Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

  Which was how, two nights after Merlin left the Coven, Morgan found a mermaid in the bathtub adjacent to the bedchambers she shared with Fiona.

  Fiona was out for the evening, and Morgan didn’t give much thought to it as she planned to relax in the warm water and naturally scented salts Nineveh gave her for her last birthday.

  “What the bloody Hell are you doing, and how did you get here?” she demanded as she spotted Nineveh relaxing in the tub filled with cold water.

  The mermaid grinned. “We have our own magics, Little Fairy. Someone requests your presence at the Coven border by the river.”

  “Merlin already?” she asked, ignoring the way her traitorous heart leapt at the thought of his swift return.

  Nineveh shook her head, spraying water on the floor like a wet dog. “No, Master Emrys has yet to return, though if you wish me to wave this one away, I can.”

  “Who is it, Nineveh?”

  “Your other Coven betrayer. Guinevere.”

  At that, Morgan’s heart fell down to her stomach. What on Earth was she doing so close to the Coven? What could she possibly want? Unless she discovered Merlin was spying on both her and Arthur for Aritza…

  “Did she say what she sought from me?” Morgan asked.

  Nineveh shook her head.

  Morgan sighed. “All right. Can you go watch her and make sure she doesn’t try anything while I dress? I will be there posthaste.”

  Nineveh nodded. “I shall watch her like a dragon.”

  Somehow, she squeezed her normal-sized body through the pipe drain at the bottom of the tub, vanishing with a flip of her shimmering purple fishtail. The water went down with her, leaving Morgan a bit befuddled at all the aspects of the magical world she had yet to understand.

  Since the Queen put newfound trust in her in the undercover mission with Merlin, she was allowed to walk freely at night without being hassled by the guard.

  It was a cold, damp night, grey clouds obscuring the stars. Still, the light magnified behind them, giving her enough to see by without the use of magic.

  Unlike with Merlin, as she closed in on the clearing where Gwen waited, no magic called out to her; no tendrils of pure energy danced with hers. It was decidedly barren, something Morgan had never noticed when she was pleased to merely be courted by the most loved girl in all the Coven.

  Guinevere waited in her customary pink cloak, clutching a book in her hands. She looked aloof, as if she were not going to betray both kingdoms she once pledged fealty to. As if she had not taken Morgan’s heart and destroyed it with a few simple words.

  Her blonde hair was dulled by the night, but her blue eyes were bright as ever, ringed in long, black lashes. When she spotted Morgan in the distance, her plump pink lips twisted into the same smile that used to make Morgan swoon.

  Now, however, it made her want to vomit.

  “What business have you here?” she hissed, stopping a metre away.

  Gwen had the nerve to look upset. “Is that any way to greet your love?”

  “I loved you once. Not anymore.”

  “I know I hurt you by leaving, but I was under the impression that Camelot was going to attack posthaste, and I wanted to live, Morgana. I wanted to live with you, but you were your typical stubborn self,” she said with a forced titter.

  “I preferred dying with dignity than living in shame.”

  “That is admirable, but not practical,” Gwen pointed out. “Even Accolon left with us. For some reason, you and Fiona remained behind. Your magic won’t vanish if you come with me now. Surrender, break free of that psychotic Aritza.”

  Morgan shook her head. “I refuse to do that. And why would you want me there? Have you forgotten, you’re to be married to Arthur in a few months?”

  Merlin told her it was all a ruse, but Gwen didn’t know Morgan knew. She wondered how far she could push Gwen until she told her everything. Maybe there was a chance she could put an end to it all, or allow Gwen a peaceful takeover of Camelot, integrating it into the Coven.

  Gwen’s smile was catlike now. “As if I could ever want that piece of rubbish masquerading as a member of society. I gave him a potion, one of yours. The Besotted Brew. Lucky for me, it didn’t cause severe lust.” She shuddered.

  “So what is your plan?” Morgan wondered.

