7. Coven

09.09.203 UI

After a day and a half of being fussed over, Morgan had had enough. His arm was healing nicely, and most of his range of motion was back. The skin was still badly bruised from his neck to his fingers, making his tattoo all but vanish. He had expected the damage to last a week or longer, as rebounded magic injuries tended to linger—more so for stronger witches. It turned out, however, that Shane had not been exaggerating his skill with herbs and potions.

While Daphne had been assessing his wounds, Shane had been grinding up a salve to treat damage specific to magical imbalances. Morgan’s first instinct was to berate the two of them for putting something that Shane had made on his skin while he was unconscious, but when Daphne removed the wrappings, it became clear that the salve had worked wonders. Morgan had choked his aggression back at the sight, and even given Shane a rather awkward expression of gratitude.

Daphne spent an entire day going through the files Morgan recovered from the underground, and he was demanding an hourly update while he rested at her insistence. He trusted her to get any important information to him, but if he had to stay in bed, he was going to make her come talk to him regularly. Mostly so that Shane didn’t drive him mad from the armchair beside him. Shane had taken a short break from keeping Morgan company as Daphne wafted into his room with a sour look on her face.

“This guy is a bona fide freak.” She swiped at her temple, flicking images onto the small display mounted in front of Morgan’s bed.

Morgan cringed as she sifted through pictures of poorly structured runes carved into human flesh, catalogs of implants that had been stolen from his victims, and diary entries detailing a bitterness and sense of entitlement that got more and more deranged as the days progressed.

Shane sauntered back into the room with a large bowl of popcorn in his arms.

“Why is he so obsessed with runes?” Morgan grimaced. “You can’t just carve one into something and get a reaction. You still need magic to make it function, the rune is merely an instruction.”

“Were any of da vicdums wichus?” Shane asked through a mouthful of popcorn.

Daphne shook her head. “None reported missing. I called Theresa to confirm. However he plans on powering them, he’s not stupid enough to go after a witch.”

Morgan’s face lit as a piece of the puzzle slipped into place. “So he went after a police officer with tactical runes.”

Daphne turned back to him. “Would that work? Could he gank Aaron’s connection like that?”

“I don’t think so.” Morgan’s brow furrowed. “He severed it, but the pact still has to be spoken from both ends to establish a connection.”

“How the hells does the ECPD get their juice anyway?” Shane asked, “They don’t exactly get along with the OC.”

Morgan’s expression turned dour. “It’s not consensual, let’s leave it at that. Do we have a name yet, Daph?”

Daphne tapped her comm again and the screen brought up a very blurry image of a pale man in a hood and glasses. “Doctor Edward Abernathy. This is the best image I could find. He seems to have wiped most of his footprint from the net. I did find that he was terminated from a research position with Esotech three years ago, but there are no details.”

“What’d he research?” Shane asked.

Daphne skipped to the next image of an abandoned, boarded up building marked with the Esotech logo. “Human essence modification.”

Shane’s throat bobbed with a swallow. “Like implants and hardware? Those kinds of mods? Boring. Everyone does that shit nowadays.”

“No.” Morgan stared at the image, anger brimming beneath his skin. “It’s a roundabout way of hiding the fact that they were experimenting on the human soul.”

Shane’s eyes widened as more popcorn slipped from his hand back into the bowl in his lap. “But isn’t that sort of thing-”

“Forbidden,” Daphne said severely, “and punishable in the most extreme ways by the Occult Council.”

Morgan nodded darkly. “It’s a witch’s one way ticket to a shredding.”

Shane gulped as he stared between the two of them. “Kind of makes Theresa’s hex look gentle.”

Morgan clenched his jaw, breathing deeply and fighting back the urge to do something rash. Soul magic of any kind was outlawed several centuries ago, before witches had been exposed. When the Councils were formed, they made certain to express the severity of tampering with such things throughout every city government. In response, what was a crime within the Occult Communities became a crime throughout the world, regardless of what magical proficiency the transgressor possessed.

Morgan threw back his bedding and swung his legs to the floor, heading for his closet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Daphne yelled after him.

Morgan shrugged on a T-shirt and dropped his pants. “Going to have a little chat with Esotech. Let them know they nurtured a nutjob by violating the Common-Occult Ordinance. Possibly with fire. There could be fire involved.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Daphne stood in the doorway to his closet, wrestling a pair of jeans from him and tossing them back into the walk-in. “You need to rest!”

“I am rested! Daphne, this is serious! The guy has already killed dozens of people, he would’ve killed Aaron-” The name brought a strange pang to Morgan’s gut. “And he’s still just experimenting! Who knows what his endgame is! Can you imagine if someone like that managed to create a dyanima?”

