by LJ Rivers
Ruby Morgan Box Set
Books 6-10
L.J. Rivers
Copyright © 2021 by L.J. Rivers and Inspirert Publishing
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to locales, places, actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Any such violation constitutes copyright infringement.
for you, the reader
Contents
Map of Gwyn Fanon
Book 6: Blood of Morgana
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Book 7: Acolytes of Nimue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Book 8: Son of Merlin
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Book 9: Lady of Avalon Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Book 10: Lady of Avalon Part 2
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
More from L.J. Rivers
Ruby Morgan Box Set
Books 6-10
L.J. Rivers
Book 6: Blood of Morgana
Chapter One
Golden waves stretched for miles ahead of me, the bright morning sun painting the barley strands with every known and unknown shade of yellow and orange. I let my fingers brush atop the grass as I walked—no, as I floated—towards the smiling girl. She too was floating over the rolling waves of barley. The thin, yellow threads that protruded from the grains caressed her outstretched arms. Her sunflower hair flowed like a waterfall over her shoulders, interweaving with the yellow ocean beneath her. Her eyes were diamonds, and reflected the sun’s rays so brightly I had to squint as I approached her.
“Hello, Ruby,” Willow said. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
Her voice might have been that of an eight-year-old girl, but in my head it resonated like an adult’s. It was warm and gentle and had the same tone as her predecessor—if that was the right term for a Phoenix’s previous life.
“Your wings are magnificent,” Willow continued. “I thought you were an eagle when you came gliding over the ridge.”
Wings?
“I don’t have—” I began, but instantly knew it was wrong. I did have.
Between my shoulder blades, something tugged at my muscles. My body made tiny, jerking motions with each tug, lifting itself an inch or two above the barley before dropping again.
“You’re hovering,” Willow said, a slight giggle playing under her words. “Follow me.” She tilted her head to the left and up and flew in an upward arc. On her back, smack in the middle between her shoulder blades, two pairs of translucent wings were moving rapidly up and down to keep the petite girl airborne. The upper pair was about twice as big as the lower, and although they were moving fast, I could just make out some kind of mesh pattern on them.
I glanced over my shoulder and gasped at the sight of a wing tip. It beat slowly in the same rhythm as my body was bobbing. The shape was similar to that of Willow’s wings, and I could faintly discern the wireframe that kept them unfolded. Tiny strands of silver ran through the thin, glassy veil that apparently was keeping me airborne.
“I’m hovering,” I whispered. “I’m fudging hovering!”
Without thinking, I pulled my muscles—ones I didn’t know I had—and the wings beat further down. The barley waves beneath me retracted with each push, and soon I was following the little Phoenix as she flew over the fields of gold.
Flying was second nature. Flapping my wings came just as easy to me as waving my hand at a friend or putting one foot in front of another when I was out running. I could vary the rhythm of my upper pair and the smaller—I assumed, by looking at Willow’s pair—at the back. The lower pair moved so fast it made my spine vibrate, and I had to laugh at the tickling sensation. As Willow manoeuvred up and down in the air, playing with the moving grass one second and chasing a butterfly the next, I found myself weaving and turning behind her. We were two sisters playing catch, the little one screaming with joy every time the big sister came too close.
Willow banked ninety degrees to the right, aiming f
or a glade within the trees. She took me by surprise, but I still made the turn, albeit a few seconds later. As she approached the trees, I started to regret following the little rascal. The branches were thick and plentiful, leaving little to no room for a flying Phoenix to enter, let alone a much bigger Fae.
“Stop!” I yelled. “You’ll crash!”
But Willow upped the pace, her tiny wings flapping frantically to push her faster. I levelled my arms to the sides of my body and worked my wings as hard as I could, gaining on the little girl inch by inch. It wasn’t enough.
Just as she was about to crash into a tree trunk five feet wide, she shot her arms straight out and kicked both feet downwards. Her tiny body jerked straight up, brushing the juicy leaves on the trees as she passed them.
“Weeee!”
I followed her with my eyes while simultaneously trying to turn. My arms flew out and my feet down, but to no avail. The coarse bark on the tree trunk seemed to spell out the pain I was heading for. Not that I would actually hit it, as I had my force fields to rely upon. But instead of calling on my magic to release one of them, a voice in the back of my head objected.
Pain is acceptable. Quitting is not.
Remembering Brendan’s words, I focused all my energy on the strange muscles in the centre of my back. My wings responded with even stronger movements, the tips almost touching in front of me with every powerful push. I arched my back and reached for the azure glint above the trees.
As I reached the spot in the sky where Willow hung hovering and waiting for me, I couldn’t help myself. “Weeee!” I screamed.
I opened my eyes and met Tabitha’s shamrock-green gems. She and her husband, Hugo, had taken the newborn—or reborn—Phoenix as their own. I couldn’t think of a better home for Willow. According to Mum, the Phoenix had been around long before the Magicals fled Avalon. I had known her in her previous life, as the old, wise William. And I was there that night in February, when William turned into a pile of ashes, from which the beautiful baby girl rose.