  “I become Queen, my husband dies tragically, I mourn, and then I combine Camelot with the Coven. The humans either become apprentices, work with us, or die.”

  She spoke of a hostile takeover of two kingdoms as if she was discussing teatime.

  “And you think you can get the Queen on board?” Morgan asked.

  “Oh, Goddess no. That old witch is going straight to Hell where she belongs.” Gwen took a step closer, but Morgan held her wand out. “You think I’d harm you?” For the record, she appeared genuinely hurt.

  “You’re not the girl I fell for,” Morgan replied. “Forgive me for not wanting to fall into a potential trap.”

  Gwen pouted, but her gaze then turned introspective. “A wand. Since when did you begin using wands again? Missing Emrys?”

  Yes.

  “Because it’s insurance and extra power when I might need it. You know, considering my former girlfriend has gone mad and a crazy teenage king wishes to slaughter my entire home.”

  Blue eyes narrowed, and Morgan could feel angry magic crackle in the air. Not like how she could see and feel Merlin’s, but rather like a warning in the air before a bolt of lightning hit nearby. A warning to run away.

  “I am not mad.”

  Morgan took a step back, still brandishing her wand. “You could have fooled me.”

  “I still want you, Morgana,” Gwen said. “I want you to rule at my side: the Coven and Camelot. I should have told you before I left, but I assumed you’d come with me. I don’t wish to marry Arthur, and he only proposed because he was in need of a wife by human standards.

  “A mad person could not plan this so well.”

  Oh, yes they could.

  “You’re delusional if you believe for a second I would agree to your plan to overtake not one but two kingdoms,” Morgan said. “We have no ties to the humans of Camelot; why bother controlling them?”

  At that, Guinevere’s smile was positively wicked. “I might not have a claim to Camelot … but you do.” She held out the book she’d thus far clutched in her arms, like an offering.

  In case it was a trap, Morgan used “volant” to send the book over to her. It appeared to be a leatherbound journal.

  Gwen backed away, still smiling. “This might give you a bit of motivation. I will wait to hear from you, my dear Morgana. And if I do not, I can assure you, I will take you down along with anyone else who stands in my way.”

  “You, and witches like you, are the reason the humans wish us dead,” Morgan observed.

  Gwen laughed, high-pitched and insane. “Oh no. Read the marked passages, and then you shall see exactly who is responsible for the rift between kingdoms.” She continued to back away, and Morgan let her. In a moment, the shadows overtook her, making her just a vague form silhouetted in pink against the clouded moonlight.

  Morgan looked down at the worn book in her hands. If she knew anything, it was that Gwen could not be trusted. She needed to be sure that whatever was in there wasn’t fabricated. And then she needed to contact Merlin with whatever she found.

  Back inside her bedroom in the castle, Morgan opened the leatherbound book to the first marked page. The scrap of silk used drifted lazily to the bedspread.

  She read all the marked passages, and once she realised what it was she was reading ― the private journals of the late King Uther ― she let out a gasp and the book dropped to the floor in shock.

  Chapter Nine

  The Journal of King Uther

  Emissaries from that damned Coven Kingdom came to present their regrets about Igraine’s passing. Evidently, death by childbirth does not happen within their borders. Godless heathens, yet He blesses them with long lives? It
seems highly unfair.

  So unfair, that I asked a few of them to remain, Medics all, to show what we could do to prevent such tragedies from happening again.

  Gorlois and Chiara are two of the Medics, and yet what they have so far done has been little save for scouring the floors, walls, even the bedposts, with some foul-smelling substance made of herbs and animal fat.

  “Is this witchcraft?” I demanded of Chiara.

  “No, sir,” she replied with a pertinent smile. That is another thing I dislike about this Coven: they have no respect for my title. “This is called common sense. Have you any of that to spare in the vast halls of your castle?”

