6. Stars Collide

Aaron’s eyelids shuddered weakly. His head was throbbing. His mouth was dry and the dank air smelled foul in his nose. He went to clutch the back of his neck from where the ache stemmed, but he couldn’t move. His eyes snapped open, taking in the dimly lit space with a slight burn. Duct tape bound his hands and legs, and his shoes and socks were missing. Something dug uncomfortably into his back where he had been propped against the wall. He struggled to move away and fell to the ground, his shoulder smacking the hard floor.

His vision blurred as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. A tiny rectangle of faint light came from a window high on the wall. Iron bars spanned from the concrete, and several cells lay empty behind him. He fought against his bindings, trying to find a weakness. He’d been through training to escape stronger restraints than this. With minimal struggle, he uprighted himself and set his jaw, holding out his joined wrists. If he could get to his runes, he could be out of here and having a do-over drink with Lexi within the hour.

With a deep breath, Aaron jerked his elbows back in a swift motion, and the tape snapped as his wrists hit his chest. A moment longer and his ankles were free, the burning sensation where the adhesive had torn away the hair on his body only sharpening his focus. His muscles ached fiercely as he stood to his feet with a stretch. He gave the cell door a shake, but it held tight. He tapped at the topmost rune on his left arm—force—and thrust his palm at the door.

The magic didn’t come. He tapped again, trying different runes, but all to the same effect. The markings on his skin stayed dormant. There was no glow. The faint, white light of his borrowed magic was gone. There were cells at headquarters that could block magic, but they only canceled out the spell upon its cast. Whatever this was, it was stopping them at their source as if his connection to the Well had been severed.

He pulled at the door again, shaking it in frustration. “Let me out! You’re holding an officer of the law!” he shouted down the hall.

Nothing but the echoes of his own voice met his ears. He slumped forward against the bars, and his breathing became panicked. Thoughts of Lexi clawed at his insides, not knowing if they had taken her as well. He racked his head, trying to think. Patting his trousers for his belongings, he found that his pockets were empty. He tapped at his comm, trying to reach the precinct. The call failed immediately.

He was well and truly fucked.

Aaron dropped to his knees. His stomach ached with hunger, and his mouth was parched with thirst. All his years of trying to save the people that had gone missing in Etna City, only to become one of them. He wanted to hope that he might be able to fight his way out whenever his abductor returned for him—if they returned for him—but it was a known tactic to starve and dehydrate your victim until the fight left them. For all he knew, someone just wanted him out of the way. They could very well leave him here to rot.

A flicker of soft, pink light against the floor caught his attention.

His head snapped up. “Hello?” he cried, “Is someone there?” No response. He got to his feet again, leaning against the cell door, trying to see down the hall, and it swung free.

Relief swelled in his chest. Treading lightly from the cell, trying not to make a sound, he shut the bars behind him so they wouldn’t draw attention. He silently thanked his kidnapper for keeping the hinges well-oiled as he padded barefoot across the cement, keeping an eye out for anything he could use to defend himself. At the end of the corridor with his back to the wall, he glanced around the corner.

A large, empty room lay beyond the doorway. The stench Aaron had smelled from his cell intensified, and his empty stomach caved inward as he spotted the source. Bodies littered the floor. Some looked as if they had been left there for months. He pulled his dirt and sweat covered Henley over his nose, and he pressed on through the ghastly scene toward another doorway.

He tip-toed through the corpses, forcing his gaze down so as not to disturb them. This was going to be one hell of a report to file if he made it out. When he made it out, he reminded himself. Always keep your head on the best possible outcome. That was the most important thing he took away from his academy training.

When he was within a couple meters of the exit, he sucked air through his teeth, bumping one of the bodies with his foot. He choked back acid, moving away carefully, when something latched tightly around his ankle. As he whipped his head back, a startled scream left his throat. The body lay face down on the cold floor, unmoving, apart from the outstretched arm and the rotting hand that now held a vice grip on his heel.

He yelled with an outward kick, freeing himself and stumbling backward into the hall behind. The corpse raised its head from the floor with a squelch. Its eyes were rotted away, and its jaw hung slack as it lifted itself from the ground. The other bodies began to shudder.

Aaron scrambled to stand, completely losing hold of his positive mentality and telling himself that he was just having the most realistic of nightmares. He bolted from the room with no idea where he was going. Anywhere those things weren’t was fine by him. He darted around corners and through small rooms, thankfully free of the living dead.

