by Lisa Daniels
The Lord of Bones’ corpse was called Hoffinger, not a surname anyone knew. A few people in this venue labeled their corpses for easier announcements. Beverly Heath animated her bones, forming the slender, blue-gold outline of her spirit, drawing some whispers and murmurs through the quietening audience.
Come to think of it, Morgana was right, wasn’t she, about that aura being unusual. He hadn’t seen anything like Beverly’s aura. Even with the necromancers he had associated with in the past, such a thing was never mentioned.
He felt an alarmed kick in his stomach when he saw one other person eyeing the soul, a greedy glint in his coal-black eyes. Regal.
“Let the fight between Crimson and Heath, and the Lord of Bones and Hoffinger begin!” A bell rang. Morgana’s spirit instantly began to prowl, purposeful and predatory. Like before, there was an extension to her spiritual arm in the shape of a fencing saber, except much tougher than one. More murmurs. Hoffinger had an axe, and the bloated, spirit-wrapped corpse lunged forward with a vicious swipe. Beverly dodged with ethereal elegance, ducking under another swing, rolling forward, and running the sword through Hoffinger’s legs. The corpse collapsed and stitched itself together in record time, blocking Beverly’s next swipe. Hoffinger clung onto Beverly’s sword, but the arm dissolved and reformed out of his grasp.
“Good lord, what are we seeing here?” someone said next to Theon. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”
“I didn’t even know they could extend like that,” his female companion said, equally amazed. Even one of the masked necromancers was staring, jaw hanging open. Meanwhile, Regal’s dark eyes, revealed in the mask, glittered ceaselessly. It felt filthy in a way, with how he stared, how he almost dissected the spirit he saw, and by extension, Morgana. Theon suppressed the sudden urge to morph into bear form and bull rush the man.
Though he wasn’t entirely sure if Regal even was a man. There was something odd about the way he felt, the energy he radiated. Something that set Theon’s hairs on edge when he concentrated on Regal for too long.
The way Regal had so casually, callously disposed of the soul-thief, the way that people just let it happen without any concern whatsoever… this was a dangerous place to be. Yet ironically, it might be safe for Morgana, too, if she didn’t stray too far from seeming like an eager youngblood ready to earn some dough.
Beverly Heath continued her fluid dance around Hoffinger, taking barely any wounds herself.
“That saves more energy in the long run, if they avoid blows,” someone was saying behind him. “But that’s meant to be ridiculously hard to Command like that.” Other people shared the same kind of ruminations, which led Theon to believe that Morgana was right yet again.
He thought she was just being humble. Modest. But actually, she’d been lucky to grab a spirit with such dexterity as Beverly’s. Though maybe such a spirit was too good to be true.
In a series of lightning-quick bites, Beverly’s sword arm snaked out again and again, piercing the lumbering axe zombie in inconvenient areas, forcing the Lord of Bones to expend so much energy that eventually, Hoffinger collapsed like a wet sack, and the Lord of Bones snapped out of his trance with a snarling scream.
“That’s not normal!” he shrieked at her. “What the hell you playing at, whore? How are you cheating?”
He attempted to claw his way around the ring to Morgana, but Beverly leaped lightly from the ring, blocking his way, sword pointed at his throat in fencing manner. Her blue-gold aura seemed to fluctuate brighter, and it looked stunning, hypnotizing.
“That’s quite enough,” Regal’s voice cut through them once more, speaking from a microphone. “It appears that Crimson is the one to watch. She has beaten a veteran with so much ease, it makes all his other victories seem paltry in comparison.”
Some boos, some laughs. The Lord of Bones’ curses became unintelligible.
“We’ll have to find a better opponent for her next time. But I might be placing some bets on her myself,” Regal said with a low, rumbling chuckle.
More cheers, and just like that, the swell of anger and hate toward Morgana seemed to dispel. Regal had approved of her victory. Regal didn’t accuse her of cheating. Therefore, she won fairly, and would be watched much, much more closely than before.
