Piper’s hand. “Oh, er—yes. He taught botany at the local college, you know. Bit of an eccentric, from what I hear, but a sound man on roses, very. Can’t think why he bothered with that wildflower rubbish, though.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Weeds, just common weeds. Hoom, hahm.” He made a noise as if he were clearing his throat.

  “Really? Some of these drawings are quite beautiful,” Piper said.

  “Hoom, hahm, well . . .” The man looked relieved when one of the shop assistants bustled up to him.

  “Sir Andrew, I’ve got that book on leaf blight you were looking for,” she said. “It’s up at the counter.”

  “Ah, excellent. Good show. Lead on, lead on,” Sir Andrew said, rubbing his hands. He turned to Piper. “Er—good day.”

  “Take care,” Piper said. She grinned as she watched him go. She’d never met anyone who was quite so much like the stereotype of the British country squire.

  She turned a few more pages in the wildflower book. She was about to put it back on the shelf when a chapter heading caught her eye: “Posies and Other Love Charms.”

  Intrigued, she skimmed a few paragraphs. Apparently, there had been quite a craze for making love charms out of bouquets, or posies, of different types of wildflowers. There was a whole science to it. If you wanted your husband to be faithful, you used a particular combination of flowers; if you wanted to make a shy lover more passionate, you used different flowers; and so on. According to the tradition, all you had to do was
get your man to smell the posy, and then the charm would take effect and he’d be putty in your hands.

  Hmm. Maybe I should try one of these posy things on Leo, Piper mused. A smile crept across her lips. Wouldn’t it be great if he were putty in my hands for a change?

  Not that she actually expected a posy to work, of course. It seemed pretty unlikely that Percy P. Throckmorton had really known anything about magic, but it might be fun to have a project. Prue was going to be working for most of the week, and it seemed as if Phoebe was totally caught up in this Arthurian stuff. So maybe Piper needed something to do by herself. And hunting for these wildflowers would be a great way to explore the countryside around Hay-on-Wye.

  I’ll do it, Piper decided. She took the book up to the register and paid for it. “Would you tell my sister that I’ll meet her back at the hotel?” she asked the clerk.

  Then she headed outside to find a sunny spot to read.

  Phoebe had to admit that she was out of her depth. She picked up a hefty leather-bound tome and squinted at the title. “ ‘Commentarius de Praecipuis Divinationum Generibus . . .’ ” she read, sounding out the Latin words under her breath. Divinationum sounded like divination, or the power to see the future—Phoebe’s own power. But other than that, she didn’t have a clue what the book was about.

  She glanced around the bookstore, hoping someone could translate for her. But the place was silent and deserted. Even the clerk had disappeared. Dust motes shimmered in the afternoon sun that slanted through the windows. Against the far wall, a grandfather clock ticked loudly.

  Phoebe craned her neck. The only other person she could see was a guy in the next aisle. He looked about her own age, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and black leather pants. Phoebe had noticed him when she came in—it was hard not to notice him, the way those pants clung to his long, muscular thighs and the way he moved, with a certain catlike grace. But she didn’t think a rock-star type like him would be much help with a Latin translation. He was probably even more at sea here than she was.