He stopped, catching his breath in one of the vacant rooms, when he heard movement from behind. A torrent of approaching footsteps echoed against the battered, concrete walls.

He was being followed.

Morgan chased after the bouncing light through the dark halls as it moved faster and faster. This place was a maze. Strange, graffitied tags he hadn’t seen in the city before littered the crumbling walls, likely an underground hideout for one of the older, now wiped out or appropriated gangs before the Dragons moved in. The air turned putrid on the far side of an empty room. Rot and decay filled his nose, making his stomach churn. He pressed through, turning yet another corner into a long hallway.

Aluminum double doors with thin rectangle windows separated the corridor. He ran ahead, following Frey’s beacon through the first set. The orb of light bobbed in the dark path, slowing ahead of him before stopping altogether, and vanished.

He turned on the spot, clutching at Aaron’s journal, but his tracking spell gave no response. Morgan’s brow pinched in confusion. The spell had ended, as if its task were complete.

A slapping sound like flesh on stone met his ears, and he swallowed a retch as the smell of rot grew stronger. He turned back to glimpse shadows against the far wall beyond two more sets of doors. He readied his magic, preparing to cut down anything that stood between him and Aaron.

Suddenly the farthest set of doors flew open, and a single figure came racing through, headed straight at him. Morgan hesitated, uncertain of what he was seeing through the dusty glass. The set of doors in front of him flung wide. Before Morgan could react, he glimpsed blue eyes, wide in panic. With a soft thud and a set of shocked yelps, the man collided with him, sending them both to the ground.

As they fell, Morgan’s head spun, and the dark hallway flitted in and out of sight.

Warm, summer sunlight caressed his face. A sweat drenched body pressed against his own, toppling him backward onto a field of dirt. Someone lay on top of him, pinning him down with a cocky grin as they both laughed until his cheeks were sore.“You lowered your guard for a pretty smile, le Fay. I know I trained you better than that.”

Morgan shook his head, pushing the images away. Aaron Jones stared down at him from atop his chest. He felt taught muscle beneath the sweat coated shirt against him, making him swallow nervously. The panic in those glittering pools of blue light had gone, replaced with a searching gaze that reached deep into his chest, flooding him with heat.

Morgan cleared his throat. “Aaron Jones, I presume?”

Aaron released a breath as if only just returning to reality himself, stumbling over his words, “F-Fell? MorganFell?”

“Yes, he did, but that’s physics for you,” Morgan deadpanned, “Would you mind? Sensitive things are being crushed.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Aaron shuffled backward to his feet, his face flushing crimson. He offered his hand to Morgan, gallantly helping him to stand. “Wait... why are you here? Did you kidnap me? I only investigated you out of curiosity, I swear!”

Morgan shot him a sideways glance of part annoyance, part amusement. Even flustered, confused, and covered in dirt, the man was a work of art. They would have to circle back to whatever the hells he was on about later, though.

Aaron whipped back toward the direction he’d come running from as the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

“They after you?” Morgan asked, magic at the ready.

“Yeah. They’re... not human, whatever they are. Not anymore.”

Morgan didn’t bother questioning him. With the horrific sights he’d seen in some of the rooms on his way, he didn’t doubt the assessment. More shadows appeared at the end of the hall through the blurry glass. His eyes shined brightly in the darkness as his magic heated the metal, fusing the doors together.

He grabbed Aaron’s arm as he reached for the chunk of brick in his pocket.

Nothing happened.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“What? What’s wrong?” Aaron moved closer to him as grunts and thudding came from the far set of doors.

“My anchor isn’t responding. The place must be deadlocked. We need to move.” Still holding Aaron’s arm, he tugged, urging him to follow as the first blockade gave way behind them.

Morgan ran a few paces ahead, trying to recall the path. He hadn’t planned on needing to backtrack. How Aaron’s kidnapper had managed to deadlock a place like this was beyond him. Anchors created a direct line of magic from one point to another. The only known method to interrupt the transfer was a series of wards that required a significant amount of magical upkeep, placed directly in the path of whomever was moving through the space.

“And no,” Morgan called back to him as they rounded a corner, “I didn’t kidnap you. Your friend Lexi sent me.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Aaron panted, “I mean... if you had wanted to take me prisoner, all you would have had to do was ask.”

Morgan shot him a pleasantly shocked grin over his shoulder. “That’s mighty bold coming from a man that panicked over a motorcycle yesterday.”

