4. Stalker

Morgan needed something sweet to settle his nerves. He didn’t want to register. He certainly didn’t want to be part of the stuffy Occult Council, which would be required of him as the head of his coven. On top of that, he would be representing the Occult Community as a whole, placing him under constant scrutiny from the city ministries. He was already the subject of gossip and scandal on a near monthly basis, and the Council would not appreciate his brand of mercenary work or the way it drew attention. Not to mention the likelihood of getting wrapped up in whatever political games came to light after joining the fold. And he most definitely did not want Shane McMillan under his roof for an indeterminate amount of time.

So naturally, he was in the kitchen, preparing an ungodly number of pancakes.

With a snap of his fingers, the stovetop blazed to life, and he set the griddle across the burners. He grabbed a large mixing bowl from below and beckoned to the cupboards above him. The flour, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla came soaring out, landing gently on the counter. With another wave of his hand, the milk, eggs, and butter followed from the fridge.

Comforts like cinnamon and vanilla had been all but lost to the world, rarely imported between the caravans that braved the wastes. Morgan had spent a great deal of time attempting to revive various plant species in their greenhouse. Initially, it was for the sake of brewing potions, but when he began to have some success, he got a bit carried away.

The batter reached his preferred consistency, and he outstretched his hand toward the bowl, lifting steadily with a nudge of magic. The batter bubbled, filling with air. He then pulled a small, swirling blob from the bowl, directing it through the space to the griddle, where it fell, sizzled, and began filling the house with a comforting aroma.

A few dozen pancakes later, Daphne came drifting into the room, taking a deep inhale with a hum. Her face dropped instantly when she saw the towering stacks covering the countertop. “Oh. Oh, gods. You even fluffed them. How bad is it? Are we at war with the Council? Are they coming for us? They can’t get in, right?”

Morgan swatted toward the cake on the stove, sending it through the air to land on the furthest stack with a gentle plop, staring at her sideways. “Dramatic.”

“Well?” she whined, taking a seat on one of the barstools along the counter, “You only cook when you’re frustrated, you drown your sorrows in sweets, and dear goddess of the hearth, Morgan, those look incredible. So, I have to assume we’re all doomed.”

“We’re not doomed, you nutter.” He rolled his eyes, grabbing some plates from the cupboard. “We do have to talk, though. Where’s Shane?”

A grunt came from the nearest sofa facing away from them and Shane sat bolt upright. “No, don’t flush me!”

Daphne and Morgan whipped their heads to face him. He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings and smacking his lips before turning toward the kitchen. “What is that smell? Did you kill me? Am I in heaven?”

“You’re on my couch,” Morgan snapped, “Like you’d make it to heaven.”

“Why are you on the couch?” Daphne asked, turning her whole body toward him on the stool.

Shane grunted again and stood, stumbling toward them to take the seat beside her with a yawn. “Couldn’t find a bedroom. Found a lot of bathrooms, though. Why do you guys have so many bathrooms?”

Morgan and Daphne broke into a hearty laugh while Morgan dished up breakfast for each of them. “Well, the Manor is going to have to get used to you eventually, it seems. Theresa removed your hex, but she made me your personal warden for the time being.”

“Wha?” Shane gawked with an open mouth full of food.

Morgan shrugged, dowsing his plate in maple syrup. “You know I’m an Ancient. She doesn’t think you can keep your mouth shut.”

Shane shut his mouth with a tense gulp, rubbing the spot on his neck where the hex had been.

“That’s just luxe.” Daphne closed her eyes, releasing a sigh. “Anything else?”

Morgan swallowed his mouthful of pancakes. They helped a little, and he complimented himself internally on his griddle skills. “Yeah. We’re going to register. Welcome to House Fell.”

After breakfast, showers and a change of clothes, Morgan and Daphne headed to the armory, a large open space laden with black, sparring mats. The walls were lined with practice dummies, racks and cabinets full of different weapons and protective gear, and several magical artifices with their individual purposes. The two of them wore lightweight clothing as they exchanged blows, magic free for the sake of the room.

