9. House Fell

Morgan’s mood had soured in the hours since helping Aaron with the drakes. The women that had wandered into their battle immediately sent the pictures off to every news station in Etna. Headlines like Notorious Witch Defends City and ECPD Resorts to Witchcraft were splashed across the display in his living room the moment he stepped through the door.

He hoped Aaron wasn’t being punished for it. What had they expected him to do, take on four walking infernos alone? When Daphne offered to give him Aaron’s information so he could ask himself, Morgan simply retreated to his room in a huff. He didn’t want to open a direct line to the man. If he did, he might do something stupid like agree to his ridiculous proposition. Because that’s what Aaron did to him—made him act stupid.

So, in an act that was not in any way stupid, he was currently emptying his closet in frustration, sending every item of clothing he owned flying into the room behind him.

“Morgan, honey...” Daphne called cautiously from his doorway, careful to avoid the whirlwind of jeans and t-shirts as they flew, covering the floor and his bed, “You make the news all the time. There’s no need to punish your wardrobe.”

Morgan growled from the back of his closet, “Yes there is! It’s a stupid wardrobe. Nothing but boring shirts and denim! I have more money than the gods! Why do I have such boring clothes? Theresa will be here in the morning. We’re meeting with the head of the Occult Council, and apparently, I only ever dress like one of those wannabe heartthrob boys that make girls faint just by driving their obnoxious, loud cars in the black and white films on the archives! That’s all I am! An ancient, black and white, stupid—boy!”

Daphne let out a low whistle as Shane and Frey approached her from behind. “Sweetie, I love you, and I don’t want to end up like those skinny jeans hanging from your bedpost for saying this but... are you sure this isn’t about... something else?”

The clothing storm ceased. Morgan poked his head out from the closet with gritted teeth. “Stop. Messaging. Him.”

Daphne sighed, tossing her eyes upward. “Why is it so damn hard for you to just admit you like him?”

Morgan’s eyes turned violet on her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m scared,” she scoffed, “Poor you, Officer Sexy-As-Fuck asked you out on a date and now you have feelings.”

“Shane’s my new favorite,” Morgan snapped, ducking back into his closet, “You can leave.”

Daphne’s jaw dropped as Shane’s face lit up with an open-mouthed smile.

“You fickle bitch,” Daphne hissed indignantly before smacking Shane’s arm for the look of glee on his face.

“Um... Ow?” Shane grimaced at her, rubbing his arm as Frey shuffled around them to the closet.

Morgan now lay half buried under the remaining items inside, face up and staring at the ceiling with his arms and legs spread, looking as pathetic as he felt.

“I could make you some clothes, Morgan,” Frey chimed.

Morgan lifted his chin to his chest with a curious frown. They wore a clean, white blouse with ruffled sleeves that twinkled in the light, and a flowing, bubble gum pink skirt. The clothes were a bit too small for Daphne and were not at all her style. And as far as Morgan knew, Frey hadn’t left the Manor since they arrived yesterday.

“Did you... make those?” He gawked.

Frey nodded with a bright smile. “Mhm. Aren’t they pretty?” They did a little twirl, making the skirt spin.

Morgan had to admit, they did look amazing. He wasn’t sure what he had expected when Frey said they made their own clothes, but it wasn’t something so normal. Not normal. Gorgeous. “They really are. How did you do that?”

“Nope! My secret!” Frey shook their head with a giggle. “You want me to make you some?”

Morgan gave them a resigned shrug before dropping his head back into the clothing pile. “Okay.”

“Yay!” Frey cheered, “Do you want something pretty like mine? I can make it in black!”

Morgan found himself caught between humor and horror as he imagined himself in a black version of their outfit. He could probably pull it off, but it wasn’t his look. Although, his idea of style now blanketed the entirety of his bedroom.

“Let’s go check out some more... Morgan-like outfits, Frey,” Shane said, saving him and making the awkward, atom-sized bit of affection he had developed for the guy swell to more of a marble.

He heard the pair leave the room as he lay there, his head swirling with far too many thoughts. Daphne had hit the nail on the head. He would’ve been fine wearing jeans and a tee for their meeting in the morning. He did not, however, want to wear something so basic if he cracked and gave in to Officer Sexy-As-Fuck. When he cracked. Despite their differences, he had to admit that part of him desperately wanted to give in. Maybe. Eventually.

That was what Morgan was telling himself—because the truth scared him. The terrifying truth that he seemed to lose all control around Aaron. At simply the sight of the man, he had run headlong into danger to save him. He bound himself to someone he’d only just met to protect them. And hours ago, he performed magic he didn’t even know he was capable of by ripping that drake apart. All for Aaron Jones.

