3. Ancient

Morgan turned his bike onto Avery Street, a dilapidated back road leading into Etna’s Central District. Shane held on for dear life while they blazed through the city, away from the ECPD and whatever forces Esotech had chosen to send in response to their mostly successful heist. The power had been restored about halfway through their trip, and the buildings around them flared back to life with a vibrant spectacle of neon lights flicking on in an instant to envelop them in color.

Whatever Morgan’s magic had done in response to his grimoire subsided moments after they left the scene, his eyes returning to their usual silver. It had been a ghastly sight—black voids staring back at him while dark veins pulsed across his cheekbones in his rear-view mirrors. He had seen witches’ eyes take on aspects of their power plenty of times, but it was always violet for him, and only when he was using his magic. He shoved it to the back of his mind, along with that voice he couldn’t seem to shake, for Future-Morgan to deal with should it happen again.

He made another sharp turn, and Shane’s grip tightened. He may have purposely been driving more recklessly than usual. If the man remained in a state of fear, he couldn’t get too comfortable with his arms wrapped around him. Morgan turned off Avery in front of a run-down building that stretched so high it would put a tweak in the neck of anyone trying to see the top. They passed a weather-worn marquee sign that once said Central Valley Flats with several letters missing and the lights blown out, driving down a ramp alongside the building and into an underground parking garage.

“You can’t be serious,” Shane called over the engine, eyeing the row of parked vehicles; a large, black conversion van they took on bigger jobs, Daphne’s small, yellow Vega SR coupe, and Morgan’s flashy, black Pegasus 400 sports convertible. “You do not actually live here. This place has been falling apart since before I was born.”

Morgan parked the Delubrexa alongside his car, and Shane hopped off to ogle the convertible. Morgan swung his leg over before popping the hatch on the back of the bike to grab the grimoire. He strode across the small lot toward the elevator at the back, ignoring the other man fixated on the vehicles.

“You plan on sleeping out here?” Morgan echoed apathetically, pressing the call button.

Shane gave him a puzzled look as he jogged over. “Uh, sleeping? I thought we were just getting this thing off my neck?” The doors opened with a ding, and they stepped inside.

Morgan rested his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “The only one who can remove a hex is the witch that placed it. If Theresa hexed you, then you really got under her skin. She’s the head of the Occult Council; technically the most powerful witch in the city, with an image to keep. She doesn’t go around slapping death sentences on anyone that looks at her the wrong way. Waking her up in the middle of the night is not how I want to start this conversation.”

Shane bit his lip, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I guess that’s a smart move. It wasn’t like I knew that pen was a sanctioned artifact. I didn’t even know what it was! I just took the package from the client and went where I was told.”

There was only one item matching that description; a cursed quill that would write you a masterpiece—and drain you of your soul in the process. Artists, writers, and lyricists at the end of their rope, wanting nothing more than to leave something behind when they departed this world, had killed for it over and again.

“You were smuggling the gods-damned Muse’s Reed?” Morgan groaned, “Never mind, I don’t wanna know. All that matters is that your obligation was to go after this.” He lifted the grimoire in his hand. “It’s mine, and I think she knows that. She can’t rightfully force you to steal a witch’s spell book from them. You’d be screwed either way.”

Shane let out a breath as they reached their floor. They stepped out into a small vestibule of stained, hardwood floors with matching, wainscoted walls, an ornate rug in the center, and tall vases filled with vibrant, red roses. It made for a drastic change from the rest of the building.

“Not a word about-” Morgan gestured to his eyes, reaching for the gold handle on a large, wooden door. Shane nodded as the door swung open.

The entryway matched the lobby; a long, red runner across the wood flooring, the space dimly lit by sconces bearing actual candles. A pleasant scent filled their nostrils from the many different flowers decorating every surface. The walls groaned loudly as Shane followed him inside, and Morgan reached out to stroke the wainscoting. “He’s only staying here tonight. Don’t work yourself up,” he spoke sweetly.

Shane shot him a concerned glance that he ignored, and the creaking subsided.