Shane watched from a long table beside the mats, eyeing the various arcane items in the room from behind the book Morgan had thrown at him, a dusty volume titled Coping with the Occult for Commons. He had initially picked up An Herbalist’s Guide to Superior Potions, claiming to know his way around a cauldron, but Morgan yanked it from his hands, returning it to its shelf with a flick of the wrist. If Shane was intent on bettering his magical knowledge, he was going to start by learning how to stay out of trouble.

Daphne’s hair was tied back, her braids whipping dangerously as she threw kick after kick. Morgan deflected and dodged the onslaught, toying with her while she tired herself out. After almost an hour they both glistened with sweat. Morgan’s eyes were wide with focus, a cocky grin on his face as she lunged with a punch. He sidestepped her in a flash, sweeping a leg behind her and knocking her to the ground.

“Rude!” she yelled from the floor.

Morgan reached down with a chuckle. Her eyes glittered gold as she took his hand, and she gave a tug, dragging him down with a yelp. She rolled, straddling his chest and pinning his arms to the floor above his head.

“Darling, we’ve been over this.” Morgan smirked. “You’re not my type.”

Daphne chuckled and gave him a playful pat on the cheek. “Like I could handle all that sullen, broody baggage of yours.”

He rolled his eyes and gave her a shove. “Get off.”

Daphne bounced to her feet with a smile and a stretch. She walked past Shane to a rack of weapons. “Hey, I saw something in the grimoire last night. A sketch of a sword, but I couldn’t make out the writing on the page.”

Morgan chugged a bottle of water from the other side of the mat. He emptied it and crunched the bottle in his palm before making it vanish. “Long strings of consonants, hardly any vowels?”

She scoffed, twirling a long spear in the space around her, “I recognize your native tongue, dit. Can’t pronounce it to save my life, but... this script was nothing I’ve ever seen before. Hang on.” She set the spear back on the rack and jogged to the door. “Morgan’s study, please.” She swung the door open, and in place of the long hall they had entered from was a small room with red carpet and a grand desk, lined with shelves and cabinets. “Good house.”

Shane gaped after her as she came back with the book in her hands, flipping the pages about halfway through the contents.

“Mmm... here!” she said, jabbing a finger to the page. She placed the book on the table in front of Shane so that it faced Morgan as he walked over.

He ran his fingers along the edge of the page he hadn’t noticed. In the center, taking up most of the space, was an ornate longsword. Dark metal made up the pommel, haft, and blade. The grip was fitted with leather and adorned with a stone at the end. The guard was shaped into an elegant pair of extended wings, bearing another gem in the center. The ricasso curved inward above the haft, then spread outward and back again to form the point, and the entire blade was etched with beautiful, flowering vines.

Morgan stared. It was clearly his drawing, his writing as well. The words annotated individual parts of the sword. The script was elegant, graceful, and something very much not native to most. “It’s fae,” he whispered, “The writing. It’s fae language. This is a kingmaker blade... just like Caliburn.”

“Caliburn?” Shane asked.

“Excalibur,” Morgan muttered with a wave, “Caledfwlch, Caliburnus. Same blade, different eras and tongues. Forged by human hands with magic gifted from the Well to one it deems worthy.”

“So is this one…” Shane breathed, “yours?”

“You ever hear of King Morgan le Fay?” Morgan shot him an irritated glance. “No, this had to be... I don’t know what. I can’t remember. A replacement for Caliburn, maybe? Arthur did lose it once. From a cliff during battle. Fell right into the ocean.”

“He lost Excalibur?” Daphne gawked.

Morgan nodded absentmindedly, trying to recall the language on the pages he hadn’t spoken in centuries. He pointed to the notation on the blade. “Heart of the Mountain.” He trailed down to the stones. “Stars of the Southern Sky.” And then to the leather of the pommel. “Hide of the Shadowed Beast.”

“What are those? Sounds mysterious.” Shane leaned forward in his seat.

“That was the point,” Morgan droned, “The fae don’t give details, especially for something this precious. Solving their riddles is just another test.”