“You planning to sulk in there all night?” Daphne asked, still loitering in his room.

Morgan sighed, pulling the pile of clothes over his face, muffling his voice. “I live here now.”

The next morning, Fell Manor was overflowing with tension. Morgan had been in the kitchen since the crack of dawn, coming down from the roof to whip up every manner of breakfast and afternoon finger food he could think of. The Manor itself had started assisting him, sensing that he may have bitten off a little more than he could chew, as knives and rolling pins flew about the countertops without so much as a glance from him.

Daphne sat on the couch with Shane, going over the finer points of their coven contract as she called out concerns and suggestions through clouds of flour in the kitchen. Morgan had filled several tiered serving trays and cake stands with delectable treats. Petite quiches, fruit tarts, madeleines dipped in chocolate, lemon scones, and his personal favorite—cinnamon buns with a cream cheese drizzle—all floated out of the room and into the large dining hall that they never used.

“When is Theresa getting here?” Shane asked warily, eyeing the last tray of sweets as they left the room.

“Fifteen minutes. If you’re not dressed yet, hop to it,” Morgan said, carrying a tray filled with tea and espresso past them, intending to make sure the hall was in order, “Has anyone seen Frey?”

“They left your outfit in your room and went to change!” Daphne called, heading to her own room.

Morgan set the beverages in the dining hall, gave it a once over and pulled back the curtains with a wave of both hands. The long, oaken table was filled with enough food to feed a gathering more than twice their size. The covered dining chairs were as clean as the day they were made, thanks to the Manor’s insistence on removing dust the second it settled. He left with a nod and a hum of approval as anticipation roiled his gut.

When he reached his room, he pushed the door open and took a sharp breath.

Laid neatly across his bed was a glistening suit, shirt, and tie; all in black. The jacket was pleated at the shoulders, and the band collar was embroidered with scattered, dark stars to match the tie. Jet inlaid, silver cufflinks and a simple belt with a sleek, silver buckle sat next to the outfit, and a pair of polished loafers rested on the floor.

Morgan ran his fingers over the fabric in awe. It was soft, almost like satin, but sturdy to the touch, shimmering in the morning light.

“A Frey original,” he whispered, “Look out, Beat Street.”

Daphne gasped and Shane’s eyes bulged when Morgan returned to the living room. He gave them a delighted twirl and a grin. Frey clapped happily from the hallway as they entered in their own suit, cream colored and smattered with red and pink roses along one arm and down the back.

“Oh, it’s so pretty on you! You’re so pretty, Morgan!”

Morgan broke into a wide smile. “So are you, Frey. Thank you for the suit. I love it. You can make me all the clothes you’d like!”

A wild look of delight spread across their face.

Daphne stroked the fabric gingerly, making soft sounds of amazement. “Can you make me a dress in this material? It’s incredible!”

“Mmm...” Frey tweaked their lips to the side. “No, not really. When I weave the fabric, I have to think of the person I’m making it for. It just sort of-” They wiggled their fingers. “Happens. But I can make you all the dresses you want in your own material! You too, Shane!”

“Aww! Thanks, Frey!” Shane giggled. His smile vanished in an instant as his eyes snapped to the entrance hall, and he stood to his feet from the armchair he’d been sitting in with a gulp. Morgan turned to follow his gaze.

Theresa Hawthorne, wearing a green cotton dress and a white jacket, tapped across the wood flooring in heels. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun and her honey-colored eyes scanned the room beneath a pair of rimmed glasses.

“Madam Hawthorne, welcome to our home.” Morgan inclined his head in a slight bow. “I believe you’ve met my apprentice, Daphne Davis.”

Daphne stepped forward, offering Theresa a gentle handshake as Morgan continued, “Of course you’re familiar with our guest, Shane McMillan.”

Theresa didn’t even glance at Shane, her lips pulling tight with a twitch.

“And allow me to introduce our newest coven member, Frey,” Morgan finished his introductions.

Frey gave Theresa a tilted smile and a deep bow.

Theresa beamed at the three magic-bearers. “Oh, wonderful. I worried, knowing it was only you and Miss Davis, that we would have trouble formalizing your house. I don’t believe I’m familiar with you, however, Frey. Are you from one of the other cities?”

“Um...” Frey shot Morgan a panicked glance.

“It’s okay, Frey. We need to tell Theresa the truth, but no one outside of this room, alright?” Morgan ignored Theresa’s puzzled looks.

Frey nodded and blew out a small breath. “My Lady Hawthorne-”

“Theresa, please dear.” She offered a curt smile.

“Theresa,” Frey continued, “Morgan saved me from an ugly man that had taken me prisoner. He took me in when I had nowhere to go. I’m... I’m from Avalon.”

