Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  I lean against the cold window, watching the grey clouds thick with snow stream past us. If that one had a longer tail, it would look like a dragon. I flick my index finger down like a painter would on her canvas. To my surprise, I see the cloud follow my movement a split second later.

  I straighten up in my seat, looking back. Yep, the cloud definitely looks like a dragon now. I stare at my finger. Did I really just do that? I point at another cloud and, biting on my lower lip in concentration, I retrace its outline, making it a little rounder on one end, then adding two pretty little ears.

  I giggle. “Look, it’s a rabbit!” I tell Arthur, drawing his attention to my piece of art.

  “That’s nice,” Arthur says distractedly before looking back behind him. “Percy! What did I say about my seat?”

  “She’ll be waitin’ at the airport though, right?” I hear Percy ask as I go back to my cloud-sculpting.

  Being part Fey does have its perks, it seems, especially when one’s bored. By the time the plane doubles back over the lake to head for the airport, the whole sky looks like a fluffy zoo, and I smile at my masterpiece proudly.

  “Look mommy, the hippo’s going to go boom,” I hear a kid say a few seats up from me.

  “That’s right,” I whisper happily to myself, “the hippo’s about to go—what?”

  I jerk closer to the window to scan the clouds and grow still with worry as the hippo’s butt balloons to engulf the dragon’s head. Strong winds whip around the rabbit and the hedgehog next to it, merging them together in some deformed monster, bolts of lightning illuminating its growing belly from the inside.

  My cute sculptures have turned into the terrifying picture of an evil scientific experiment gone wrong.

  The plane takes a sudden dive and someone at the back screams.

  A woman’s voice crackles overhead. “This is your captain. We’ve hit some unforeseen turbulence. Please remain securely seated until we land. Flight staff, prepare for landing, this is going to be a bumpy ride.”

  “You don’t think it’s them, do you?” Percy asks, sticking his head in between our seats again.

  Arthur throws me a quick look. “No,” he says, his brow deeply furrowed as I clutch at my armrests, horrified at what I’ve done.

  Arthur grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. “It’ll be alright,” he says calmly, “just let it be and breathe.”

  “Maybe I can stop it,” I say.

  “Don’t,” Arthur says. “You’ll only make things worse. Even fully-trained knights with years of experience have to be very careful when dealing with the weather. It’s one of the hardest things to control, and oftentimes all they can do is try to minimize the damage.”

  My stomach seems to jump into my mouth as the plane takes another sharp dive.

  “So there’s people who do this on a regular basis?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  I’m probably crushing Arthur’s metacarpals by now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “I know we’re in a plane an’ all,” Percy says, his face popping next to ours again, “but ain’t feelin’ too good without my toad stabber[68].”

  “You have your oghams on you,” Arthur retorts.

  “Yeah, but what about the rest of our traps?” Percy asks. “In case ya haven’t noticed, our oghams aren’t exactly cooperatin’ these days.”

  “I had noticed,” Arthur says, his patience fraying quickly now, “which is why I offered you to stay behind.”

  “I wasn’t gonna stay behind when my future rib[69]’s headin’ over to H.Q.,” Percy retorts.

  “I doubt Blanchefleur’s coming so you can flirt with her,” Arthur says.

  “You don’t think this is a welcome present from my sweetheart then?” Percy asks, motioning towards the window.

  By way of answer, Arthur pushes Percy’s face back. Sweat pools at my temples now as we lurch forward. Lightning flashes, illuminating the whole cabin in stark white, immediately followed by the thunder’s deafening boom.

  Then the plane hits the ground, bouncing a few times before coming to a rolling stop.

  There’s a second of silence as the passengers take in the fact that we’re still alive, then everyone bursts out clapping and I feel Arthur’s hand relax around mine.

  “See?” he says, looking rather pale. “Everything’s fine.”

  “I think I need a barf bag,” I say, promising myself never to play with the weather again.

  ◆◆◆

  To Percy’s greatest happiness, a disgruntled and highly jumpy Blanchefleur is waiting for us outside of baggage claim. I look about us nervously—the last time I was at this airport was with Dean, having just been accused of murder, and I expect to see the inspector waiting for me at every corner, just as he promised.