The room went quiet at the word—possibly the only idea that frightened witches more than that of Ancients. The dyanima, a nearly forbidden lifeform, born of the union of two sources of magic, with manifestations limited only to the number of ways that magic might come together. Some were temporary and expected; a child practicing with their parent, a lover connecting with their partner. Others were theorized to be boundless. Infinite, even.

Daphne grabbed both of Morgan’s shoulders as he glowered at the floor like it had done something horrible to him. “Morgan, how many witches tried and failed miserably to achieve that goal?”

Morgan drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Thousands.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, “Some common psycho isn’t going to pull it off by stealing magic any way he can find it.”

He knew she was right, but that didn’t mean Abernathy wasn’t going to keep trying. The man managed to find a way to create actual zombies without magic. There was no telling what else he might do.

“He’s still killing people, and Esotech is going to answer for it,” he said, shaking angrily.

“Tomorrow.” Daphne glared in a soft but insistent way.

Morgan huffed but gave her a nod before sidestepping her, walking to the living room in his T-shirt and boxer briefs.

Daphne turned to Shane. “Probably not the best time to mention that Aaron called to ask how he’s doing is it?”

Shane turned after Morgan, then looked back to her, shaking his head.

Morgan decided to tackle another matter in lieu of burning Esotech Tower to the ground. He sat in his office, still wearing nothing but his shirt and underwear as he flicked through the stack of documents in front of him with a scowl, reading page after page of the contract Theresa had sent over. He loathed the idea of what was once a clandestine ritual being reduced to a pile of legal jargon.

In his day, covens were spoken understandings between witches, formalized beneath the full moon. They were uncommon, as most with magical aptitude practiced in secret for fear of being burned in the street under Uther’s tyranny. On rare occasion, witches would find others that they grew to trust, and in time they would lend one another strength in the form of a coven.

He flipped to the last page, his scowl intensifying with every word, and threw his pen across the desk. “Daph! We have a problem!”

Daphne opened the door to his office, her own workspace visible from behind as she entered. “Now what?”

Morgan blew a frustrated breath through his nose as he spun the page around for her to read. She skimmed the top section, a list of responsibilities to be upheld in the name of the Occult Community. Her eyes narrowed as they moved to the script above the lines meant for signatures.

“Three members?” she huffed, “Theresa knows it’s just the two of us! Does she expect us to pull a third witch out of our butts?”

Morgan shook his head, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. Two witches could constitute a coven, but it was considered incomplete. He had planned on forming with the two of them and hoped that if he stated an intention to bring in a third witch down the line, he could simply delay until the Council gave up. He had yet to encounter another witch he could trust like he did Daphne, though truthfully, no one could ever live up to those standards.

Daphne paced the space in front of his desk. “Okay. So, we put it off.”

“Won’t fly. The Council sees me as a genuine threat now. Short of putting myself on an iron leash and handing Theresa the lead, I don’t think there’s another way to placate them.” Morgan glowered at the contract.

“Ooh, I need pics of that!” Daphne giggled. “I bet Aaron would-”

Morgan shot her a seething glare and she snapped her mouth shut with a grin.

“Would they let us add Shane?” she mused, “We can list him as potion bitch.”

“You are not helping!“ Morgan growled at her, “Theresa would melt our faces off the second we suggested that. Besides, it has to be someone with actual magic. Anyone can make potions.”

“There are humans in some of the covens,” she pressed.

“Sure, when they marry in or get claimed as a ward for legal reasons. So, unless you’re about to ask me to walk you down the aisle, which I promise will not end well for Shane, keep thinking.”

Daphne got a little color in her cheeks and shot him a pout.

They remained silent in thought. Morgan stared into a small fishbowl at the edge of his desk while Daphne went back to pacing. He made a mental tally of the covenless witches he’d crossed paths with in the city, which came to a grand total of two; one of which was dead, while the other made a living promising to grant wishes to commons down on Market Street.

Daphne stopped in her tracks and tapped at her comm. “Uh... There’s a shirtless person at the elevator.”

“Nope,” Morgan responded instantly. The last time someone had shown up on his doorstep had caused him enough trouble.

Daphne rolled her eyes, leaving the room in a huff as the door of his office opened to the front lobby. They had enough to deal with right now. And hadn’t she been the one insisting he needed to rest? More people and their problems just meant more stress for him.

No, thank you.

His phone vibrated from his desk, making him jump. “What?” he grumped.

“So... they’re asking for you by name,” Daphne said cautiously, “Your real name.”

Morgan ended the call and buried his face in his hands with a growl. He got up and stomped into the living room, throwing his arm out toward his bedroom, causing his jeans to come flying through the air. He snatched them and slipped his legs through in a hurry before heading to the door. The elevator opened to the ground floor where Daphne stood, hands on her hips as she glanced between Morgan and the small figure in front of her with a confused wrinkle in her forehead.