Theresa’s jaw dropped as she cast glances between Frey and Morgan, “Av-Avalon? You mean to say-”

“Frey is fae, Theresa,” Morgan confirmed, “And they’ve promised to retain their human appearance and mannerisms, as well as refraining from obligations, so long as they are under mine and the Council’s protection.”

Theresa clutched her chest as she gaped at Frey. “Oh my. How marvelous. How simply marvelous! It is, however, one more thing we ought to keep from the Council for the time being. But there is no law against it, and given the need for a third member, I shall not object.”

Morgan inclined his head to her again before gesturing to the hallway behind him. “Please, I have refreshments for us in the dining hall. Daphne, the paperwork?”

Daphne rounded the sofa, picking up the heavy folder from the coffee table as they made their way into the hall.

Morgan stood while everyone seated themselves and filled small plates with food. Theresa hummed with pleasure, dipping a madeleine into her espresso. Frey stacked their dish with several of each item, taking small bites and dancing in their chair with every mouthful. Daphne and Shane sat beside one another, across from Theresa. Daphne sighed happily with a bite of a tart, while Shane prodded at a plate that held nothing but a single quiche, wearing a defeated look.

Morgan leaned against the wall, sipping a cup of tea and allowing everyone to enjoy their food. He was too nervous to eat, even though Theresa seemed to be amenable. He had one more surprise for her, and he knew she was not going to like it.

“Now then.” Theresa set her porcelain cup down with a clink. “As we discussed, Morgan, we will need to list you at a level below your actual status. If, by some miracle, we find it appropriate to divulge your true origins, then we can amend the registry later.”

Morgan nodded, setting his teacup on its plate in his hand. “Master will suffice. I have no desire to flaunt my abilities within the community. You know that I have no intention of challenging you for Head of the Council, and I don’t want to cause a fear that I might.”

Theresa nodded, withdrawing a pen from her jacket. “May I, Daphne, dear?” Daphne slid the folder toward her, and Theresa flipped to the last page of the contract with a click of the pen. “I was prepared to list you as an Elder, but I see your point. You certainly have a knack for politics, Morgan.”

“I was raised in the castle.” He chuckled. “Suppose some of their scheming must have stuck.”

Theresa smiled as she wrote. “Now, as for you two-” She looked between Daphne and Frey. “I want to keep Frey out of the spotlight as much as possible, so we need to list them as an Adept. That way no further examinations will be required.”

“What’s an examninashun?” Frey cocked their head.

“Examination, sweetie.” Daphne smiled. “It means a test. To see how strong your magic is.”

“Ew, ick!” Frey gagged. “Tests are yucky. We fae used to give them to knights just to watch their brains hurt. Nope, nope, nope.”

Theresa giggled as she turned to Daphne. “Daphne, I would like to register you currently as an apprentice, despite your level of skill. You’ll immediately qualify for testing of course, given your time under Morgan’s instruction.”

“Oh.” Daphne sulked back in her chair. “Um, okay.”

“It’s only a precaution, Daph,” Morgan assured her, “The Council is going to want to see a demonstration from one of us. Mastery tests are only held once every five years, and Frey’s magic will cause them to ask too many questions.”

“Exactly.” Theresa nodded. “Even as a dyanima, you’ll be able to present the most natural demonstration to the Council.”

“Wait, as a what?” Shane shifted abruptly to Daphne with his mouth open.

Daphne closed her eyes with a heavy sigh. “I’m- I’m a dyanima.”

Shane gaped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?” Daphne snapped, ignoring the look of frustration Theresa was giving them, “I was born male nearly a millennium ago was nothing, but this is too much for you?”

Shane’s voice cracked, “I- no! I... I didn’t know.”

Morgan moved forward, only mildly concerned with the familiar bickering between them, as he leaned over the table. “Daphne is a Dyanima Mortalis. I had no idea when I brought her to life in her new body, but the original owner, Alena, was a direct descendant of Daphne’s bloodline. Her magic bonded to her soul the same way a parent or grandparent’s magic would bond with a child’s.”

Daphne huffed, looking down at her lap. “Some dyanima occur naturally. The temporary sort like Ancestras among familial magic, or what commons call soulmates—Amaris. But Mortalis—blood related power contained in one vessel—magic like that is forbidden. Morgan didn’t know yet. He’d just gotten into the city. It’s... It’s one more thing people can’t know about us.”

Shane stared at her in wonder. “It’s- It’s okay, Daph. I’m... surprised is all.”

“Morgan, why is McMillan even here?” Theresa snapped, “This is occult business. I believe I made it clear that he has done enough meddling.”

