Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  “Did you fall down the stairs?” I ask, though I know that’s impossible.

  I swallow hard. “It’s not Percy, is it? Did you give him my message?”

  She nods once, then keeps her eyes on the floor. She stiffens, and I realize she’s seen the cat. I try to smile.

  “Please don’t let them know,” I whisper. “He’s the only friend I’ve got. Actually, I was wondering if you could give him some food?”

  Her next words surprise me. “You should leave here,” she whispers.

  “What?”

  “You can’t trust him.”

  “I can’t trust who?”

  But she’s gone mute again. I grab her by the arms, and she winces.

  “Please, Ella,” I say, relaxing my hold on her, “I don’t understand. Who can’t I trust?”

  She gasps, her mouth opens to say something, then her body turns to mist, and I’m left holding nothing but air. I stand frozen for a moment, mulling over her last warning, until I hear the cat meow again.

  I try to call her back, but this time, Ella doesn’t reappear. Something splatters against the window, and I whirl around, only to realize that the snow’s turned to hail. Something else hits my window, leaving a long gray-green mark. Puzzled, I draw closer to the glass pane—and have to hold back a shout of surprise.

  The whole snowy landscape has turned to gray as thousands upon thousands of insects swarm about, blotting out the waning sun.

  “Flies,” I breathe. My hands go clammy as my prior worries come back full force. “A plague. It can’t be anything else.” Which means that Carman’s getting closer to freedom.

  My gaze drops down to the overcast garden below, and I start at the sight of a hunched figure detaching itself from the barren trees. My blood runs cold as I remember another stooped shape on the island by the standing stones. I blink, and it’s gone. I shake my head. It must be stress that’s making me see things.

  The cat hops onto the windowsill and paws the glass pane.

  “You want to go back out?” I ask him with a shake of the head. “You’re insane…”

  He meows at me. I pat his small head, but he circles around on himself, and meows again.

  I can’t stop myself, I laugh. “I’m not following you in that.”

  I stop as an idea springs to mind. My father’s killers are out there somewhere, doing their best to free Carman. I have no doubt about it. But I’m the only one who believes that and, therefore, the only one who can do something about it. Which means I’ve got to get out of here. Now.

  “Actually, that’s a great plan, Skipper,” I tell the cat, who doesn’t seem to like his new name. “Maybe, if you’re who I think you are, you could take me to Lugh. What do you say to that?”

  The cat yawns as I throw my bedcovers to the ground, rip my bedding off, then tie the sheets together. When I’m done, I fasten the end of my makeshift rope to the radiator, then stare at the ground below.

  “Saint George’s balls,” I gasp, “this is way more terrifying than I thought.”

  Before I can chicken out, I slam the window open, letting a swarm of flies in. Shielding my eyes, I throw the other end of the rope over the windowsill, then follow after. I see the cat hop onto the edge of the window, watching me in return as I hover over the emptiness beneath me.

  I have to force my quickly numbing fingers loose to lower myself as thousands of flies swarm around my face, forcing me to shut my eyes.

  I take another careful step back and reach lower on the cloth ladder. My foot slips and I squeal as I swing against the wall. My fingers slide down on the soft sheets. I scrabble to get another purchase, but my shoes keep slipping on the ice and snow. My hands are cramping, definitely not a good sign. Movies are all lies; ropes made out of bedsheets are definitely not the way to go.

  I grind my teeth together as I try to get another good grip, but the wind slams me into the house, and I let go completely.

  Time seems to stop. I feel my body fall backward, light pooling from my bedroom overhead, the cat long gone.

  Dean’s head pops out of the window, surrounded by a now-easing cloud of flies. He lunges down, grabs my coat, and I jerk to a stop.

  For a moment, we both keep still, as if frozen. Then slowly, inch by careful inch, Dean pulls me back up through the window. We both fall onto the floor, breathing hard.

  When I feel like my heart’s not going to burst through my chest anymore, I look up to find Dean eyeing me furiously. I look away, shame burning my cheeks.

  “Yeah, not my best moment,” I say. My voice drops. “Thank you.”

