Archive of Our Own

The sound of blood-curdling screaming jolted Merlin awake in a cold sweat. His eyes sprung open wide, his hand gripping his heart as it beat wildly in his chest. 

“Christ, Meryl,” he grumbled, reaching with the other to turn on the lamp on his bedside table. He took a deep breath, then another, measuring his exhale slowly through his nose. He waited for his heartbeat to lower from his throat, and then he rose, pulling on sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, and tried to tip-toe quietly out of his room and to the front door.

The hardwood floor creaked loudly under his weight, and he paused, cringing. It was nearly impossible to move silently in this old house—his only hope was that if the screaming hadn’t alerted anyone, neither would his sneaking out. He exhaled, then took another step forward, the wood mercifully silent.

In the sitting room, as he crept past the couch, a crack of lightning illuminated the room. In the moment the bright flash hit, a pair of brown eyes stared up at him, unblinking on an emotionless face. 

The room fell back into darkness. Merlin’s heart gave a stuttered th-thump. “Gwaine?”

He waited, but there was no response. For a moment, only the sound of the rain pattering against the windows combated the stillness in the air. Then— “Fucking Meryl,” Gwaine muttered, blearily, and rolled over.

Merlin released his held breath, pulled the blanket a little higher around his friend, and walked out the front door.

Outside, the wet ground squelched beneath his boots, and he wished he’d thought to wear his poncho instead of this jacket. His hood was doing nothing to stop the rain from soaking his hair, leaving water to stream steadily into his eyes. He squeezed them shut, wiped it away. As he approached the barn, he moved the flashlight around the perimeter, watching for any signs of something waiting in the bushes.

Another scream, piercing, echoed through the night.

Grasping the slippery handle, he heaved the door open a crack. The door was stubborn on the best of days, let alone when it was pouring in the dead of night. He adjusted his grip, ready to give it another tug, when he heard a rustle in the bushes.

Pausing, he took his flashlight out again. Darting his light through the foliage, he narrowed his focus to the swaying branches, trying to ascertain if it was the force of the rain and wind or movement of something else. A shadow darted across his vision and he whirled, but again, there was nothing.

Probably a squirrel. 

With one more tug, the barn door groaned and slid open, and he stepped inside. Thunder, the loudest he’d heard tonight, vibrated around him. Another loud crack of lightning touched down. Briefly lit in front of him, a scene: goats, gathered around the center, their bleats melding into one never-ending scream; his boots, squelching below him in a pool of red; and Meryl, lifeless in the center.

***

“Thanks for coming in today, everyone,” Merlin said, nodding at the room as he shuffled his feet uncomfortably. God, he hated delivering bad news. He hated delivering any news at all. “I know it’s rare for all of you to be on call at once, but there’s something I wanted to tell you. And I wanted to do it in person, because you aren’t just staff to me, you know, you’re my friends. You’re a member of this Albion Acres family, and—”

“Merlin,” Gaius warned. Get on with it, right, okay.

“Merlin? What’s going on?” Gwen asked.

“Are we getting fired?” Freya piped in worriedly.

“No,” said Merlin, “no. Of course not. Just—this is hard to say, but—” He gulped. “It’s Meryl. She’s—she’s dead.”

Gwen’s sharp gasp pierced him. He struggled to fight back his tears.

“But she was so young,” she said, bewildered.

“And so… lively,” Gwaine added. Merlin almost smiled, hearing what he dared not say at this moment: that, in all truthfulness, she was a pain in the ass. But she was their pain in the ass.

Gaius stepped forward, lacing his hands together solemnly in front of him. “Meryl was one of our longest residents, a spirited thing that came to us shortly after Albion was founded just a few years ago. I know we will all miss her dearly. We will host a goodbye ceremony later in the day if you’d like to pay your respects. In the meantime, we have a lot of other animals here in need of your care and compassion, now more than ever.”

With nods and sniffles around the room, they got back to work. As they filed out, Merlin could hear Elena launch into a spiel about grief in animals as the unseen killer, and how everyone should make an effort to tell the animals their friend Meryl was in a better place, as if you could hand a pig a brochure on Death and Moving On. 

Out the open window, he heard Elyan say, “Just don’t tell them she ran away to your uncle’s farm, or something. We don’t want them to think that’s an option.”

Watching them follow the trail and branch off towards their designated enclosures, Merlin smiled. They were, as always, the bright spot in a dark day.

Gwaine was the only one who remained in the sitting room, watching him carefully. After a moment, he stepped forward to clap him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Merlin,” he said, and Merlin squeezed his hand, heart twisting painfully.

He joined Elena in the main pasture, refilling the feeders with hay, tidying the stalls, and, yes, talking to animals about The Great Beyond. The goats, of course, enjoyed this attention. “Meryl will always be with us,” he said, looking up at Elena, who nodded her head in approval. She motioned with her hand to carry on. “She’s in a better place. Well,” he floundered, “not a better place—there’s no better place than Albion, haha!” Grover nudged his head against his thigh, his stubby horns almost catching on his pant leg. He scratched the coarse hair of his neck and Grover bleated, tilting into it. “But she’s in a just-as-good place. Promise.”

Satisfied, Elena brought out the medicine and the Cheerios. “Treat time!”

The herd ran to get their dose, screaming excitedly. “Don’t forget about Catrina!” Elena called, and then quickly shuffled to the barn, goats trailing in tow.

Merlin grimaced. She would leave him with Catrina. Catrina was the most recent addition to Albion, an emu that they can only assume came from a harrowing past. Because if that wasn’t the case, it would mean she was devil spawn from Satan himself.

“Ow!” he groaned, pushing her head away when she pecked at the bare skin of his arm. She always went for the unprotected bits. “Look, I know you’re mourning Meryl… maybe,” he said, feeling more doubtful by the moment. She hissed at him and charged forward, feathers puffing. He dodged her and pushed Catrina away again by her neck. They danced like this around the pasture for a while until Merlin finished his Just-as-Good-Place talk. When he was effectively covered in sweat and a thin layer of grime from all the dust her feathers had kicked up, he took a seat on a nearby boulder, sipping from his water bottle.

Elena should be out by now, he thought to himself. She was definitely afraid of Catrina.

His musings were interrupted by a deep, smooth-as-silk voice.

“Wow, it’s not a very big fan of you, is it?”

Merlin choked, spewing water. Unfortunately, his projectile of spit landed on Catrina, who had decided long before now that Merlin was her mortal enemy, and now would likely make a vow to torment his family for generations. She darted forward and, before he could block because he was still choking, she pecked him hard between the ribs. He gasped for air, grabbing her beak before she could make an attempt for his artery.

Looking up, he finally glanced over the fence at what had startled him: the voice attached to a face so beautiful it conjured up visions of princes and knights on horseback and fawning maidens. 

He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man looked like he was trying not to laugh, to Merlin’s humiliation. He tried to control the flush warming his cheeks and tried again, releasing Catrina and standing up, hoping the way he brushed off dirt was commanding and cool and didn’t make him look like a little boy leaving the sandbox. “How did you get in here?” he tried again.

The man raised an eyebrow, his bright blue eyes almost mocking. “Well, you see, there was this thing called a gate. And then I walked through it.”

Merlin gritted his teeth. This was why he didn’t make a habit of interacting with beautiful men. They were always some level of insufferable. “How?” 

“One foot in front of the other. The usual way.”

He sighed, frustrated, his hands sparking subtly from the irritation. “We aren’t open to visitors today. Sorry—come back next week, alright? We’ll be happy to have you then.”

“I’m not here to see the animals.” 

Merlin stilled, feeling uneasy. He could feel it, that something wasn’t right here, right with this man. His nerves were swirling inside him, going haywire. Watching him carefully, he stepped closer, for the first time looking past his face to observe his clothing: crisp, button-down shirt, perfectly tailored dark-wash jeans, nice shoes. No, he wasn’t here to see the animals. This wasn’t the kind of thing you wore when you were planning to spend the day petting cows. He walked closer, tilting his head. “Is that right? What brings you here, then?”