“Ha! You did see me!” Aaron chuckled as they sprinted into a large, open room. “I guess getting kidnapped and chased by the walking dead kinda puts things into perspective, you know?”

Morgan barked a laugh. “Live now, flirt later, Officer Jones.” He stopped in the middle of the room, whirling around. “Damn it. Must have taken a wrong turn. I don’t remember this.”

Noise echoed through the hall behind them, distant but approaching fast. Morgan grabbed Aaron’s hand and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. He rolled his eyes, berating himself as the runes tattooed on the man’s arm gave no response to the magic in his palm.

“Not deadlocked. You’ve been cut off.”

“Uh, yeah. They wouldn’t activate after I woke up.”

The sounds of their pursuers grew louder.

“How many of these things are after us?” Morgan asked, eyes aglow and fixed in the direction of whatever was after them.

“I counted fourteen bodies—before they got up and started chasing me.”

Fourteen. Maybe more. That would be an easy fight for him, but he couldn’t protect Aaron at the same time. Collapsing the path behind them wasn’t an option, given the age of the tunnels, as he risked bringing the whole place down on them. He spun around, searching for anything that Aaron could fight with, finding the room as barren as the rest.

“Don’t suppose you have a spare knife on you?” Aaron chuckled nervously from behind. “Maybe a nail bat? Seems appropriate for fucking up some zombies.”

Morgan could materialize a weapon for himself, a spectral arm, but there was no way to hand it off to someone without their own magic to sustain it.

Magic.

A thought crossed his mind—an absolutely absurd thought—one he was already scolding himself for.

You literally just met him, don’t you dare.

The footsteps were getting closer.

“Uh... Morgan? I’m good in a fight and all, but... any kick-ass, witchy ideas?”

Morgan couldn’t even find amusement in Aaron’s words over the one idea he did have rattling in his head, rolling around faster and faster as he tried to push it away.

You swore you wouldn’t. You don’t owe that to anyone. Especially some gorgeous guy that literally knocked you off your feet. Don’t be an idiot, le Fay.

“Just one.” Morgan spun back, ignoring his inner reprimands. He clasped Aaron’s arm at the elbow and his eyes blazed brighter. “Aaron Jones, I, Morgan Fell, offer you a share of my power-”

“Wait- what?” Aaron gaped at him, staring at the magic in Morgan’s eyes as his runes lit violet between their linked arms.

“Take from me, your conduit to the realm of Avalon. Let my strength protect you when you are unable-”

“M-Morgan! I can’t!”

Violet rings of light encircled them where they held tight to one another. That the spell of binding was working at all meant Aaron was only being polite in his resistance. Some part of him, at least, wanted this. It was sweet, only serving to steel Morgan’s resolve and cast aside his reservations. He had to do this. He had to keep Aaron safe any way he could. He’d process his own ridiculous behavior when they made it out alive.

“You can! You have to!” Morgan yelled over the rush of magic that began to fill the air, “Let my vessel pour into yours, that you might protect yourself when I am unable! That I would be with you in soul when I cannot in body! Aaron Jones, of my own volition... I choose to bind myself to you!” He held Aaron’s gaze, their eyes alight in the glow of the forming bond. “Do you accept?”

The creatures dashed toward them, decaying terrors with blank faces and rotting limbs.

Aaron nodded fervently, both of them staring deep into the other’s eyes despite the proximity of danger. “I accept!”

The violet rings tightened against their arms. The bond was complete.

Morgan turned, ready to fight as the undead leapt across the room. Before he could cast, the space between them and their enemies flashed—a dazzling, cobalt blue—and their would-be attackers smacked against the barrier, sending them flying backward. He whirled around in surprise.

Aaron held one arm out, holding the shield in place as a rune on his forearm glowed bright in that same vibrant blue, gaping at his own spell in wonder. “Blue? Why is it blue?”

“Later!” Morgan yelled, “Drop it and take my hand! We need to-”

“Morgan!”

He saw red as a blunt force struck him from the side with an audible crunch, throwing him across the room. On instinct, he erected a shield in time to cushion himself before hitting the far wall, but it still hurt like a bitch.

