Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

  She began to laugh. “You humans are truly delusional about your power, are you not?” She gestured to the pendant she wore: a silver serpent wrapped around a large, oval cut emerald. “Do you see this, Arthur? This is my legacy, and my line will be legendary. Even if you kill me one day, it will already be too late.”

  She made a fist, sticking out her index and pinkie finger. She pointed them at me and spat between them before pointing them at the ground.

  “My descendants will shape this world. Yours will destroy it. And no malocchio will stop destiny.”

  Nine months later

  While I’ve yet to develop a plan to end the wretched Coven, word reached me from a scout that Chiara and Gorlois had a child, a girl. The witch was right: I cannot harm a child, and by the time she is grown, I fear it will be too late.

  It will be up to Arthur to end Morgana one day. And a fitting end it will be: brother against sister.

  Chapter Ten

  Morgan unconsciously gripped her silver and emerald pendant as she finished reading the marked passages.

  It was more than her mind could handle as the journal slipped from her grasp and fell to the thickly carpeted stone floor with a thump.

  My mother did not kill Igraine, was the first thing she thought. Whoever Faleen was, she lied. Mother and King Uther were … together, she thought, rubbing her temples. He was going to ask her to stay in Camelot. He … he was my real father, and Arthur is my brother.

  Her heartbeat sped up and she struggled to control her breathing. How on Earth were all these secrets kept from her?

  Easy, a small voice in her mind said. Uther killed Chiara and Gorlois when you were five. He had them executed for treason. Who else knew who could possibly have told you the truth?

  She covered her face with her hands, willing her emotions to calm themselves. However, wishing it did not make it so. Shock settled in, causing her to tremble and feel cold despite the warmth of the magical fire in the hearth.

  Will Gwen somehow use this to manipulate Arthur further?

  She knew the answer to that. Of course she did. Guinevere was nothing if not resourceful, especially when it came to getting what she desired.

  The serpentine pendant felt warm against her chest, even through her dress. As if the magic her mother imbued in it was trying to reach out to her.

  So much of my life is a lie, she realised. I am not who I believed myself to be.

  Just then, the door to her room burst open and Fiona stood there, eyes wide with excitement. “Le Fay, you will never believe― Oh, dear, what happened?” She walked over and gingerly sat next to Morgan on the bed, spotting the journal on the floor, facedown. Her cool hand patted Morgan’s back, but she barely felt it.

  Did she dare tell Fiona? Did she tell anyone, or, since she had the journal in her possession, did she destroy it and, should Guinevere tell, insist the witch was mad?

  “What is it?” Fiona asked quietly.

  Morgan swallowed hard and willed her voice to steady as she gingerly picked up the journal as though it would burn her. “Read.”

  Fiona did so, and when she closed the journal and set it down on the duvet, she sighed. “There were rumours, Morgan.”

  “Rumours?”

  She nodded. “I recall overhearing some Elders once. Wondering if Uther was against us because we, the Coven, kept you from his kingdom. Or something of that nature. I ― I should have told you, but how could I?”

  “I never would have believed you,” Morgan admitted, leaning back on the bed with a sigh. “If I gave myself up, do you think Arthur would stop his madness?”

  Fiona clucked her tongue. “Och, no. If anything, that would drive him even more insane than he is thanks to your dear old father.”

  “Uther’s blood may be in my veins, but he is not my father,” Morgan snapped, feeling her magic spark from her rage.

  Fiona leapt up. “Bloody Hell, sorry.”

  Morgan sat back up. “What were you rushing in here to tell me?”

  At that, the sparkle was back in Fiona’s eyes. “Speaking of overhearing things… Accolon wasn’t spying on Camelot for the Coven.”

  “I figured that much out for myself, believe it or not,” Morgan replied. “The Queen would never have trusted him with such a sensitive position, were she to ever initiate a ridiculous plan such as that to begin with.”

  She needed to protect Merlin.