The man smiled, and there was a dangerous edge to it, even though his words were light. “I’m Arthur.”

Not what I asked, he wanted to say, just to be difficult. But he was sure he’d warded that entryway… and he tried not to make a habit of pissing off people that got past his wards without so much as a broken nail. Arthur… why does he seem so familiar? He wondered. Arthur… He thought for a moment.

What surfaced was a newspaper article. Hadn’t he seen him in the paper? Hadn’t he just said the other day that it wasn’t fair of someone to be gorgeous and incredibly competent at what they do?

That had been him. Sapphire blue eyes, golden blond hair. Square jaw, sharp nose.

Heart flipping in his chest, he recalled the caption of the picture: Arthur Pendragon, Detective.

He took his offered hand. “Merlin.”

“Merlin,” he said, like he was surprised, delighted even, and Merlin tried not to glare at the obvious mockery. “And you run an animal sanctuary. How fitting.”

His brows drew together in his confusion. He released Arthur’s warm, calloused hands. He didn’t know why that surprised him, that they were calloused, that he clearly did something with hard work and sweat. Maybe because of his polished appearance. “How did you know I run it?” he asked. “I’m not sure most people would assume that.” 

“True. I guess I would’ve thought the owner of such a place would be better with the animals, but…”

He sputtered, protesting. “I’m great with the animals! That’s just Catrina. She loves me, in her own way.”

“I’m sure.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. Why was he even arguing with this man anyways? What did he know about sanctuaries? “Next time you feed an emu, you can give me a call.”

Then he blushed scarlet, because he just suggested this man—Arthur—call him. Jesus. “Anyways, today isn’t a great day for… whatever you’re doing here. Sorry about this, but I’d appreciate it if you left.”

Arthur nodded seriously. “I’m sure you would.” And then he walked away. And not in the direction of the gate.

Anger made his fingers spark again, and he shoved them in his pockets, getting his temper under control. If there was one thing he couldn’t risk right now, it was a man with an unidentified motive catching wind of everything he’d been trying to keep hidden. He set his jaw, took a deep breath, and called his name.

Arthur stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. He looked a bit… bored. Who was this man? Who was this man who got past his wards, essentially broke into his sanctuary, and looked so blasé about it?

Merlin smiled, an idea coming to form. “Wait—since you’re here.” He motioned him over to the barn. “The goats love our guests. Would you like to see them?”

His expression cleared with surprise. “Uh… I don’t know if…”

“Come on.” Merlin smiled wider. “We’re closed today, but you came all the way over here. You might as well see something before going on your way.”

Arthur retreated back to the pasture, peering at Merlin suspiciously. “All right,” he muttered. “But goats?”

“What, you don’t like them?”

He cut off Arthur’s answer with the groan of the barn door. As he suspected, Elena was inside, trying to keep the crisps away from Billy Joel and watching a YouTube video on her phone.

“Oh!” she cried, coming swiftly to her feet.

Merlin rolled his eyes in fond chastisement. “Get out of here and finish your break. But, Elena—I expect you to clean Catrina’s stall.”

Elena groaned and left, offering Arthur a curious glance as she did. But she didn’t say anything, so Merlin continued.

“This is the goat barn. They are in here because they have to take their medicine, and they share a pasture with some of their other friends at Albion—we don’t want any of them fighting over food,” he explained. 

“Ah,” said Arthur, trying to sound neutral and failing.

Merlin tried to hide his smile. “Are you afraid of goats, Arthur?”

He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Of course not.” But he eyed Billy warily as he moved closer to inspect the new arrival.

“Some say that goats are the sign of the devil. I think people are afraid of the eyes,” he explained. “But they’re quite friendly. Go on, give him a pet.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Oh—make sure to watch your belongings around them. That includes clothes. I see Vincent van Goat has already done a taste test of your jeans.”

“What?” he cried, twisting around to see Vincent nibbling at the slightly frayed bottom of his pant leg.

Ignoring his outburst, he continued to introduce the goats, taking great pleasure at Arthur’s unease. If he was going to be rude and trespass, the least Merlin could do was enjoy it.

“Merlin!” Gaius’s stern voice stopped him in his tracks as they were leaving the barn. He looked over to see Gaius frowning at him, urgently waving him over. 

He jogged to his side and asked, breathless, “Do you know him?”

“Indeed,” replied Gaius, nodding sharply. “That man is famous, Merlin.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Famous? For one case?”

“Not just one case, my boy. He is, well, a sort of consummate investigator. He’s been the key to unraveling many of the nation’s most puzzling mysteries. Did you call him, Merlin?” he asked sharply.

“Me?” Merlin replied, surprised. “No. Of course not. I don’t know what he’s doing here, and he wouldn’t tell me, either.”

“We don’t know what he hopes to uncover here, Merlin,” he warned, staring meaningfully into Merlin’s eyes. 

“Why would the police be here?”

“We don’t know that he is the police. He could just be a consultation, or a PI. Try to figure out why he’s here, Merlin, and then get him out. And for god’s sake, boy, lock the gate.”

Merlin lowered his head towards Gaius’s and said, quietly, “That’s the thing. He shouldn’t have been able to get in. I did better than locking the gates—I put an enchantment on them. They were warded—no one in or out. So how could he have gotten through? Something is up with him. I can feel it.”

“You—“ Gaius shook his head, abandoning his thought. “Never mind. We can discuss why you are enchanting our gates later. Go get that young man and make sure he is escorted out, and Merlin, do not raise suspicion. Once he’s curious about this place, it will be over.” He gave him a strong pat on the back, Gaius’s gesture for Get, and turned back towards the medical building.

His pursuit was halted by Elyan, who sprinted towards him, frantically yelling something he couldn’t make out.

“Elyan?”

As he came closer, Merlin was struck by his wild eyes. “Come with me. There’s something you have to see.”

***

This place was bigger than Arthur had assumed it would be. On its website, Albion Acres made itself out to be a humble little structure housing a few goats and a cow, perhaps a few birds. But, in fact, he would really appreciate a map of this place. It seemed to just keep going, with creatures big and small given their own space to roam and play. There seemed to be a huge staff as well, all comfortable with the animals—and yet there was an air here, a feeling of distress that left him feeling uneasy. He frowned, carefully surveying his surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet…

“Um, hi. Can I help you?” a pleasant voice said from behind him. He turned to see a pretty woman with curly hair standing there, staring up at him with bloodshot and clearly baffled eyes. Hm. Crying? How interesting.

“Hello.” He smiled, holding out a hand in greeting. “I’m a friend of… Merlin. I’ve just come to help out today.” 

“A friend… of Merlin?” she repeated curiously. He held his breath, wondering if she would buy it. If she did, that would be a lot more helpful to him.

She took his hand. “That’s funny. I didn’t think Merlin had any other friends.”

He paused. “Well—“

But she blanched and began nervously rambling over him. “Not to say that Merlin doesn’t have friends! I didn’t mean that, of course Merlin is so lovely, I’m sure he has lots of friends that I don’t know about! Not to sound like I’m his keeper or anything! I—“

Arthur’s polite smile grew into a genuine grin. “I believe I know what you mean. And don’t worry, I won’t tell him that you suspect him to be a friendless—“

“Oh, that’s really not it at all!”

“I’m Arthur,” he interjected, laughing, before she could start all over again.

She took a breath, a little color coming back into her cheeks. “Gwen.” She smiled at him in a fond but chastising way, and it was so familiar and easy that he found himself losing sight of why he’d struck up the conversation in the first place. You are not here to make friends, Arthur.

“Gwen!” He repeated. She moved toward a fence up ahead and he followed. When she unlatched the fence, he held it open for her to go through, then came in himself. He wondered what he’d find in here—animal or otherwise. “I don’t mean to pry, but… have you been crying? Is everything alright?”

