Chapter 3
Morgan
If I had to choose a guardian to fight with at the end of the world, I’m not sure it would be Dylan.
Not that I don’t think he’s worthy; he’s strong and capable, quick and smart, confident and secure. But, he’s also emotionally disconnected at times, making it a struggle for us to comfort one another. We’re both a little lost, definitely on edge, and as we walk down the long, narrow hallway beneath Tran’s magic shop, I really miss my other Guardians.
“Find a table,” he says as we enter the seedy, underground bar. A flare of magic ripples over me and I give the bouncer a questioning look.
“Disarming wards. No magic in here,” the burly man replies.
“I doubt I’m much of a threat.”
He looks me over and I can’t help but stare at the twisting rope of tattoos around his neck. They look like they’re moving. “Sure, sweetheart, that’s what dangerous ones all say.”
Dylan nods as he steps through and I feel his fingers leave my back as I step into the room and he walks toward the bar.
Seriously, where’s Sam or Damien when I need them? Ugh, scratch that. The despair that lives around my heart roars.
I know they’d have us in a quiet, unassuming corner already with drinks on the table. I glance back at Dylan, who’s engaged in a conversation with the bartender, a girl with smooth skin and fiery eyes. More than one customer looks between me and Dylan, making some kind of connection. I forget that the Raven Guard is notorious. I wonder if they know what happened to the others—how fast does news travel in the supernatural world?
The place is packed and there’s definitely an interesting vibe. An energy—disabled powers or not. Having never been here, I have no idea if it’s normal or not, but I suspect everyone is aware of the virus ravaging the city and came down here to drink their worries away.
Probably like every other bar in the city.
A familiar-looking man catches my eye as I search for a table; he tilts his head my way. His eyes are so very dark, but there’s a calmness rolling off his person and something that makes me want to go over to him. Even stripped of his magic, I can tell he’s powerful.
“No,” a voice says in my ear. Dylan’s voice. He presses his hand against my back, steering me in the opposite direction. “Not tonight.”
“Who is that?” I ask, feeling the tug as we walk away.
“You don’t recognize him?” An open table appears against the back wall. I’d just looked over here. Did he conjure it out of thin air? I shake my head at Dylan’s question. “That’s the Shaman from the fights.”
“Oh,” I glance back. The Shaman is still watching me. “I thought he was a good guy.”
Dylan laughs as he pulls out my chair. I sit and he scoots it in, like a proper guardian and gentleman. When he’s in his own seat he says, “Everyone in here has various shades. The Shaman can feel your pain. He wants to cure it—but every fix comes with a price.”
“How do you know?”
“Despite this form, I’ve lived a long life, Morgan.” He looks across the room and locks eyes with the Shaman. “He is older than I am.”
The concept is overwhelming. I feel childish and naïve. Which I probably am, compared to the others in the room. Yet, I sense their awe when they look at me. They must see past my body. Past my flesh and into my soul, where I don’t feel young at all.
“So you bargained with him?”
A flicker of anger tics at his jaw. “Why do you think we agree to the monthly fights? Our talents, tactics, and weaknesses are not meant for display. They are for battles and war.”
“What did you trade for?”
“We needed information.” His jaw tightens. “On you. Just a hint about where you were. If you were alive or not.”
I reach for him under the table, grappling for his fingers that are curled tight in a ball. A tiny shard of ice around my heart melts. “You feel shame over that?”
He looks away, and even though he doesn’t answer, the truth is written on his face. A chunk of the despair I’ve felt over the last few weeks chips away as the need to make Dylan feel better, to feel loved, rises in my chest. He refuses to meet my gaze and just as I’m about to force the issue, he looks over my shoulder with interest.
“Tran,” he calls. “Over here.”
“Tran?” The owner of the magic shop upstairs approaches. The ancient (probably literally) man walks over. A heavy cloak covers his shoulders. He takes the chair Dylan offers and sits with a weary sigh.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Dylan says.
“No. I wasn’t sure I would.” His narrow eyes skirt over me. “I try to stay out of the ways of the gods and goddesses. I’ve probably already assisted too much.”
“I know, and I appreciate you meeting us,” Dylan says. “I just want to know if you saw anything that day—heard anything?”
There’s no question what day Dylan is referring to, but I lean in and press anyway. “The day my Guardians vanished. From everything we know, it took place near your shop, but our own canvassing has been futile. No one will talk to us.” Damien would have gotten the men on the street to talk—he was friendly with them. “They’re either afraid or don’t care.”
“Probably both,” he says and sighs heavily. Deep lines crease his forehead. “It sounded like the world ripped in two; I felt the moment in the depths of my chest. The air turned to ice, coating my windows with frost. I heard the shouts of the Ravens and went to assist but my door was jammed tight. It was hard to see—thank the gods, because what I did see?” He shivers. “Tentacles of smoke. Long and black. Something dark from another world.”
He stares at me. Dylan grips my hand. He fought those tentacles in the ring.
“The Morrigan?”
“Or part of her, at least. I fell to my knees and prayed.” Tran reaches under his cloak and rests a crumpled paper bag on the table. “I found this on the street after it was over.”
He slides the bag to Dylan and I hold my breath as he opens it. I don’t know what to expect, but what he pulls out never crossed my mind, even though it seems obvious. Dylan’s eyes flash to mine as he hands over the cracked black box that may hold a clue on what happened to the guardians and how to get them back.
It’s Sam’s camera.
“It’s broken. I couldn’t get it to work, but maybe there’s a way.”
“Thank you, Tran. This is very helpful.”
I try to turn on the camera but it’s pointless. He’s right. I look up and find him staring at me once again. His hands tremble on the table. “I have a warning for you both.”
“What kind of warning?” Dylan asks, but the line between his eyes tells me he already knows. I’m the only one left out of the loop here.
“Not everyone wants you to stop the Darkness. There are many others that have waited centuries, if not longer, for this world to fall to the demons.”
“What do you mean?”
“Watch your back, young warrior. As the civilians fall to the sickness, the darker elements will arise. You’re not just fighting the Morrigan.”
I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise as I look around the room. Every person, witch, demon, and angel is focused on this conversation. “Do you think any of them helped Bunny betray us?”
“Nothing is off the table. The creatures down here? They’re just the muscle and thugs. The gossips and traders. It’s the ones that live in the world up top you have to worry about. They come in all shapes and sizes. Perform all kinds of jobs.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Doctors. Police. Those that will be called upon in a time of crisis.”
I look at Dylan. Again, he’s not completely surprised. “You knew?”
“You know the history, Morgan. Who do you think Hitler used as his commanders? As his closest confidants. It wasn’t back-alley scum.”
I think of the photos I’ve seen. He’s always surrounded by a tight posse. Doctors. Generals. Educators. Which would be manageable if I hadn’t just lost most of my own posse.
“Thanks for the information, Tran,” I say, standing from the table. Dylan follows my lead, taking the camera from me and slipping it in his coat. “If you hear anything, let us know.”
The old man nods.
I feel the eyes on us as we exit the bar. I don’t miss the Shaman’s nod. A simmering rage boils beneath the surface of my skin. I don’t like not knowing the rules of this world. Who is an enemy or not.
Bunny has opened a wound that will not stop bleeding.