Chapter Three (Cont'd)

    Morgan kept the bills, but she didn't keep the "plastic bag" -- something about it felt wrong, unnatural -- like it had been altered somehow -- internally -- magically.
   Morgan paused. This land was filled with magic: wagons that roared without horses, lights and sounds that seemed to come from nowhere, images in boxes of tiny people. Perhaps this place was the source of all magic. If so, it was fitting that Merlin had been born here, and fitting that he would die here.

   Merlin lay on the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes, breathing deeply. It was cool here. Cool and quiet and safe.
   Behind him, Dr. Cassandra Westinghouse sat waiting.
   Finally, Merlin exhaled and said, "I had the strangest dream last night." He moved his arm away from his face and stared at the ceiling, "I dreamed that I was an old man, and I had been caught in a trap by a beautiful woman. I was dressed in long blue robes, and I was watching the image of a king fighting a losing battle."
   Cassandra made a note.
   "It was very real," Merlin added. "More like a memory than a dream."
   "How did the dream make you feel?" Cassandra asked.
   Merlin paused and thought about the question, "Lonely."
   Cassandra made another note. Her voice was calm and soothing, "Anything else?"
   Merlin covered his eyes again. "Today in class, I had the creepiest feeling that something was after me. Something bad."
   "Bad?" Cassandra prompted.
   "Dark, evil . . . I don't know."
   "How do you feel now?" Cassandra asked.
   Merlin stole a nervous glance at the window, "Like I'm running out of time."
   Cassandra nodded and underlined something she'd written earlier.