“Not always. Well, I imagine the most powerful usually become famous because of what they do,” he answered, thinking it through. “And then there are those like this, who become infamous.” He handed Morgan the newspaper that had been neatly folded on the table next to him.
It was turned to a short article about a robbery.
Lord and Lady Windmere were relieved of their jewels, watch and purse while on their way into London yesterday. No shots were fired, and the couple themselves were completely unharmed, if a bit dazed by the events.
“We aren’t quite certain what happened,” Lord Windmere admitted to authorities who questioned him about the robbery. “We simply found ourselves handing over all of our most precious possessions to this masked man when he asked for them. I don’t believe he even had a weapon.”
This is the eighth instance of such an occurrence this month. Authorities believe this to be the work of the notoriously sly criminal, Jack the Lad. Any further information on this nefarious criminal should be directed to Mr. John Cummings, Bow Street.
“But this is terrible!” Morgan said, standing up. “Do you think this Jack the Lad is Vallen?”
Nestor gave a small nod of his head.
“And he’s using his powers to rob people of their money? This cannot be allowed! This is wrong. Completely wrong.” Morgan began to pace around the room. He wanted to run right out, find this fellow, and stop him. Now. He couldn’t let this continue. “Where can I find him?”
“Morgan! Calm down,” Kat said, moving over to him. She placed a calming hand on his arm and flowed gentle, calming feelings into him, but Morgan pulled his arm away. He didn’t want to be calmed. He wanted to be agitated and upset. This wasn’t right.
“No, Kat. Now is not the time to be calm. This Vallen is using his powers to harm people, to take advantage of innocents. Something must be done about this.”
“Yes. And I’m certain that it will. Your mother will handle it.”
That stopped him. “My mother? My mother is going to face this thief and stop him from using his powers to rob people?”
“Yes,” Kat said, leaning into the word. “That is what she does. That’s why she is so powerful. It is her job to ensure that Vallen only use their powers for good, to help society, and not for their own personal gain.”
“What? My mother?” Morgan didn’t believe this. Not for one moment. “My mother is obsessed with using her powers for her own personal gain.”
“Oh, Morgan, that is not true,” Kat protested.
“She has always taught me that it’s important to be powerful,” he argued.
“Yes, it is important for her to be powerful because without her power she couldn’t stop others from misusing their own.”
That made Morgan stop and think. It did make sense. “But then... She has always worked hard to make you powerful. Is it because she wants you to take over her role? Is that my destiny, to ensure that Vallen only use their power for good? Is that why I was supposed to be powerful and why she was upset that I wasn’t?”
Kat shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
But it didn’t feel right to Morgan. “No, there needs to be more. There is something more that I am destined to do.” He walked over to the window. “I definitely think that this Jack the Lad needs to be stopped, and I feel as if I should be the one to stop him, but there must be...” He turned to face the others in the room. “All of these other Vallen—Mozart, Wellington and so on—they all use their powers to better society, and you, Kat, just said that it is my mother’s job to see that Vallen only use their powers for that purpose.”
“That’s right. That’s why we have powers,” Kat nodded.
“What are you getting at, Morgan?” Cosmina asked.
“I don’t know exactly. I feel as if I’m on the edge of something. If I can just reach out and catch hold of it, I’ll know what my destiny is.” He paused to try to think—to reach out with his mind. “I’ve always used my own powers to help people and animals. I’ve always been able to heal.”
“And you’ve always known when someone was in need of your healing powers and have gone to them,” Kat added.
“Yes, except when my mother stopped me,” Morgan agreed. “I’ve always felt the desire to help people.”
“That sounds perfectly normal to me,” Nestor put in. “You are Vallen.”
“Yes. But all this time, I’ve been thinking that I needed to become powerful because it was important to be powerful and for that alone. That’s what my mother taught me. But it’s not right. I need to be powerful so that I can help people more than just healing them.” He turned and faced his friends. “I want to help people.”