An urgent meow came from Morgan’s feet, and he reached down to collect a small cat from the floor. It was all black, save one small patch of white on its chest, and it purred like a tiny chainsaw the second he acknowledged it.

“Hey, princess.” Morgan inclined his head, and the cat nudged his forehead in greeting before turning in his arms to glance at Shane. “He’s gotta crash here tonight, okay? I need you to keep an eye on him. Teeth and claws are permitted.”

The cat yawned widely before leaping back to the ground with a soft thud. She then turned on the spot, sat on her hind legs, and stared adamantly at Shane. The man released an uncomfortable chuckle. “That’s an... obedient cat.”

“Smartest cat I’ve ever met.” Morgan wore an amused grin as he strode from the hall, through an archway into a grand kitchen lined with black marble counters and filled with rustic appliances. “Oh, and she can travel between shadows, so don’t think she won’t be on your tail every second that you’re here.”

“She can what?” Shane gasped.

Morgan smiled wickedly through a bite from an apple. He paced around the counter and into an enormous living area filled with slightly mismatched sofas and armchairs, lined with bookshelves, and a massive video display near a glass door that led to a balcony, taking a seat in a plush, red armchair in the corner.

“Glimmer!” he called, patting the arm of the chair and clicking his tongue.

Shane turned to see the cat, still staring at him. At Morgan’s summons, it stood, strut beneath a console table in the hall, and vanished. Shane’s eyes bulged as he whipped back to Morgan, finding Glimmer curling up in his lap and purring contently.

“For real, Morgan?” a voice droned from the hall.

Daphne leaned against the archway with arms folded disapprovingly over her chest. Dark braids hung over the shoulders of her yellow t-shirt, down to her waist. She wore white leggings that contrasted the mahogany skin of her bare feet. Her hazel eyes narrowed on Shane before turning back to Morgan. “You didn’t dump him in the gutter after you got him out of there? Had to bring him here to show off your magic cat?”

Morgan snickered as he stroked Glimmer’s head. “Just alerting him to our home defense system. In case he gets any ideas.”

She choked a laugh as she padded through the living room. “Between the cat and the Manor’s attitude, I think we’re secure. I could hear the creaking from my office.” She took a seat on the sofa beside Morgan’s chair and glanced up at Shane. “Try to make off with anything and you’ll likely open the front door and trip right into the swimming pool.”

“I’m not-” Shane rolled his eyes, then cast a nervous glance around as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “Morgan’s helping me out here, I’m not going to repay him by ganking his stuff.”

Daphne cocked her head at Morgan. “And how are we helping him?”

Morgan let out a soft sigh. “Theresa marked him with an obligation hex. That’s why he was at the vault.” He held up the large, black tome.

“What?” Daphne sputtered, “I told you, Morgan! I told you I’d felt her power near your-” She cut herself off with a glance at Shane. “Why did she want your grimoire?”

Morgan rolled his head back, staring at the ceiling. He had reasoned out exactly why on the drive home. Many witches were nothing without their grimoires. Losing it would be like losing a limb to some. While Morgan had been gifted a direct link to the Well beneath the city, having been to Avalon in the flesh and swearing himself to its protection, the book was still an extension of his power. Theresa wanted something from him. Something big. Something worth the effort of reuniting a witch with their lost spell book. Reuniting an Ancient with their spell book, nonetheless.

The remaining cities of the world had come together a century past, after magic had been unquestionably revealed to commons. Revealed by another Ancient, in a battle over the remaining habitable land. Gullveig, the sorceress of Norse myth, had led an uprising of witches in an attempt to secure the once shining city of Vorunir for magickind. Ultimately, between the power of Gullveig, her followers, and the anti-witch weaponry the commons had conceived, the city was reduced to rubble, killing millions. Upon witnessing the devastation her convictions had wrought, Gullveig vanished into the wastes and was never seen again.

To cohabitate afterwards, within what little world mankind had left, witches had formed councils in every city, subjecting themselves to registration simply to appease their governments. Under the clause of registration existed a classification system to document each individual witch’s power, should they become a threat. And in the eyes of commons and witches alike, there was no greater threat than the emergence of another Ancient.