Five miniature fingers were pinching my thumb. Tabitha Hawthorne’s somewhat adopted—as the Goblin couple worded it—daughter lay in my lap and kicked her naked feet in the air. That only four months ago, this little angel had been an elderly, white-haired man named William, made no sense at all. At the same time, it made all the sense in the world. Willow had his eyes, and somewhere inside her, the memories of all the lives the Phoenix had lived so far resided. In time she would learn to visit them, absorb the knowledge and experience of centuries—perhaps millennia—and use it to help others in need. Just like William had done, when he gave his life to save the thousands of Mags that would otherwise have died from the horrific Mag-flu.
“What did the little’un do this time?” Tabitha asked and pushed her glasses up her nose again.
“We went to a field of barley,” I said. “At first I thought it was the same field as the one she showed me that night in February. But this one was much bigger.”
Tabitha wiggled off the chair and put her magazine on the table between us. With her four foot frame, she was only a fraction taller standing than sitting down, as the chairs in Mum’s office were of regular human height. “Ay, the wee lass has shown it to me and old Hugo, too. I believe it’s a farm she once lived in. Big one, it seems. I think she’s had both rags and riches in her lives.” She leaned down to kiss her daughter, who promptly seized the opportunity to grab her mother’s bushy, silver hair.
“This is the second time since I came home that she’s shown me a vision,” I said. “Are these things that have happened or will happen, you think?”
Tabitha picked the baby up and wrapped a pink throw around her. “Hugo reckons she mixes memories of her past with images of us from the present.”
I stood, too, and followed Tabitha out in the hallway. The clock on Mum’s desk showed 3.38 in the afternoon, and I had promised to have tea ready for her when she finished her shift.
“We went flying,” I said. “I had wings, and so did Willow. Would she have wings when she lived on Avalon?”
Tabitha placed the toddler in her pushchair. “Oh, I think those were especially for you, Ruby. She might have memories of the Fae having wings on Avalon and blended that into her story.”
Mum had told me how Tabitha called Willow’s visions her stories. I liked the idea that she was sharing parts of her past with the people close to her. And although I would never get to see if I could grow wings on Avalon, the feeling she had given me through her story was one I already yearned to experience again.
Tabitha pushed the pushchair down the hall. “I’m going outside to see if the fresh air can help her nap. Care to join me?”
“Love to,” I said. “But only for a little while, as I’ve got stuff to do at home.”
Mum had been busy all afternoon with a newly arrived couple, and I didn’t want to disturb her just to tell her I was leaving. As we passed the examination room, she popped her head out and waved at me. “I thought I heard you. Listen, I’m going to be here a while, so maybe we could eat at around sevenish?”
“Works for me,” I said. “I’ll have a gourmet meal ready.”
“I’m sure you will.” Mum winked before retreating to whatever problems the newcomer Mags had. “And kiss Willow for me, would you, Tabbie?”
“Won’t surprise me if I does,” the Goblin replied.
Outside, the sun was almost as bright as the one Willow had shown me, but at least twice as hot. It might have been the last day of spring, according to the calendar, but the weather spelled summer with big letters. I had been home for almost two weeks and had spent a minimum of eight hours a day helping out at Mum’s sanctuary. Times had been slow for a while after the Mag-flu was eradicated, but now there seemed to be no more rest for the Mags in Britain. I was bursting with pride over my mum’s efforts to save and help Mags. With the aid of William’s money and Hugo’s network of Goblins, she had turned our old, skewed barn into a modern health facility on par with whatever the NHS could muster. What she lacked in high-tech equipment, she made up for in abundance with her healing powers.
“I’m glad you’re helping Elaine,” Tabitha said as we sauntered along the gravel road. “There seems to be more people coming for help nowadays.”
“We’ve been pushing our healing powers to their limits,” I said. “All the riots and fighting in the streets have taken its toll on the Mags in particular. Last night, we were minutes too late to save an old falcon Shifter. He was shot as he tried to flee a mob down in Wrexham. When he shifted to his falcon form, they threw rocks at him. His son told us he watched a man, a middle-aged businessman, pull a revolver from his jacket and gun the falcon down.”
“I tell ya, it’s that awful man behind it all. That Colburn fella.” She not only spat the name, but leaned to the side of the road and spat.
I felt responsible for Jarl Colburn’s rise in the political ranks, and his clear lead in the polls. With the upcoming elections only a couple of months away, he was a shoo-in for Number Ten Downing Street. He had turned the blood of the Phoenix—William’s blood—into a cure for the Mag-flu, and I had persuaded him to give the cure and the vaccine away for free. My negotiation tactics were helped by my threat to burn his houses and factories to the ground if he refused, but that was something only he and I knew. The media portrayed him as the saviour of the Magicals, which couldn’t be more ironic given his political campaign message of sending all Mags out of Britain.
“Not to mention those awful people that follow him,” Tabitha continued, “calling themselves the Lionhearts. What a shame. I might not be the most academic around hereabouts, but I’ve read my share of history. That King Richard the first would have had them flogged and hanged, the lot of them.” She leaned down and straightened the throw around her daughter in the pushchair. “Ay, what a chaotic world for little Willow to be born into.”
My phone dinged in my pocket. I checked to see if it was a text from Brendan, but it was yet another upda
te from Jen’s insta. She had become increasingly agitated by the attacks on Mags and had joined a group of volunteers for Colburn’s main political opponent. The update showed Jen and a few of the others, cheering and smiling to the camera. Behind them were what I assumed was the result of today’s labour—stacks of folders and brochures with Millicent Glover’s portrait and various slogans on the covers.