“This is very good,” Cosmina said, nodding her head approvingly.
“But with my increased powers, I no longer know how I can help people. I don’t know what I can do, or what I should be doing. When I could only heal, it was easy, that’s what I did. But now...”
“It’s all intertwined—once we know what you can do, we’ll be able to figure out your destiny and once we know your destiny, we’ll know if you have all the powers that you need,” Kat said.
Morgan shook his head. It was a horribly tangled knot. “Yes. But how do I find out the answers?”
Morgan looked around the room, but no one had an answer for him.
“Maybe Jack the Lad?” Cosmina offered.
Morgan nodded. “Well, I need to find him anyway.”
<><><>
Morgan’s boots sloshed through something he would rather not identify. London was a filthy city. It almost made him wish he was back home in the woods at Vallentyn where at least it smelled nice—he twitched his nose—unlike London.
He was grateful for the cover of darkness that hid most of the filth from his sight, if not his nose. On the other hand, it added a level of unease to his walk, especially since he was unfamiliar with this area.
Nestor had called it the Rookeries, and said it was where the poorer elements of society lived—where he was sure to find a thief. Nestor had opened Morgan’s eyes to a number of unpleasant aspects of humanity before allowing him to venture here alone—prostitutes, pickpockets and, of course, drunkards.
A hand reached out from a doorway and caught hold of his leg. “Got a ha’penny, govna?” a child’s voice reached up to him.
Morgan squatted down next to the filthy child. His heart burned to see one so young like this. “Does your mother know you’re out this late?”
“Motha?” the boy asked. “Ain’t got one,” he added almost proudly.
Morgan closed his eyes for a moment to hide the pity in them. With his eyes closed, he remembered why he was here in this awful place.
“Do you know where I might find Jack the Lad?” Morgan asked. “There’ll be a whole penny in it for you if you can lead me to him.”
The large blue eyes opened wider and the small bundle of gray rags was gone before Morgan could say another word.
“Wait! Am I to follow...?” Morgan started running after the child, but he disappeared down an alley and was quickly swallowed by the dark.
“’Ere now, whatcher scarin’ the child for?” a woman said, poking Morgan in the chest with a bony finger.
He turned to face his accuser. He quickly decided she must be a prostitute. The neckline of her dress was untied and only just barely concealed her small breasts. “I didn’t mean to scare him,” Morgan said. “I just asked him if he knew where I might find Jack the Lad.”
The woman pulled back. “Eh? Ye don’t want ta know that. Ye go back on ‘ome, back to where ye belong. Ye don’t bother with the likes o’Jack.”
“But I need to speak with him,” Morgan said. “Do you know where I might...”
“No, I don’t, nor do I want ta. An’ if ye’re smart, ye won’t either.” She then turned her back on him and sauntered away.
Morgan turned and walked in the opposite direction, not entirely sure he was heading the right way. He wandered in and out
of streets, asking anyone and everyone he encountered where he might find the notorious criminal. He scared quite a few people and got a number of nervous looks, but no answers.
He also got himself hopelessly lost. He was beginning to miss the quiet, genteel streets near his boarding house.
Nestor had been absolutely right—he could not have brought Adriana here. He wasn’t entirely sure he should have come himself. Only his drive for answers buoyed his nerves and set his determination.
A man bumped into Morgan, neither one of them watching where they were going.
“Sorry,” the man hiccoughed, reeking of spirits.
“I beg your pardon,” Morgan said at the same time and then resisted the urge to cover his nose. He stopped and asked, “Do you know where I might find Jack the Lad?”
The man seemed to lose his balance, but regained it quickly enough. But then, oddly enough, he began to laugh. “Jack the Lad? Ye be wantin’ to find Jack the Lad?” He staggered on, laughing as if Morgan had just told him the funniest joke.
Morgan continued on, asking anyone he found, and trying desperately to keep his mind on the task at hand, rather than letting it wander back to Adriana. It was so much more pleasant to think of her than to pay attention to the filth that surrounded him. A chill ran through him at the thought of living in such squalor.