  Lying on the floor in a pile of broken dishes is my dinner—mashed potatoes splattered on the carpet and up on the wall, peas and carrots scattered under my bed. And, a few feet away, the remains of a bowl of milk, the cat sleeping beside it, his chest rising and falling in quick breaths.

  Definitely can’t count on you, can I? I think, prodding him with my foot.

  Still glaring at me, Dean motions for me to follow him.

  For the first time in over a week, I get to leave my bedroom, my failed escape notwithstanding. When we reach the kitchen, Dean heads straight for the stove and starts bustling around with pots and pans.

  I plop down onto a stool and watch him prepare some hot chocolate.

  “Where have you been?” I ask, despite knowing he won’t answer. “My parents are always out, Arthur hasn’t shown his face, and none of my friends have bothered to call on me. It’s just been me and Ella all this time, and she’s not much of a talker.”

  I look about the kitchen in search of the Fey, knowing this is her territory.

  “Where is she, by the way?” I ask. “I called her earlier, but…”

  Dean turns around and sets a cup of hot cocoa before me. I put my freezing fingers around it and smile up at his dark, brooding face.

  “Thanks.”

  I lift the cup to my lips, blow on it to cool it down, then remember the cat upstairs and set the cup back down.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, getting up. “I left my furry friend in my room, and I know he’s been hungry.”

  But Dean motions for me to get back to my hot cocoa and goes up to fetch the cat instead. I smile as I watch his broad back disappear down the corridor—if he weren’t a layperson, he’d be a heck of a great knight. Definitely loads better than Arthur.

  With a snort, I look up at the stove, still picturing Dean making me hot chocolate, when I notice a large gap in the wall above. I cross the kitchen and hesitantly reach up to touch the large hole left in the stones—a hole that should be filled with Ella’s ogham.

  Her last words come back to me: You should leave here.

  Before I know it, I’m in the entrance hall, grabbing a jacket. I take one last look at the stairs up which Dean’s gone.

  “Sorry,” I whisper to him, knowing he’s probably going to get in trouble because of me.

  I fling the door open and rush across the snow, all the way down to the gates, where Percy’s bright orange car is parked.

  ◆◆◆

  I knock on Percy’s window, jerking him awake. He stares at me, bleary-eyed, before he unlocks the passenger door and I climb in.

  “Drive,” I say. “Hurry!”

  “Why? Where to?” he asks while doing as I ask.

  “The lake. And step on it!”

  The drive is tense as the car eats up the miles, occasionally skipping on patches of ice. Thankfully, at this time and in these weather conditions, most people are home.

  The tires screech as Percy breaks before engaging the car into the small path toward the cemetery. Through the leafless trees, I can see a few of the mental institute’s lights twinkle across the fields.

  The moment the car stops I jump out of the car. I hear Percy slam the door shut as I rush away. The snow crunches under our feet as we march through the weeds toward the water. Twice I trip as my foot gets tangled up in roots, and twice Percy catches me.

  “Now will ya tell me wh
at all the fuss is about?” he asks as we reach the shore, crossing his arms. “Ya ain’t gonna make it down there without me, ya know?”

  “Touché,” I say, my breath fogging in the air.

  We both look at the ice-covered lake reflecting the city lights in the distance.

  “Yeah, I’m terrible at coming up with good plans,” I admit, “but I need to go back there.”

  “To school?” Percy asks, sounding shocked. “But Arthur forbid it?”

  “I need to speak to him, it’s urgent,” I reply, hoping he can’t tell that I’m lying.

  “I s’pose,” Percy says, digging his hands in his pockets. “Definitely would change from babysittin’.”

  “So are you going to help me or not?” I ask him.

  Percy lets out a theatrical sigh. “I s’pose I’ll have to,” he says. “Ya’re crazy enough to dive in there on yer own if I don’t.”

  Disguising my cry of victory into a cough, I grab his hand, and we both step onto the frozen water together. Half walking, half sliding, we make our way farther onto Lake Winnebago, until the sheet of ice beneath us threatens to break.

  “Well, here goes,” Percy says.