The look she gave him was strange—and a bit suspicious. “Didn’t you hear about Meryl? Isn’t that why you’re here, helping out?”

“Ah.” He tried to read her face for more information, anything that would clue him in to who Meryl was and what happened to her. If he said the wrong thing, not only would it make him look like an asshole, but he might lose this opportunity to question her from a more casual position. “Yes, I just—I’m sorry, I didn’t realize… it… was so serious.”

“Serious?” She gaped at him. “Meryl is dead!”

As they came upon a stable, Arthur blinked, trying to process what Gwen had said. Dead. There had been a death? Already?

Her expression closed off. “You didn’t know about Meryl.”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for your loss. Will you tell me what happened?”

She didn’t answer for several moments. She greeted a horse over in the pasture, leading it back to the stable. He followed her inside and watched patiently as she secured him in his pen and began to brush him. Arthur read the name on the wall: Gringolet. What a funny name for a horse.

“Coyote attack,” she said, finally. “It was terrible. And poor Merlin…” Her eyes welled with tears, and she turned away, continuing her brushing of the stallion. “Oh, he loved her. It was so sad he had to be the one to find her like that.”

Merlin was the one to find her, Arthur thought, and yet Merlin was the one that wanted privacy and no prying eyes? It sounded like he had a great deal to hide.

***

When Merlin finally caught sight of that golden-blond head again, Arthur was all the way over in the fox dens. He had no idea what the Great Inspector Arthur was doing over here, or what evidence he hoped to find, but he needed to figure out a way to get him to leave and take his questions with him. And then he needed to figure out how to make an Arthur-proof ward, apparently.

Up ahead, he watched as Arthur glanced around—Merlin thankfully out of his viewpoint—and ducked inside. And then, like clockwork… someone else followed him inside. Merlin couldn’t make out the figure; the sun started to set about a half hour ago, leaving the burning sun low in the sky and blinding his vision, and, clad in a cloak, it was impossible to tell any of their features. He moved quickly towards the den, hoping to catch whatever it was they were discussing before they fled. Is that why Arthur was here? To meet someone? He had an informant?

But who would know about it? And why would they meet here?

He jumped back from the den as a yell sounded inside, a thump rattling the side like a body had been thrown into it. 

Gathering his magic, he flung open the door and… stared.

“Gwaine?” he asked incredulously. “Wh…what are you doing in here?”

“Merlin,” Gwaine said, chuckling and struggling to breathe due to the arm at his throat. 

Arthur pressed it in harder. They were so close against the wall—that must have been the thump he’d heard, Arthur throwing Gwaine’s body into it—that he almost felt like he was intruding. 

“Yes, what are you doing in here?”

“Well, the thing is,” he grunted, tugging Arthur’s arm away with great effort, grimacing, “I do actually work here.”

“Do you?” said Merlin, flummoxed and momentarily distracted from the situation. “Because I sort of just thought you were crashing on my couch. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you with the animals.”

“I’m working on being more helpful.”

Arthur snorted.

“Do you two know each other or something?” asked Merlin.

“No,” they said, in such an immediate and synchronized manner that it was almost impossible to believe. Merlin raised his eyebrows.

They glared at each other. Then Arthur said, “Merlin. I think I have a good idea of who might have killed Meryl.” And he pointed straight at Gwaine.

There was a moment of silence as the accusation registered.

“Gwaine? You think Gwaine killed Meryl?”

They both burst out laughing.

Arthur scowled. “It’s not like it’s an outlandish theory. I hate to break it to you, but usually the killer is the one dressed in all-black and skulking around during sundown. And when did he start staying with you?”

Merlin tilted his head, giving him a funny look. “Is this why you’re here? You’re investigating the death of my goat?"

“Y—“ Arthur paused, collecting himself. “Your goat.”

“Yes.” He smiled, a delicious thought occurring to him. “My word, did you think Meryl was a person? Is that why Benoit Blanc suddenly appeared on our doorstep? We aren’t covering up a murder, Arthur. And how did you even hear about Meryl? We haven’t even announced it anywhere yet.”

“I knew you were a cop!” Gwaine yelled, laughing triumphantly. “I knew it.”

“Wait. Is that why you’re in here? To fuck with him?”

Gwaine’s smirk was all Merlin needed to know. “Sorry,” Merlin said, not feeling that sorry at all. He did tell Arthur to leave, after all. “Gwaine hates cops.”

“I’m not a cop.”

“I see!” Merlin took hold of Arthur’s bicep, ignoring the way it instantly flexed under his fingers. “So you’re a random citizen I am well within my rights to throw out. Let’s go, then.”

Arthur swallowed audibly and pulled his arm from Merlin’s grasp. “I wouldn’t. Look, I’m not here on behalf of the police. I was called here.”

“By who?” Merlin and Gwaine asked in unison.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know.”

***

When the sun had fully set, Arthur received an invitation from Merlin to attend Meryl’s funeral. It was no wonder he’d thought Meryl was a human girl—they were holding a funeral for a bloody goat.

The ceremony took place in a field next to the scene of the crime, as he was told, because that is where Meryl grazed. “Her favorite thing to do was eat,” Gwen blubbered into her tissue. 

“No,” Gwaine said, “it was definitely screaming.”

The procession arrived, mainly consisting of Merlin and, to his understanding, the other director of Albion Acres and Merlin’s uncle, as well as a couple other staff carrying flowers and candles. They laid the candles in a circle and lit them carefully, and then the flowers were passed around. Arthur, not sure what to do when a grown man almost twice his size was crying and shoving a flower in his face, reluctantly grabbed a sunflower.

“Well, thank you all for attending,” said Merlin, looking around the group with a slight, sad smile. “Not everyone could be here today, but I appreciate those who could. And let’s give a warm welcome to our new friend Arthur, who is joining us today in saying goodbye to Meryl, though he did not know her like we did.” The smile turned on him, warmed with a touch of humor, and Arthur felt his insides give a little jolt. And then all thoughts of the investigation wiped clean, replaced only with slight panic. What the fuck was that?

“Is there anyone who would like to say something?” Gaius asked, solemnity overtaking his tone. He had a calming presence on the group, like he was a grandfather comforting his grandchildren. His eyes, deep-set in a wrinkled face, framed by shoulder length gray hair, were sad.

A few people spoke up with their memories of Meryl, including some stories about that time she had to be quarantined during her feedings because she kept bullying the other goats out of their grain, and several instances of making the on-duty staff chase her throughout the sanctuary because she was trying to make a run for it.

“She’d always come home,” the big man said fondly, sniffling. “She just wanted to make you work for it a little.”

“Very true, Percival,” Merlin said, giving him some comforting pats. The sight of Merlin, a slim weed of a man, comforting this absolute tree who was at least five inches taller almost made laughter bubble out of him. And he could imagine just how well that would go over.

“And let’s not forget about Merlin, who was woken up nightly for the last 4 years by Meryl’s deafening bleats, and always made an effort to check on her,” interjected Gaius.

“I never quite figured out why she did that,” Merlin mused. “It was like she had nightmares. And it was always 3:30AM. On the dot.”

A shiver ran through Arthur at his words. No one had found that strange? Animals were known to be perceptive creatures. What was happening at 3:30AM, on the dot, every night?

“Well, Meryl had a lot of idiosyncrasies, Merlin, as all our friends at Albion do. Perhaps she did it because she knew you would appear if she did.”

Merlin nodded, as if they had had this conversation before. But Arthur noted the slight crease between his brows—he didn’t seem very convinced.

They blew out the candles, and everyone said their final goodbyes, placing their sunflowers in a pile on the ground. Then Merlin walked over to the barn and opened the door. The goats moseyed out, bleating so loudly Arthur cringed. He could see why they called it a scream. It could very well sound like a human. 

He stared over at Merlin curiously, amazed that someone could wake up to that in the dead of night and still go out to see what it is. But he supposed after so long, it would no longer creep him out.