He walked on, down a particularly dark and narrow alleyway, but a creeping sensation made its way under his skin, giving him an abrasive chill.
His boots sounded loudly against the paving of the street, and he noticed it had become oddly quiet. He slowed his walking. And then he heard it. It was no more than a whisper and at first Morgan couldn’t make out what it was.
He stopped walking, and tried to peer through the darkness.
“I hear ye’re lookin’ fer me,” the voice said again, deep and slow.
Morgan turned around, but couldn’t make out from which direction the voice had come. It bounced off the walls of the buildings that lined the narrow street. Shadows jutted out here and there, but there was no light to speak of, just the waning moon overhead. He could see no one.
“Are you Jack the Lad?” Morgan asked, his voice sounding much too loud amidst the silence. The chill made its way up his spine to sit at the base of his skull as he waited for an answer.
“I might be,” the voice said slowly. “Why? What do you want?” The words whispered like death in Morgan’s ear.
Morgan shook himself and continued to look around for the source of the voice. “I want to have a word with Jack the Lad. If you are him, I’d appreciate it if you would show yourself.”
A step sounded very quietly behind him and Morgan spun around to face a tall thin man with long, pale blond hair pulled back into a queue. His arms hung by his sides, but everything about him told Morgan he was ready for anything. “Here, now, what are ye wantin’ with the likes of Jack?”
Morgan eyed the man warily, but somehow a feeling of lethargy stole over him. “I want to speak with him. I think he may have some information I need.”
As the man got closer, Morgan could see his eyes were an odd pale brown color, almost gold. They pierced into him as the man said in a soft, almost sing–song voice, “Ye don’t want to speak with Jack. Ye don’t want anythin’ but to get back home to yer comfortable bed.”
Morgan took a step back away from the man as he approached. He did just want to go home, he thought, fighting to stifle a yawn. There would be nothing nicer than shucking off his clothes and climbing into his warm, comfortable bed.
“That’s right,” the deep, voice soothed. “Go on home now. Yer bed is a–callin’ to ye.”
Morgan took another step backwards. He could almost feel the soft sheets as they caressed him, the soothing softness of the mattress as he sank down...
“No!” Morgan flung his arms out and the man went flying backwards, hitting the wall on the opposite side of the alley.
Morgan’s energy began to burn inside of him once more as he strode over to the fellow and picked him up by his coat lapels. “You are Jack the Lad. Now, you are going to give me the answers I want,” Morgan said, shaking him violently.
Morgan was furious. He had nearly been caught in the man’s mesmer. He couldn’t believe he had fallen for that. By God, the fellow was horribly good!
The man threw up his arms, dislodging Morgan’s hands and putting him off his balance. He turned and ran.
“Stop!” Morgan called, throwing out his arm and using his magic to enforce it. He’d never stopped something from moving before, it took a great deal of mental and magical strength to do so.
Jack stood frozen for a moment while Morgan ran up, grabbed hold of him and released his magical hold.
“Who in the name of hell are ye?” Jack asked, as Morgan turned him around to face him.
“I am Morgan Vallentyn, and I want answers. You will answer my questions,” he said, infusing his own voice with magic.
The man pulled his arm free of Morgan’s grasp, but didn’t attempt to run away again. “Vallentyn? I’ve heard o’that name.”
“My mother is the high priestess of the coven.”
“Right. That’s right. Never been to one of them meetin’s.”
“Neither have I,” Morgan admitted.
“Whatd’ye want then? I ain’t got no answers for ye, whatever it is ye’re after.”
Morgan’s heart began to sink once more, but refused to give up. He’d gone through too much trouble to stop now.
He briefly explained about his growing powers, and then asked, “Have you ever heard of this happening to anyone else? Do you know where my powers might be coming from?”
