Morgana Trilogy Complete Series

by Alessa Ellefson

  “The world certainly blows, doesn’t it?” I mutter.

  I watch the freeway’s lights gleam off Arthur’s remaining rings, and my thoughts drift back to the Shade, to that moment when Arthur’s ogham gave out and left us both defenseless. If it hadn’t been for that horn—Mordred’s horn, I now know—we might both be dead right now.

  “Uh oh,” Arthur says.

  “What?” I ask, looking outside the window to see if the Shade is following us.

  “Out of gas,” Arthur says with a sigh. “Hopefully they won’t pay too much attention to our clothes.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I’m wearing my battle armor,” he says, “whereas you’re still in your school uniform. And there’s a curfew, remember?”

  He exits the freeway and pulls into a lonely gas station.

  “Won’t they notice that this is a stolen vehicle?” I ask.

  “Not if we don’t stand out,” Arthur says. “So stay in the truck.”

  “How long’s it going to take?” I ask. “’Cause I’ve really got to pee.”

  Arthur lets out a defeated sigh. “In, out,” he says at last.

  I rush over to the back of the building where the restrooms are while Arthur fills up the tank. But by the time I’m done, he’s waiting for me at the lavatory’s door.

  “What are you—”

  “Shhh,” Arthur says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

  I stiffen up, but he holds me close to him and I don’t have the strength to push him away.

  “Just play along, and don’t say a word,” he whispers to me as he leisurely guides me back to the truck.

  And then I see it: A black and white police car, its owner drinking a steaming cup of coffee while waiting for the car to fill up.

  “He’s looking at us,” I whisper anxiously.

  “Don’t bite,” Arthur says, leaning in.

  And before I can ask what he’s talking about, he kisses me. A deep, long kiss that makes me dizzy from lack of air. I try to smack him but Arthur keeps his arm firmly anchored around my shoulders, steering me past the cop car to our stolen truck.

  Finally, Arthur breaks away to open the door for me.

  “Good evenin’,” the cop says, raising his cup of coffee in salute, though I spot no smile under his thick moustache. “Cold, ainna?”

  Mouthing off a curse, Arthur pushes me into the passenger seat before slamming the door shut. Then, before my very eyes, his whole posture changes.

  “How’s by you, officer?” Arthur replies with the thickest Wisconsin accent I’ve ever heard.

  The man nods, but drops his friendly smile as he stares through the windshield at me.

  “Heard dey got another ten feet of snow up nort,” Arthur says, oozing calm and composure.

  “Uff-da,” the cop says. “So whatcha doin’, hey? Shouldn’t ya be back home? There’s a curfew goin’ on.”

  Arthur grins sheepishly. “Me an’ mah girl, we on da way back, but we run outta gas after stoppin’ to da Pig[67]…”

  I see the cop frown then, after one tense minute, he relents. “Better get back home quick, now,” he says at last. “’N drive safe.”

  “Yes, sir!” Arthur says.

  He quickly gets back inside the truck and drives off. I watch the cop stare pensively at us in the side view mirror, praying he doesn’t suddenly change his mind and pulls us over.

  “Hopefully they won’t find this truck too quickly,” Arthur says. “Because when they do, they’re going to find who really owns it. And when they find out who owns it, they’re going to find—”

  “—the dead family,” I finish for him. “Which means…”

  “You and I are going to be wanted men,” Arthur says with a bright smile.

  I stare at him, wide-eyed. How can he take this so lightly? Then again, he’s never been falsely accused of murder before. Probably.

  “Don’t worry,” Arthur says. “The Order’s good at covering our tracks.”

  He tries to pat my knee but I jerk away, and Arthur’s frown returns.

  “Our lawyers will deal with anything that may happen,” he says. “Besides, Luther owns half the businesses in the area, which tends to get the local authorities to turn a blind eye on our unusual activities. It might not abide by the rules of knighthood, but I must admit it can come in handy.”

