Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy)

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Changed your mind?” Keva asks, her voice ringing clear in the quiet of the night.

  “Shh,” I say, my heart beating faster. There’s no turning back now, especially not with a witness.

  Something glows in the darkness before us, winks out, then comes back, closer. Keva grabs the back of my jacket.

  “Is that a Fey?” she whispers. “You step out of the school precinct, and you’re toast.”

  My thought exactly. I wonder if I should get my knife out already, until I hear a soft meow.

  “It’s just a cat,” I say, releasing the breath I’d been holding.

  I shrug Keva off and head in the direction above which I believe Island Park lies. After a minute, Keva follows.

  It’s not until we’re nearly to the forest and the school’s no longer visible that I stop. I look up at the dark void that is Lake Winnebago.

  “I really don’t like this, Morgan,” Keva says as the cat runs around my legs.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, more for my sake than hers.

  I make a quick prayer to slow my heartbeat to a more acceptable speed, then point my hand down to the ground at my feet.

  “Perth,” I whisper.

  A burst of green energy flashes out of my hand and pulverizes the ground, nearly taking out my foot at the same time.

  “By Kali’s mighty sword, you can use them!” Keva breathes.

  “OK, let’s try that again,” I say shakily. “But without any maiming.”

  I’m about to call out the ogham’s name again, when the cat hisses at me, then claws my legs to shreds.

  “Get it off me!” I yell, trying to kick the animal away.

  Keva comes to retrieve it, but not before it punctures more holes in me.

  “Thanks,” I say, wincing.

  “Just…do your thing,” Keva grunts, struggling to keep the cat away from her face.

  I call out the ogham’s name again, concentrating on what I want to see. The stream of air that comes out this time is wider, and I feel my feet lift off the ground.

  “It’s working!” I gasp when I’ve reached a couple of feet.

  But I’ve cried victory too soon, as the green jet sputters, and I find myself toppling to the ground. I land on the packed earth, jarring my coccyx.

  “Why don’t you just give up?” Keva asks as the cat, who’s gone completely bonkers, tries to claw her instead.

  I remain flat on my back until I can catch my breath, then get ready for try number three.

  This time, I manage to keep a constant flow as I rise into the air at ever-increasing speed. Before I know it, I break through some strange pressure and find myself drenched in freezing water. Eyes closed and holding my breath, I keep the sylph’s stream as steady as possible before I can drown myself.

  I finally break the lake’s surface to be greeted with a bitter wind. I try to stay afloat, fighting against my uniform and the dagger in my boot that keep dragging me down. I look about me, searching for my bearings.

  I falter and take another big gulp of water. Coughing, I try to swim toward the city lights, if only to keep myself from getting hypothermia.

  Then I hear it, carried on the air, the hair-raising sound of a woman’s high-pitched cry. With a last burst of energy, I call on my ring’s power. Half swimming, half flying, I travel over the lake until I land face-first on solid ground. With trembling hands, I pull myself away from the shore and the freezing waves lapping at my legs, then collapse under the shadow of a large rock. I roll onto my back, gasping as my bad arm gets caught under my soaked body, and stare at the night sky.

  “Thank you, God,” I whisper to the stars hanging high above me and realize, despite my fuzzy mind, that the ground underneath me is uncommonly warm for this time of year.

  Breath fogging in the air, I push myself to my knees, then forge ahead, toward the houses. The farther away from the lake I go, the warmer the ground beneath me gets, until my uniform’s steaming about me as it dries out. Though it feels nice to regain feeling in my limbs, I know this is not a good sign.

  “If it weren’t for those idiots down there,” I mumble, “I wouldn’t have to go through this craziness.”

  I grip a tuft of grass, and it comes away in ashes.

  “Please…”

  A chill runs up my back. The voice is coming from just beyond the standing stone.