Shane sat back in his seat, looking hurt. Daphne glowered at Theresa. “Hey! He’s been here for over a week, and he’s done nothing but help us! He even made a salve for Morgan that was beyond anything either of us have concocted before!”

“It doesn’t matter, Miss Davis.” Theresa glared, not at her, but at Shane. “He is a menace, a risk to our community and our city itself! And now he knows one more thing he shouldn’t!”

Shane started to move from his seat, but Morgan gripped his shoulder to keep him in place, making everyone turn to him.

“Actually-” Morgan met Shane’s eyes as they searched his face. “I agree with Daphne.”

Theresa stared at him in horror, clearly concerned for his mental well-being, but said nothing.

“Shane has done everything I’ve asked of him and more,” Morgan pressed, “He’s said nothing to anyone regarding our secrets, he’s studied every objective I’ve given him thoroughly, and I truly believe that the best way to address his mishandling of occult knowledge... is to teach him properly.”

“Morgan, I can’t allow a common-”

“I hereby claim Shane McMillan as a ward of House Fell,” Morgan finished before Theresa could object.

Shane inhaled sharply. His lip trembled as he stared up at Morgan. Daphne held one hand over her mouth, eyes welling over. Frey was glowing with a blissful smile, no doubt feeling the emotions in the room.

“I-” Theresa sputtered, “Morgan, you can’t be serious.”

“I am.” He turned to Theresa, his hand still steady on Shane’s shoulder. “You said that we needed to come up with a solution that would protect my secret. Well, this is it. I trust Shane, and as a formal member of my coven, he’ll be held accountable—not only to me, but to the occult community itself. I believe his extensive knowledge of our ways and the unchecked danger it could present is legal standing enough to offer him a place here.”

He had given this a lot of thought. Shane was the furthest thing from a bad person. He was gullible, overly trusting, and a bit too eager. He’d grown up on the street with no one to guide him and had still cultivated an understanding of magic enough to be considered a legitimate threat in the eyes of Theresa Hawthorne. Morgan knew he would continue sticking his nose in places it didn’t belong if they kept treating him as they always had, and eventually he wouldn’t walk away.

Theresa let out a heavy breath. She pursed her lips, staring down at the contract and tapping her pen on the table. She glanced up at Shane. “Is this what you want, Mister McMillan?”

Shane glanced between them with disbelief lingering in his eyes. “It... it is.”

Theresa gripped the pen in both hands. “I hope you understand the mess this will cause within the Council, Morgan. Not one of you is simply any ordinary member of the occult community.”

Theresa glanced up at him, the Ancient, then Frey, the fairy, then Daphne, the dyanima, and finally Shane, the spellhound. House Fell was shaping up to be quite the band of misfits, and Morgan couldn’t have been more proud.

A small gold coin appeared between his fingers, and he slid it across the tabletop to Theresa.

She snatched it and held it up to the light. “Morgan Fell, are you trying to bribe me? Gold is hardly the way to my heart, dear.”

Morgan grinned. “It’s an anchor.”

Theresa gave him a cautious look before turning the coin over in her hand, and she vanished from her seat. His coven turned to him in question, but he held a finger to his lips, and they waited. Several minutes later, Theresa reappeared, clutching the coin to her chest. “No,” she whispered, “No, it- it can’t be!” She vanished again.

“Morgan, where-” Daphne began, but he shook his head.

Theresa returned once more, still blinking away disbelief. “How? It burned, Morgan! How did you- Where did you-”

“Not all of it.” Morgan chuckled. “I became a little... obsessed when I heard the stories. Tracked down every piece of literature out there looking for rumors and myths. When I hit paydirt, there was enough left that I was able to restore what’s there with a bit of magic. It’s hidden deep beneath the wastes—and you and I are the only ones with a way in.” He finished with a wink.

“By the gods do you have style, Mister Fell.” Theresa cleared her throat, gathering the contract back into its folder. “Very well. I’ll have the final paperwork drawn up by the end of the day. Congratulations, House Fell, and welcome to the Occult Community of Etna City.”

They escorted Theresa to the entrance hall and each of them thanked her. She even gave Shane a polite nod before turning to leave. “Oh, and don’t forget that an official Harkening Ball will be expected of you as a gesture to the community. The details will be left to your discretion, of course.” She vanished for the last time that day, and Morgan heaved a sigh of relief.

“Where in the hells did you give her an anchor to?” Daphne asked impatiently the second Theresa was gone.

He turned around to the three of them, all staring. “Oh. Uh... just... the Library of Alexandria.”

Daphne and Shane looked like their heads might explode while Frey bounced happily in an armchair, weaving a tulip out of thin air and tucking it into their pocket.

“What?” Daphne yelled.

“What?” Morgan gave her a coy smirk and shrugged. “She’s a huge book nerd.”