Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  “I’m sorry,” I retort, “but I always thought that, out of the two of us, you were the monster.”

  She cuffs me, the sound of the slap echoing in the now-still room. But I don’t try to make myself small this time. I won’t let this woman keep treating me like I’m unfit to even be the dirt on which she walks.

  “Oh, that struck a nerve, did it?” I continue.

  A muscle twitches at her temple, and she raises her hand for another strike.

  “That is enough!”

  Lady Vivian strides over to us, her face flushed with anger. I brace myself for another reprimand, but the head of the school turns on Irene instead.

  “What is the meaning of this, Irene?” she asks.

  For the first time in my life, I see my mother quail. Luther arrives, looking concerned.

  “I’m sure there’s an explanation,” he says, looking back and forth between his wife and me. “Honey?”

  Irene jerks away from his touch. “She’s gotten her powers back. She’s become a liability.”

  Vivian casts her brown eyes down to my bare shoulder. She looks as beautiful as ever, not a single strand of hair out of place, or a speck of dust on her velvety dress; it’s as if the battle that’s just happened never reached her. Yet she seems paler, tiny lines crinkling around her eyes, over her sunken cheeks.

  “So I see,” she says. “But I wouldn’t necessarily say she’s dangerous, would you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Irene spits out.

  Vivian’s face turns stony. The atmosphere in the ward becomes tense, electrified, like on a stormy day.

  “I don’t think it’s the power one has that makes one dangerous,” she says, her voice calm, yet carrying a dangerous edge to it, “but rather how it’s used.”

  Irene looks away, obviously uncomfortable with the topic.

  Vivian straightens up. “Let her go,” she says to the two men still holding me. When the guards don’t move fast enough for her taste, she adds, “Don’t forget who her father was.”

  Irene blanches.

  “You know who my father was?” I ask, my knees going weak.

  “Of course,” Vivian says. “Everyone here does. He was a great knight, the best of his generation.”

  “That doesn’t make up for her mother,” Irene cuts in.

  “Not her adoptive one, that’s for sure,” Vivian retorts. “Which is why I hereby dissolve your guardianship of the Gorlois heir. All her inheritance must be relinquished, or at least what’s left of it.”

  Irene squares her shoulders. “And to whom should I transfer the custodianship?” she asks.

  “Well, to me, child,” Vivian says with a bright smile. “I’ll give you a week to get everything settled.”

  Irene barks out a laugh. “To you? I’m not a fool, old woman. I know how far your authority goes, and in this matter, I stand firm. She’s a Halfling. She can’t go around free.”

  Vivian’s violet eyes flash. “We shall see about that,” she says before striding away, her long dress flouncing behind her.

  The moment Vivian’s gone, Irene rounds on me. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of this so easily,” she says. “Everyone around here now knows the truth about you, that you’re just some half-Fey bastard.” She snaps her fingers into Arthur’s face. “And you better stay away from her.”

  His face pales, but Arthur remains mute.

  “I don’t understand,” I say as Luther pulls Irene away for a private talk. How could Irene not be my own mother? Granted, she’s never shown much love for me, but I’d always thought…

  My whole life now seems like one big fat lie.

  “I don’t understand,” I repeat.

  “Gorlois was once engaged to Irene,” Arthur says, “before he disappeared.”

  Frowning, I lift my eyes to his concerned face. “What are you talking about?”

  “When Sir Tristan, who’d gone to his search, failed to come back within the year…” He shrugs. “She married my father two years after Gorlois left.”

  My breath catches in my throat. I watch Irene shake her head at her husband. “But-But…that means…”

  “When Sir Tristan came back,” Arthur continues, “Gorlois was already dead. But he’d left something behind. A little baby girl…you.”

  I jerk back at his words, unable to process the data. There is one thing that seems clear to me, however.

  “You knew,” I breathe. “You knew all along.”

  Arthur’s lips thin out, but he finally nods.

  Rage wells up inside me, unchecked. I jump to my feet, but the guards hold me back. “You traitor!”

  “Please, hear me out,” Arthur says.

  “So you can spew more lies?”

  He winces, but keeps on going. “You don’t understand,” he says. “There was a reason this was kept from you—”

  “What? You were afraid that the freak would go vicious if she found out the truth?”

  “Don’t say that,” Arthur whispers.

  “Afraid the rest of them will learn you and your family have been hosting a demon in your house? Afraid the school will stop seeing you as a perfect person?”

  Grabbing me by the shoulders, Arthur shakes me. “Don’t be a fool. What they think is no concern of mine. What you think about yourself, however, is.”

  “Please, don’t pretend like you care now,” I say. I should’ve trusted my instincts from the start—though fairies may exist, and knights in shining armor are still around, there is no such thing as a Prince Charming. “And stop ordering me around like you own me,” I add as my guards pull me away at a sign from Irene. “You’re not even my brother!”

  Shackled and closely guarded, I follow Irene and Luther back outside under the curious stares of hundreds of students. We march toward the back of the church, where small stairs lead us belowground. Luther pushes a small door open, and I’m dragged into a damp hallway, past dark, empty rooms, and down more steps.