The thing that had struck him was another body, three times the size of the others, and it was now closing in on Aaron as he fought to hold the wave of walking corpses back. It raised an arm, ready to strike. Aaron was backing up, his shield flickering out as his focus shifted between the immediate threat and the one right behind it. He braced for the hit, staring into the lifeless eyes of the disgusting mass above him. Morgan roared, charging at the giant, eyes blazing bright as he threw his arm in a wide arch. The beast’s arm came free from its body at the shoulder, falling to the floor with a nauseating squelch.

Despite being dismembered, the creature didn’t take its focus off Aaron. It simply stood confused, before raising its remaining arm. Morgan let loose with a winding blast of violet, lifting the giant off its feet and tossing it back. The room shook as the fleshy mass rammed into the wall, but the monster remained unfazed. It did, however, turn away from Aaron, locking empty eye sockets on Morgan—and it lunged.

It flew past Aaron, knocking him to the ground and shattering his shield. The group of undead he was holding at bay came swarming into the room. As the large one came within meters of him, Morgan whipped his revolver from his belt. With a swift flick, he fired a hex bullet right between the monster’s eye sockets, urging it to turn on the others with his thoughts. The hulking mass of flesh halted in its steps.

An excruciating pain ripped into Morgan’s right arm. He cried out in agony as the pain lanced up his arm and into his neck, sending him screaming to his knees. There was no will in these creatures to bend. They were lifeless. Empty. With no way to perform its task, his magic had rebounded.

Aaron lunged forward through the horde surrounding them in bursts of blue light, severing one of their heads and dropping it to the ground where it stayed motionless. The large zombie had regained its composure. It lifted its only arm, ready to crush Morgan at its feet. Aaron roared from behind it, tapping several runes in succession as he ran. Another blue shield erupted from him, racing across the room and sweeping the creatures away as it worked in succession with the other activated commands. The snapping of bones filled the air as the barrier of blue light pinned their enemies to the walls.

Aaron dropped the shield, diving across the room. Morgan reeled as his own magic tore through him. He felt a pair of strong arms around him, steadying him against the pain. He fumbled through his anguish, grasping for the anchor in his jacket as the undead began to surround them. The creatures leapt into the air above, threatening to bury them and tear them apart as his fingers wrapped around the jagged piece of brick.

The smell of rotting flesh hit their faces, only to be replaced in an instant by the scent of sunlit asphalt and the grime of the city streets.

Morgan slumped forward as his knees hit the pavement of the alley in the East District. He felt Aaron’s hands on him as his eyesight pulsed red.

“Easy, easy,” Aaron whispered, “I’ve got you.”

Morgan looked down to his right hand, still gripping his revolver. The skin was blistering in all shades of crimson. Angry veins were broken and bruising. Every quickened heartbeat felt like electricity peeling away his flesh. His vision faltered as more voices called out his name.

“He’s hurt!” Aaron yelled.

Rushed footsteps echoed through the alley. Several pairs of hands were on him as his head dropped, and everything went black.

Morgan stirred in the dark without opening his eyes. His body ached from head to toe, but the pain in his arm was tolerable. He felt the warmth of his own bed, pressed beneath the clean sheets and soft comforter. The gentle tremble of Glimmer’s purrs soothed him from atop the blanket. His left hand rested on his bare chest, and he reached to his other arm, finding it tightly bandaged, radiating heat from beneath the dressings.

He sighed heavily, blinking his eyes open. Moonlight drifted through his window, casting a glow across the floor. He tried to sit upright, but forgot to avoid using his right arm, and pain lanced upwards into his skull with a wince.

“Hey, careful,” a warm, soothing voice came from an armchair that had been moved to the right side of his bed, “Daphne says that will take a few days to heal.”

Morgan peered up at the man. Aaron was clean, recently showered and wearing a fresh T-shirt and pair of jeans. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, inches away from Morgan’s face as he braced him from behind. The man held his back tenderly, helping him sit against the headboard as he arranged the pillows for cushioning.

“What are you still doing here?” Morgan rasped, his throat sticking to itself, “Figured you’d be back at headquarters, filling out mountains of paperwork.”

Aaron hummed a chuckle. “Nah, just called to check in. Assholes thought I was making it up, trying to cover for playing hooky, but they gave me the day to rest.” He motioned to the bedside from where he stood. “Can I?”

Morgan waved his good hand permissively, rearranging his legs to make room as Aaron sat on the comforter near his feet. For a few moments Aaron simply stared at him, filling his stomach with a strange sensation.

“Any idea who might’ve-” Morgan coughed, making his already aching body tighten.

Aaron moved next to him to grab a glass of water from his bedside table, passing it to his left hand.

