22. Locked Out

22

Locked Out

Morgana

A fter school, exhaustion weighs heavily on me, but my mind is occupied with thoughts of Alistair. His presence, his touch, and the bond we share now consume my every thought. We start walking back toward the portal behind the pawn shop alley. I want to touch him, to hold him, to be near him. He keeps looking at me, and every time I try to walk closer, he seems to notice. But I don't want to overstep; this is still very new. I keep opening and closing my palms, feeling like there's a piece missing inside me, and he's the one who can fill it.

As my hand swings past him for the third time, he swiftly grabs hold of it, gripping tightly. I let out a sigh of relief, happy that my actions are acceptable. I try to hide my smile, but it's not very successful.

"Is someone blushing?" he teases.

"You're imagining things," I retort, a playful edge to my voice. As we turn down the alleyway, Alistair stops, concern etched across his face. "What's wrong?" I ask, my heart skipping a beat.

"I'm not sure. The magic for the portal isn't here. I don't know why."

That's not a good sign. "We shouldn't linger then. If someone has closed off the portal, we need to find another way home."

"If we head to the cemetery, we'll be walking for a while, and it might be closed as well," he replies, his brow furrowed.

"What's your suggestion?" I ask, feeling a growing unease.

"Call Sierra. They have a big family; I'm sure they might have some room for us."

"What do we say about our impromptu visit?"

"We missed our bus home?" he suggests with a shrug.

Sierra was kind enough to answer the phone right away and invite us over, as her parents were away with her younger brother. I was surprised when we arrived at a manor-like home, and she guided us up to her room. "Morgana, you can stay in here if you want. I'll stay in Mom and Dad's room, and Alistair, my brother's room is free." It's late already, and we should probably go to sleep, but I'm almost ready to go for a run.

"You smell funny," Sierra says, blinking a few times and giggling as she guides me to her room. I don't comment on the smell observation; I don't doubt it. As she opens the door, I'm met by an explosion of color and light.

Sierra's room is a kaleidoscope of pinks and rainbows, a shrine to all things flower power. The walls are covered in posters of vibrant flowers, peace signs, and inspirational quotes. The ceiling is dotted with glow-in-the-dark star stickers, and fairy lights twinkle from the bookshelves, illuminating her extensive collection of plush toys and trinkets. Her bedspread is a patchwork of bright colors, and the floor is strewn with fluffy rugs in every shade imaginable. It's the complete opposite of my dark and minimalist style, yet for some reason, I feel really comfortable in her space.

"You know, I haven't had anyone sleep over since Annabelle and I were friends," she says, her tone almost nostalgic.

"What?" I question, surprised by the fact.

"Yeah, in first grade we were friends, but by third grade… not so much." She purses her lips, clearly wanting to say something more.

"Spit it out," I sigh.

Excitedly, she responds, "Can I ask you guys questions? Like, I've held them in for days."

I exchange a glance with Alistair, then look back at Sierra, her eager eyes reflecting the fairy lights. "Sure." She smiles ear to ear and drags me into her room. Alistair remains leaning against the threshold until Sierra points to the computer chair in her room. With the two of us on her bed and Alistair sitting in her pink chair, she claps her hands together.

"Okay, I need to know about this dynamic. Like I get the whole thing about Morgana being Alistair's master and stuff. What does that really mean though?" I look over to Alistair, knowing the dynamic has changed only a day ago, but its not something we went to instantly start talking about. He looks ready to respond so I nod.

"Lucifer is a fallen angel, and all demons are weighted against angels. We are their willing servants, but dedicated servants are a bit different. Since Morgana is half-angel, and I'm her dedicated pet, I genuinely can't resist her commands. However, that seems to have changed since she lost her powers."

"Did you just say ‘pet'?" Sierra confirms, "Like a dog?" He shrugs, suggesting that the answer is yes.

"And that's normal for you guys?"

This time I respond, "It was." Sierra looks between Alistair and I.

"So, like, you're getting used to living here now and its weird?"

"That's not it." I admit, not knowing where I was going with it.

"My-" Alistair goes to interject but stops before clearing his throat. "Morgana, what's wrong?"

"I don't want my powers back if it means you becoming a slave again." Alistair's mouth agapes when the words leave me.

"This seems way more serious than what you guys suggested." Sierra comments.

"As a slave demon, your soul belongs to your owner and you are helpless to resist their commands, even if they told you till kill yourself you would do it, and frequently, angels do this for amusement."

"Well, that sounds shitty but Alistair is still here it's not like you made him commit suicide." I look up at him and the pain of my heart hits like the dagger.

"No, but I had him fight in the games and the merciful thing would have been to make him kill himself."

"The games?" My hands start to shake and tears are threatening to fall.

Alistair answers, "They are like games to the death for demons, for the amusement of angels. It a harsh round of games where demons are made to kill each other. Even if they are family amongst themselves. We don't have a choice."

"Sounds rough."

I scoff and add, "Yeah, except I sent him in there, because I didn't want a slave and I thought my father would stop giving them to me if I kept sending them into the games. I sent Alistair in several times."

"But because of you, I got the scythe." He smirks.

"I'm glad you can see the positive."

"That's the scythe you had the other day?" Sierra questions.

"Yes," Alistair responds, ", the scythe is a two-thousand-year-old relic. It's capable of killing demons with a swift swipe, and those wounds don't heal."

"That's wicked. So how exactly did you lose your powers?" I sigh heavily and let myself fall back onto the bed. Reliving the memory is starting to affect me, but perhaps talking about it openly can change that.

"I was stabbed," I begin, ", with a magical dagger that we usually use to turn human souls into demons. Father didn't even tell me it existed until this happened. However, someone stabbed me with it, and I lost my powers instead."

"Holy shit. Who stabbed you?"

"I don't know. Fact is I sensed a presence, but I couldn't identify it, which should have been impossible."

"I don't understand."

Alistair comes to my aid, "Basically, because of her status, Morgana is significantly stronger and more powerful than any existing angel. Unless anoter angel stabbed her, or the highest-ranking demon hell has to offer, we're practically out of ideas."

"How does she sense them?"

"Their powers, the strength in them."

"So you don't even have suspects?"

I scoff and respond, "An angel wouldn't be stupid enough to try something like that, and the highest-ranking demon in hell is Alistair's father, Alastor. And he would never do such a stupid thing like that."

"This is probably a stupid question then, but what makes you think that since you couldn't sense any powers that it wasn't a human that hurt you?" Because of the impact that knocked Alistair and I on our asses that night, I hadn't considered anything but a being with magic attacked us. However, there are humans with supernatural capabilities that possess no internal magic. They could have been easily possessed by a demon in order to hide their true selves. I lean up and look at Alistair, who appears to be having the same thoughts as I. Now that someone has cut off access to hell, we're on our own till this can be worked out.