  Finally, we stop before a bolted iron door. Luther inserts a key, turns it, then pulls the screeching door open.

  Without a pause, my guards shove me in. Unable to catch myself, I land with a heavy thud and smack my head on the grimy floor.

  Rolling over onto my back, I see Irene smile, the light of one of the guard’s torches distending her features.

  “Welcome to your new home.”

  Epilogue

  STRANGE PRANK GOES AWRY – THE AUTHORITIES ARE STUMPED

  In an odd turn of events, the elaborate hoax, which started a few months ago and involved the replacement of the native cairn on Island Park with monoliths worthy of Stonehenge, has turned sour.

  The police, after getting reports of explosions originating from the island, found upon arrival that the circle of standing stones had been destroyed. When called upon to comment, the chief of police refused to say a word, claiming the investigation was still under way. An eyewitness, who wishes to remain anonymous, stated that the place reeked of sulfur and that blood had been found on the premises.

  Some locals are accusing Natives American tribes of being behind the vandalism.

  “You saw how they was protestin’ when the stones were found first,” Mr. Ethan Pearson, owner of a small bar just north of Oshkosh, stated. “They just can’t take a joke. Those kids, or whoever they were, didn’t hurt no one, and look what they did, blowin’ the whole place up like it’s Armageddon!”

  Whether these accusations prove to be true, or the act of destruction was performed by aliens, as another group claims, nobody knows. The authorities were still trying to work out how anyone could have brought in those gigantic stones without being noticed in the first place.

  But that is not the end of the story. Scientists have been called in to analyze a plant that was discovered growing out of one of the stones. According to a member of the staff, it may be a genus of completely unknown origins. Most baffling of all is that the plant is inextricably attached to its rock and is resisting any attem
pt at being cut out, no matter the tool used.

  Perhaps those who state this is all a trick played on us by aliens aren’t too far from the truth after all.

  Rise of the Fey

  Book 2 of the Morgana Trilogy

  Alessa Ellefson

  Let no one deceive you in any way. For that day will not come, unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and exalts himself against every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God.

  Thessalonians 2:3-4

  Chapter 1

  “Dear Lord, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended Thee my Lord, Who is all good and deserving of my love.

  “Though frankly, between you and me, I don’t see how I could be blamed for what my parents have done. Come to think of it, you do have a tendency to hold grudges, or you wouldn’t have punished all of mankind because Adam and Eve happened to disobey you that one time…

  “So let’s strike a deal: If you’re willing to discard my past, I’ll be more than glad to overlook yours. And I promise to be really, really good from now on. After I’ve made Arthur pay for being a lying, scheming, good-for-nothing prat, that is. Thank you. Amen.”

  I sign myself then let out a heavy breath as I slump back down onto the freezing floor.

  “Psha!” a voice utters in the darkness, making me jump. “That ain’t gonna make a slick of a difference. He hasn’t listened to the Watchers’ endless mumblings for millennia. A minute of your whiny self isn’t gonna make a ripple in the Almighty’s conscience.”

  “W-Who are you?” I ask, my voice shaking. I didn’t see anyone else in the split second it took for Irene to throw me in jail. “Are you a…a ghost?”

  My eyes dart about uselessly. Half-Fey or not, I still can’t see without light. I hear someone expectorate and wince as a fat, wet glob lands on my arm.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” the disembodied voice says. “And I’m hurt you wouldn’t remember me. We had such a lovely time together—hoppy beer followed by a romantic boat ride on the lake. It was great till your brother cut me up and you disfigured me.”

  I cringe away from the venomous tone. There’s only one who would fit that description, and it happens to be the only Fey in the world who has every right to rip my heart out.

  “Nibs?”

  “In the flesh,” the clurichaun says, “or what’s left of it.”

  He shifts around and I hear the sound of clinking chains. I let myself relax a little—at least he can’t attack me in here.

  “Say,” Nibs says, “you wouldn’t happen to have some aqua vita[37] on you by any chance?”

  “Some what?”

  “No, I thought not.”

  A long stretch of awkward silence settles between us, punctuated by the occasional dry cough.

  “That jerk isn’t my brother, you know,” I finally say, feeling my breath steaming in the air. “Arthur’s a traitor. He lied to me, manipulated me, tried to—”

  “Who cares what he is?” Nibs cuts me off. “He ought to be skinned alive.”

  “Couldn’t agree with you more on that one,” I say.

  “You too, for that matter,” Nibs adds.

  “Right,” I say, my discomfort spiking again. “So how long have you been in here for?”

  His restraints scrape softly against the wall as he shrugs. “Days, months, years? Does it really matter? I’m probably going to be stuck in here for the rest of my eternal life. Unless…”

  “Unless?” I ask, my ears perking up. Could it be he knows a way to get out of here, or someone who might help us escape?

  “Unless your fake brother finds my last ogham and affixes me to one of his noisome devices,” Nibs says. “Or kills me outright.”

  “Your other ogham?” I ask stupidly. “I thought you guys only had one.”

  “Some of us can split our oghams,” Nibs retorts nasally as if he’s digging his nostrils for boogers. “Though it hasn’t done much for me except prolong the torture.”