He paused as he attempted to recall something, anything about why this would be in his grimoire, when a thought occurred to him. Perhaps he was everything the stories say. Perhaps this was meant to be his sword—a weapon to wield against Caliburn.

“What’s this one?” Daphne asked, noting the look on his face.

Morgan glanced to the bottom of the page where she indicated with her finger. “Um...” He focused, shaking off his melancholy. “It says ene eseras.”

They both stared blankly.

“Sorry,” he fumbled, “It’s an instruction. One of the laws of magic. Kingmakers are sentient objects with wills of their own. To forge that kind of life into something, there has to be balance within the components. The items listed here have to be taken straight from their sources to ensure the magic is of the same age and era. Otherwise, the spell becomes unstable and breaks down. The materials couldn’t be bought or traded for. They had to be claimed by the worthy.”

Daphne opened her mouth to say something but stopped, pressing a finger to her temple. She tapped at her comm, wrinkling her brows. “Uh... Morgan... your stalker is here.”

“You have a stalker?” Shane said in amusement.

Morgan clenched his eyes with a growl. “Ignore her. She’ll go away eventually.”

Daphne continued tapping away. “Well, she’s wandering around on the floor just below us. Hang on, I think she’s yelling something, let me see if I can get audio.”

Morgan groaned, grabbing the grimoire and drifting toward the door. “Ignore her.” He reached for the door handle. “My bedroom.”

“She’s calling your name,” Daphne yelled after him, “She says she needs help, Morgan. She sounds desperate.”

For the past four years, at least two or three times a year, a daring woman would show up on Morgan’s property. Usually, she would only wander the lot and sparse grass surrounding the building. One time she left a stack of flyers for a singles mixer at a local bar scattered across the place, which Morgan had gone down and set fire to as a cleanup measure. That was when Daphne took to calling her his stalker.

He had Daphne scope her out on the net to see if he could rationalize killing her at one point. She didn’t seem to have any particularly outstanding eccentricities, other than an obsession with local legends about the rifts. She lived in a somewhat unruly part of town, worked at a salon in the East District, and was constantly sharing photos of her and what Daphne described as her “unfairly attractive best friend” from some dive bar.

Morgan was over her random appearances, and he planned to give her a scare she wouldn’t want to relive as he stepped off the elevator. His eyes glowed, and he vanished from sight at the end of the hall.

“Morgan! Please! I don’t know who else to go to! I need your help!” she cried out from down the hallway, leaving one of the vacant rooms.

“Alexandra Queen...” his voice echoed through the entire space, and she whirled around, “Trespassing is one thing... trespassing here... again and again...” He tutted with his tongue. “Foolish girl.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Morgan Fell!” She spoke the last name like an insult, glaring down the hall in his direction before turning away. “Please! My best friend was kidnapped! The police won’t help me!”

Morgan cackled, resounding across the space. “And you think I will? You couldn’t afford me even if I deigned to oblige such a dull request.”

“I know you’re not the person everyone says you are,” she said softly, but loud enough that he could hear, “Me and Aaron, we’re sort of... fans of yours. We know you help people in Etna. You make a difference here.”

His eyes narrowed on her. Something in those words enraged him. Some simple, common girl assuming anything of the sort sparked fury in his gut. He stepped behind her, dropping his spell.

“You know nothing about me.” His eyes burned with violet fire, shadows swelling from behind him.

The woman spun around, terrified at his sudden appearance.

“You meannothing to me,” he hissed, “I could end your life right here. You would be another missing person... just like your friend.”

Her hand went to her chest, and for a moment Morgan thought she was going to run, that he might finally be rid of her, when something in her eyes softened. The hand over her heart shifted, tucking in her pinky and thumb to show only three fingers. It wasn’t a modern gesture that he was familiar with, people still preferred the one finger to express their distaste, yet something about it held his gaze.

The woman tilted her head gently to the side, tears glistening on the edge of her eyelids as she spoke, “It’s really you.”

Morgan opened his mouth to retort, something about who else she was expecting, when an impatient voice called from the elevator.