  Fiona gave a high-pitched giggle. “But Arthur has!” She leapt from the bed and gave a little twirl. “Merlin Emrys has been spotted on numerous occasions within the Coven borders. I and a couple of the guardsmen believe he is spying on us for Camelot.”

  Morgan’s heart sank down to her stomach, which seemed to have vacated its position and settled somewhere around her knees. Worse than people knowing Merlin was a spy for the Coven was them believing he was still against the Coven.

  “Merlin?” she scoffed, praying she sounded as sceptical as she was supposed to. “He’s an adequate wizard, certainly, but he’s not exactly someone Arthur would trust to infiltrate us. And if he was, from whom is he receiving his information? All the defectors left, Fiona. If he’s spying for Camelot, he won’t get much from those who remain.”

  Fiona pursed her lips. “I know I saw him sneaking in here. I am not mad, Le Fay.” Violet eyes flashed with anger.

  “No one said you were,” Morgan said placatingly. “I merely think, perhaps, you were mistaken on the person’s identity. Who were these guards to be so careless as to suspect a spy and not alert the Queen?”

  Fiona gave a little harrumph and sat forward. “Does it matter?”

  Yes, so I can report them.

  Morgan shrugged, unable to think of how to convince Fiona she didn’t see whom she obviously saw. “Did it ever occur to you that he might be coming back to ask forgiveness?”

  “Under the cover of night? Come on, Le Fay, you’re not addlepated,” Fiona scoffed. She stood up and crossed her arms. The firelight accentuated her white-blonde hair, turning the ends to glowing embers.

  “No, I am not. But I also will not let what the Pendragons started cause me to jump at shadows and draw conclusions from next to nothing,” she replied.

  “You know, Arthur said you were the suspect for the poisoning, due to your … reputation.” Fiona’s grin was anything but pleasant. “What if it was Merlin, trying to frame you? He is almost as good at Brewing as you are.”

  “If that is the case, he’s brighter than we gave him credit for. He would have…” She trailed off as a thought hit her, fully formed and vicious in its revelation.

  “Would have what?” Fiona quizzed.

  “Would have had to hate me that much first. If anything he would have tried to frame Accolon or Gwen.” She laid back down, hand to her forehead. “Look, I’m going to take a walk. I am still in shock and now this whole debacle with Merlin … I feel as though I were trapped in a cocoon.”

  Abruptly, she stood, grabbing her thin black and lavender gown and tossing it over her shoulders. She then grabbed the journal, not wishing to leave it unattended, even with ― especially with ― Fiona in the room.

  The other witch looked at her with sympathy in her eyes. “It’s all right, Morgan. The Coven will come out of all of this on top. We always do.”

  Morgan didn’t reply, merely left the room, closing the door behind her. Her steps were quick but shaky as she descended staircase after staircase, coming to the dungeon level. Her brewing station door was small compared with the others, hastily created just for her research room, sanctioned by Queen Aritza when Morgan was fifteen.

  None but she had the entry code, not even the Queen. Carefully, she traced the rune for Caecilians, the snake-worm hybrid amphibians that resided in Sicily, which were the symbol of her mother’s family, due in part to the necklace Chiara had worn and passed down to Morgan upon her arrest and subsequent execution.

  Something Fiona said to Morgan struck a chord in her, and she needed to check a few things within the
small room. Using magic, she lit the wall sconces, lighting the room in pale green flame. They danced off the bottles and jars on shelves along the walls, categorised by type and name.

  While she did not know what poison killed Uther Pendragon and his councillors, she did know of two plants that could cause such death. One was white oleander, which was fairly common. Someone in his own kingdom could have killed him with that.

  However, the other could be found in only one place on Avalon: the Coven stores. And because it was a specially imported substance meant for study only, only Morgan and the resident Brewing expert knew where it was. Even the Queen was kept in the dark.

  Strychnine.

  The poison Morgan guessed had killed the human king.

  The one Fiona scoffed at being used. “Then that means you had to have done it, Poison Princess.”

  And tonight, when Morgan tried to defend and deflect away from Merlin, she had been about to say that he needed to guess her entry rune and burgle her private stores in order to poison Uther.

