Chapter Four (Cont'd)

   "It's like . . . like . . ." Merlin turned to look at Dr. Westinghouse, "Have you ever had one of those feelings that's like a warning? You know, a premonition? Like when people change their mind about getting on an airplane because they suddenly get a feeling that it's going to crash -- and later they find out that they did?
   Cassandra shook her head, "No."
   "But if you did?"
   Cassandra paused for a long moment then answered succinctly, "I'd change my flight."

   The streetlight outside Merlin's modest house on Windward Drive sputtered and died. A lone figure in a red dress stood amid the heavy shadows on the porch. Morgan Le Fay didn't knock; she didn't need to. Instead, she touched her necklace, pursed her lips and blew. The deadbolt crumbled into dust and the door swung open.

   "Do you have laundry service?" Merlin asked as he signed the motel's register.
   "Yes sir," answered the clerk, "I'll send someone to your room as soon as you're settled."
   Merlin nodded and looked around at the sterile lobby of the Lakeside Motel. He agreed with Dr. Westinghouse -- only he wasn't changing his flight, he was changing where he slept. Ever since this afternoon, he'd had the strongest feeling that he shouldn't go home.