“Morgan, quit being an ass and bring the poor girl upstairs.” Daphne had been listening, because of course she had. She glowered at him from the end of the hall with her arms folded over her chest impatiently. “If you won’t help her, I will.”

Morgan glared, but if Daphne wanted to take some simple missing person job, he wasn’t going to stop her. He turned back to Alexandra, extending his hand toward the elevator with lifted brows. She turned and offered a smile to Daphne, approaching with caution while Morgan followed.

Daphne wrapped one arm around Alexandra’s shoulders as they entered the Manor, steering her down the hall and into her office. Before following, Daphne glanced over her shoulder at Morgan where he stood against the counter, sulking. With tight lips and wide eyes, she jerked her head toward the office.

Morgan grumbled but followed. He could support Daphne in her altruism at the very least. His apprentice had become so very brazen from the moment he had brought her to life in her new body.

Shane was already in the office, chatting comfortably with Alexandra. Daphne’s setup was far more extravagant than Morgan’s, the whole room lined with desk space and littered with bright displays. She had acquired quite the technical edge from the memories of her body’s previous host, allowing her to become one of the best hackers in all of Etna.

“Tell us everything, Alexandra,” Daphne said, taking the seat beside her.

Alexandra glanced up at Morgan where he darkened the doorway, leaning against the jamb.

“Lexi... Lexi is fine.” She fumbled around in a small pink clutch, grasping a piece of paper that she passed to Daphne. “This is Aaron... Aaron Jones. He’s an Officer with the ECPD. I met him one night in an alley years ago after-” She started coughing abruptly and pulled a small inhaler from the clutch. “Sorry, asthma. I found him fighting off a couple of Reaper scumbags. We sent them packing and... we’ve been best friends ever since.

“We were out drinking at our favorite bar last night, Zola’s in the ED. There was a rift alert nearby, so he had to respond. I- I went with him, even though he told me not to. We closed it, but I tripped while we were chasing down the last thing that came out. He followed it and managed to close the rift. Then the blackout hit and...”

“He was gone?” Daphne asked gently, “Just like that?”

Lexi nodded. “I called for him and I heard him yell back that he was okay. I followed his voice, but by the time I got there...” She sighed. “The police say they can’t do anything to help, even though he’s one of their own.”

Morgan blew a snide laugh through his nose. “Sounds like the ECPD.”

Daphne and Lexi shot him a glare while Shane bobbed his head in agreement with Morgan from behind them.

He had no love whatsoever for “Etna City’s finest.” The cops here were all wrapped around Esotech’s finger, just like the government. People would reach out to them, begging for help, always getting the same cock and bull response. “Too busy,” they would say. “Not enough men to investigate the guy that murdered your son, sorry.” It was another business at this point, like everything else in this horrid place.

Just... exactly like what you’re doing.

“He’s better than that!” Lexi snapped as if she could read his mind, “He tries so hard to help the people here! On his own time, while the rest of them do nothing!”

Morgan huffed but didn’t speak as Daphne passed the photo to him. He took it reluctantly, trying not to feel anything for this woman or her friend, one of the ECPD no less. Maybe he did feel a slight twinge of guilt over mistakenly providing cover for whoever kidnapped this man. Maybe he was already beating himself up for judging the guy simply because he was a cop when he was apparently a saint of some sort.

“He’s been through too much,” Lexi continued, “About four years ago, his mom was in a car accident. Aaron still blames himself. Says if he’d woken up in time to take her across town...” Lexi looked down to her lap. “She never woke up. She’s on life support at East Side Meadows. He spends most of his credits just to keep her breathing. He barely makes rent most months, but somehow... he keeps trying to help.”

“Disappeared during the blackout, Morgan,” Daphne urged, causing the guilt in his stomach to swell.

He sighed, only intending to finally glance at the picture and hand it back, but—he froze.

A gorgeous face stared back at him, wearing the brightest smile he had ever seen. It was full of light, a hope out of place in this wretched city. Golden hair. Flushed cheeks that dimpled, complimenting strong features with boyish charm. Radiant, impossibly blue eyes that crinkled at the corners. Something in those eyes made Morgan’s chest ache. It made his head spin. Strength pulsed in his gut as if something in this messed up place finally mattered.