“She wants me to register.” Morgan clenched his fists. “To form an official coven and register us under the Council. The grimoire was to be a favor. A bargaining chip.”

“What?” Daphne leapt to her feet. “You can’t! The whole city would lose its fucking mind! It could start another w-”

She cut herself off at the livid, wide-eyed expression on Morgan’s face and she whirled around to Shane. Still leaning against the counter, the man cast his eyes from Daphne to the grimoire at Morgan’s side, and then to Morgan himself. His eyes swelled.

“You’re an Ancient,” he whispered as Morgan flew to his feet, dropping Glimmer to the floor with an indignant meow, and crossing the room in a few angry steps, “You weren’t kidding! Holy shit, you’re freaking Morgan le F-”

Morgan clenched his fist in front of Shane’s face, and the man’s mouth snapped shut of its own accord. Still holding his hand up to maintain the spell, he turned back to Daphne with a look of furious annoyance.

“Sorry!” she croaked with her fists clutched tight below her chin and her face contorted in apology, “How did he even make the connection? Your rune should’ve cut him off!”

Morgan looked back to Shane, then down to his arm. He dropped his magical grip, and Shane gasped. Morgan threw off his jacket and lifted the sleeve of his shirt to reveal his scarred rune. He raised his hand to assess his spell from five years past. His palm glowed, but the rune gave no response—it was nothing more than a scar.

Morgan furrowed his brow. “It’s broken.”

Daphne moved to his side, eyes darting between him and the rune. “How? I thought only you could break it?”

Morgan turned to brace himself against the back of the sofa. He glanced up and across the room, his eyes landing on the grimoire where it sat in the abandoned armchair. “Only my magic could break it.”

Daphne and Shane followed his gaze. Daphne walked to the chair, turning back to Morgan. “Can I?”

Morgan waved his hand dismissively. “By all rights, you’re my apprentice, even if not on paper. You don’t need to ask permission.”

“They’re called manners, sweetie.” She pursed her lips at him as she snatched up the grimoire and sat. She flipped the pages carefully, skimming the spellwork and various notes Morgan had taken throughout his forgotten life.

“I thought you were a woman?” Shane asked stupidly, the fear for his life clearly fading as he approached Morgan from behind, “So... the blast? That crazy-” He made an exploding gesture with both hands. “That broke your cover?”

Daphne glanced up at Morgan with raised brows.

Morgan rounded the sofa, dropping into it defeatedly. “That thing-” He jerked his head begrudgingly at the book in Daphne’s hands. “-had traces of my magic in it. Then gods know what happened to it when I was cursed-”

“You were cursed?” Shane interjected, leaning over the sofa as he hung on every word Morgan said like a toddler watching their favorite vid.

Daphne shot him a look to silence him, and Morgan continued, “Imagine two sources of energy that are magnetically drawn to one another.” He pointed between the grimoire and himself. “Now imagine they both had seventeen hundred years to charge-”

“So, you basically became a magical nuke.” Daphne closed the book and crossed her arms over it in her lap. “Strong enough to short out your own spell.”

“And the whole city,” Shane added.

“Half,” Morgan snapped, “Probably did a number on everything in that vault too.”

Daphne belted a laugh. “Poor Esotech! Right in their holdings!”

Morgan blew an amused breath through his nose, sharing the sentiment. He grabbed his leather jacket from the sofa and stood to his feet, reaching out for the tome in Daphne’s lap. “I’m going to bed.”

“You don’t sleep,” Daphne scoffed, handing him the grimoire.

“Okay, I’m going to my bedroom!” he called back, already making his way down the hall.

Morgan’s door shut, and Shane stood, hands on the back of the couch while Daphne still sat in the armchair. They were silent for a time, lost in their thoughts, before Shane looked up. “Is he going to kill me now?”

“Not tonight,” Daphne chuckled, standing up with a yawn and a stretch, “There are guest rooms down that hall.” She pointed to the hallway opposite of where Morgan had gone. “Help yourself to anything you find in the kitchen.”