  It was kept locked up, as it was rare and quite dear to procure. However, its lock was one anyone could open with magic. Morgan did not feel that anyone could get into her stores, so she never enhanced the lock. It was an oversight that might have caused this entire mess.

  When she opened the box and pulled out the sealed jar. Half the bottle of leaves and berries was empty.

  “Zounderkite!” she cursed herself.

  Then something else hit, as though a curtain had been drawn back to let light in on a murky corner of a room. But she needed the library to be certain she was correct.

  In the Coven’s vast library, there was a translation scroll for names based upon which culture one travelled to, including leaving Avalon for Ireland.

  Morgan knew many residents in the Coven who were her parents’ age, including all the Medics, as there were precious few of them. Not one was called Faleen, like the witch who had lied about Chiara killing Igraine.

  But there was one, now, called Fiona. Faleen was a Celtic version of the name, according to the translation scroll. The only thing was ... Fiona was Morgan’s age. How could she have been young when Arthur was an infant?

  Too many questions, none of which I will like the answers to, she thought, running a hand through her hair. Not stopping to have an existential crisis, she merely put her hood up and hurried out of the castle.

  The moon was waning, and so the light was dim, leading her way to the forest. She narrowly avoided creeping roots and small, nocturnal animals and even a few mischievous elves as she made her way to the river’s wide banks.

  She went to call for Nineveh, when the water in front of her bubbled and the mermaid in question poked her head up, blinking in the change of light and air.

  “My little fairy, just who I was looking for!” she said.

  “And I you. I need you to get Merlin for me, please,” Morgan said. “There is so much information…”

  Nineveh smiled. “But my dear girl, that is what I came to tell you. He is on his way as we speak.”

  * * *

  Merlin did not have an elderly human uncle living in a human village on the other side of the Coven. However, no one in Camelot, not even former Coven members, knew that. It paid off to be an outcast even amongst his own kind.

  Feeling silly to sing to a body of water, he called on Nineveh and told her to alert Morgan; she needed to be told about her parentage, and how Guinevere could possibly use that against her, especially since it seemed as though Arthur didn’t know.

  It was more imperative to ensure her well being than anything else, at least to him.

  He received leave from Arthur to go and tend to his “ailing uncle,” even if it took a few days to return to Camelot.

  Taking off on a black steed, he rode through the night swift and nearly silent save for hoofbeats. With his dark cloak, he was part of the night: dark, encroaching, and dangerous.

  Relief hit his heart as he arrived at the Coven border to find Morgan pacing, waiting for him in the clearing. She clutched a book to her chest and looked ghastly pale, even for her.

  Concern built within him and he quickly dismounted, going to her. “Morgan, are you all right?” Without thinking, he moved the hood from her face, revealing eyes ringed in thick, purplish bags, as though she’d not slept in days.

  “I fear I look as bad as I feel,” she admitted, hugging the book tighter. “So much has happened in the past few hours, I can scarcely think.”

  “Did Guinevere come?” he asked.

  She nodded. “You knew?”

  “I told her to. I gave her one last shot to try and do the right thing and get you back.”

  Morgan glared at him. “I do not wish to have her back. She only proved to me that she is power-hungry and mad. Everything you told us she confirmed, and made them sound as though she were doing the humans and the Coven a favour.”

  He looked at the book, realising what it was. The very thing Gwen had been reading in the darkened library.

  “That is what I came here to tell you about,” he said, placing his hand on it. “I read it in hiding, the same time Guinevere did. I wanted to tell you before she could. Break the news a bit gentler.”

  “Too late.” Morgan’s voice was soft, hurt, introspective. “Gwen will try and use this if she can. And since I won’t join her side, she will most likely use it to make me seem as though I am the one who killed Arthur once she gets around to his death.”

  “I am not going to allow that to happen,” Merlin vowed.

  Morgan gave a little smile, and it warmed his heart to see it.