  “No, please, I don’t want to d—”

  That strange moaning sound cuts the man’s pleading short. My heart’s thumping in my chest like it’s trying to run away, as I should be doing. What was I thinking coming here all on my own just to prove a point?

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” I tell myself before I bite down hard on my lip, realizing I’ve spoken out loud again.

  Hands trembling, I reach for my knife and feel its reassuring presence in my boot. Ever so carefully, I slide it out of its sheath. I peer around the boulder for a split second before moving back out of sight, but it’s no use. With this little light, I can barely make out anything but moving shadows.

  “Sleep, sleep, little warrior,” comes a high-pitched, sighing voice. “Sleep, and all your worries shall drift away like dust in the wind. Away, away they shall be carried, until you no longer feel anything, and the doors of the afterlife shall open to you.”

  Terrified, I cross myself multiple times at the horrible voice that manages to sound both sad yet eager. I’m about to cross myself for the eighth time when the ground starts shaking, small little tremors that quickly turn into bone-rattling quakes.

  I steal another look around the stone. Across from me, another boulder is rising from the ground. I rub my eyes, but there’s no denying it: that rock is definitely sprouting out of the earth like some magical tooth, nearly completing a semicircle of five standing stones.

  A circle, I tell myself. A circle of stones, like in the poem. I knew I was right, but nobody ever listens to me. And now I’m going to die.

  Keva was right. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever come up with.

  “Pretty, so pretty,” the voice says. I see a shape wrapped in a dark cowl throw itself at the newly grown menhir22 and rub itself over it like some gigantic cat. However, I know that it’s no feline, but this banshee Arthur and the rest of KORT are so afraid of.

  “Saint George’s balls,” I say under my breath, “what is going on here?”

  Every instinct I have tells me to get away before that creature sees me. But I find I cannot move an inch, not even to hide back behind my boulder.

  Jennifer’s dire words come back to haunt me—those predicting my death by a Fey with no one to protect me.

  “Charlie, no!” A guy rushes over toward the creature. I hear the distinct hiss of a blade being drawn and feel myself let out a long breath—a knight’s arrived, I’m safe!

  “You’ll pay for this!” the boy hisses.

  The banshee rears up to her full height, which makes her about the size of an old woman.

  But old woman or not, the creature is much faster than she appears. She pounces on the knight with a shriek, and he falls to the ground, motionless. The banshee kneels next to him, the low wail rising from its gray form. A slender, bony hand reaches out, claws clicking together as it grabs a long black knife.

  “Stop!”

  I find myself standing within the semicircle of stones, my own paltry knife held before me. It had seemed like such a wise choice at the time, but I think the sword may have been a better choice after all.

  The creature freezes above the knight’s body. Then two small dots of glowing yellow turn in my direction. I flinch backward.

  A violent screech erupts, and I feel my skin try to crawl off my body. Before she can attack me, I rush the banshee. I must have surprised her, for I ram straight into her body, and we both roll onto the ground. Thrashing, the woman-beast screams in pain. I push myself up and rush over to the knight before the banshee recovers.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, falling onto the soft earth next to him.

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nbsp; I try to feel for a pulse, but find that his body’s slowly sinking into the earth, his right leg already halfway covered with the burnt soil.

  I grab his shoulders as the ground tries to suck his body down like some hungry ogre.

  “Over my dead body,” I say, pulling with all my strength to get him out.

  The boy shudders in my arms before going completely limp.

  “Nonononono,” I say, slapping his face while trying not to panic. “No time-out for you!”

  The earth shifts around the knight’s leg, and I hear the sickening sound of bones getting crushed. He screams, and I pull on his arms again until we lurch backward as his body tears away from the earth’s rabid maw. With a horrified jolt, I realize half of his leg is missing.

  “You’re going to be OK,” I tell him, trying to staunch the blood with my jacket.

  If only I knew we were both going to make it alive off this cursed island.