  “G’day, sweetheart,” Percy tells the Fey warrior.

  “We better get going,” Blanchefleur says, glaring at a businessman ogling her. “This storm’s not right.”

  “Yeah,” Arthur says while I feel myself blush to the roots of my hair, “Morgan had a little fun earlier.”

  Percy and Blanchefleur eye me—he in mock betrayal, and she appraisingly.

  “Ya coul’ve gotten us killed,” Percy says, drawing a number of curious looks from other travelers.

  “It seems your control has gotten better,” Blanchefleur says instead, and I stare at her in surprise. “Lugh will be pleased to hear it.”

  “Will he be coming?” Arthur asks as we head outside towards a waiting limousine.

  Blanchefleur nods, her lips pinched in disapproval. “When the time is right, you know how to contact him.”

  Percy beats the driver to the punch and opens the door for us. “Milady,” he says, bowing towards Blanchefleur.

  But she barely spares him a glance, and turns to me. “You still ought to be careful,” she says. “The more activity you cause, the more traceable you become.”

  Above the airport, the sky still looks pissed, attempting to skewer things left and right with its thunderbolts, and I hunch my shoulders, contrite.

  “I will meet you at your headquarters,” Blanchefleur says.

  And, ignoring a disappointed Percy, she strides off towards the footbridge that spans the wide, car-filled road, and leads to a patch of snow-covered trees.

  The ride is spent in utter silence, or it would be if it weren’t for Percy talking our ears off about how miserable Blanchefleur must be for not being with him. Finally, as we head north, leaving Geneva behind, I look about us curiously.

  “I thought Camaaloth was in the city,” I say.

  Percy laughs. “Really? That’s sweet.”

  “It would have been too dangerous,” Arthur says, “for lay people and for us.”

  “Plus we don’t wanna blow our cover,” Percy adds. His face splits into a wide smile as our car finally slows down before a heavily-gated building. “She’s here!”

  Percy opens the door and jumps out without giving the car a chance to stop, rolls onto the snow, then comes bounding up to stand before Blanchefleur. I would find the scene comical if it weren’t for Percy’s look of utter admiration.

  “He really likes her, doesn’t he?” I ask.

  Arthur shrugs. “It’s Percy. He’s never been known to follow the norm.”

  A twinge of worry pinches my heart. “That’s not going to make things easy for him, is it?”

  “It’s his life, he does what he wants with it,” Arthur replies.

  “And you don’t mind that she’s one of those you’re trying to enslave?” I ask.

  “It’s high time for us to put our childish prejudices away,” Arthur says, staring gloomily at Camaaloth.

  From the outside, our Order’s headquarters look like any regular, peaceful country club—if by regular and peaceful you include gated access, guards at every door, and people dressed in strange clothes walking in and out of the place with dangerous don’t-bother-me-or-I’ll-sock-you airs.

  Inside the massive entrance hall, any pretend air
of cute Swiss vacation spot has been tossed away to make room for an intense-looking security check zone decked out with all the latest high-tech gadgets. Except, I soon realize, that these high-tech gadgets are actually Fey-powered.

  “What are they doing?” I ask as we join the end of a long line.

  “Making sure you’re not bringing in any unregistered weapons,” Arthur says.

  “Good thing you guys didn’t bring your swords, huh?” I say, nudging Percy in the ribs.

  But for once Percy doesn’t crack a smile. “It’s our oghams they check,” he says.

  He casts a worried look at Blanchefleur then steps protectively close to her, despite being nearly half her size.

  “Don’t worry about me, human,” Blanchefleur says. She flexes her fingers, as if itching for a fight. “I can very well take care of myself.”

  We move quickly to the front of the line and I watch curiously as the woman before us places her luggage on the conveyor belt. The large trunks and suitcases are whisked from view under a wide, rectangular metal box covered in oghams that light up in changing patterns.