Likely making her mission a whole lot harder. All she needed to be was competent. Instead, she was showing herself head and shoulders above the competition, and that didn’t get swallowed too well by some of the veterans. People who had struggled against the Lord of Bones, who believed him to be strong.
Morgana left to approach Theon, who made a show of puffing himself up. Beverly Heath’s spirit followed, an obvious show of strength, to show how much magical stamina Morgana still possessed. He again thought of how Morgana said she gave Beverly free will.
So if Beverly wanted, she could go on a murderous rampage through the warehouse, and no one here could stop her. Not unless Morgana instructed otherwise. And would she?
Of course she would, Theon thought angrily to himself. Morgana wasn’t the bloodthirsty type. She didn’t want people dead, or thirst for violence the same way he did at times. He saw her distaste in her role.
His skin began crawling again when one of Regal’s bodyguards came over to request her to come to him, just after she’d dismissed Beverly Heath’s spirit.
He followed. No way was he planning to have her be devoured by him all alone. The bodyguard looked annoyed, but he wasn’t about to contest a bear shifter.
He’d better not, anyway. Because Theon felt sure he could gut the man on the spot.
Chapter Five – Morgana
Theon stood behind her like some hellion as Regal addressed her. Every time Regal spoke in that unctuous voice, she wanted to scrub at her hands and somehow wipe the words off her.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as skilled as you,” Regal said, while Morgana sweated and nestled on her secret. Her simple yet unthinkable secret. Letting the spirit do whatever it wanted, and it having the skill and desire to focus only on one thing: the fight. Not like a revenant, which might promise to fight, but act chaotic, kill its owner, and then dismiss itself. Beverly could kill Morgana if she wanted to. One tiny twitch, one bad impulse, and it’d be over.
But Beverly didn’t.
“I’ve had some practice,” Morgana said in as haughty a tone as she could manage. “But never in such a scenario like this. They only have tiny little basement fights in Ireland, where the cash prize might be worth fifty dollars. Nothing like this.”
“Mm. It’s a steady business,” Regal said. “People are always fielding new souls, trying to find the perfect connection, to win the most fights. But you—if you continue to perform as you have today, then you could very well be the top-rated fighter. Which might make it hard for people to bet against you, if you get my gist.” He indicated the raucous audience, baying over another amateur fight. Nothing compared to the grace of Beverly. Morgana felt a surge of pride in that thought, but less pride at what she thought Regal was hinting.
“You want me to lose?”
He stared at her avidly, like she was a meal and he a shark about to devour it. “Should there be any special circumstances, I will be sure to inform you beforehand. After all, there are people to entertain. Purse strings to loosen.”
Morgana blinked at the oddly archaic phrase. Purse string. “If you make it worth my while, I don’t care. But for now, I just want to prove myself. To win.”
“Why do you want to win so badly, ‘Crimson’?” Regal grinned, and she quickly glanced toward Theon to make sure he was still there. Not that he could really help her come up with some decent answers, but the sight of him reassured her.
“For the same reason as anyone else. Money. To not feel that people should spit at and kick me because of my magic. To feel powerful,” she added, after a long, pregnant pause.
“Good reasons,” Regal said in a low growl. “If it were money alone, I would ask if you might consider sel
ling your bones and your spirit to me. But if it’s power… why, no money in the world could replace that spirit, surely. Did you carry it with you all the way from Ireland?”
“No,” Morgana said. She knew Beverly’s history would be trackable. She even wondered if he knew. “I procured her recently.”
“And illegally, I’m sure,” he said, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps you will want to remove that spirit from your hands and out of trouble. But not now, of course. Not now at all. Not when we have to see you climb.”
He smiled once more, but it was cold. He dismissed her, and she instantly stalked over to Theon and made sure to drag him to a place where she wouldn’t be overheard by the wrong ears. “That bastard wants to buy Beverly. I think he suspects what I’m doing. He recognized her name, too. Shit. I should have just made up a different name entirely for her, shouldn’t I?”
