Chapter 18
Morgan
He follows me to my room and I ask questions. So many questions.
“Tell me everything about the Otherside. Tell me about the Morrigan. How did you get away? What are her soldiers like? The dungeons. Describe the dungeons.”
Dylan grits his teeth and answers, out of obligation. Hesitation tugs on every word—each answer. It goes on for hours.
“In her realm, the Morrigan looks like a woman. A queen. Her castle is where she spends the majority of her time as the lands around it are desolate and spoiled.”
“Why is it so cold?”
He shrugs. “In general, I think she wishes it to be that way, but I have theories that go back to her relationship with Cu. When she was a young goddess falling in love. There’s a heat to passion and when she shifted and embraced her title as Queen of Ravens, her blood ran cold. She thrives on it.”
“So she’s afraid of heat?”
“She’s afraid of everything.”
“Tell me about the dungeons,” I ask, leaning forward.
“Do you want to know about the dungeons or about the prisoners in them?”
He can’t say their names. I’m not sure I can, either.
“Both.”
The dungeons are under the castle, he tells me. Deep in the belly, under the tower on the north side. There is no daylight. No plumbing or electricity down there. The air is a different sort of cold. “Although we reside in human vessels, we were molded into cold-blooded birds. The cold doesn’t help. The inflicted wounds simply freeze. The blood hardens into ice. Because we can survive the conditions, it just provides more opportunity for torture.”
I ask the question I’ve kept to myself for weeks. “Do you think they’re dead?”
“I believe they pray to the gods that they were dead.”
So no. Just like Anita implied.
“Why would she keep them alive—give us any hope to get them back?”
He reaches for me, taking my hand and resting it on his chest, above the heat of his heart. “We’re bound. Connected. In all the ways we can help one another, we can also hurt each other. She’ll use their power for her own gain. The longer they are away from you, the more damage it does.” He chuckles. “I am a strong and virile man, Morgan, but even I can’t fulfill your ravenous needs.”
“But if I get them back,” I say. “I can heal them, right? I can fix this?”
He gives me a hard look. “It’s not so easy.”
“What makes you believe I think anything will be easy? We don’t even have access to the Otherside yet.”
“If you ever, by a miracle of the gods, got to the Otherside, the Morrigan would capture you in moments. Her guards and soldiers are legendary.”
I glance at the scars on his wrists. “You beat them.”
“I had one chance and I took it. I have little faith that if I saw Casteel again I would survive.”
“Casteel?”
“The Morrigan’s Commander. She may have eschewed love, but if she has anything close to a partner, it’s him.”
“And he did that to you?” I point to the scars.
His blue eyes have become hard like sapphires. He stands and walks across the room. “I paid him back.”
“So it is possible to fight back—and to escape.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t get your hopes up, Morgan.”
“So you’ve just given up?” My anger flares.
“I’m doing what they would want me to. Keep you safe. Fight to stop the virus.”
“Did they not come for you? Is that what this is about?” As soon as the words leave my mouth I know they are the wrong thing to say. He clams up and strides for the door. “Dylan, wait. Stop. I didn’t mean it.”
He looks at me sadly, neither of us happy or content. We’re in a shitty situation. A mess that is drowning us both. But unlike Dylan, I refuse to sink any further.
*
Fortified on the strength of my guardian, I spend the afternoon preparing for my mission. I got Dylan’s approval—at least for the moment. Sure, I know he basically agreed under the duress of magic and pussy, but it’s the best I could do. I wanted him to know. I need his strength. Most of all, I must have his cooperation.
As afternoon nears, I ask if he’ll visit Hildi and Andi and see if they need anything. While his jaw has the lax muscles of a man freshly fucked, his eyes carry shadows of concern. He’ll try to stop me, it’s in his nature and I adore him for it, but I need Dylan out of the way.
He leaves out the front door and I wait behind my closed door until he’s gone. His keen sense of my whereabouts failed the night before—I doubt it will again.
When I’m sure he’s off the property I slip downstairs, sneaking past the warmth of the kitchen. I take the stairway to the depths of the house, to the dungeon, where Marcus sits in the small lounge outside the cells.
“Hey,” he says, rubbing his eyes. It’s a boring job, but we set Hildi up with a computer and a comfortable bed. “What brings you down here?”
“How’s she doing?”
“The same. How long do you plan on keeping her down here?” Marcus glances at the monitors, checking up on Anita, who is sitting on her cot with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her hair is a mess. Her clothing is wrinkled and dirty.
“It’s been a week. I’m going to take her for a bath—see if a little reward will get her talking.”
He snorts. “Unlikely. She hasn’t said anything coherent since I’ve been here.”
“Any incidents?”
“Other than rambling nonsensically, no. She’s pretty docile.”
I’d hoped he would say that. I give him the signal to flip the lock and he does, the metal bar clicking when it springs. I’m hit by Anita’s stench the instant I enter. Marcus follows me in. “Maybe you can clean her cell while I’ve got her upstairs?”
“Upstairs?”