  A green bubble rises around us in a protective cocoon. Then Percy aims his hand down, and a jet of bright red bursts forth. A split second later, and I squeal as we drop into the pitch-black waters.

  I expect to see the top of the school within minutes, but something happens in the water, and we get jostled around.

  “Hold on tight!” Percy shouts in my ear.

  We wheel about, then torpedo our way deeper into the lake until I’m not sure which way is up or down anymore. I squeeze my arms around Percy’s neck so hard I’m sure I must be choking him. Just as I’m about to get sick, we break through the lower barrier of the lake and pitch through the air toward the ground at bullet speed.

  I scream as the dark ground below comes rushing toward us. At the very last moment, Percy changes our course, and I let go. I roll for about ten thousand miles in the tall grass, then finally come to a stop, bruised and with about five dozen bumps forming on my cranium.

  “What was that all about?” I ask, picking myself up.

  I wipe off the slick water dripping down into my eyes and sticking my hair to my face. “What happened that we’re all wet? This didn’t happen the last time.”

  ​“Blood,” Percy says.

  My hand stills on its way to squeezing the thick water out of my hair. “What did you just say?”

  “Looks like we swam through blood,” he repeats, spitting on the ground.

  “I knew it,” I say, too grossed out to dare move again.

  “What didja know?”

  “It’s the plagues.” I lick my lips and regret it immediately. “That’s…seven now, I think. Maybe eight.”

  “Whattaya talkin’ ’bout?”

  There’s a small pop and fizzling, and two small orbs of fire appear between us, hovering in the air at eye level.

  “You’re as foul as I feel,” I say, watching the blood pooling in the grass at his feet.

  “Cold shower?” he asks me with a crooked smile.

  Before I can reply, he sprays me with the coldest water I’ve ever felt, but I bare myself to it gratefully.

  “That should do it, eh?” Percy says with a large grin. “You now look brand-spankin’ new!”

  He turns about, orienting himself. “School’s that way,” he says. “Let’s pony up!”[31]

  I hesitate. We’ve landed in an area close to the forest, and I feel it beckoning me to come forth.

  “Whatcha doin’?” Percy asks when he realizes I’m not following him. “Afraid Arthur’s gonna clean your plow?[32] Dunna worry ’bout it, I’ll talk to ’im and save yer pretty backside from a whippin’. Not that you haven’t deserved it, mind.”

  He motions for me to follow, when a girl runs straight into him, and they both topple to the ground together. Quick as a cheetah, the girl comes back up into a low crouch, her face reflecting the gold of Percy’s roving lights.

  “What are ya doin’ here?” Percy asks, getting up a second later. “Ya shouldna be outside school boundaries. It ain’t safe.”

  The girl’s scowl turns into a smile of derision that doesn’t reach her piercing blue eyes. “Oh, schoolkids, just my luck.”

  “Blanchefleur?” I ask.

  The girl tenses, then turns toward me. “Lady Morgan,” she whispers.

  A low cackle reaches us through the tall grass, one that fills me with fear.

  “Down!” I scream as a black shape jumps into the air toward Percy and the Fey girl.

  Percy reacts on instinct and dives to the side, but Blanchefleur pivots slightly on one foot, and the creature lands inches from her, long claws digging into the soft soil.

  “It’s her,” I say, my throat dry. “The banshee.”

  Chapter 31

  A good thing I haven’t had anything to drink all day, or I would pee myself. The black cowl turns toward me, and a too-familiar wailing emerges from its recesses.

  “Morgan, watch out!” Percy yells as the vicious creature bounds toward me.

  I throw myself to the side, feeling the banshee’s tattered robes brush against my legs as she hurtles past. I reach to my belt for a knife, then realize that, once again, I’m weaponless. I watch as the banshee’s dark form collects herself, my limbs shaking so much I can’t get back to my feet.

  Before she can attack again, however, Blanchefleur launches herself at the creature, the glow of her long, crystalline blade flooding the area in a silvery light. The banshee throws her arms out in defense and lets out a loud cry as the edge of the sword digs deep into her forearm. Claws out, the banshee lashes out and wrenches the blade out of Blanchefleur’s hands.