She left down the same hall as Morgan, and Shane wandered into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, looking over its contents. He reached for something, when the door of the fridge wrenched itself from his grip, slamming shut on its own and nearly removing his hand.

Morgan sat on the roof, watching the sunrise. It was a regular practice of his. The view was the main reason he had bought the old place. Etna and the current era may not have been his favorite, but this was a sight he never tired of; the whole of the city spread out below him from the top of his tower.

His was one of the tallest buildings in the city, second only to the eyesore of a monolith that was the Esotech tower some miles away. The word ESOTERITECHNIKA stained the sky to the north—that blasted eye logo beneath like an omen straight out of high fantasy—but if you gazed south, you could almost imagine that this was a wonderful place. From the coastline to the edge of the city and out into the wastes, barring an occasional gunshot or the wail of police sirens, it radiated peace.

His legs dangled over the parapet, hands gripping the edge. He was graced with a visit from a lone raven, the same one that visited him every morning. He’d like to think it was for his company, but it was more likely the nuts he always carried in his pocket for the bird. He scattered a small handful onto the ledge, and the raven picked them up one by one. “Well, I got my grimoire back,” he said to the bird, “I thought it would give me answers, but... I only have more questions.”

He had spent the night in his room, flicking through the book; some of the writing familiar and most of it forgotten. What really concerned him was the very last page. It had been ripped out. That was something only he could have done himself. Had anyone else tried to remove a page, the grimoire would have simply replaced it, leaving the thief with a piece of blank parchment. They could tear out every single page, and the next time they opened it, everything would be there as if it had never happened.

What scared him the most was the idea that he could have done this to himself. The idea that he might have taken his own memories away and gone to sleep willingly, removing the page that would’ve told him the truth.

“I swear...” Daphne called, creaking the access door open, “You are nicer to that bird than you are to most humans.”

The raven snatched up the last couple of nuts before flying away, cawing at the intrusion.

Morgan breathed a laugh. “Animals behave the way they do out of instinct. Humans are awful on account of their own egos.” He clutched at his left forearm, remembering a particularly cruel man as best he was able.

Daphne grabbed his shoulder in comfort. He jerked at the touch, but she stayed. “Not all people are like Uther, Morgan.”

“No,” he said, making to stand, “Some of them are worse. The rest don’t have the power to challenge their oppressors.”

He gazed out over the city, the sun above the horizon now, as he tried to push the thoughts from his mind. King Uther screaming, shoving Morgan to the stone floor as he reached for an iron prod from the fire. The searing pain on his skin. The smell of his own burning flesh. Spit flying from Uther’s mouth and his eyes filled with murder. He remembered running from the castle that night, out into the woods, intending to leave.

But he stayed. For some reason he couldn’t remember, he remained in Camelot, and that was the last time Uther ever touched him.

He turned to Daphne with sadness in his eyes. “It’s been centuries, Daph. Empires have risen and fallen over and again while I slept, and... They’re still so broken. They still climb on the backs of anyone they deem different than them; magickind, the poor, different skin, different preferences, or genders, anyone they can label as lesser, and there’s always a new target. All to lift themselves up. Just to try and feel a little less... insignificant.” He sighed, biting his lip. “Then they die. They all end up in the dirt, regardless of how high they climbed.”

Daphne reached out and took his hand with a smile. “Not you, though. You haven’t aged a day since we left that tomb.”

Morgan laughed. “Yeah... Suppose I’ll never understand them, huh?”

Daphne hadn’t aged herself. She would eventually, slowly, and unnoticed, so long as magic coursed in her veins. She wasn’t frozen in time the way he was, though. He could die, of course, but it would be a violent death. His pact with the Well demanded his presence in the world.

His phone vibrated from his pocket. Daphne released his hand with a nod, turning to leave before looking back to him. “Be careful with her, okay? She knows too much, Morgan.”

Morgan nodded, bracing himself as he answered. “Fell here.”