The goats screamed again when they found the pile of flowers, and he shuddered, watching their jaws mow over the petals.

Or maybe, if it were him, he’d never get over it. 

After the funeral, everyone was invited in for tea. But Freya, it seemed, had somewhere to be.

“Oh, I think I’ll head home now, actually,” she said, in her soft, quivering voice. She kept her head down, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Merlin paused, as if he were about to say something, then thought better of it. 

“Have a good night,” Merlin said, his smile pulling taut against his face.

She smiled shyly and went on her way. But something about the interaction didn’t sit quite right with Arthur.

***

It was around 9PM, Merlin thought, when the staff began to become suspicious of Arthur. And why wouldn’t they? He hadn’t explained his presence as anything more than a visitation; they probably assumed that they knew each other well, were even friends, but that was hard to sell when Arthur had been throwing him strange looks all night. And he really didn’t talk at all, unless spoken to, and even then, it was in short, clipped answers and right back to staring at Merlin. He almost made a joke of it, but he wasn’t confident that calling him out would make him stop the behavior, and the last thing he needed was more attention on the strange man in the corner that Merlin had apparently invited. 

But oh well. It was the end of the night, Meryl’s funeral was over (God rest her soul), and Arthur should be able to see clearly now that his presence had not been necessary. He would be leaving momentarily, and then Merlin would finally be able to breathe again.

“What’s going on with you and the pretty boy, Merlin?"

Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus, Gwaine, when did you get there?” He was perched on the armrest of the couch, directly next to Merlin, who should’ve felt the movement. Was he so deep in thought?

“Oh, I think around the time you started fantasizing about what kind of equipment the feds carry—“

“Gwaine,” he hissed, shoving him onto the floor.

Unfortunately, Gwaine predicted this move and caught himself. He flashed his roguish smile. “Hey, I don’t like cops, but I do have it under good authority that federal agents are a different story—at least in the sack. And if he’s not a cop, then I’m betting he’s a federal agent.”

“And where would you be getting this groundbreaking intel?” Merlin asked dryly. “Your own whoring ways, perhaps?”

“Of course.” He laughed, puffing up his chest. “You know I’m the best scale to judge them by anyway. I find that all that emotional repression comes undone right around the time you take off the suit.”

Merlin had the strange desire to put his hands over his ears. “Look, there is no chance in hell that’s happening, so—don’t look at me like that, Gwaine, I’m serious—“

“I’m sure you are,” Gwaine conceded, but his smirk ruined his efforts to sound agreeable. “But, do you think he got the memo?” And then he nodded his head in the direction he had been struggling not to look all night. Out of reflex, his gaze followed, and he cursed himself. Eyes blue as ocean jewels smoldered at him. Does he know he’s doing that?

Who is he kidding? Of course he knows. That’s why he’s off-limits. And who knows what he would be able to get out of Merlin if he added hands to the mix.

Hands, the Merlin in his head whined. No hands. I don’t want to think about hands.

He didn’t. He didn’t want to think about them, too large around his mug of tea, veins twitching as he brought the mug to his lips and sipped. How his lips looked flushed from the heat afterwards, and his tongue darted out to catch the dribble that escaped them.

Merlin swallowed. Just a little bit longer. An hour, tops, likely less than that. And it would be over.

Gwaine leaned close to his ear, whispering, “You two look so serious right now—“

Gwaine’s ass hit the floor before he finished the last syllable.

“Well, Merlin,” Gaius said loudly. The room fell into silence, all lively conversation around them halting. “It’s getting late. I’m afraid I must retire now.”

Even Merlin could catch the hint, when it knocked him over the head like that. “I’ll walk you out,” he said, and left his guests and Arthur inside. 

The chilly autumn air seemed to breeze right through his bones as he walked with Gaius over to the gates. When they were some ways away from the house, Gaius brought them to a stop. He swept the surrounding area with his gaze, then narrowed them on Merlin in warning. “Don’t let this Pendragon fellow fool you, boy. I know he doesn’t seem that dangerous compared to the other things you’ve faced, but you need to take heed.”

Merlin wanted to protest that proclamation outright. Of course he seems dangerous. Just look at him.

But he didn’t think Gaius would appreciate the direction of those thoughts. “I have it under control, Gaius. Stop worrying. He’ll be gone in a little while anyways.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, one eyebrow arched high on his forehead. “Did he say that? Or are you just hoping?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Look, he was mistaken about Meryl. He thought she was a woman, that there was some kind of murder mystery happening here. Obviously he knows now that that’s not the case.”

“And you’re sure he hasn’t noticed anything strange about you? No heavy barrels lifting by itself, no talk of protections, no magical healing?”

“Of course not. I made sure not to do any of that around him.”

“Good. Because you know who he is. Who his father is.”

Merlin exhaled, growing weary of this lecture, but knowing that, as always, Gaius was right. “I know. Uther Pendragon, special agent for the task force against magic, facilitated The Purge, rose to power within our government after being almost single-handedly responsible for the near genocide of our people.” He looked at the ground, kicking dirt. “He can’t know. Even though what we do here, it’s—it’s good. It helps animals. It helps people.”

“But he can’t know,” Gaius stressed, bending slightly to look into his eyes. They softened, and he squeezed his shoulder. “I wish I could tell the world about all the good you do, Merlin. One day, I believe you’ll get the recognition you deserve.”

But not today, was what he didn’t say. Never today.

Merlin sighed. “Alright, you better get going. It is getting late. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Gaius nodded and started forward. Merlin made to open the gate for him, except… magic thrummed around him. There was a different feel to it—not his. A smokier quality. Merlin’s blood ran cold. “Gaius,” he said, voice deadly calm in disbelief.

“What is it, Merlin?” He peered at the gates. “You didn’t take the enchantment off? How is your plan with Arthur going to play out when he can’t leave tonight?” he asked incredulously. “Take it off now, before anyone sees!”

“I can’t!” Merlin hissed urgently. “I did undo it! This isn’t me!”

“You didn’t leave this enchantment?” 

“No!” Merlin whispered. Gaius took a few deep breaths, but before he could speak again, his friends filed out in front of them.

“Gaius!” Gwen chirped, surprised. “You’re still here!” When she was met with no answer, just their grave faces, she continued. “We were just on our way out. We’re all a bit exhausted from the heavy day, you know. Is something the matter?”

“No,” Merlin rasped, the automatic answer pulling itself from his throat. Then he cringed. “Well… I don’t know.”

“Merlin?” Arthur appeared from behind Gwen, pushing to the front. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That might be the only explanation.

“No, it’s… the gate won’t open. I don’t know why. It’s stuck.”

“Is this the only way out?” He peered at the latch, giving it a tug. He jerked his fingers back, shaking them out. “It’s hot.”

“Hot?” Merlin frowned and touched it himself. He didn’t feel anything. He didn’t think magic gave off a feel, unless that was the effect of the spell.

“Never mind,” Arthur said quickly. He repeated himself. “Is this the only way out?”

“Yes,” the group confirmed at once. Merlin clarified, “We tried to limit exits and entryways so there was less chance of escape for any animals that slipped through the pen. It also helps keep out predators.”

“Doesn’t seem like that worked too well,” Arthur muttered, crouching to look at the hinges. He glanced up at Merlin, looking a tad sheepish. “Hm. What I meant was—“

“I know what you meant,” Merlin cut in, his voice scratchy with exhaustion and grief. “It’s okay, I—should’ve protected her better.”

Arthur turned his full body towards him now, still crouched, looking up at him with a hard expression. “You can’t protect them from everything.” In a bizarre rush of feeling, Merlin almost laughed. He couldn’t tell if that was a warning or his attempt at comfort. But whatever it was, some of the sadness leeched out, like the tiniest magic river.

“He’s right,” Percival said, stepping forward to engulf him in a bear hug. “You always do your best to protect us.”

“Thanks buddy,” Merlin wheezed, giving him a couple slaps on the back. When he was released, they were all laughing. Even Arthur. The sound made his head tingle—or perhaps that was just the lack of air. 