Daphne cleared her throat, snapping him back to his senses.

“I saw him,” he said, “Last night on Main. It must have been right after sunset. He just… stared at me.”

“He told me that! I said he was full of it.” Lexi laughed. “He thinks you’re out of his league. What do you think?” She gave Morgan an annoying smirk, to which he said nothing.

Awkward.

Daphne clapped her hands on her knees, swiveling around in her chair. “Okay, tell me exactly where you guys were. I’ll start working my magic.”

Lexi rolled up beside her and they began collaborating as Daphne pulled up vids from any nearby security feeds. Glimmer graced them with a visit, leaping into Lexi’s lap with a chirp. Lexi stroked her head sweetly, and the cat purred.

Little traitors, the lot of them.

Morgan caught Shane staring at him in his peripheral, and he narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Shane tried to act like he had been looking anywhere else. “Nothing, nothing. It’s just... you had that same look in your eye last night. You know… when I asked for your help.”

He rolled his eyes. “Theresa gave me permission to kill you,” he said nonchalantly, turning his gaze back to the photo of Aaron Jones.

Shane snickered, taking a sudden interest in Daphne’s fingers as they danced across the keyboard.

Morgan knew he must look like a fool, standing in his own little world as he stared, but he couldn’t look away from the photograph. He remembered catching Aaron’s eye on the street last night. Even with that look of panic on his face at the sound of Morgan’s bike, those blue orbs still shined so brightly in the surrounding city lights.

What is wrong with you? Why are you fixating on him? Stop being such a fool!

He noticed Lexi stealing sideways glances at him as she spoke with Daphne. There was a strange look on her face, like she was waiting for something.

Fans. Weird.

“Nothing!” Daphne yelled, throwing her hands in the air, “He’s there, chasing a big ass dog, then he turns the corner and-” She threw a single hand out toward the screen. “There’s no other way in or out of that alley, we should’ve seen someone before the blackout hit the cams.”

“Another rift, maybe? People fall into them now and then,” Shane suggested, putting a dark look on Daphne’s face.

Lexi shook her head. “No. There was nothing there. The rift we sealed was only a few blocks away. They never show up that close to one another. Believe me, I know my stuff when it comes to the rifts.”

“Oh, yeah,” Daphne chimed, “I read that article you submitted to the Central Coronet about the wailing rifts. Those were some freaky stories people shared.”

“Some of them were a bit out there, but the wailing rifts are very real,” Lexi said, still petting Glimmer.

Something panged in Morgan’s chest at the deviation from their goal.

Daphne and Lexi’s goal. You’re not interested. You are definitely not about to snap and go find this guy your way.

“Oh, they’re totally real,” Shane added, “Old man named Barty I used to uh... work with said he saw-”

Well, that was a lie.

“Send me Aaron’s address,” Morgan called back to them, already halfway down the hall. He flicked his wrist at a cabinet in the entrance hall and the doors swung open to reveal a small display of neatly labeled objects. He heard the others following behind, but he ignored them, snatching up a small chunk of brick he had taken from the wall of a secluded alley in the middle of the East District. He was going to have to do this on foot, and he needed to be quick about it.

“You’re going?” Lexi asked hopefully from behind Daphne, “I’ll go with you! I have access to his apartment!”

Morgan spared her a glance. “Do you have magic?”

“Uh... no.”

“Do you have a faster way there than an anchor?”

“What’s an... anchor?”

“Small objects that keep a spatial signature from where they were taken,” Shane muttered.

Morgan shoved his revolver into his belt. “By my calculations, Aaron has been missing for nearly thirteen hours. Do you know what the average window of time between when a person is last seen and their time of death in Etna City is, Lexi?”

“Um...”

“It’s eight. So please-” He looked at Daphne. “Send me Aaron’s address. I will find something of his with enough of a connection to scry, find him, kill the son of a bitch that took him and bring back whatever is left.”

He turned the anchor over in his palm and vanished.