Chapter 17

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"I think you need serious help." Cassandra managed to say in between hysterical giggles. "I'm not buying it."

Because if it was true, she was up shit creek without a paddle and a boat. Merlin. The Merlin from legend was real? She swiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

Strange wasn't amused. "You keep company with a god but you can't believe in other legends?"

Apparently, the wizard was going to sit there and poke holes in all her arguments. Cassandra shrugged. "I can accept being a wizard but the rest seems farfetched. Besides, what reason have you given me to trust anything you say?"

First Strange abducted her and now subjected her to this crackpot story. He was a few screws short, that was for sure.

"Before I became a sorcerer I was a surgeon."

"That's a major career change." Cassandra commented.

"I did not seek out magic on a lark. I was injured in an accident and told that the answer to repairing my hands lay in Kamar Taj."

"What's Kamar Taj?" It was the second time he'd mentioned the place.

"It's a secret school of sorcery located in Nepal." Strange set his teacup aside and crossed his legs. "I was a greater skeptic than you. More arrogant. More bitter. Desperate." He showed her the scars on his hands, they shook slightly as he gripped the armrests. "Stark tells me you are slow in progressing with your abilities."

It seemed Tony was busy blabbing Cassandra's business to everyone. She thought sourly. "Forget about that. Tell me more about...Merlin."

Strange smiled faintly. "Very well. I will tell you what I know." He gestured again to the chair across from him. "Although, it isn't much."

This time Cassandra sat, holding her beer stein in her lap. Every time she took a drink the glass magically refilled. At this rate she was going to be three sheets to the wind. She found she didn't particularly care at the moment. This Merlin business was a lot to absorb.

"The Merlin is a living sorcerer's relic. He is wholly unique in that aspect. Relics are objects imbued with magical power that a sorcerer cannot channel. They are used to aid us in spell craft and combat when necessary."

"If that's true, then how did he become one of these relics?"

"No one knows the source of the Merlin's power or how old it is. The Merlin is marked with a magical tattoo of his namesake upon his back. The very same mark you now possess. We only know from legends how the Merlin chose to use his power. Your predecessor functioned primarily as an adviser but on occasion took on the role of warrior."

"Well, I don't see that happening. I'm not adviser material." Cassandra said loftily.

"You don't know what you're capable of." He countered.

She tugged at the collar of her leather tunic. It was getting hot in here. "True, but since it's my power I'll decide how to use it."

"To serve SHIELD's agenda? Or Loki's ambition?" Strange gestured imperiously around him. "There are many unchecked dangers in the multi-verse. You could serve the world aiding other followers of the Mystic Arts."

Cassandra tossed the stein at Strange. She'd had enough of him telling her what she should be doing. The glass shattered against the wall behind him, spraying the sorcerer with beer and fragments of glass. "I am no one's tool. That's what none of you seem to get!" She pointed a finger at him. "This is my life and I refuse to be treated like anyone's stooge!"

A tense silence followed her outburst. Cassandra stalked across the room and pushed aside the filmy curtain to look out the window. A yellow cab rolled slowly down the street. Strange understood nothing. None of them did.

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