  “I’m going to take care of you,” I say, looking around, wishing for help that’s not going to come. “I’m going to call for an ambulance, maybe a heli—”

  Something barrels into me, and I crash to the ground, hitting my head hard on one of the boulders. Air whooshes out of me, and I remain lying there, stunned. Training definitely did not prepare me for this crap!

  I take a deep breath, then bite back a cry when a sharp pain answers me, searing through my sternum. I must have at least one rib broken, though judging from the lack of wheezing as I breathe, neither of my lungs got punctured.

  Taking slow, shallow breaths, I carefully get back up on my feet. The dim world around me vacillates, and I lean against the stone for balance. Out of sheer will, I force myself to stay standing. Somewhere around is an angry Fey who wants to kill me, and I’ll have a better chance to fight her off if I’m not lying on my back.

  Something silvery on the ground catches my eyes—my knife! I hobble over to it and painfully lower myself to pick it up. Its handle is slick with what seems to be blood. I must have injured the banshee when we both fell together.

  A tiny smile escapes me; at least I won’t go down like a total loser.

  A light rustling reaches me from behind. I turn around with a grunt. The monster lets out a shriek and rakes her taloned hands toward my face. I raise my arms protectively before me. The banshee’s claws seem to hover over me for a moment, as if the air is resisting her. She lets out a terrifying wail, hunches down, and I feel a burning pain lance through me as her sharp fingers dig deep into my own mortal flesh. Tears burst into my eyes. I grit my teeth, try to push the creature away, take a step back, and bring down my hand still clenched around the knife.

  The blade catches the monster in the face, and she yelps in pain before she attacks again. This time, I remember my training and slide my back foot around. The motion catches the creature by surprise, and she stumbles past me. I close in on her from behind, then plunge my knife into her body. I feel the banshee quiver like a fish caught on a hook. The Fey tries to reach back behind her, but I push its arm away as I twist the dagger in her back.

  With a cry, she jumps away from me, nearly tearing the knife out of my hands. From beneath her deep cowl, the creature eyes me carefully. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I feel like I should have already turned to mush half a dozen blows ago.

  “Well this is unexpected.”

  I whirl around at the sound of the voice just as something hits me in the temple, sending a dizzying number of stars into my vision before I crumple to the ground.

  “How much longer do we have to wait?”

  The voice seems to come from very far, but I still recognize it. Arthur. I try to move, but my efforts are greeted with searing pain and a burning in my face and arms like I’ve been set on fire. Water. I try to pry my eyes open, but not a single muscle responds. I need water! My mouth is raw as if I’ve swallowed a beehive.

  “I think she’s trying to say something,” someone says.

  My lips open, and a tiny croak comes out. I breathe heavily, panic settling in. Why can’t I move? What’s happened to me? Visions of my night on the island facing the banshee flood back to me. What if I’m trapped, buried in the earth while I was trying to save that knight?

  Morgan, listen to me.

  I stop struggling the moment I hear my guardian angel.

  Take deep, calm breaths, he continues, and you’ll get better. You just need to let the poison drain out of your system, and you’ll be back to normal.

  I want to nod, say I understand, but have to contend with lying still. Soon, sleep’s arms greet me, and I fall into a senseless slumber.

  I’m running up a hill. A whirl of slate-gray clouds is growing larger in the sky, blotting out the sun, turning the day into night. I reach a circle of standing stones, but not a soul is to be found. My heart flutters, and bile rises to my throat—I’m too late! I look down at the foot of one of the stones and find a half-buried face. I gasp as I recognize Arthur’s hazel eyes staring sightlessly at me. I fall down to my knees and start digging, but the earth keeps rolling and shaking beneath me. In the center of the circle, the ground opens up, seeking to draw me down into its depths. I try to scream, but my throat’s closed up, and I don’t make a sound.

  “Lucan’s awake.”

  The voice is soft and is coming from somewhere above me, pulling me away from my nightmare.

  “How is he?” Arthur asks.

