17. The Council

Theresa called an emergency meeting of the Occult Council. Morgan and Daphne were to attend in an official capacity on behalf of House Fell, and as witnesses to Abernathy’s atrocities. Dressing for the occasion in a hurry, Morgan simply slipped a black suit jacket over his V-neck, while Daphne rushed to her room, changing into a white blouse, black slacks and heels. House Fell had yet to be issued an anchor that would allow them access to and from the Council chambers, so they waited in the living room for an escort from Theresa.

Daphne paced the wood floors, heels clacking. “Should we tell Aaron and Lexi?”

Morgan selfishly considered it, at the very least to reestablish any sort of communication with Aaron. Aaron had the right to know how far Abernathy had gone, but Morgan feared adding more stress on top of his suspension. Especially when Lexi had told them he was doing well. The last thing he wanted was to cause Aaron any more trouble. “We’ll tell them when there’s something to tell. Let’s see how this meeting goes first.”

Daphne nodded. “I suppose that’s for the best. I’m gonna fill Shane and Frey in before we leave.” She stepped into the hallway leading to their bedrooms, relaying information over her comm. Morgan crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the back of the sofa.

You don’t need to call him. Abernathy only grabbed him in a moment of opportunity.Aaron wasn’t supposed to be at the warehouse when it exploded. This tightness in your chest is just nerves. Okay, and perhaps a desperate desire to reach out to a man you’d give anything to see right now.

He had his phone out, about to shirk his own advice when Theresa appeared in the entryway.

The Council meeting room was perfectly circular, sprawling with red carpet, and lined with towering bookcases. A high, glass ceiling looked out into the dusky sky above. There were no doors in sight, by design Morgan assumed, so that the only way in or out was by anchor. A circular table took up most of the floor, save an open path along the bookshelves and a large space in the center for anyone presenting themselves. Lanterns hung from the edges of the shelves, flickering to life as they arrived.

Theresa escorted them to their seats directly beside her own massive chair at the head of the table. As they sat, several other rather wizened witches arrived, popping into sight around the table before bowing to Theresa and taking their seats. Every one of them eyed Morgan nervously, whispering to one another. He crossed his legs to stop himself anxiously bouncing his foot and folded his arms. The remainder of the Council arrived in mere moments, and Theresa stood.

“Esteemed witches of Etna City, I apologize for dragging you from your covens so abruptly-” She glanced at Morgan. “But a very serious matter has been brought to my attention by House Fell. One that has already affected witch and common alike.”

The Council members broke into a hushed rabble.

“Ransack another hospital, have you, Fell?” A short, balding man across the way chuckled.

“Enough, Reginald,” Theresa snapped, “I suggest you show Morgan the utmost respect, or I may turn a blind eye while he does as he pleases with you. While he may be a new member of our community, I assure you that he could easily wipe the floor with any witch present here in a single glance.” The room fell silent immediately. “Miss Davis, the footage if you would.”

Theresa waved at the bookcase directly behind them, and the shelf rearranged itself to reveal a large, digital display. Daphne tapped at her temple and gave it a swipe, placing the CCTV recording in view of the room. The Council watched the vid, whispering among themselves and shooting one another confused looks.

When it finished, Theresa spoke again, “What you have just witnessed, is what we suspect to be the use of runological technology of the most abominable sort. In addition to which, this man, Doctor Edward Abernathy, is believed to be in possession of several pieces of anti-witch weaponry.”

The rabble grew into a roar, some of the Council members standing to make themselves heard, others clutching their chests.

Theresa rapped on the table. “Order, Council members, order!” The discourse only grew louder. Theresa stood, clapped her hands once, and magic rippled through the air, muting the entire room. “Now, then.” She glared. “Mister Fell, if you would please recount your dealings with those affected by this man.”

She waved her hand toward him, and Morgan leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands on the table as he began telling of the events in the underground. He pointed out the way the guard moved and his facial expression, drawing parallels to the creatures he faced, while Daphne dispersed copies of the files he recovered for them to read over. By the time he finished, the entire Council was wearing expressions of disgust and outrage. Morgan turned to Theresa, and she nodded in thanks.

“At this time, I will open the floor for any questions, insights or other concerns,” Theresa called, “As this is a delicate conversation, I ask that you please raise a beacon if you wish to be heard. Otherwise, I will keep the mute intact.”

Three witches immediately raised a single finger, the tips of which emitted a soft glow in different hues. “Agatha, if you would.” Theresa waved a hand in the direction of a sweet-looking, squat witch with short, grey curls that held a sage green light aloft.

“Mister Fell-”

“Please, call me Morgan,” he interjected, earning a grin from Theresa.

“As you wish, Morgan. You may call me Agatha,” she continued, “Am I correct in understanding that the young man you collected from the facility where you encountered these poor souls is the same man whose life you saved at Central Hospital after the explosion at the site of this recording?”

“Yes, Agatha, that is correct.”

“And do you believe this Abernathy is specifically targeting him?” she asked.

Morgan’s stomach caved inward at the question he’d been struggling with himself. “In the incident in which Officer Jones was injured by the explosion, he was not part of the team that was dispatched. Unfortunately, Jones overheard the orders and, upon making the connection to his kidnapper, went of his own accord. We have no reason to believe this was a targeted attack at this time.”

