When Arthur returns to bring peace to Albion, Merlin needs help to introduce him to the 21 century. He seeks for it in a shop owner, but he ends up using the help of a shop worker named Lauryn Kramer.


1. Lauryn Kramer

     I glanced over my shoulder; I always hated walking alone, even in broad daylight.  I quickened my steps, not wanting to be out on the street any longer than needed, and I wished I could spare the money for a cab.  My shop came into view and I practically sprinted for it.  I fumbled around in my purse for the keys and jammed them into the lock.  I stumbled inside, stifling a yawn; I hated the opening shift.

     I put my purse on the counter and slipped in the back to get the money for the cash register.  I took my time, knowing a day of boredom was ahead of me, and I wasn't exactly happy to great it.  The bell on the front counter dinged, and I groaned, hurrying to help the customer.  Their backs were turned; one was blonde and the other brunette.  Both of them were distinctly male.

     "Hello," I said, quickly shoving the cash into the register.  "How may I be of service?"

     The blonde turned around, his bright blue eyes locking on mine, and I had to remind myself to breathe.  I silently cursed myself fro being so shy.

     "We're looking for Weston Tyler," the brunette said without turning around.  He walked around the shop, as if my answer was of no importance, and he seemed to make a conscious effort not to look at me.  I bit back the rude response that threatened to slip off my tongue.

     "He doesn't work weekends," I told the back of the man's head.  "If you need something here in the shop, I'm more than capable to help you."

     The brunette picked up a book, studying the cover.  "This any good?" he asked me, holding up the cover for me to see:  Wuthering Heights.

     "It's a very tragic story," I said, not giving away my secret loathing I held for it.  A part of me wanted him to waste his money on a book he wouldn't like.  It would be a small revenge for his rudeness, but it would be enough for me.  But the man just stared at it a moment longer and placed it back on the shelf.

     "I thought you liked tragedies," the dark-haired man said, his voice sounding bored.  I was glad his face was turned, so he couldn't see the shock on my own.

     "Did Weston tell you that?"  I asked, a mix of thoughts and emotions waved over me, and I suddenly felt sick.  I didn't like where this was going.

     The man didn't respond; he simply roamed the store, picking up books and placing them back in their spots on the shelf. I turned to the blonde man, smiling.

     "Is he always like this?" I forced a lighthearted voice to hide the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

     "Not always," he replied, his voice deep and masculine and slightly annoyed.  "Only when he wants something."

     I was unable to hide the apprehension from my voice.  "What does he want?"

     The blonde opened his mouth to speak, but the brunette cut in.  Turning around, he held up a book.  "This one please," he said, his eyes locking on mine, and a rush of pain and knowledge and wisdom ran through me, leaving as quickly as it came, and I gripped the counter for support.  My knees didn't seem strong enough to support me.  A knowing look entered his eyes.  "It's my favorite," he explained, drawing my attention to the book in his hand:   A Tale of Two Cities.  "But I also want this one," he said plucking The Art of New Age from a shelf.  He laid them on the counter, and I rung them up.

     "Have a nice day," I said as brightly as I could.  I just wanted them gone.  My heart nearly dropped when the brunette hesitated.

     He glanced over his shoulder.  "My name is Merlin, by the way."  He smiled at me, and confusion enveloped my mind.  He waited there for a moment, and I remembered with a jolt to give him my own name.

     "Lauryn," I said firmly, as if clinging to it for dear life.  They walked out the door, and I sank into the chair behind the counter.  Today was not an ordinary day, I determined.  Those were not ordinary customers.

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