  I was speechless at her impudence. Gorlois, whom I have been told will marry Chiara upon their return to the Coven, looked positively ghastly.

  However, were I to order her execution for rudeness, the Coven could see it as an act of war. I wish to rid the world of magick, but I do not wish to do so on their terms, but rather mine.

  One week later

  “And what is that?” I demanded of Chiara when I and my servants stumbled upon her in the kitchens, poring over a large black pot.

  “Liquid cleaning solution, sir,” she replied. “It does not require animal fat, and is therefore healthier than anything you’ve ever used in and on this horrific place.”

  “Do you delight in insults, witch?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, sir. However, I do delight in your obvious ire. Perhaps if you got off your pedestal, you’d see you were no more important than the least member of our Coven, and certainly not more important than those whom you deem the least of your kingdom.”

  If the Coven believes in such a manner, it is no wonder they’re Godless fiends in there.

  Two days later

  Gorlois intimated to our doctor that the lack of anti-inflammatory herbs are why our few elderly are so poorly and cannot walk.

  I will not approve the use of such things on my people! To incorporate their unholy creations into our daily lives would be the equivalent of damning my kingdom to Hell, and I shall not do that to my people.

  I ordered the servants to remove all the magickal paraphernalia from the castle grounds, and in doing so I stoked the ire of one of our guests.

  Chiara stormed into my private sitting room. I have no idea what magick she used to get past my guards, and dare not ask even now. She looked furious, her fair face red and her dark eyes blazing.

  “Do you think it is fine to insult guests so blatantly?” she demanded.

  “Do you believe it is proper for a lady to enter the king’s chambers without invitation?” I countered.

  “Oh, damn your propriety!” she spat. “You are the one who requested we stay to ensure no one died like your wife did, and yet here you are, refusing to accept our help because we’re ‘different’. Instead of indulging your ignorance, why not sit with us and allow us to show you we mean you no harm?”

  I shook my head. “I know what I believe.”

  “No, you know what you were told to believe in text translations you don’t even understand,” she replied.

  I had no response for her. It’s true I never bothered to learn the original Hebrew and Arabic texts from nearly six centuries ago.

  “Awfully confident, aren’t you?” I asked, trying to de-escalate.

  She gave a wry smile and winked. “Not as confident as a male mortal in a position of power.”

  Three days later

  Chiara has proven to be both a blessing and nuisance. She is always underfoot, observing and questioning.

  “What would you do if I or someone from my kingdom came and questioned your Queen in this manner?” I asked her as she followed one of my gardeners across the grounds.

  “Welcome them, sir,” she replied, not even looking at me. “We harbour no ill secrets. Do you?”

  Once more, she rendered me speechless. And judging by the smile she wore, she knew she had won our verbal sparring match once again.

  Two days later

  I was sleepless, and so I shirked my guard and went for a calming walk around the castle gardens. The moon is full, and it is quite peaceful out here. I had expected to be alone, imagine my surprise when I saw a lone figure standing in the centre of the courtyard, arms out, head lifted to catch the moon’s rays.

  Chiara. At her feet were various stones and crystals, sparkling in the light.

  “Um, hello?” I said, not wishing to startle her.

  Without turning, she said, “Hello, Uther. Isn’t the night lovely?”

  Affronted, I replied, “Who gave you permission to use my name?”

  Undaunted, she said, “No one said I couldn’t.” At that, she turned and smiled, her dark eyes glittering. She turned back to the moon. “We leave in a fortnight. I do hope you have taken our practices regarding health to heart.”

  I stepped closer. “I will take some of it under advisement.” I glanced down, then at her peaceful expression. “What are you doing?”

  “Charging my crystals with moonlight,” she replied, as though it were an everyday occurrence in Camelot. “They will spend the rest of the evening on my windowsill, to be removed at dawn.”

  I had a dozen questions, but asked none of them. “Your rituals are … interesting.”