“So… what?” Elena asked, with her usual practiced light air. “Sleepover at Albion Acres tonight?”

Merlin glanced at Gaius, whose grave expression was doing nothing to reassure him. “That’s right. Anyone want more tea?”

***

In all honesty, this worked out better for Arthur, who had been trying to think of a way to overstay his welcome in Albion Acres anyways. He was certain this mystery was not done revealing itself. There were still several unanswered questions: Why did Merlin and Gaius always seem to be acting strange? Was Gwaine really who he said he was, or was he in that den with him for a different reason? Why did that girl Freya seem so scared? He was certain there was a young man around here that looked a lot like Gwen. Where did he disappear to? What happens at 3:30AM every night? Is his investigation here really centering around Meryl, or will something more sinister rear its head?

And, perhaps most pressing of all: Who sent the note?

Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, the edges of the paper already getting worn. He keeps pulling it out, hoping that something in its composition will reveal itself, will point him to the answer. But there was only a simple message, written in a steady hand: 

Albion Acres, tonight. There will be a murder.

He sighed, folding up the page again and putting it carefully back into his pocket, feeling a hundred years old in one moment. He really, really hoped this was about the goat. If only that dreadful feeling unfurling in his stomach could let him be convinced of it for a moment.

Removing his flashlight from his belt, he patrols outside, scanning the light over the ground and through the trees, to the buildings, and back to the ground again. Just to make sure no one is lying in wait outside, where they would be covered by the shroud of darkness. And then he’ll get back to the main group, which honestly really seems to need his watchful eye. Two people have “left”, but to where? Had their whereabouts ever been confirmed?

He checks the time on his watch. 3:27. 

He needs to begin the interrogation stage; with everyone locked within the sanctuary, there’s no need to keep his identity as quiet as possible. Yes, the potential murderer will know about his investigation, but perhaps the potential victims will be more careful. And what he desperately needs right now is information. He needs to know the ins and outs of this sanctuary.

He continues to move his light over the property, wishing once again that it wasn’t so huge. There’s too much ground to cover. And he’s got a hunch.

There’s a rustle in the bushes to his right. He jolts that way, his light beam following him, but there’s nothing. Of course, it could be a rabbit or a squirrel or something. That would make sense. But—

He looks at his watch. 3:29.

His heart hammers. He swings the light from the bushes to the path ahead, and— 

A bloodcurdling scream. And this time, it’s not Meryl.

He breaks into a sprint, following the sound, until his foot hits something soft but sturdy and has him tumbling forward. He catches himself on the gravel, the rocks digging deep into the heel of his hand. Warm blood trickles down his arm as he lifts his hand and shines a light on the object in his path:

It’s the girl. The one that was scared.

Bile rises in his throat. He traces the open gashes on the side of her face, just shy of her eye, and how they converge towards the torn skin at her middle. Her face… it looks just the same. Scared, eyes permanently wide in shock.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice cracking. Something just… tore her open. Who or what would do something like this? And why?

Albion Acres, tonight. There will be a murder.

He takes off his jumper and his shirt, using it to cover her body. And then he hefts her into his arms and takes her back to the house, Merlin’s house, the place that he suspects started it all.

***

Merlin is in the middle of setting up his fourth makeshift bed and is getting concerned by the lack of pillows and blankets when the door is kicked in so hard that it slams backwards and gets stuck in the wall.

“What the fu—“ 

“Merlin, over here, now.” Arthur flies through the entryway, his face tempestuous, his energy an almost tangible thing, weaving around him like a cobra ready to strike. “Someone call 911.”

911. He’s already running over to Arthur, helping him carry the load in his arms. He shouts at Gwaine to get off the couch and barely hears himself; all he can think about is the shape in his arms right now, how it’s skinny and light and person-shaped. And there’s a terrible beast gnawing at his gut, and he tries to take deep breaths and stay calm but— the smell of blood hits his nose, and he almost vomits right there. The beast gives him a sharp bite. It’s telling him— it’s telling him— 

As the body settles onto the sofa, a lock of brown hair, once soft and sleek and now matted up with blood, falls away out of its place under the sweater. Gwen screams, the second of the night.

He turns his gaze on Arthur, feeling wild and out of control, his magic flowing through him like a tsunami, preparing to wipe everyone away. “The scream, I thought— the goats— is it— was it not—“

“It was her,” Arthur confirms, voice harsh and grating in its anger. “It wasn’t the goats. Maybe it never was.”

“What?” Merlin feels lightheaded now. Get it together, get yourself together. He turns his head and breaths in deeply, careful to avoid smelling the blood again.

His friends crowd around, frantically asking what’s going on and jesus christ oh my god is that Freya? Is it Freya Merlin is it Freya? MERLIN!

He sways forward, as if pushed by their wave of grief. And he turns to Arthur again. “No. Meryl, she—“ 

“Did she? Are you sure?” Arthur grasped him by the shoulders, bloodied fingers digging into the sockets and curling into bone. “Did you see her? Think carefully. The two sounds are very similar. Have you ever been out there at precisely 3:30AM and watched Meryl let out a scream like that? Or did you wake up from it, assume it was her, and not think twice about it?"

“I— I—“ he tried to rack his brain for all the times he had been out with Meryl in the barn, talking sweetly to her as he rubbed her sides, trying to calm her from whatever came and haunted her at that time of night. But what if Arthur was right? What if it hadn’t been her?

“Listen, Arthur, we need to get her to the medical center.” He readjusted his grip and grunted, lifting her slightly until Arthur gently but firmly pushed her back down.

“We called 911.” Arthur’s gaze slices up to the group, who continue to sob and yell in horror. It so much matches the tone of his mind right now he hardly registers them. All that matters is Freya now. Finding out what happened to Freya, and making sure the rest of them are safe. That was his job. 

“I tried,” Gwaine replies, steady but urgent. “I’m still trying, but there’s no service. The towers are down, or something. No Wi-Fi either.”

Arthur expels his breath rapidly, then turns to Gwaine. “Work on getting the internet back on so we can call for help. Merlin, let’s go.”

Merlin nods, takes hold of Freya’s limp body, and points them toward the medical building.

“This is where we do our examinations of wildlife and perform our operations,” he rambled. “Gaius was the highest-paying veterinarian in the country before this, so it’s a fully functioning facility. He should have everything we need here to find out what happened."

Arthur nods, scanning his face. As they quickly file into the building, Arthur seems to decide something and nods to himself. Then he says, quickly, “I’m sorry you have to do this.” But the moment only lasts for a fraction of a second, before he’s hefting her onto the examination table. “Here we go.”

“I’m sorry too,” he says, somewhat to himself, but mostly to Freya. I’m sorry, he’s saying, that I couldn’t do what I promised.

And then he takes a deep breath and pulls away the garments shielding her lifeless body.

“She’s… pale,” is what Merlin finally says after a few minutes.

Arthur clears his throat, shifts, and he can practically see the comments turning in his head. She’s dead. Of course she’s pale. But what he actually says is, “…Okay, anything else?” And he begins to take over, gingerly pulling her limbs away from her body to examine her wounds fully. The blood is beginning to dry. That is another thing that’s odd to him.

“When did you say this happened?”

“3:30AM. On the dot. So…” He checked his watch. “About 30 minutes ago.” He glances at Merlin, and something must be showing on his face, some inch of his horror, because he straightens and says, “Merlin,” in that gentle but commanding, insistent tone, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that 30 minutes is a fresh kill. And she’s this pale? And the blood, it’s starting to crust here.” He points to her side, to the cavernous gash that should be leaking blood still but has instead begun to dry up. “And you don’t have much blood on you either,” he points out, nodding at his bare chest, free of a blood trail aside from a small smear. 

“I don’t understand,” Arthur said. 

“What made her lose so much blood? This isn’t just that she had so many wounds she bled out. She didn’t have time to bleed out. It’s not on you, it’s not absorbed by your clothing. So where is it?”