“Morgan le Fay!” The voice was high in pitch but hit the ear like a bell. Their skin was pale in a way that glistened softly. Short, platinum-blonde locks with a hint of pink fell across their face, framing large eyes and long lashes.

Morgan’s jaw dropped at their near human appearance. “F-Frey? Is that you?”

“Yay! You remember me!” Frey ran forward to wrap their slender arms around his waist, burying their face in his chest.

He tensed immediately. Even Daphne knew better than to hug him unless he initiated it—which he never did—but he wasn’t about to spurn one of the fae. That could lead to far worse than a hug.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, unsure how to react as the tiny fairy threatened to squeeze the life out of him, “That was literally two days ago.”

Frey lifted their head with pursed lips. “Was it? Human time confuses me.”

“Is there-” He paused, choosing his words with great care for fear of indebting himself. “Something you needed? Why are you still here?”

Frey tucked their face back into Morgan’s chest, muffling their voice. “Can’t go back. Frey is stuck in this icky place.”

“What? Why are you stuck here?” Morgan tried to sound sincere, but the hug had gone on so long that he was sweating uncomfortably.

The tension coming from him must have been palpable, and he was grateful when Daphne reached out to touch Frey’s back. “Why don’t you come upstairs, and we’ll do whatever we can to help you, okay?”

Morgan slammed his eyes shut at her choice of words. Daphne gave him an annoyed look, mouthing the word, “What?”

He shook his head as Frey finally let go, letting themself be corralled into the elevator. Morgan grabbed his phone from his pocket, sending her a quick message as the doors closed.

lt;lt;lt;Morgan Fell: “Congratulations! You’ve just obligated us to a fae.”

Daphne’s eyes bulged, and she thumped the back of her head against the elevator.

Frey took a seat on the end of the couch opposite Morgan while Daphne made tea. The fairy shook as they told their story. Apparently, they had accidentally wandered into Etna during a game of hide-and-seek with the other fae.

The gateways in and out of Avalon were always shifting and relocating themselves to keep unwanted visitors out. With Esotech constantly safeguarding the entrances as they appeared, attempting to control access, the Well had begun revolting, and the gates were shifting far more frequently than normal. While Frey had been hiding in a large, flowering bush, a gate opened behind them, and they fell through.

“Then... then the ugly one found me,” Frey whispered with their arms wrapped around themselves, “He had some sort of... ticker-bopper box in his hands, making all these screechy sounds.”

Morgan scoffed, folding his arms over his chest, “Mana-tracker. Used to be the tool of choice for zealots on a witch-hunt after Vorunir fell. Probably almost shorted the thing out when it picked you up.”

Daphne brought out a tray full of tea and cookies, carefully setting it on the coffee table. She grabbed a throw from one of the sofas, draping it over Frey’s shoulders. They examined the soft, red fabric between their fingers with wide eyes. “What a pretty shirt.”

“That’s a blanket, sweetie,” Daphne said, sitting on the sofa across the table.

“Humans wear funny things.” Frey giggled as they wrapped it tightly around themself, tucking it so it fit awkwardly, almost like a shirt. “I make my own clothes.”

Morgan shook his head with a small smile. “So, Abernathy found you on the street. What did he want from you?”

Frey pouted. At least it started as a pout. Their eyes grew bigger as they spoke, slowly filling with rage. “What all humans want from fairies. Power. He asked me to tell him things. Horrible things. Secrets that would let him make other humans bow to him! But that’s not what our magic is for! We create things! We make things grow and we sing, and we dance, and we make all things beautiful!“ Frey was hyperventilating. They took a few short breaths to calm themself. “He got mad when I told him my magic couldn’t do that. He chained me up and said he had another use for me.”

“Powering his runes?” Daphne asked, glancing at Morgan.

He gave her a curt nod. “Magic is magic. It would have done the job.”

Frey looked up to Morgan, their expression changing in an instant. “And then you came! You set me free! When I tried to go back, I snuck around one of the men in black armor, but the gate wouldn’t let me through. I think... I think I was gone too long. Fae must return to Avalon before the human sun sets, or...”

Morgan had only ever met a few fae outside of their realm before. While he didn’t know the specifics of their comings and goings, they had never been ones to stick around for very long. Now he knew why.

“Morgan le Fay, you said you would help me ‘any time’. Can you help me go back?”

Just then Shane stumbled into the room from the door leading to the east wing. “Oh, hey! Finally made it out of the library!”

Morgan smirked, still deriving some amusement from the Manor’s insistence on giving the guy a hard time. “Frey, this is Shane. Shane, Frey is fae. Please keep your mouth shut for the sake of my sanity.”

Shane’s eyebrows jumped, but he gave Frey a nod and a smile, snatching two cookies from the tray before taking a seat on the sofa with Daphne.