  “I’ve always wondered,” I say, Neenah city’s lights now at our backs, “why Wisconsin? I mean, there’s millions of lakes out there in the world, why this one? You could have settled in a bigger town, like New York or Chicago, for example, considering how much Luther and the others travel.”

  “It’s because it’s not a big city that we’re here,” Arthur says. “Do you remember your Lore class? How Carman’s sons left the old world after her defeat?”

  “Sir Lincoln may have mentioned it,” I say evasively.

  “That was just the start,” Arthur says, “especially after the Industrialization Age started. A lot of Fey migrated to the Americas for survival, and to the Midwest in particular, where the great, empty spaces provided them with some measure of safety.”

  “So you guys followed them here,” I say.

  “That’s right. Wisconsin turned out to be as good a place as any to create our link to Avalon. We even had Carman’s prison set up here under the theory that too much human interference such as modern buildings and machinery would have weakened the spell. Although urbanization did catch up with us, eventually, which is one of the reasons why I believe the wards around Carman’s prison were overcome so easily.”

  I repress a shiver. Twelve people have been forced to give up their lives for Carman’s freedom; I can’t call that easy. I close my eyes as Dean’s last moments replay in my mind, as he willingly offered his life to save me. Or, I suddenly wonder, was it because he had another purpose for me? If only Dean were still alive, I’d be able to ask him what he, Mordred, and now that Shade want me for.

  “Saint George’s balls!” I exclaim, making Arthur nearly drive off the road in surprise. “Elias was right, those freaks must be her sons too!”

  “Who is whose son?” Arthur asks.

  “That Shade and Mordred must be Carman’s other two sons,” I say. “Dean said he wasn’t working alone, and I saw traces of the Shade over on Island Park when you guys had Nibs give you a tour. And then Mordred showed up when she escaped. And isn’t it also funny that they now both want me for something?”

  Arthur nods pensively. “It’s a possibility. They’re both certainly powerful enough. But there are a lot of powerful Fey out there. Lugh’s one of them, for instance. Lady Vivian another.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” I say, annoyed he’s not jumping to the same conclusion I have despite my stunning evidence, “but they don’t quite exude the same vibes as these creepy guys.”

  “I’ll keep your theory in mind,” Arthur says as we exit the highway. “Just don’t mention it to anyone else until we’ve got definite proof. People are already on the fence when it comes to you, I don’t want to add fuel to the fire by suggesting you know more about the Dark Sidhe than we do.”

  “Fine,” I retort, sullenly. “But don’t blame me again when the shit hits the fan.”

  ◆◆◆

  Unfortunately, the shit has hit the fan, and hard, as our return to Lake High makes abundantly clear.

  “What’s the update?” Arthur asks Lance the moment our barge lands by the arena, away from the battle’s carnage.

  Lance shakes his head, his hair sticking to his scalp with what I can only assume to be blood. “We repelled their advance,” he says, “unfortunately they got the Sangraal.”

  Arthur’s footsteps falter as we make our way up the stairs to the KORT room, but he quickly resumes his ascent.

  “But that’s not the most pressing issue right now,” Lance says. “The villagers are incensed about the towers not going up fast enough, and Agravain’s—”

  “It is the most crucial thing!” so
meone exclaims ahead of us.

  Arthur’s hand goes automatically for his sword, but he relaxes his posture again when a white figure steps through the threshold onto the landing.

  “Rip,” Arthur says.

  The albino man nods in greeting. “Do you know what the Sidhe call the Sangraal?” he asks. “Lapis Exillis, the name for the gift God gave Lucifer, before the latter decided to go its own way. It has the ability to restore any Fey to health.”

  “We were already aware of that,” Lance says.

  “But don’t you see?” the albino man insists. “Carman wanted it to restore her powers. How can there be anything more pressing than that? The only thing that may play in our favor until we figure out a way to get the Sangraal back, is that the cup can only be used by those of the right blood lineage.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Arthur asks.

  “I spent time with the Fey, remember,” Rip replies.

  “Why didn’t you speak up beforehand?” Lance asks. “It would have helped when the Board was here.”