  At a sign from the guard, the woman struts up to stand spread-eagled before him, her fur coat hanging on her like the pelt of a mammoth. The tall guard whispers into his hands then stretches them over the visitor and a soft purple glow enrobes them both. When his hands reach the woman’s neck, however, the glow suddenly turns a violent red.

  “A moment please while we check our records,” the guard says to the woman before pulling out a beautiful hand-held mirror that would make Keva turn green with envy.

  “What now?” the woman asks, with an accent that reminds me of Sir Boris. “Don’t you know who I am? I have been traveling hours to get here and I’m tired and thirsty!”

  Unfazed, the guard unwraps the fur scarf from around the woman’s neck to search it. Finally, he pulls out a small, furry creature from a pocket concealed at one end of the long piece of cloth.

  “I believe you have an unrecorded Fey on you,” the guard finally says.

  The fur ball unrolls itself and blinks two tire-sized eyes that scintillate like rubies. It lets out a small, questioning yip before pulling on its short, triangular pink ears with tiny black paws.

  “That is only a pet,” the woman sniffs haughtily.

  “Be that as it may, Lady Tanya,” the guard says, “but you cannot keep it during your stay with us.”

  And he pulls out a metallic cage from under the counter. At its sight, the small creature starts whining nervously. It looks pleadingly at its mistress then tries to hop away towards her, but the guard grabs it by the collar and slams it inside the cage.

  The whines turn into terrified squeals, and I start forward, ready to berate them for their lack of humanity, but Arthur keeps me in check.

  “Don’t draw more attention to yourself than need be,” he says under his breath.

  Biting on my lower lip, I watch helplessly as the woman is helped back into her fur coat.

  “That creature cost me a pretty ruble,” she says as the cage is carried away to a back room. “I trust I will get it back when I leave?”

  “If it’s deemed controllable, it will be returned to you,” the guard says.

  “And if it’s not?” I ask Arthur, my hands clenched into tight fists.

  “It’ll be destroyed,” Percy answers for him.

  I feel a burst of heat coming from deep inside me, my powers spreading down my limbs like wildfire. How dare they treat a defenseless, innocent creature like that?

  Blanchefleur turns to me urgently. “Not now!” she whispers with a severe pinch, startling me out of my rightful fury.

  Before I can argue back, however, Arthur pushes me forward and I find it’s my turn to get scanned. To my relief, the guard’s purple glow doesn’t alter and I’m quickly sent through.

  Suitcase in hand, I wait for the others by the exit, and find myself staring at the Board’s sigil depicted on the ceiling in a gigantic mosaic, the horned man’s beard falling in long waves down the walls.

  “Camulos,” Arthur says, coming to stand beside me a moment later, “the war god whose name this place takes after.”

  “I thought you guys were about peace and cooperation,” I say sarcastically. “Isn’t that what you told Agravain?”

  “That’s what our school was created for,” Arthur says. “Not our Order.”

  “They’re not one and the same?” I ask, looking away from the pagan god in surprise.

  “Not at all,” Arthur says. “But our Order’s the only one that recognizes Lake High, though not all on the Board approve of our mission anymore.”

  “Wait,” I say. “How many other Orders are there?”

  “Just a few,” Arthur says. “Take, for instance, Lady Tanya who just left. She’s a visiting member of the Order of the Knights of the Watch—”

  “It’s Blanchefleur’s turn,” Percy interrupts us, looking agitated while readjusting his cowboy belt,

  Arthur tenses as Blanchefleur walks up to the guard.

  “Your luggage,” the man says pointing at the conveyor belt.

  “I don’t have any, unless you count my clothes,” Blanchefleur says slyly.

  The guard finally looks up from the metal box’s screen and I see him blush furiously when he takes in the skin-tight clothes that cover Blanchefleur’s curvaceous body.

  “Th-that won’t be necessary,” he says, unable to take his eyes off her.

  He stumbles around his machine towards her, eager to start the body scan. But the moment his hands come within inches of her body, the purple glow turns scarlet. Flustered, the guard moves his hands further down Blanchefleur’s body, but the color remains the same sanguine red.