“Frey...” Morgan leaned forward with a pained look. “I haven’t been to Avalon in a very, very long time. I don’t know the rules of fae leaving the realm. I’m afraid that unless I was able to offer the Well something in return for letting you back in, my influence there would be far less helpful than yours, and I already owe it everything because of my pact.”

Frey nodded sadly.

“But-” Morgan continued, a plan taking shape in the back of his mind, “I did say I would help you. So, until we can find a way to get you back... I would like to make a deal with you.”

Frey’s eyes shined brightly at the emphasized word. “I like deals!”

“You can stay here, with us-”

“I can?”

“If you can play a little game while you’re here.”

Frey leapt from the sofa in excitement. “I love games!”

Morgan chuckled. Daphne wore a look of admiration, gleaning his intent, while Shane polished off his cookies.

“The witches here want us to form a coven. Do you know what that means?” Morgan asked.

“Like a bird, right? They want to turn you into birds?” Frey’s forehead crinkled.

Morgan laughed softly. “No, like a family of witches. But we have to have three witches to become a coven.”

Frey looked around at them, pointing to each of them in turn as they counted. “One... two... three!”

“Shane doesn’t have magic-” Morgan flinched at the sadness in Shane’s eyes. “He’s really good with potions though.”

Ew, what was that? Are you actually warming up to Shane McMillan?

Frey gave Shane an apologetic look. “So, what do I have to do?”

Morgan took a deep breath. “I need you to pretend that you’re a witch, just like us. You have to keep your human form. We’ll tell the other witches that you’re part of our coven and you can stay here as long as you need to. No one will be able to hurt you again, and all the witches in Etna will keep you safe.”

“You-” Tears were forming in Frey’s eyes. “You want me to be part of your family?”

Morgan’s heart swelled a little at the pure joy in the fairy’s expression.

Seriously, what is going on with you? Did you smack your head when Aaron tackled you to the ground? It would explain a lot.

“Only until-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, the wind leaving his lungs as Frey dove to hug him again, this time far more brutal than the first.

“I accept your deal, Morgan le Fay!” they mumbled with their face buried in his shirt.

“Ah- ah- ah-” Morgan chided, “That means you can’t have any obligations with us. You can’t make any more deals with anyone while you’re here. But if you help us, we’ll help you. And you have to call me by my pretend name. Bad things will happen if you say my real name in front of anyone.”

Frey stared up at him. “You mean... if I say your real name...” they dropped their voice to a harsh whisper, “I lose the game?”

Morgan gave Daphne a blank stare, then Shane. “Yes. Immediate disqualification.”

“Okay!” Frey jumped up, crossing the room to throw themself on top of Shane and Daphne. “Hi, family!”

After the initial shock of being crushed, both of them broke into laughter. Daphne gave Frey a warm hug, and they began discussing living arrangements. Shane looked appalled when he asked if the Manor had groaned when Frey entered the way it had at him. It hadn’t, and the poor guy still didn’t have a room of his own, leaving him to make do with whatever comfortable surface he could find to sleep on. Morgan leaned back into the sofa, watching and listening. Frey’s fingers sparkled a soft pink, and a crown of flowers wove itself into Daphne’s hair, making her giggle. Frey wiggled their fingers and gave Shane one as well, which made all of them, even Morgan, laugh.

Theresa would recognize that there was something off about Frey, but given their circumstances, he was certain she could be persuaded. While he knew perfectly well how much trouble fae could be, he also knew that they required a place where they could flourish and connect with magic, and Frey would protect that at all costs. His heart was light as he watched them from his seat. He might even dare say that this was what peace felt like.

“Morgan Fell?” Frey turned to him from between Shane and Daphne.

“Just Morgan, Frey.” He smiled.

“Morgan... um... where did your knight go?” A deep concern washed over their face. “You found him, didn’t you?”

“I found him. Thanks to you.” Morgan nodded.

“But... he’s supposed to be here. He’s important to you, isn’t he? I felt it.”

As Frey put their hand to their chest, something inside Morgan snapped. Felt. They kept saying feel and felt from the moment he’d met them. Frey was an empath. They could sense others’ emotions, and Frey’s expression changed as his stomach twisted in on itself.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” Frey said quickly, “I didn’t mean to make you hurt.”

Morgan sat in stunned silence. He hadn’t even admitted any of this to himself. If someone with empathic magic could read that, how was he supposed to pretend otherwise? Daphne and Shane both stared at him while he fought not to make eye contact. They both wore sad looks—a pity that Morgan didn’t want or need.

“I think...” He stood, fighting not to lash out, feeling exposed. “I need to rest more.”

He paced down the hall and into his bedroom without looking back. The door shut behind him with a wave of his hand, and he collapsed headfirst into his bed, screaming into a pillow. Aaron had clearly caused him to take a blow to the head.

Damn you, Aaron Jones. What have you done to me?