Jack took a few steps back while he was thinking, and leaned himself against the wall. “Hmmm. That’s a tricky one, ain’t it? Never heard o’anythin’ like that happenin’, not that I know a lot of Vallen, mind ye.”
He thought for a moment, then said, “I’ve always thought the power came from within. There must be somethin’ changin’ within ye. What is it, inside of ye, that’s changin’?”
Morgan shook his head, thinking hard. “I don’t know.”
“Well, when ye figure that one out, then ye’ll know where the power’s comin’ from.”
What was changing within him? Morgan stood back and began to think about this. So many things had changed within him recently. It could be his self–confidence, it could be Adriana, it could be his determination not to wait for his destiny to come to him, but to go and seek it out on his own, it could be so many different things.
He looked up suddenly. The calming presence that Jack exuded was gone. Morgan looked down the alley, but it was deserted.
How had he done that? Morgan hadn’t even heard him walk away.
He hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask him about his destiny, although he had a suspicion the man wouldn’t have known anything. And he also didn’t warn him to stop using his powers to rob people.
How did his mother do that, he wondered. Did she mesmerize them? Put a suggestion into their minds? Use force? No, he couldn’t see her doing that. It had to be done with magic—powerful magic. Magic that Morgan now possessed. Which he now needed to learn how to use.
Twenty Eight
For the hundredth time Morgan’s eyes slid over the bare wash stand, the dresser, the small window of his bedroom through which the day’s feeble muted light shone. He should be happy. He should be feeling light and energetic. He only needed to figure out what it was within him that was changing and then he would know why his powers were increasing. From there, it was just another small step to knowing what his destiny was.
He nearly laughed. What inside him wasn’t changing? Never had he experienced so much in his life, never had he known so many people, had so many friends, been so self–confident—and then there was Adriana.
That stopped his train of thought. Adriana. Goodness, she’d been so upset the day before at Lord Byron’s. She’d nearly been in tears when she’d told them about her guardia
n taking away and burning all of her paintings. Morgan couldn’t say that he blamed her. He wished there had been something he could have done to help her. Thank goodness, Lord Byron had been able to help.
He wondered if what Lord Byron had proposed had worked, if things were better with her now. Morgan wanted so much for her to be happy. He wanted so much for her to be here, with him.
Well, if she couldn’t be here, then he could certainly go to her.
Morgan got himself up and dressed in a flash, and was on his way to Adriana’s house within half an hour. But then that damned butler of Devaux’s wouldn’t let him in. Not at home to callers? He didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. He didn’t like that at all.
He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this. His need to see her grew imperative.
Finding a convenient tree just outside of the back garden wall was perfect. A quick, easy climb and he was over the wall and in the garden. He scanned the windows of the house. Which one was hers? He hoped most fervently it faced the back of the house and not the front. Or maybe she was in the drawing room, it led out into the garden.
He began to approach the back door when Adriana came rushing out of it. “Morgan! What are you doing here?” she said in a loud whisper, as if she was afraid someone within the house could hear her even through the closed doors and windows.
“I had to see you. I had to see that you were all right,” he said. As she came nearer, Morgan reached out and took her hands. They were cold.
“No. You shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees you, I’ll get into trouble.”
“Why? That nasty butler of yours said you weren’t at home to visitors. I told him that I was certain you would see me, but he still wouldn’t let me in.”
“I’m not allowed any visitors,” she said, blinking a little too fast, as if she were trying to hide tears.
“Didn’t Lord Byron get here in time to save your work?” he asked gently, worried of what the answer might be.
Adriana closed her eyes for a moment, and then with a sniff said, “Yes, he did. Lord Devaux was furious when he got home and found all of my work gone before he could destroy it himself. Every pen, pencil and scrap of paper has been removed from the house to ensure that I can’t draw. All of my paints and brushes have been disposed of.” She stopped abruptly and lowered her head and closed her eyes again. She was trying so hard, so hard not to cry, Morgan could feel it in his own throat. His own anger rose up in her defense.
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