“So, what? There’s a vampire on the loose?”

“No, vampires don’t exist,” he said, and he realized too late that he answered that question too seriously. It was a conversation he’d been having lately, with Gaius and with Elyan. There is no such thing, he’d reassure Elyan, there has to be some other explanation. 

And then Gaius would chime in, I hate to feed in to such folk tales, Merlin, but how can we be certain? And then he’d point to the evidence on the bodies.

But his family has been studying magical entities for years. His parents were scholars. He had to believe in their research. Vampires were a tale of such prevalence, each generation has gone in search for their existence. All over the world, there had been expeditions. But like Bigfoot and the Lochness Monster, they were just a story.

But of course, Arthur would never have entertained such a thing in the first place. “No shit, Merlin, thank you,” Arthur drawled, exasperated. “Look, you’re the wildlife expert here. Could anything have drained her like this? I hope you won’t tell me this is a coyote attack.”

“Coyote attack,” he murmured, turning to Gaius’s desk. He yanked open the drawers, rummaging through the files.

“Merlin,” said Arthur, incredulous, “you can’t be serious—“

“Coyote attack,” he said again. And finally, he pulled out what he had been looking for, the thing that had tugged at his brain and gnawed at his gut. It was the file on Meryl.

Arthur said nothing. Merlin couldn’t tell if he’d begun to piece together what Merlin had yet. How much about this did he know? How much should he know?

Did that even matter anymore? When it was his people at stake, did his magic being revealed really measure up to that, even if it was to the son of his people’s reaper?

Gaius would object, he knew he would. But Gaius wasn’t here at the moment.

And then a frightening thought hits him. “Gaius.”

“Gaius? What does Gaius have to do with the coyote attacks?”

“Nothing, he— where is he?” The panic began to unfurl in his chest. “He was supposed to be here, I thought.”

“Maybe he’s in another room?” Arthur suggested. “Or he went back to the house. It is past 4AM now. I don’t know many his age that would be able to stay up this late, in all honesty.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he murmured. But he wasn’t convinced. Gaius was an old man, certainly, who hobbled around the medical building facilitating care—but he still showed no signs of slowing down, not mentally, and he was strong, able to handle animals big and small, violent and docile. And he had never, ever known him to disappear in a crisis. It was always Gaius on the front lines, long before even Merlin.

But as much as he wanted to go out right now and find him, to make sure nothing has happened to the man who had been his father for the past 15 years, he knew what he would say. He knew Gaius would urge him to stay on task, because there was a room full of vulnerable people in the next room, all counting on him, and some unseen foe as sinister as the oldest mythical monster.

“The injuries.” Arthur’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion. He pointed to the description of Meryl. “They’re the same.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. Three long gashes around the neck. Midsection partially removed, likely due to animal bite. Diagnosis: coyote attack. “What are the chances? Of exactly the same injuries, even from the same type of attack?”

“Slim to none,” Arthur confirmed. “Unless that’s only what it was supposed to look like.”

Merlin had an idea. “Freya,” he said. “Let’s turn her over.”

Without argument, Arthur obeyed. They flipped her onto her front, so her back was completely visible. He pulled her tattered clothes to the side, examining the skin. It was smooth and clear, aside from the few scrapes that came with her body being dumped outside, with the sticks and gravel. He blew out a breath of frustration. Her neck was clean, no marks. The hope melted from him as quickly as it had appeared. He’d thought—what Elyan had seen, earlier—

“Merlin.” 

Merlin looked over to Arthur, who was very still, staring at Freya’s feet with wide eyes.

On the bottom, through the thick skin of her heel, were three holes in the shape of an upside-down triangle.

His breath escaped him in a thin wheeze.

“What the hell is that?” Arthur asked. He peered at Merlin, suspicion crossing his features. “You recognize this. You know this mark.”

“Yes,” he began. “Let me—“

“What the hell is going on here, Merlin?” Arthur’s outburst sent the hairs rising over Merlin’s skin. “I have spent the whole day trying to figure out if a real, human murder was happening, stringing together one bizarre occurrence after the other, and attempting to discover who sent me the note, and whether he was a potential victim or the murderer. And you know, in all of my cases, Albion Acres,” he said, seething with contempt, “has to be the most perplexing of all! There is not a single person here that acts like a normal person, save Gwen, who’s always so busy crying you can’t get a word out of her! And for someone who is so terrified for his staff, you and Gaius sure make an effort to keep me far from gathering any information. Does everyone in this bloody sanctuary have a secret?”

“Yes,” Merlin replied.

“Y— I’m sorry, did you just agree with me?” Arthur’s bewildered expression would be adorable if Merlin had the peace of mind to enjoy it. But it was time to take a new risk. The old ways, Gaius’s ways, weren’t working.

“Yes,” he repeated. “We all have a secret. Just like all of these animals, each employee, each friend, has a story to tell. A reason why they won’t be welcomed in their world. We take them in. We rehabilitate them just as much as our goats or our cows.” 

“And you’re protecting them? These people?”

Merlin can practically see the realization pass over his face. Magic, his expression read. There was surprise there, and annoyance, but none of the disgust or contempt he’d expected.

He sighed, and to Merlin’s delighted surprise, let out a tired chuckle. “Merlin, if you knew how—“ But he shook his head. “Never mind. This isn’t important right now. I need you to be forthright with me, from this moment on. If you want to help your people, you’ll cooperate. Do you understand?”

Merlin nodded. “There’s something you should know about Freya. She was a Bastet.”

“What the fuck is a Bastet?”

“It’s a creature that inhabits the twilight world between the living and the dead. During the day, she’s sweet, timid Freya, but at midnight she transforms. Picture a panther with giant bat wings.”

“What a comforting image. Is that why she left the gathering early?”

“Yes. We have cages for her at night, where she can transform without hurting anybody. She wasn’t born like that—she was cursed. Gaius was working on a way to separate her human form from her Bastet form. But it’s a tall order, in all honesty. Freya is older than you realize. Because the Bastet is a cross from both worlds, it is essentially immortal. When it became part of her, it stopped her aging. She is—she was—at least 50 years old.”

Arthur’s chin drew back in shock. He was silent for a while, processing, eyes burning the way they did when, Merlin was beginning to realize, he caught the scent of a lead. Like a bloodhound. “Where are these cages?”

Merlin paused. “They’re underground. There was an old mine nearby that we re-opened for her. It’s reinforced with magic so it won’t collapse when she transforms. We didn’t want to put it above ground on the main property in case something went wrong, and she went for the animals.”

“And you’re certain she couldn’t escape?”

Merlin paused, and Arthur caught hold of that hesitancy immediately. “What is it?”

“Well, to be honest, I always had my suspicions that it wasn’t a coyote. Bastets are very bloodthirsty. They have an insatiable hunger. If released, she could have slaughtered the whole of Albion in a night.”

Arthur nodded. “That’s why you and Gaius tried to send me away. You were trying to protect Freya.”

Merlin nodded, his eyes gathering wetness, threatening to spill. “I promised her. That I would protect her. She was sweet, Arthur, I swear. She didn’t want to be like this. She came to us for help, hoping we could rid her of the curse. She just wanted to be normal.”

Arthur swallowed, audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezed, gently, reassuringly. “I know,” he said. 

“I was going to talk to her tonight,” Merlin said, leaning into the touch, taking the comfort offered shamelessly. “Gaius and I were. After you left, and everyone else. We were going to ask her if she remembers escaping the tunnels. Because I went and checked the magic—it was perfectly reinforced. She shouldn’t have been able to leave. But… I don’t know. I had a feeling. We both did.”

“You and Gaius,” Arthur said.

Merlin nodded. “Before he was a vet, he was a researcher like my parents. You know, for magical creatures. That’s why Freya came to us in the first place.”

“That makes sense.” Arthur nodded. “But what about these marks on her feet? You recognized them. What makes puncture wounds in that pattern?”