  “And I wouldn’t have had Irene rip me a new one either,” I add, recalling how she nearly kidnapped me in the library, demanding I tell her how to make the Sangraal work.

  “I thought the fewer people who knew its secrets, the better,” Rip says. “After a while, the Board would have gotten tired of it, and it would have become just another mystical, but useless, artifact locked up in their vaults. Besides, who would have believed a crazy man?”

  Looking grim, Arthur and Lance climb up the remaining steps to the second landing, but as I make to follow them, Rip stops me.

  “Dr. Cockleburr would like to see you,” he whispers. “Wants to see if you can do something for that Elias boy.”

  “He’s alive?” I ask, my mouth gone dry.

  “He’s still breathing,” the albino says, “which isn’t saying much. But Dr. Cockleburr has faith in your skills.”

  I look down at my blackened hands. Even in the dim hallway light I can see that my arm has fully recovered from the Shade’s poison. I give a quick nod.

  “I-I’ll give it a try,” I say, and Rip bounds down the stairs ahead of me.

  We find the infirmary packed with injured people—a sight that’s become all too familiar lately. The lucky ones are moaning in pain or crying hysterically, others, however, have the stillness only found in corpses.

  “What is she doing here?” someone snarls in my direction.

  “Get the witch out of here!” a girl yells frantically, despite poor Henry’s attempts to calm her down. “She’s bad luck!”

  “She’s going to make us all die,” someone else wails.

  Dr. Cockleburr’s angry face pops in from the casualty room. “Quiet!” she snaps. “Or I won’t see any of you.” The doctor then waves for me to follow her down to the intensive care unit. “His pulse is faint and erratic, while his breathing’s labored,” Dr. Cockleburr tells me as she marches towards the end of the long ward. “At one point Marianne thought his heart had stopped altogether. Can you do anything?”

  She stops before the furthest bed where Elias now lies, still and pale against the white bed sheets, except for the blackness of his veins.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t promise anything,” I say at last. “But I’ll do my best.”

  “It’s all I can ask for,” Dr. Cockleburr says.

  She yanks on the curtains that separate the bed from the rest of the room to give us a little privacy, before hurrying away, her heals clicking on the tile floor.

  I creep up to Elias’s side, then sit down on the bed, brushing his red curls away from his cold forehead. A shallow breath escapes his dark lips, carrying the faint smell of rot, and the massive knot in my stomach tightens with fear.

  Just think of those you’ve healed already, I tell myself, to calm down. Like Arthur, and Jennifer. No, don’t think of Jennifer. Think instead of the pregnant lady, and how she got to hold her baby afterwards.

  I keep my hand on Elias’s forehead, then close my eyes and start to pray. I don’t know how long I remain hunched over the boy, but this time I recognize the tell-tale signs of my abilities at work—the prickling sensation coursing through my body, the strange warmth that follows along before it erupts from my hands.

  And the headache that surges again, more virulent than before, like someone’s decided to take a chisel to my skull. I force the bile back down and make myself take deep breaths to avoid passing out.

  A hand suddenly comes to rest on my back.

  “I think it’s over,” Rip says.

  I blink my eyes open, sweat pouring down my forehead. I’m afraid to look at Elias, afraid to have to admit defeat. Then I feel the boy shift under my hand as he takes a long, quivering breath.

  I sag in relief, laughing deliriously. There’s another stabbing pain behind my eyes and I feel myself topple forward before Rip catches me.

  “What the hell did you do to her?” a distant voice asks.

  Arthur. My lips move but no sound comes. I want to tell him I managed to use my powers for something good again. I want him to be able to stand proud because of me, to be able to tell all the others that they were wrong and shouldn’t be afraid of me anymore.

  But I’m so tired.

  I barely register the pair of sturdy arms that lift me up. My head rolls to the side and comes to rest against a solid shoulder, the metal woven in the shirt deliciously cool against my feverish skin. I smile to myself then fall asleep.

  ◆◆◆

  “I will not allow more children to be sacrificed because of their parents’ cupidity!”