  “No more so than yours,” she replied, bending with ease to gather the crystals and place them gently in a small velvet pouch. When she straightened, she was face-to-face with me.

  “You mortals aren’t so bad, you know,” she commented, tilting her head and smiling.

  “I suppose some witches are not, either,” I conceded.

  With a little giggle, she leaned in and kissed me.

  It was improper, borderline illegal since I am the king, and far above her station. Yet, I could not help but kiss back.

  Five days later

  Chiara and I have spent much time together. She even goes to the nursery with me to visit Arthur, teaching the nursemaids little songs sung to children in the Coven. Arthur seems to like them, to like her.

  It causes me to wonder, would it be possible for Chiara to remain in Camelot?

  One week later

  The witches were supposed to leave in two days’ time, but that is not what happened.

  Early this morning, one of the other witches who stayed with Chiara and Gorlois requested a private audience with me. While I was still wary of the rest of them, I granted it.

  I do not recall her name, she was a towheaded witch with big, violet eyes. Eyes that looked as though she had not slept in some time.

  “Your Highness, I was unsure if I should come here today, but I felt I must. I have held a secret for far too long.” She wrung her hands, the skin on her knuckles white.

  I leaned forward, pitying her for the fear in her eyes. I did not believe it was a fear of me; rather, of the person or persons about whom the secret pertained.

  “You did right to come to me. Now, calm yourself and tell me what the matter is.”

  She looked at the ground, up at me, and back a few times before finding the courage to speak. “She’s not who you think she is.”

  “Who?” I wondered.

  “Chiara. She’s not a Medic. She’s a potioneer.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “And what is the difference?”

  “Medics dabble in healing magic only. Potioneers can brew whatever they please … including poisons.” She hiccuped. “I think she poisoned Ingraine, Your Highness. And wormed her way into your kingdom … and Goddess knows where else. I feel she might wish to harm others in your kingdom, by way of you and her potions.”

  I paused to reflect on what the witch said. She’d have no reason to lie. Why would she betray her Coven and fellow witches?

  Rage built within me and I called for my guard. The girl flinched, obviously worried I was going to have her harmed.

  “Your Highness?” Percival said, rushing into the room.

  “Please ensure this young woman has safe passage out of Camelot. Round up the o
ther witches here; I wish to speak with them in the courtyard. Ensure no innocents are around when I do.” I then turned to the girl. “Go with him and get back to your Coven safely. Thank you for your candour.”

  She nodded and raced out after Percival.

  I stood and paced for a few moments, allowing my anger at myself to rage within. How could I have been so foolish as to fall for a witch? This all could have been a plan to destroy my kingdom from the inside out!

  Never again would I trust a witch. Never again would I allow myself to be so blind.

  In the courtyard, the four remaining Coven members looked about warily. As instructed, only they and my knights were in the yard; no innocents were to be harmed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Gorlois demanded. “Has something happened?”

  “Indeed it has,” I said, glaring at Chiara. “Did any of you truly believe you could deceive me?”

  The witch in question glanced around and asked, “Where is Faleen?”

  That was the witch’s name!

  “Already on her way back to the Coven,” I replied. “As you all will be immediately.”

  “We were not scheduled to for another two days. What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, stepping forward.

  “Your poison,” I snapped. “You wished to infiltrate my kingdom from the inside out, did you? I demand you all leave at once, and do not return.”

  “Are you totally mad?” she asked. “I poisoned no one.”

  “Your lies and witchcraft will not work on me any longer,” I proclaimed, not taking my eyes from her. “I wish I had never accepted your kind within my borders.”

  “Our kind?” a male witch said, offended.

  Chiara shook her head. “Whatever you heard, Arthur, that was the lie.”

  The nerve of her, using my Christian name on her foul tongue!

  “Do not speak,” I commanded. “Leave, and note that one day my knights will see to the end of your vile species. Each and every one of you!”

  Chiara’s eyes met mine, and I didn't blink, didn’t back down.