“Earlier, shortly after we met,” Merlin started, then cursed himself for blushing. Why was he blushing? “Um, Elyan found me. He’s been working with Gaius here in the medical building. I’ll show you.”

He walked out of the examination room and down the hall, the fluorescent lights harsh in his tired, burning eyes. Their boots clacked against the linoleum floor, a sound he normally found pleasant, suddenly grating. When they came to the end of the hall, he tried to warn Arthur about what they were going to walk into.

“This is my least favorite place in the entire sanctuary. Fair warning. You can come inside, but you’ll be freezing for a moment.”

And then he opened the door, and watched the grimace overtake his features. “You have a morgue?”

Merlin stepped into the walk-in freezer, eyes going over the two cloth-wrapped bodies they’d received since yesterday. One was the large body of  a doe, one that seemed to be hit by a car, something that was a common occurrence in this heavily-wooded area. The other was a barn owl, which, to hear Elyan tell it, had basically dive-bombed at his head from the tree branch overhead when he was working on moving the injured deer inside.

Both creatures were near death. And in the end, he couldn’t save either of them.

“We do,” Merlin said. “Sometimes the company we call for their cremation services can’t make it, so we have to have some place to store them until then. Meryl was picked up first thing this morning, which is why she isn’t here. But Gaius had already performed an examination on her and didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”

Merlin felt Arthur’s gaze, shrewd and hard on his face. “What?” he demanded.

“I know Gaius… means a lot to you. I can see that. But something isn’t quite right,” Arthur ventured. “In all of my cases, do you know how I always find out what happened? I follow the person who shows up most frequently in the case. The common denominator usually leads to the answer. And Merlin…”

“No.”

“Merlin, Gaius is the common denominator.”

Merlin shook his head, wanting to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “You don’t understand, Arthur. You don’t know him. He’s raised me for the last 15 years after my parents died. I know him. We built this place together because we had a dream of a sanctuary, a place where animals and people could live out the rest of their days. What possible reason could he have?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted.

Anger pulsed through Merlin. “No, you don’t,” he bit. “And before you go accusing the people I care about, the least you could do is choose a theory that makes sense.”

He grabbed the smaller cloth and walked out, Arthur hot on his heels. They walked in silence back to the examination room. Merlin became angrier by the second, enraged by the seed of doubt Arthur had planted in him, the sudden gnawing that appeared, again, that told him there was something in front of his face that he deliberately wasn’t seeing.

Unwrapping the owl, Merlin lifted its wing, struggling at the stiffness of it. “Take a look—“ Before he could finish the command, the owl screeched, and Merlin was so shocked that, on reflex, he let go and put his hands over his ears. In its panic it flung itself all over the room, throwing itself into the window once, twice, until Merlin had enough wherewithal to grab hold of it with his magic and float it down to his hands. He held it firm in his hands and willed it to stop struggling. “It’s okay,” he whispered, heart fracturing with each distressed screech. “It’s okay. Oh my god, you must have been so scared in there. It’s all right, sweetheart.” And he stroked its feathers for only a few seconds before it became quiet and still again. He checked its heartbeat. Dead.

He couldn’t hear Arthur’s exclamations over the blood rushing in his ears. The owl was still alive? It hadn't seemed to be earlier, when Elyan showed him the marks. And it wasn’t like Elyan to make a mistake like that…

Closing his eyes briefly, he took a second to collect himself, then gingerly placed the owl back on the table. He lifted its wing again, stuttering, scared even still that it might reanimate. When a beat passed and nothing happened, he finally gestured to three puncture marks in an upside-down triangle, just on the underside. “See? The same. And the deer has it too. I don’t know what it’s the mark of, but…”

Arthur’s breath came out ragged. “I’m starting to think it’s the mark of the devil,” he said. “What was that?!”

But when Merlin couldn’t answer him, he grew silent for a moment, considering. “You said that Elyan was the one to find them both?”

“Yes,” Merlin said dryly, “And before you say it, no, I don’t think he’s draining and brutally murdering his Albion Acres family.”

“I was simply going to ask where he was. Maybe his recounting will have some information he didn’t realize was important.”

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “He said that he was going to…”

“What?” Arthur’s voice was tight with suspense.

Suddenly his throat was so dry he didn’t know if he’d be able to get the words out. “He said that he was going to see Gaius,” he whispered.

“Merlin.” His eyes were pleading, his mouth stern. That tell-tale gnawing in his gut intensified.

“Let’s go find him,” said Merlin.

***

Back at the house, there had been no luck restoring the internet lines. 

“I’m sorry,” Gwaine said, serious as Merlin had ever seen him. “That I couldn’t help. That…” His gaze drifted towards the couch.

Merlin hugged him tight, clearly taking him by surprise. He didn’t care. “Thank you,” he said. And then, “Have you seen Gaius? We need him.”

“No.” Gwaine looked a bit perplexed at the question. “Wasn’t he with you? Didn’t he say he’d be in the medical building earlier?”

“What about Elyan?”

“Jesus,” he said, blanching. “Elyan! Where the hell did that man go? I haven’t seen him in ages, now that you mention it. He wasn’t at the funeral, so I just figured he had gone home early. Though it did seem out of character. I don’t know, I meant to ask about it, but I was a bit distracted by the presence of him.” He jerked his head to where Arthur was, across the room, trying to get some answers out of a sobbing Gwen.

“Okay. Thanks, Gwaine.”

“No problem. And, Merlin…” Gwaine’s expression melted into something so, so tender. “You’ll tell me if I can help you, right? You’ll call me if you need help?”

Merlin smiled and hugged him one more time before calling for Arthur and heading outside.

***

“No one’s seen him.” Merlin walked at a pace so quick it was nearly a jog. “Or Elyan either. I don’t know what’s going on, but I…”

“I know,” Arthur said, his expression sympathetic. “Are we heading to the mines?”

Merlin squeezed his eyes closed. “Yes. It’s the only place I know that either of them could go and not be seen.”

He led Arthur to a shed nearby, where he kept the golf cart. “We normally try to go everywhere on foot, since the noise tends to upset Catrina and send the goats into a screaming fit, but we can make an exception this time.” He grabbed the keys off the shed wall, opened the doors, and climbed inside the buggy, Arthur following suit.

He mentally crossed his fingers and prayed, prayed, for it to start. “Please, please, please,” he whispered. The engine sputtered. He tried again, and it briefly revved to life before cutting again.

“Damn it,” he cursed, hopping out. “We’ll have to go on foot.”

“Can’t you just…” Arthur fluttered his fingers at the cart, and Merlin, though slightly offended, brightened a tad.

“You’re a genius,” he said, and whispered an incantation that brought the engine roaring to life. He tried to ignore Arthur’s intense gaze for a strong 10 seconds before meeting his eyes. “What?”

He pressed his foot on the gas until it hit the bottom, and they surged forward, the cart hitting its max speed of 25MPH. Beside him, Arthur ran a hand through his hair. There was little light, save for the moon’s glow filtering through the trees, but he just caught the expression on Arthur’s face before he turned away. Had he hallucinated that flustered look?

But all he said was, “What language is that?”

“Oh,” said Merlin, “I’m not actually sure. We call it Dragontongue—magic-users, I mean, but Gaius, he’s convinced it’s a dialect of Old Welsh.” He swallowed, tapping his hands on the wheel nervously. Thinking about Gaius, about Elyan, about those old mining tunnels, he suddenly wished he could pull over and empty out his guts in the bushes. But there was no time, and he had to believe that whatever happened, he could fix this. He had to believe that no one else would die tonight.

His stomach turned violently.

“Arthur? In all those cases you’ve worked on… have you ever been wrong?”

Arthur squeezed his shoulder in answer. The stressed silence stretched out between them as they rode on, nothing to fill that void but the sound of the cart crunching over the gravel and the night’s song.