Agatha nodded. “And how is he fairing, dear?” she asked.

Morgan smiled brightly at the consideration. “He’s currently taking some time to collect himself, but I believe he’s doing quite well.”

“Good, good. I’m glad to hear it,” she said with a twinkle, before nodding to Theresa.

“Thank you, Agatha,” Theresa said, “Dawson, go ahead.” She waved at the space near a tall man with dark skin, wearing a suit and a bowler hat.

“Mister Fell-” he began, but Morgan raised his eyebrows, intent on continuing to make an impression, “Morgan, my apologies, have you and your coven made any progress in locating Doctor Abernathy?”

Morgan bowed his head, “Miss Davis-”

Daphne cleared her throat.

“Daphne,” he corrected himself, shooting her a playful glare, “Was able to track his vehicle from the warehouse as far as Falkner Avenue. However, the trail went cold between Highway 17 and Lancashire Boulevard.”

Dawson bowed his head before turning to Theresa. “Elder Hawthorne, House Masters would be glad to search the location Morgan mentioned if it pleases the Council.”

Theresa nodded. “Thank you, Dawson. We’ll discuss it after we adjourn. Amadeus, proceed.”

A very grey man with a wild beard and spectacles cast a wary glance at Morgan before turning to her.

“Madam Hawthorne, my question is for you, if you don’t mind,” Theresa nodded and he continued, “My concern lies in the nature of this technology through which these souls were taken. I wonder if your prior research regarding the subject might lend us any further insight regarding this man’s methodology. Might there be some way to undo the damage done to his victims?”

Theresa furrowed her brow at the question and straightened her jacket. “Soul related practices are, as you are all aware, among the greatest of travesties a witch may perform in this day and age. The responsible practitioner being subject to branding in order to suppress their magic, or in greater offenses… execution by forced expulsion of magic.”

Every face in the room cringed. Shredding—the most cautionary of tales among magickind. Morgan had seen it before, up close and personal. A witch that pushes themselves so far, using so much magic that it pulls every drop from their being, reducing their bodies to glittering dust. In some instances, the witch could be pulled from the brink, only losing a limb or even just a patch of skin. Most often, however, it was fatal.

“As some of you know,” Theresa continued, “before soul magic was outlawed, I studied extensively with Master Ancelius, the witch that proposed the theory of the Dyanima Perfectem—a perfectly balanced union of two souls. Every human soul is, in essence, comprised of magic. Master Ancelius believed that what he referred to as the ‘Synthesis’ of two souls would give rise to an entity entirely beyond the limits of any witch we have ever seen. Creating a synergistic being—born of magic, and wholly in control of it. His theory sparked a wave of experimentation across the globe, all of which ultimately resulted in death. The losses became so great that the study and practice was prohibited.

“In relation to our current situation, I will say that in experiments that forcibly removed a soul from its body, the soul itself would fracture and break, losing pieces of its being in the process. It brings me great sorrow to say that it is nigh impossible that any of those Doctor Abernathy has violated in this way could ever resemble anything like their former selves again.” Another beacon went up as Theresa finished. “Yes, Reginald?”

The squat man that had attempted to rile Morgan earlier spoke, “Mister Fell-”

Morgan didn’t bother to correct him, certain he was intent on being a nuisance.

“Given the severity of the situation, with the Fell Coven Harkening approaching, can you assure us that the venue you have secured is indeed safe?” He gestured, open handed around the room. “Would it not, perhaps, be prudent to postpone such a large gathering?” The man raised his brows in question at Theresa.

She started to speak when Morgan cut her off. “Allow me to ease your... fears, Mister Cranely.” Morgan recalled the name from the guest list, the only Reginald. “The Fell Coven Harkening is to take place in our own home, the boundaries of which may not be entered unless the person or persons are expected or received by one of its inhabitants. Fell Manor, and the adjacent venue, both exist in an alternate space, inaccessible save the distortional passages crafted by my own hand. These passages are safeguarded and fully warded against those unwelcome.”

Whispers swept the room as Mister Cranely stammered for a response, “Well, that’s hardly-”

“However,” Morgan continued, “Should you and your coven feel unsafe in attending, I can assure you that House Fell would be loath to hold it against you if you decided it was in your best interests to withdraw your marks of attendance.” He smiled in challenge at the man.

When Cranely failed to respond, Theresa pressed, “Well, Reginald? Our gracious host has offered you an out. Do you wish to withdraw your coven’s names?”

“No.” He crossed his stubby arms over his plump chest as he sat. “No, that won’t be necessary, Elder.”

Theresa glanced around the room once more, checking for any additions to be made. “Very well, if there is nothing more, then as Elder and Head of the Occult Council of Etna City, I hereby propose a warrant for the capture and or execution of Doctor Edward Abernathy, for the crimes of murder, and the willful violation of the Common-Occult Ordinance. All those in favor?”

Every single witch on the Council raised their beacon. Theresa cleared her throat to get Morgan’s attention. “Morgan you are now the head of your coven, permitted a seat on the Council, and therefore a vote.”