  I watch the sword twirl in the air, then land, hilt first, in the tall grasses, where its light slowly goes out.

  I hear Blanchefleur gasp as one of the banshee’s blows lands and she falls.

  Using the sound as guidance, I rush forward to stop the banshee from killing the young Fey. The creature shoves me out of the way, and I fall to the ground, jarring my arms and knees.

  Percy’s own orbs of fire flicker in and out of existence as he dodges and attacks the creature consecutively.

  “Get back to school, Morgan,” Percy says as he pulls out a pair of twin daggers.

  His weapons gleam red as he hurls himself toward the banshee. Holding one blade at an angle before him, he thrusts with the other, hitting her in the shoulder. But the dark Fey spins away, then pounces on him, her claws raking the air before his face.

  Desperate to save him, I crawl about the ground. My fingers close against something long and cold to the touch—Blanchefleur’s sword. I raise the weapon before me, and it flares out in a brilliant white light, blinding me momentarily.

  “What’re ya doin’?” Percy yells at me as he slowly forces the banshee back.

  I crack my eyes open and see the dark creature evade another knife sweep, then run straight at me. I yelp and duck under the long, bloody talons.

  I feel my blade connect, and tighten my grip around the handle for fear of losing the weapon. With a snarl, the banshee rounds on me again.

  I raise the sword back up in time to counter the creature, and stumble backward under the force of the blow.

  “Morgan!” Percy shouts.

  I make the mistake of looking at him. There’s a heavy pain in my shoulder. My feet lose their grip on the ground. I see the blade’s light pierce through the banshee’s hood to reflect in a pair of dull white eyes, then we’re both propelled away from each other, and I ram into the solid earth, the air leaving my lungs all at once.

  I hear padded footsteps then a grunting form appears above me. For a second, it looks like my life is over. The banshee leans toward me, blasting me with the putrid stench of rotting fish.

  “Master will be pleased with me,” she croaks.

  Master? I shake my head to get the ringing out of my ears, but on
ly manage to make myself dizzier.

  I watch the banshee reach for me, when a large ball of green explodes against her, throwing the creature into the air. I hear a muffled cracking of bones as she lands in the dried grass.

  “I told ya to go back!” Percy yells.

  “Couldn’t…leave you…alone,” I gasp.

  He pulls me to my feet. “You OK?” he asks, making one of the red orbs fly toward my face so he can examine me.

  “I think so,” I say with a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Percy says.

  A screech rends the air, and Percy drops down to a low crouch just as a large black shape barrels into him. He lands, sprawling in the tall grass, rolls onto his back, then flips himself upright again.

  “Percy!” I shriek.

  I try to go to him, but falter as the world around me tips. I blink in the darkness. I think I see the banshee’s misshapen form scurry toward me. I raise my hands up, but the sword’s gone. I look about my feet, searching for the weapon.

  Someone pushes me roughly to the side.

  “Dagaz,” Percy mutters as the banshee reaches him.

  There’s a loud bang, and the sky is streaked with the white flash of lightning, followed by an agonizing shriek.

  “Stupid human,” Blanchefleur says, pulling me away from the growing smell of burning flesh.

  Mouth agape, I watch the scene unfold before me, Percy and the banshee wrapped in incandescent fire before the light goes out. I remember Arthur’s warning, how Dagaz’s use is like committing suicide.

  There’s a rustling of clothes and metal, the sound of a body falling to the ground, then nothing.

  “Percy?” I call out, my voice cracking.

  I crawl toward the spot where I last saw him. Blanchefleur rushes around me, her sword once again in her hands.

  “Is he…” I can’t bring myself to say it.

  Blanchefleur pokes a body with her feet until it rolls away. “Stupid human,” she repeats. “Of course lightning would be drawn to him, what with all that metal he’s carrying.”

  My breath rushes out of me, and my throat constricts. “Percy?”

  “He’s still breathing,” Blanchefleur says, scornful, “though gravely injured.” She gets up in one graceful move and scans the area. I hear her swear.