About a quarter mile past the aviary, off the path and into the woods, Merlin pulled over towards a rocky cliff wall covered completely in creeping vines. “This is it?” Arthur asked, climbing out. “Where’s the entrance?”

Merlin held his hand out and commanded, in Dragontongue, the door to show itself. A shimmer shook out the illusion until it revealed an carved opening in the rock wall. 

“Oh,” he said.

The cavern was damp. Water seeped from the ceiling and dripped on to their noses as they made their way down narrow tunnel, Arthur looking around with shrewd eyes, carefully assessing every detail. He took careful steps, shining his flashlight on every inch of the walls and floor for clues.

“Ugh,” Arthur groaned, covering his nose with his arm. “Do you smell that?”

Merlin choked, the putrid scent wafting to him. What was that? Smelled like death itself.

He could tell the moment Arthur thought the same thing, because their gaze met for only a moment before they both broke out in a sprint.

The walls grew less and less narrow around them, until the path opened up into the mouth of a large cavern. “Careful,” Merlin said, stopping Arthur at the swift drop ahead of them, before he could make a wrong step and fall into the abyss. In front of them, spiny structures peppered at varying heights throughout, and it looked like it went on for miles. Even Merlin, who had drained his magic almost entirely to create this the day a defeated and begging Freya arrived on their doorstep, wasn’t sure how big it was. 

“Welcome to the Bastet cages,” Merlin said.

Surprise flickered over Arthur’s face. “You made this for Freya?”

“Yes. As you can see, they aren’t truly cages. Like anyone else at Albion, I wanted her to be safe, but I didn’t want to be stifling and cruel. I gave her an enclosure. They’re secure,” he added at the dubious look on Arthur’s face. “They’re locked with my magic. And there’s a chain I enchanted that goes around her back paws, which keeps her tethered to the cavern.”

“How would she get released?”

“I would come in and release her after the sun rose. Only magic could do that, and I’m the only magic-user here.”

“I see.” But Arthur sounded distant, like he was considering something.

“Were we wrong?” Merlin asked anxiously. “There’s no one here.”

Arthur didn’t reply, but instead walked along a too-thin ledge, running his fingers along the wall. “Ouch.” He cursed, pulling his fingers away. “It’s hot. Like before.”

“Before?”

“The gates. Come over here. Do you sense anything?” 

Trying not to think about the stone that crumbled off the edge, Merlin creeped forward to join Arthur. He was immediately hit with the smell of smoke. He reached out with his magic, seeing the shimmer come to life—yes, there it was, an enchanted wall. Except he doesn’t remember making it.

“What’s inside?” Arthur asked. 

“Well, only one way to find out,” replied Merlin, and used his magic to make the wall come crumbling down.

Coughing through the plume of earth and dust, they stepped past the rubble and into a… a room. Long tables lined the walls, everything from bubbling potions and tinctures to giant open tomes spread before him.

“I think I know where the smell is coming from,” Arthur said, and pointed to the cages on the far-right wall. Big and small, they seemed to be for animals of all sizes. And within them, blanketed lumps piled high.

The queasy feeling returned. He moved closer, to the open door of the first cage, and peeled back a cloth.

It was a rabbit, dead. 3 puncture wounds to the neck, forming an upside-down triangle.

He pulled up another. A raccoon. Puncture wounds on his belly.

Below, he pulled on the covering of the largest, watching it reveal itself with growing horror. A horse, with brown hair and a white nose. A beautiful horse. Tears welled in his eyes and clogged his throat. 

“Gringolet,” he cried. “No…”

“They all have them,” Arthur rasped. “The marks.” He moved to the next cage, the metal doors swinging open with a creak. This one was smaller than the horse, but just about the size of a—of a—

He scrambled over. Arthur lifted the cloth. 

Elyan’s brown eyes stared up at them, wide and unseeing. His skin was pale, as if someone had brushed over his rich skin with grey. And Merlin felt wretched, so wretched—not only for the loss of his friend, not only for Gwen, but for ever having suspected him in the first place.

“Oh, Merlin,” a familiar voice wavered. “I’d really hoped you wouldn’t see that."

***

Gaius watched them from the doorway. “I did tell you,” he said, hobbling forward, “that we didn’t know what he hoped to uncover.” He gazed at Merlin sadly. “I wish I didn’t have to resort to this, but I hope you understand.”

“Understand?” Merlin burned red-hot with anger and grief. “There’s nothing about this I understand.”

“Merlin, I tried to protect you from this!” Gaius pleaded, frustrated, closing more distance between them. “You have always been too soft for what the true research entails. All great scientists in history have had to make some sacrifices to learn what we do now."

“So this was all to help Freya?” Arthur asked. Merlin couldn’t understand how he sounded so calm, when his life was crumbling right there before their eyes. “To get rid of the Bastet?”

“Indeed.” He nodded. Then, with an eyebrow raised at Merlin: “You told him all of our secrets, Merlin.”

“These are not our secrets,” Merlin spat. He gestured to the bodies, the potions, to Gaius himself. “Nothing about this is ours.”

“It was you who pleaded with me to help Freya!” Gaius insisted. “I told you it was dangerous. I told you to turn her away. But you couldn’t.”

“Merlin didn’t kill Elyan,” Arthur pointed out. “He didn’t kill those animals. Don’t try to place blame where there isn’t any.”

Gaius sighed. “I am sorry about Elyan, and about Freya too. I know they were your friends, Merlin, so please believe me when I say that. But they were compromising my research. They were getting in the way. You see, when I started looking into how to separate Freya from her Bastet form, I traced the origins of her curse and revealed it wasn’t a spoken curse but an ingested one. She had taken a potion, perhaps in her tea or her breakfast, something that she wouldn’t even notice. It changed something in her DNA; that’s why the curse lingered, long after the enchantress was dead.

“I tried to reverse the process, like making an antidote to poison. It didn’t work. I tried everything, Merlin, I really did—but the process was complete. Once the fabric of her being had re-stitched itself, I could not unravel it. But the work wasn’t finished. I asked myself, could some good come out of this form? Could the anti-aging properties that the Bastet provides help prolong our lives?”

Merlin’s breath shuddered out. Arthur went still beside him. And he thought, for the first time since he was a boy, of praying to the gods. “Tell me you didn’t. Gaius, tell me you didn’t do this for yourself.”

Gaius’s face crumpled. “I—Merlin, I don’t have long left, you know. I am an old man. All this life lived, and what will become of it? I can feel it in my bones, that I’m not done with what I have to offer the world. Maybe you’ll understand when you’re my age, Merlin. If we can harness this—if we can use this as a way to create zoomorphic magic—we could live forever.” His eyes shined, alight with madness. “We could help Albion Acres in perpetuity.”

“But that’s not what you’ve been doing, is it?” Merlin hadn’t even noticed that Arthur’d moved to the other end of the room, flipping through the pages of one of Gaius’s books. “You’re hurting them.”

“As I said, sacrifices towards the greater whole. Think of how many others we could help if we just had more time! Freya didn’t understand. I needed the blood from these animals to combine with her DNA. It was an attempt in good faith, Merlin, please believe that. I thought that if I combined Bastet DNA with a rabbit or a goat, for example, it wouldn’t be as deadly. But nothing was compatible. It wasn’t until I started mixing them that, for some reason, it came to fruition. I did it, with wolf and porcupine blood combined.” He smiled, gleeful. And then it vanished. “But Elyan… he wouldn’t leave it alone. He found me in here, eventually, just like this… I am sorry.”

Merlin’s mind scrambled. Elyan had found him, just like this. And what did that mean, now that he and Arthur had, too?  

A sound escaped Gaius, something like a mix between a roar and a terrible whimper ripping from his throat. And his shoulders expanded, then his chest, then his legs… stretching farther and farther, the threads of his clothes snapping to be replaced with a patchy mix of fur and spikes. His mouth opened in a roar, revealing three sharp upper teeth, in the shape of an upside-down triangle. 

And then Gaius—whatever Gaius was, now—pounced.