“Too late for that now. Don’t sell her.”
“She’s not mine to sell,” Morgana replied, feeling only disgust. Bad enough that she had someone’s bones and Commanded a spirit. Worse that she acted like she had a right to sell the spirit. “But now I feel like I’ve approached this wrong. I came in too strong, too fast. People will think me too strong to bet against. I might not even get a chance to find any of these missing graves at all!”
“Let’s leave in twenty minutes,” Theon suggested, “which will be about normal, so you don’t seem too eager to get out. But be careful.”
Theon’s eyes were much more soothing than the darkness of Regal’s. His voice was soft and gruff at the same time, and didn’t make her feel like she wanted to run for the hills.
“Man,” she whispered. “Am I glad to have you on my side.”
He smiled, but it seemed sad. He wore that strange sadness still, even when they gathered themselves up to leave, with Regal’s covert promise of a new match, and his hint that he might want to buy Beverly off her.
“Is everything okay with you?” she asked, back in the darkness of their shared suite.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
He clasped his big hands together. They seemed so rough, like they were hewn out of rock. The sadness was still there, in his expression, in his eyes. “I was just realizing that I don’t think any of my clients have ever said something like that before. That they were glad to have me there. Like I made all the difference to them.”
“Oh,” Morgana said, surprised. “Why wouldn’t they? You do a great job.”
“My bulk does a great job. As does my animal—the bear. Well, it’s not a big deal, really. But thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I’m sure you’ll have other people to protect in the future who’ll appreciate you, too,” Morgana insisted, unsure what to make of the feeling inside her, and latching on instead to this. A diversion.
His face seemed to fall further in response to that, rather than appear happier as she’d expected.
“Now what did I say?”
“It’s not you, don’t worry. I’m just… I’m not really planning to do any more jobs after this one’s over. It pays enough. I can get something less high-profile afterward.”
Now it was Morgana’s turn to have her expression fall. “That’s… good news, right?”
“Yes. But maybe if I had more clients like you, I might have wanted to do this for longer,” he admitted, and she could have sworn her heart leaped up into her mouth in that moment.
“Must be rough work. Hey, have you lost anyone in the job before, or are you a big enough deterrent?”
“I’ve lost people,” he said, and his eyes went to a faraway place. A sudden wall seemed to lunge up between their conversation, telling her in no uncertain terms that he didn’t have any desire to talk about it.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine something like that.”
“I hope you’ll never have to.” He kept that cool distance, even though a part of her wanted to plow on with the subject, the way he had done so with her before.
“To think no one complimented you before—they must be blind,” she said, attempting to brighten things. “It’s not all about jumping in front of bullets and being annoying, right?”
“There is some jumping in front of bullets,” he admitted, “but I do have the constitution to survive them. Perks of being a shifter. We’re much tougher to kill than your average animal. Which is also why we make great security.”
“Yeah, like Regal. He had shifters for security as well, didn’t he?”
“Being paid to protect someone like him…” Theon shook his head and gave a derisive snort. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he sleeps in a mansion with a mass grave underneath it. He was a necromancer?”
“Yeah, he was,” Morgana said with a little shiver. “I couldn’t sense it too well, because I wasn’t really focusing on that at the time, but yes. He knows his business.”
“You’ll need to be careful around him. There’s no telling what a man like him might do.” He yawned, displaying two neat rows of whitened teeth. “Though I’ll do my best to protect you all the same.”
If only Morgana’s previous boyfriends had this much enthusiasm toward her about anything. Then they might have stuck together for longer. Though most ended up being a little shifty once they found out what type of magic she had. Some found it thrilling. There was even the one who clearly had a dodgy fetish about the whole affair. She dumped that one fast.