“Oh... lovely,” he muttered under his breath, raising his own violet light with his index finger.

“The vote is unanimous. The warrant is cast. Whichever coven carries out punishment will be greatly rewarded,” Theresa proclaimed, rising to her feet, “Any further information regarding this matter is to be brought directly to me. This meeting is adjourned. We shall see you all in three days’ time for the Fell Coven Harkening Ball.”

Back at the Manor, Theresa lingered for a moment to praise the way Morgan handled himself in front of the Council. He was taken aback when she stepped in for a quick hug before returning to discuss the proposed search for Abernathy. Exhausted from politics, he collapsed face first into one of the living room sofas.

“Well, that was... something. So glad I get to attend regularly,” he groaned into the couch.

Daphne slumped into a nearby armchair as Shane and Frey came in from the front door.

“Hey, you’re back!” Shane called.

“Only in body.” Daphne sighed. “I’m not sure my mind made it out of that stuffy room intact.”

“That bad?” Frey asked, placing a bulging white bag on the coffee table, “Here, we brought treats!”

“Ugh. Yes. Food,” Morgan grunted, pushing himself upright, “And not bad, just... rather pointless.” He pulled a large, cream-filled donut from the package.

“I did enjoy watching you put that jackass, Cranely, in his place.” Daphne grinned, snatching the bag from him.

“Focking liddle pesht,” Morgan said eloquently through a mouthful of pastry.

Daphne grabbed a cruller. “At least everyone gave us permission to take out Abernathy.”

Morgan swallowed. “And there’s a reward in it for us now.”

“Ooh, time for a manhunt?” Shane dropped into the other sofa, perking up at the mention of a payout.

“Pardy fursht. Den sanchuned murder.” Morgan was far too tired for manners.

The next two days were filled with nothing but audio calls, invoices and clothes fittings. Morgan had let Frey decorate the ballroom, and he decided to check on them after they vanished for three hours. When he got to the venue, his eyes popped at the sight of Frey—the only word he could think of was frolicking—through what used to be his ballroom but was now nothing short of a wild fairy garden.

Pink and white flowers that glittered with soft sparkles literally covered every surface. Morgan waded through the petals, scattering them into the air in tiny pink bursts as he went, to reach Frey. They cackled, falling into the flowers with a thud and sending petals everywhere.

“Frey, darling, this is beautiful, but...” Morgan tried to say as kindly as possible, “We have to be able to host a party here.”

“This is perfect for a party, silly!”

Morgan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A human party, Frey. I love flowers, but maybe dial it back? Like, a lot?”

“Oh, fine,” Frey grumped, getting to their feet, “Human parties sound awful.”

Morgan received a brief message from Theresa the day before the ball informing him that the Council’s search parties had turned up nothing on Abernathy. He wasn’t surprised. If Daphne hadn’t found him yet, he very much doubted that they would. He responded to Theresa, letting her know that as soon as the ball was over, Abernathy would be his only focus. Which was mostly true. Morgan was finding it hard to focus on anything other than the fact that a certain name on the RSVP list remained blank.

He was trying his best to stay positive. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if his love life had to wait until after the ball was over and he’d managed to take care of the psycho that had locked Aaron up and nearly blew him to pieces. Then at least they could talk with a bit of good news preceding the conversation.

Morgan ended a call with the caterers, confirming payment and ensuring they had the right time and place, when Frey appeared at his side. They wrapped an arm around his elbow and skipped happily toward Morgan’s bedroom, dragging him along and practically singing. “My turn to surprise you!”

Frey pushed the door aside, and Morgan’s jaw hit the floor, the sight before him nearly bringing him to tears.

Next to his bed stood a mannequin cloaked in shimmering, black fabric. The waistcoat was held in place by three silver buttons, with sleeves that puffed at the shoulder beneath a menacing, whisk collar. Glittering, silver leaves were embroidered along the top of the chest, running over the back and down the tails of the coat, with vines connecting them in a filigree pattern. The black trousers were simple, laced with cord down the thighs, and a pair of black, leather, knee-high boots with silver buckles rested on the floor.

Frey giggled with joy at the awe on Morgan’s face. “You like it?”

“By the gods, Frey...” Morgan reached out, gingerly running his fingers along the embroidery. “It’s gorgeous! I love it!”

“That’s not all!” they sang, holding out their hands to reveal a beautiful, black half-mask that covered a single eye, smattered with glistening, black gemstones. At the side was a tiny cluster of small, purple roses, and the edges were bordered with what appeared to be genuine silver plating.

Morgan moved to the large, standing mirror on the other side of his bed, holding the mask to his face. His silver eye shined brightly beneath as it fit perfectly, sticking firm with no need for strings or tape to stay in place. He sighed, knowing he’d have to take the outfit off at some point and wear normal clothes again after the party.

He was pulled from his vanity-stricken bliss as his phone vibrated from his pocket. “Sorry, Frey. Probably the bartenders, I have to take this. This is incredible! You’re incredible! Thank you!”

He hurried from the room, setting the mask on his bed with care. He pulled out his phone—and his stomach threatened to implode.

“Aaron Jones calling...”