He took a small sip at first, then gulped it down in a few swallows. “Thanks.”

Aaron nodded, setting the glass back on the table. “No. I don’t have a clue who’s responsible, let alone who might go as far as necromancy to keep me there.”

“It wasn’t necromancy.” Morgan shook his head. “At least not in the magical sense. Those things were hollow. If there was magic driving them at least, my bullet wouldn’t have-” He gestured to his battered arm.

“Yeah, Daphne kind of gave me the rundown on those.” Aaron smiled shyly. “Said you’re pretty tight-lipped about how they work, so she wasn’t sure.”

Morgan shrugged. “Witches don’t make a habit of sharing their creations. Next thing you know, someone’s out there using it against you.”

He caught the man’s eyes running over his bare chest, slowly drifting downward to the patch of hair above his navel before it was obscured by the blanket at his waist. Aaron cleared his throat and quickly lifted his head. “So, my casts—the shields and everything—they’ve only ever been white before. I might’ve expected purple, like your magic, but...”

Morgan bit his lip in thought, still warm in the face from the way Aaron had ogled him. “Color variance in magic is... guesswork at best. It’s not unheard of for a common that’s tethered to a witch to have their own hue, but it is incredibly rare. Guess there really is something special about Officer Aaron Jones.” He cocked his head to the side with a teasing smirk.

Aaron laughed, making that warm sensation in his gut pulse. “Yeah. I’m the special one.”

Morgan grinned, recalling Aaron’s skilled use of runes. The way he had managed to combine them was nothing short of masterful. His expression faded fast though, as his thoughts drifted to whatever means had created those things in the underground. He would need Daphne to go through the files he’d found as soon as possible. If this madman decided to build an army of the undead, it would spell trouble for the whole city. Especially in the hands of someone brazen enough to take a police officer with no regard to the attention it could’ve attracted.

“What is it?” Aaron asked gently at the change in his mood.

Morgan sighed. “Aaron, I... I know you have a job to do, but I need you to be careful about who you discuss all of this with. We don’t know if you were merely a target of opportunity or if there’s more to it. We have no idea how those things were created, and the occult community doesn’t need people jumping to conclusions. And quite frankly, the fact that your colleagues didn’t take you seriously concerns me.”

Aaron chewed his lip with a strained look. “I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re good people. Some of them are a bit dense, but-”

“They are not good people, Aaron.” Morgan scathed. “How can you work with them for so long and not see that? They answer to Esotech, same as the rest of the city. And if there is even the slightest chance that this leads back to them, in any way at all, they will try to pin it on the witches. They could even have something to do with you being taken—them and the ECPD. You’re nothing but a pawn to them.”

“They wouldn’t!” Aaron stood at the accusation with his fists clenched at his sides. “They took an oath to protect the people of this city! The same as I did!”

Morgan glowered up at him from the bed. “And do you not count as one of those people?”

“What?” Aaron stiffened.

“Ask Lexi.” Morgan turned away, staring out the window and into the night. “Ask her about how she came here begging because your precious ECPD couldn’t be bothered to look for you, one of their own. They didn’t give a shit. They left you to rot.”

“They’re-” Aaron struggled for words, clearly taken aback at being left for dead, “They’re... stretched too thin is all. There aren’t enough people willing to join the force these days.”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, his heart sinking at the same line he’d heard so many times before. “Just go, Officer Jones...”

Aaron stared down at him with hurt in his eyes, but he wouldn’t return the gaze. The man heaved a sigh, making for the doorway with a few defeated steps before turning to him once more. “Thank you, Morgan...”

The blend of tenderness and despair in those simple words tugged at something in his chest. Whatever that feeling was only served to make him angry with himself. As Aaron sulked out of the room, Morgan flicked his wrist, and a small splinter of iron floated to him from the drawer in his sideboard. He held it over his damaged arm, intending to sever the bond they had formed.

It had only been out of necessity. It was something sacred to be kept between family and lovers. He harbored no notions of having anything like that with Aaron Jones.

Liar.

How could he? How could a man so blind to everything he claimed to stand against, so na?ve as to think his masters were worth defending, ever become anything like that to him? He took a few deep breaths as he held the metal above his bandaged arm. His eyes flashed violet to undo his stupid mistake. The iron touched his skin between the dressings—he hesitated, gritting his teeth—and with a defeated grunt, he flung the shard across the room.