  The harsh whisper wakes me with a start. I look about, disoriented. The window’s to my left now, instead of at my head. Did Keva rearrange the room while I wasn’t paying attention? And then I recognize the large, four-poster bed, and the weapon-covered wall beside it. I’m in Arthur’s bedroom.

  I roll off the bed and land softly on the balls of my feet. Outside, I can dimly see the line of fires from the camps of knights standing guard around the school, like a long string of fallen stars against the black canvas of the fields.

  “Thanks to you, the Fey are now unbeatable,” says a clear voice I immediately recognize as belonging to Agravain. “If we still had Excalibur, I bet you’d just hand that over to them as well, wouldn’t you?”

  I silently crack the door open and find myself face to face with Agravain, the knight’s blue eyes intense despite his relaxed posture. Standing before him is Arthur, looking ready to pounce on him and punch his teeth out.

  “This isn’t an unprecedented event,” Arthur retorts. “When our Order was founded, we neither had Excalibur, nor the Sangraal, nor did anybody know how to use oghams for that matter. Yet that did not prevent us from winning battles.”

  “Back then, knights were great warriors,” Agravain says, “not kids playing sword games.”

  “What are you saying, Agravain?”

  “I’m saying that it’s long past time you gave up your hold on KORT and the rest of the school,” Agravain says. “We need to run this place with an iron fist, to return our knights to their previous standards instead of churning out a bunch of sissies. That’s why we keep being decimated in every battle.”

  Now I really want to punch his teeth out. Hasn’t he noticed how hard Arthur works to keep us all safe?

  “Are you saying I should let the Board take over?” Arthur asks.

  “They certainly have more experience than you do in matters of war,” Agravain answers.

  Arthur barks out a laugh. “You fool,” he says. “If you leave Lake High to the Board, the balance we’ve maintained over the years will be completely wiped out. They don’t care about our original mission to keep the peace and protect the innocent.”

  “The innocent don’t include any Fey, Arthur,” Agravain retorts. “I don’t see what’s so wrong about bringing all of Avalon down, even if it means no more Lake High.”

  “Do you honestly believe the Board
doesn’t want anything Fey to exist anymore?” Arthur asks. “All they care about is preserving their own power, using all means necessary, even if it’s Fey. So don’t delude yourself, Agravain. They just want to keep doing what they’ve always done, and they don’t mind using kids, as you call us, to do their dirty deeds while they stay inside the comfort of their own rooms.

  “But I won’t let them use us as cannon fodder. I will make them give us troops to defend Lake High, no matter the cost, and I will find a way to make a truce with the Fey!”

  I can almost hear Agravain grinding his teeth. “Not everyone at Camaaloth wants to keep the status quo, Arthur,” he spits at last. “Trust me. You better kiss your little world goodbye, because it will soon be gone, and so will your crazy fiancée and that pet demon of yours.”

  Agravain turns sharply on his heels then marches away.

  “Pack our bags,” Arthur says curtly as Agravain disappears around the corner, “we’re going to Camaaloth.”

  I nod, hiding my face from him, for despite what’s been happening, I can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement—I’m finally going to find out the whole truth about my father!

  Chapter 23

  The plane starts its slow descent over Lake Geneva’s western point, having just passed the snow-covered French Alps. Somewhere on the other side of the lake is my old school, and I catch myself wondering what Sister Marie-Clémence would think if she knew I was back.

  “Will you stop kicking my seat?” Arthur asks, turning around to glare at Percy.

  “Why couldn’t Blanchefleur come along?” Percy asks with a pout.

  “Because,” Arthur says, drawing in air loudly through his nose, “she doesn’t like planes.”

  Percy leans forward and sticks his head in between Arthur’s and my seat. “But she’s supposed to be Morgan’s bodyguard,” he whispers. “Her not bein’ here means she’s shirkin’ her responsibilities, if ya ask me.”

  “Nobody asked you,” Arthur says. “Now sit back and stop bugging me.”