  “W-will you please remove your oghams so we may reference them with our catalogue?” the guard finally asks.

  “That will be difficult,” Blanchefleur says with a carnivorous smile. She leans close to the tall man but not close enough to touch his iron-filled suit. “You see, the oghams are inside of me.”

  “That’s h-highly irregular,” the guard sputters.

  Percy moves in territorially, forcing the guard to back away from Blanchefleur. “He sure hasn’t been hired for his brains, has he?” he drawls out.

  The guard’s blush drains from his sallow cheeks. With a deep sigh, Arthur hands me his luggage then reaches inside his coat.

  “She’s my guest,” he tells the guard, handing him a blue sheet of paper. “The Council has ratified her presence here. Did they not notify you of our arrival?”

  The guard’s eyes narrow as he looks at Arthur’s form, then widen again until the whites show around his irises. He picks up his fancy mirror again and talks into it agitatedly. Finally, after a long, tense minute, the guard nods and turns back to us.

  “Everything’s in order,” he says, handing Arthur his form back. “But the, uh, creature must wear restraints at all times.”

  He pulls out a pair of wide iron cuffs from under the counter and Blanchefleur pulls away from him with a snarl.

  “You put those on me and I will fry all your equipment in here,” she says.

  “Those won’t be necessary,” Arthur tells the guard, his voice brooking no argument. He’s standing straight as a rod, his face stern, exuding authority. “As stated in my papers, I take full responsibility for my guest’s behavior while we reside here,” Arthur continues. “Thank you for your concern.”

  He motions for us to follow him, leading Blanchefleur away under the appalled looks of the other visitors.

  Percy slaps the guard on the back, his jovial self returned. “Be good when the others arrive, eh?” he says, before sauntering after us.

  “There’s m-more of them coming?” I hear the guard ask, sounding on the very edge of panic.

  ◆◆◆

  “Morgan! You’re finally here!”

  I stumble under the weight of all the suitcases and boxes Arthur and Percy have dumped onto me, and they come crashing down around me. Why did
they have to bring so much? They’re worse than girls.

  “Isn’t this place marvelous?” Keva asks as I extricate myself from all the boxes.

  I take in the lustrous chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings, the large paintings and tapestries depicting enchanting scenes of times long past when knights still fought on horseback and Fey held courts out in the open, all adorned with Christmas decorations that scintillate like a field of fireflies on a hot summer night.

  I shrug, struggling to gather all the suitcases back together.

  “I do hope you’re going to change out of that,” Keva says with a disapproving frown.

  “What’s wrong with my uniform?” I ask.

  “Morgan, Morgan, Morgan,” Keva says with an exasperated sigh, “have you learned nothing in Etiquette class?” She pauses as she remembers what happened during that one, awful lesson, then clears her throat self-consciously. “You need to dress for the occasion,” she continues, “which means proper clothes, not a school uniform that’s been mended a hundred times over. And that’s not even counting the ball.”

  “Well they’re going to have to make do, because that’s all I’ve got,” I say.

  In my hurry, I trip over a suitcase and fall sprawling onto the thick carpet.

  “Saint George’s balls, why am I saddled with handling all this crap?” I ask, waving at the luggage spread across the hallway.

  “Does the word ‘squire’ mean anything to you?” Keva retorts.

  “Do I look like I’ve got ten arms?” I reply, flicking my hands up in frustration.

  I gasp as a wind fans out from my fingers and the boxes suddenly lift up from the floor to remain suspended in the air.

  “Well that’s practical,” Keva says with a touch of envy.

  “Sure is,” I say, amazed at myself. “Except I have no idea what to do now.”

  To the detriment of the other guests, Keva and I end up shepherding the luggage to our suite, herding them before us like a pair of sheepdogs.

  Once inside our rooms, we stare at the floating parcels quizzically.

  “Now what?” Keva asks.

  “Not sure,” I say. “I’ve never done this before.”

  I motion towards the suitcases, pretending to be pushing them back to the floor. They immediately bounce off each other before pelting towards the ceiling, then finally come crashing back down.