“I assume from your display last night and the fact that my spell never took effect that both McMillan and the grimoire are in your care?” Theresa Hawthorne said in her thick, stubbornly British accent on the other end. Noticeable accents in Etna only belonged to those who grew up in the city’s small, ethnic enclaves and those who were born before the world had been forced together into what little space remained. Theresa was very much the latter, hailing from the Victorian age as best Morgan knew.

“They are,” Morgan said, “And I assume, given your connections and capabilities, that you were perfectly aware of what you sent Shane to retrieve?”

She cleared her throat. “I was.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, “Then I think we can safely drop the pretenses, Theresa. You know who I am, and I know what you want from me.”

She sighed. “Very well. However, I insist that you continue to use your current surname. The city’s elite have held suspicions toward you for years, Morgan, both common and witch. Those suspicions may have been confirmed for many of them last night. I sensed old power in that blast from the opposite side of the city. If we acknowledge it in any way, there is no telling what may follow.”

“That won’t be a problem.” He glanced at his arm where his pointless rune hid beneath his shirt. “Someone at Esotech knows, though. They baited me there. Dumbasses were just stupid enough to have the book on them when they showed.”

Theresa laughed. “For how invested they are in our practices, they certainly implement very little tact when they want something from us. They know what awaits if they divulge your identity, however. They wouldn’t dare.”

Morgan nodded to himself, crossing his free arm over his chest. “Now that that’s out of the way, you mind telling me why my apprentice caught you snooping around my tomb?”

“Oh.” Theresa chuckled. “She’s good, Morgan. Very good. Is it any wonder that I might take intrigue in a potential Ancient presence, though? Ever since dear Gully took her leave, the conversation regarding the many secrets lost to the world has become scant at best.”

“Conversation?” Morgan scoffed, “That’s your play?”

Theresa giggled. “I like friends in high places, darling, what can I say?”

“Uh huh,” he droned, “and I’m sure archaic gossip is the only reason you want me on the Council.”

Theresa sighed heavily. “It is a precautionary, and now I fear a necessary measure, Morgan. The Council bring you up at almost every meeting out of concern. If I felt your power last night, several of them did as well. The only path to quelling their unrest is a sign of compliance on your end.”

“Oh, come on, Theresa,” Morgan snarked, “Don’t think that just because I’m not a part of the Council that I’m unaware how much of a sham it is these days. They hardly cooperate with one another, and you know damn well you’re after another pawn on your side of the board in case any of the Houses fall out of line again.”

“A pawn?” Theresa mused, “Hardly. You would be the queen to my king. And unless you have plans to take my place yourself, which I seriously doubt someone of your frivolous and secretive nature to have any interest in, then you and I want the same thing for this city.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“A place where magic and those in possession of it are treated with respect, Morgan.”

Morgan sighed, pacing the roof in thought. Their interests were indeed aligned, but being a team player wasn’t exactly his strong suit. If he remained unregistered, the Council would have to take action against him. If he was recognized for who he truly was, the city could rally against him and every other witch here. “I won’t be registering accurately, I take it?”

“Oh, heavens no, of course not,” she said, “We can discuss the details at a later time. For now, I simply want to know that I have your cooperation.”

Morgan set his jaw. “Remove Shane’s hex and I’m in.”

“That’s your only demand? You might be going soft, dear.” Theresa laughed again, and a loud crack came through the line. “It’s done, but Morgan... how much does McMillan know?”

He growled dejectedly. He was afraid she would ask something along those lines, and there was no point in lying to Theresa Hawthorne. She would get the truth eventually. “Enough.”

“Shit.” The woman had rarely cursed in all five years that Morgan had known her. “Then you’ll need to keep a close watch on him. At all times. He absolutely cannot be trusted with this information. If he is seen in the city without you or your apprentice, I will have him taken in and dealt with.”

“For how long?” Morgan groaned at the idea of Shane being around twenty-four-seven.

“Until we can find a solution,” she snapped, “That man is nothing but trouble, and I’ll be damned if I let him be the reason this city burns. If that’s too much to ask, then kill him and be done with it.”