“There’s no shower down here.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “What does Dylan think about this?”
“It was his idea. He’s waiting upstairs.” I check my phone for the time. “He’s probably wondering where I am.”
Anita watches us as we approach her cell. She’s sitting the same as in the monitor. Knees bent, arms wrapped around them. Her eyes dart between us with mild interest.
“Get up,” I say, wrinkling my nose. She doesn’t move. “I know you’re used to your new digs but it’s time to clean up. Come on.”
She stands, slowly as though she’s not fully coherent. I hope it will make her more docile on the way up the stairs. I don’t have time for any of her bullshit. “Unlock the door, Marcus.”
He holds the ring of keys. It’s old fashioned but so are the cells. I suspect they’ve been down here way longer than the house above. Marcus hesitates. I get it. Anita is deadly. She’s an active contagion. I hold out my hand for the key. “She can’t infect you. It doesn’t bother the supernatural—just humans.”
Anita’s eyes light up at that and she laughs, baring her teeth.
“Turn around, psycho.” I fish the zip-tie out of my pocket. I’m not a fool. I won’t take her upstairs unbound. Marcus sighs with relief when he sees my measures. “It’s going to be fine.”
I hate lying to him. Just like I hate the fact that I’m a betraying liar when I yank Anita out of the cell and shove him inside, slamming the door between us.
“What the hell?” he screams.
I get my hands back on Anita, moving her where I can see her.
“Sorry. I can’t risk anyone coming upstairs right now.”
Marcus swallows, his dark eyes watching me. “What about Dylan?”
“We’ll be gone before he gets home.” Anita starts giggling next to me. I’m not even sure if she knows why. “I’m sure he’ll find you. Eventually.”
He shakes his head. “He’ll kill me.”
“I’ll tell him I was responsible. Don’t worry—he knows I’m a loose cannon.” I give him a sympathetic smile. “I’m not doing a bad thing. I’m trying to fix it, but I have to do it alone.” I glance at Anita. “Well, almost alone.”
“Whatever you’re about to do, Morgan, don’t. The Darkness is no joke.”
I spin and stare at the man behind bars. I barely know him. He’s an ally but to what extent? “I’m aware of the seriousness, Marcus. I opened that gate the first time. I let the Morrigan and her evil in.” I walk back over to him and his yellow-green snake eyes watch my every move. He flinches as I lean in. “I’m taking Anita. I’m saving my men, and I’m gonna make the bitch on the Otherside pay.”
He opens his mouth to speak but nothing, not a word, not a breath comes out when he realizes what’s about to transpire.
*
I turn the shower on and shove Anita inside. She’s still dressed. It’s not like those clothes won’t have to be burned anyway.
She shouts from the heat, getting a mouthful of water. I grab her hand and squeeze in nearly a full bottle of shampoo. “Clean up. I’m not spending the day next to you reeking like that.”
I’d laid out my outfit before I went downstairs. I didn’t want to tip Marcus off with the clothing I found in the training room supply closet. I’d been shocked when I found the sleek military pants with dozens of pockets and slits for weapons. The shirt is made of a durable material—halfway between summer and winter. Thin, but sturdy. It appears waterproof if not flame resistant. The boots are lightweight, good for fighting and running. I found my size amongst the much larger outfits clearly made for the Guard.
The fact I discovered them was no mistake. After breakfast, Davis asked me to find something downstairs—specifically suggesting I look in the closet for a length rope he needed. I found the rope, as well as the battle gear. He made no comment when I handed him what he’d asked for.
Maybe I’m not the only one that knows I need to make this move.
Anita showers and I slip into the outfit. The pants and shirt fit like a glove, seemingly sewn to fit my measurements. I look in the mirror, aware that the clothing alone makes me look like a badass. I feel like one, too. There’s a sheath for the sword Damien made me. I fasten it over my back, sliding the sword into place. When the water stops and Anita emerges from the steamy shower, her eyes pop when she sees me.
“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” she says, water dripping down her neck. “The Morrigan is going to eat you alive.”
I move quicker than lightning, clutching her chin with my hand. “I wonder what she’ll say when she sees you? Nothing more than my prisoner and pet.”
“The Morrigan loves me.” Her voice is a squeak but I see the calculation in her eyes. “She needs me.”
I laugh. “She needs me, too. And I’m going to be ready when she comes for me.”
I toss Anita clothes and watch as she tightens the belt around her skinny waist. Everything is too big. Anita is a waif. But when she’s finished, I tie her wrists back together, even though I know she desires going back through the gate more than I do.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. “Why are you going to her? Because you can’t win, you know that, right?”
I decide to answer truthfully. “She took the men I love. She poisoned one into betraying me. I have debts to pay and bridges to burn because she used me. Used me to take out people like Xavier. Like Andi and thousands of others around the city. I’m not waiting for another death, for her to make another move.” I push her through the door before adding, “I’m not trying to win, Anita. I’m just trying to hold on and do what I can for the people I care about. Even if I don’t make it back, I can assure that they do.”