  But that’s not possible. Arthur’s dead; I saw it. I try to shift, but my body won’t move. My side aches. Then I remember the hooded figure, the knight with the missing leg, the fight, my broken rib, and then a heavy blow to the head.

  “He’s shaken,” continues the first boy, and I now recognize him for being Lance. “Can’t believe he won’t be able to fight anymore. Says Charlie’s dead, though we haven’t found his remains.”

  “Does he remember what happened?”

  “Barely. They found the banshee roaming about the island, but this one was vicious and attacked them.”

  “Which doesn’t make sense,” Arthur says. “Banshees usually like to stand back and watch people die rather than commit the killings themselves. And why would it have been there if the place was already deserted?”

  “Lucan says he doesn’t remember seeing Morgan when they got there,” Lance says. “So we don’t know if she’s the one who saved him…or the one who drew them over there.”

  I keep my breathing as steady as possible and let the accusation roll over me.

  “Any luck getting in touch with the Board?” Arthur asks.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Arthur sighs, then says, “They have their work cut out for them, I suppose. I hear they’re now investigating that group of tourists whose bones were found picked clean by lice.”

  “Those in the Grand Canyon?”

  “Yeah. I think we’re going to have to solve the banshee problem on our own.”

  There’s a pause.

  “She still hasn’t woken up?” Lance asks.

  “How did you end up at the site so quickly?” Arthur asks back.

  “Ran into her roommate, who told me what she was up to. When I got to the island—”

  “Yes, yes, you found them both unconscious with Dean taking care of them,” Arthur says, sounding irritated. “But it still doesn’t explain how you ended up there alone, especially when you know that everyone must travel in pairs.”

  “Are you more upset that I got there alone or that I got to her first?”

  My nose starts itching furiously, but I endeavor not to scratch it or scrunch up my face. If they know I’m listening, they’ll stop talking, and I need to find out what’s going on. It’s obvious the two have already gone over this argument a number of times already.

  “What about that lawyer of yours?”

  “Dean?” Arthur asks. “He says that he went there on express order of the Board and found the two of them lying there. No sign of Charlie, the banshee, or anything, except for the knife.”
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  “Lucan says it doesn’t belong to either him or Charlie.”

  “She must’ve brought it,” Arthur says. “Guess she’s not that stupid after all.”

  “Unless it’s their blood on it and not the banshee’s.”

  This time I have to work much harder not to react and punch some sense into the boys. I concentrate instead on the fact that if it weren’t for Dean, I may very well be dead by now. Note to self, I must thank the man for always saving me.

  “We’ll have to wait for the lab results for that,” Arthur says. “But considering the injuries she’s sustained, I doubt she and the banshee were in cahoots with each other.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Lance says. “Though…have you seen it?”

  It? What are those two talking about now?

  “I have,” Arthur says, “and I think I may have an idea.”

  I feel the cool touch of callused fingers on my neck and tense up. The fingers go down to my collarbone, pulling my shirt with them.

  I fling my eyes open and cover myself from the prying eyes, wincing in pain at the sudden movement.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

  My cheeks are burning, and I notice the same blush creep up Arthur’s stunned face. We stare at each other as, for the first time since I’ve known him, he’s at a loss for words. He recovers first and lowers his brow.

  “If you were awake, you should have said so,” he says accusingly.

  “Do you try to get every unconscious girl naked?” I ask.

  We both glare at each other under Lance’s bemused look. Harry walks in on us, holding a bowl of water and a clean cloth draped over his arm.

  “Back in the land of the living, I see,” he says, a happy smile stretching his lined face.

  “She’s awake?” A head pokes around the doorjamb. “Morgan!” A sheepish Marianne shuffles in and grabs my hand. “I’m so glad you’re OK! I thought for sure you’d be a goner and croak before I had a chance to apologize”—she throws a fearful look in Arthur’s direction and leans closer to me—“for what I said to you the last time.”