  “There’s more. And it’s not good. We will have to tell the Queen, but I wanted you to know first,” she said. “Fiona has spotted you. She wants me, and possibly others, to think you are a spy for Camelot and kill you on sight.”

  Merlin cursed, something he learnt in the human world. Morgan arched an eyebrow at the word. “If we told her the truth, could that not placate her?”

  “No!” Morgan whisper-shouted. “I think she knows the truth, just as she knew Arthur is my brother. Listen to me: she is somehow older than we are. She used a de-ageing potion or spell somehow. I believe she was a traitor to my mother back when I was conceived.”

  “Faleen,” Merlin realised. “That’s another version of ‘Fiona’.”

  Morgan nodded. “She broke into my stores. She killed Uther and the councillors. Most likely, she killed Queen Igraine, too. And if she went that far, I bet she also planted that false evidence on Accolon.”

  Merlin’s head felt full to bursting, but he needed to compose himself. “This is … quite a lot to handle.”

  “You’re telling me.” She managed a weak smile. “Here. Read the marked passages. You’ll get the full story that way.” She handed him the journal.

  “I will. Another time. Do you think Guinevere has conspired with Fiona?”

  “No. Gwen is too egotistical to take someone else’s lead. This is her plan, and Fiona I feel is merely playing along,” she admitted. “Just as you assumed, Gwen is receiving information on us, just as you are relaying information on Camelot to us.”

  “Do you … do you believe that Fiona will incite something sooner? Tell Guinevere not to wait?” Merlin worried.

  Morgan didn’t reply right away, which gravely disturbed him.

  “I believe that as long as we placate Fiona, we can continue with our current timetable,” she said finally, weighing every word.

  “If not … you said you had a way to defeat Arthur and his armies. Or was that a lie to the Queen to allow you to stay and listen?” He managed a lopsided smile, because he knew Morgan would do just that.

  Morgan returned the smile, and his heartbeat sped up pleasantly. “No, I do have a plan. Follow me.” She turned on her heel and began to walk into the forest. Merlin stayed on her heels, grateful when she sent a ball of light to illuminate the pathway.

  In the distance, there was a low crunching of leaves underfoot, and
the rustling of wings.

  Impossible, Merlin thought. Whatever bird made that sound would have a wingspan of metres.

  “Salve,” Morgan called softly. “It’s me. I brought a friend.”

  “Come, little fairy,” a deep voice said, spoken so low and quiet, Merlin thought the speaker had to have been nearby. But no, there was no one. They still had a few metres to walk.

  It was like the voice was inside his mind, and a chill raced down his spine.

  They came to a clearing and Morgan sent the light high overhead to mimic the sun, and Merlin was stunned at the sight he now beheld.

  Morgan stepped up to the creature and it nuzzled her as though it were a horse, and not a creature believed to have gone extinct before Feyland ever crossed with the human realm.

  Standing taller than a horse, with pure white fur and a shimmery golden mane, gossamer-like feathered wings that sparkled, and a long, spiral, golden horn in the middle of its forehead stood … a unicorn. Its eyes were glowing gold as well as it seemed to glare at and through him.

  “Bloody Hell,” he whispered, unable to keep up an unaffected facade any longer. “Is that… Are you…”

  Morgan finished greeting the creature and walked back to Merlin. “Merlin, this is Pegasus, the original and now lase monocerus from Feyland. Pegasus, this is Merlin Emrys. He has been assisting us in keeping an eye on Camelot.”

  Pegasus snorted and pawed the ground. “That is why he stinks of humans.”

  Merlin nodded. “I live amongst them, trying to keep them from attacking the Coven and all creatures within.”

  Morgan continued, “I found Pegasus when I was a little girl. Some humans harmed him, tried to pry off his wings and horn. I healed him, and kept him safe here. He travels between realms, but for a time he was stuck here, and I ensured his survival.”

  She looked proud, and Merlin’s heart swelled with emotions he was almost terrified to name.

  “You are brilliant, aren’t you?” he said quietly.

  Pegasus took a few steps closer. “I wish to see the humans punished for treating all Gaia’s children the way they have.”