Even though Theon was just doing his job, it still left a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. One she hoped would stay with her long after their job together finished. Though if she dragged this out, they might be together for months yet. Maybe even a deep dive for a year, just to perfect the disguise—as long as someone like Regal didn’t attempt to filch the spirit away from her or hold some family member ransom unless she did so. Yeah, best not to think about that too closely—there was enough to stress about, to fear.
Too many things might go wrong, and it made no sense to dwell on them all at the same time. That way led to headaches, stress piling up in the body, sleepless nights and tiring days. The worst she’d ever stressed was when she thought she might fail her exams and her last relationship.
She didn’t fail the exams. She did fail with her boyfriend. Though she wasn’t as bummed out now as she was about it back then. It was simply something that happened.
“Do you think I’ll need to fight him?” she asked, worried of the possibility.
“It depends if he used to do so, or if all he does is organize the events, using his own specialist knowledge.” Theon flashed a smile, but his expression was mostly grave, determined. “But if you did need to contest him, I think it would be very dangerous if you won. Someone who literally calls himself Regal is probably used to being top dog. They won’t take kindly to having their pride dented. Especially by a nobody woman out of nowhere.”
“Ugh.” Morgana ran her hands over her face. “Is this like that hypermasculinity thing or what?”
“Something like that. But mostly pride. He won’t want to lose any face in front of that kind of audience.”
She made another little grunting sound, not impressed by the news she had heard. She knew about that kind of area, of male dominance and the need to prove personal power. She probably should have expected to encounter something like that when entering the criminal underworld where people didn’t think twice about grave-robbing.
“Do you think maybe I should lose my next one?”
“No. I think you should win a few more, then once you become more popular, you can stand to lose one. That way people can start to feel they can bet against you, because there are some that you’re unable to deal with.”
It made sense. She nodded, smiling, though a part of her wanted to get back onto the subject of him. To drill a little more into his past and fathom what made him tick. Why sometimes when he looked at her, it was as if he were seeing a ghost. She’d assumed it was the necromancer dislike, but maybe there was something else. Something she fe
lt obliged to address.
“Why do you look at me sometimes like you recognize me from before?”
Theon’s face went taut from her probing, not looking too open all of a sudden.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to say,” she backed off, now aware of potentially crossing a line, but Theon held up a hand for her to stop talking.
“It’s okay. You have some right to know, I think.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “You look like a necromancer I was assigned to protect a while back. She was called Fela Norman.”
Both of Morgana’s eyebrows raised. The name seemed familiar, somehow, but she couldn’t place it. “I look like her?”
“Yeah. She had the same hair and some features like you do. She was younger, though, teenage years, going through all the shit that implies.”
Morgana was still searching for why the name sounded familiar, until it hit her. “Wait. I think she was in the news way back. Some accident or something at school…?”
“Something like that,” Theon said, his voice heavy. “I was meant to be protecting her. The trouble was, she wanted desperately to be free and have friends. She wanted to show off, and when some of the more curious people asked about her powers, she used them.”
“Oh.” Morgana thought she saw where this was going. At her school, they instilled quite relentlessly the rule that no one would perform their necromancy in public with non-magicals. It would cause far more harm than good, no matter their intentions, unless the performance was in a controlled atmosphere.
“Oh,” Theon echoed, smiling ruefully. “That about sums it up. She didn’t like me in her lessons, didn’t like me making her seem too important to have friends. She snuck out of my view one night, she tried to show off… and some people were horrified, or looking for blood, or I don’t know—but she was killed. Drowned in a pool. Toxicology suggested some alcohol, but not enough to make her drown in a pool. She could also swim, but the case was shrugged off as teenagers getting carried away. I think she was deliberately killed. But it’s closed. Gone.” He shrugged moodily. “I didn’t want to look after someone like her again. Too dangerous to themselves. My company also put me on the blacklist for failing the job, as her parents didn’t want to pay a cent, and wanted all the money they had invested returned, with compensation.”