  “Oh.” I let my chin fall back onto my chest in disappointment. If a full-blooded Fey can’t get out of here, I have no hope of making it out alive either.

  I think back to my last moments of freedom, a few hours ago. Despite all my warnings, Carman, the wickedest witch of the west, is back from the dead to wreak havoc all over the globe in her frenzy for vengeance.

  And after meeting her, being locked away down here might not be such a bad thing after all. It’s not like we parted on friendly terms she and I, considering I’m somewhat responsible for her son’s death, and may or may not have thwarted her attempt to kill Arthur and Lance. I wonder if she’ll believe me if I tell her that last one was a mistake I’m not likely to make again? Probably not.

  Might as well make myself comfortable in this damp, cold, smelly, dirty tomb of mine….

  I sit up suddenly, my stomach spasming.

  “Don’t worry,” Nibs says, matter-of-fact. “Any bug you may have felt crawling on you is just a trick of your imagination.”

  I crouch against the wall, all muscles tense, forcing myself to breathe through my nose.

  “Seriously,” Nibs adds, more alert. “This place is as good as airtight—anything that tries to crawl in or out without going through the door the proper way gets zapped.”

  Tears spring to my eyes with the effort of self-restraint. I whimper. “I-I have to pee,” I breathe, biting on my lower lip as the full extent of being left to rot in this cell finally hits me.

  ◆◆◆

  I stop yelling, my breath coming out in rough gasps, my fists laying useless at my sides, stinging from having beat on the iron door for hours.

  No one’s come.

  No one’s coming.

  This is worse than being locked up in the prayer room by Sister Marie-Clémence; worse than my week stuck inside Irene’s house.

  “Oh good,” Nibs says with a sneer. “I thought you’d never stop.”

  I sigh, looking sightlessly at my hands. “You’d think being Fey would be useful,” I say bitterly. “Like allow me to open doors or something.”

  Nibs spits loudly and I hear a fat glob of phlegm hit the wall inches from me. “You’re dumber than I remember. This place is lined with iron, no Fey can get out.”

  “Right,” I say. “Iron’s a no-no with you guys.”

  Nibs chuckles. “With you too now, though you’re lucky your human blood prevents you from feeling any pain at its touch.”

  I slump back down as the last embers of hope die out inside me, leaving a black hole in their stead—Jesus’s agony in the Garden of Gethsemane was nothing compared to this.

  “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” I mutter, remembering the verses from the Bible that Sister Marie-Clémence liked to recite whenever she was exasperated, which had been a daily occurrence with me. If only she could see me now. I sigh. “I’m going to die and I don’t even know a thing about my real parents.”

  “Could you please stop with all the moping and whining?” Nibs asks. “It’s already bad enough that I have to stay chained to this wall for the foreseeable future.”

  “Saint George’s balls!” I say, irritated. “Why can’t you just let me pray in peace?”

  Nibs lets out a disgusted snort. “You should pray to Carman instead. The sooner she gets her ass here, the sooner she can kill all those knights off and free us.”

  I shudder at the demon witch’s mention. If Carman comes over, then my death is going to come sooner rather than later. Besides, why would she bother coming to this rat hole when she’s got a whole world to conquer? Unless Nibs knows something I don’t….

  Before I know it, I’m back on my feet, heading for Nibs when I trip over his chain and fall, smacking my head against the wall.

  Nibs’s laugh rings out just inches from
me. “Why so worked up?” he asks. “Think about it. The knights are the ones who put you down. And what for? Did you do anything to hurt them? No. Though between you and me if they hadn’t been so brainless themselves they would’ve locked you in here sooner. They would’ve prevented this mess, not that I’m complaining since—”

  “Shhh!” I say, accidentally slapping him in the face.

  He snarls and I snatch my hand away.

  “I think I heard something,” I whisper.

  “Doubtful,” Nibs says, “very doubtful. This place is about a hundred feet below ground, so unless—”

  But he shuts up when a keening howl pierces our cell’s walls. The hairs at the back of my neck stand up. Despite it being muffled, I would recognize that sound anywhere.

  “The banshee,” I whisper, huddling instinctively closer to the clurichaun.

  Nibs’s chains rattle as if he’s just shook his head. “Again, very doubtful. Banshees would not dare get this close to humans, and to a place crawling with knights even less so.”

  Again, the guttural, inhuman cry reaches my ears. “She’s here for me,” I say, my mouth dry. “I killed her master, she wants revenge!”

  The banshee worked for Dean. Dear, sweet Dean whose care of me over the years turned out to be only a façade for his true intent: To harvest my blood, needed to free his mother Carman.

  I feel the palm of my left hand where the cut he made has closed back up, leaving a puckered scar behind.

  The minutes tick by, marked by the banshee’s mournful cries.

  “Why is she even sad?” I ask, resentful at the recollection of Dean’s betrayal. “He didn’t even treat her well. In fact, he was going to kill her to complete the warding circle!”

  “Sometimes being treated like shit is better than never having your existence acknowledged.”

  “It was a rhetorical question,” I snap, not wanting to feel pity for Dean’s hired killer.