Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3)

by Alessa Ellefson

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  On the fourth stomp, the floor craters out beneath me, power carving out giant boulders from the stadium in a series of deafening explosions. Demons shriek as they try not to fall into the crevices. The chimera whirls on itself, confused by the sounds. I don’t see Lady Ysolt’s mouth open again, don’t hear her second cry, but the tiered benches on the other side of the arena explode under her blast.

  I slide my hand out, and the boulders shoot through the air to circle the monster. The chimera turns on itself again, confused by these different targets.

  A shudder goes through its long-limbed body, and I pause, hesitating, wondering why it’s shifting its stance. I can feel everyone’s eyes boring into me, wondering what I’m doing. Sweat slowly tracks its way down my neck. Come on, you fool, I tell myself, just finish it.

  But I can’t get images of Jack, Lady Ysolt and Father Tristan out of my head. Can’t help but hope there’s a way to revert what’s been done to them.

  The chimera’s shoulders slump, all three pairs of hands dropping to its sides as its faces turn to me in anguish.

  Saint George’s balls, they know!

  Shock ripples through me at the realization that my friend and professors have been locked together into this formless creature, all the while being aware of what was done to them. I bite back a sob. It’s sick. Morbid. Vicious.

  “Morgan? Morgan is that you? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

  Arthur’s sudden voice acts like a cold shower, cleansing my muddled thoughts until only one thing’s clear: I’m going to put an end to this horror, and make Carman pay for it. All of it.

  I’m fine, I mentally tell Arthur, not knowing whether he’ll hear me or not, and hoping he can’t see what I’m seeing.

  Standing a little straighter, I close my hand into a tight fist, and the boulders plummet to the ground, pounding the chimera repeatedly until there’s nothing left of the monster, nothing left for Carman to desecrate.

  Only then do I plaster a sickening smile to my face and bow before Carman’s lodge.

  “I hope the spectacle was agreeable to you, my lady,” I shout over the incensed crowd’s clamor.

  Carman’s answering laugh makes me want to rip her eyes out. The witch leans forward in her seat, long, dark hair falling over her shoulders in lustrous waves.

  “I think I may keep you after all,” she says.

  And, just like that, my most ardent wish and deepest fear come to be.

  Chapter 35

  “I don’t think it’s as simple as that,” Bri whispers, and I try not to wince at how grating her murmurs sound to my ears.

  I stretch my legs out on my pallet, ever so slowly so as not to scream from the pain. Carman may have decided to keep me alive for now, but she still didn’t appreciate my destroying her latest creation, and half the stadium with it.

  I doubt she’d be so lenient if she found out I’ve been holding secret meetings in my cell to plot her demise since she locked me up three days ago. I don’t know how Gale and Bri have managed to find me, but I have a strong suspicion it has something to do with Owen, who’s currently keeping watch just outside the door.

  “Of course it is,” Gale says, turning the book around so he can show her what he means on the graph. “This symbol here is clearly a Bindrune[33]—”

  “I know what Bindrunes are,” Bri says, sounding annoyed, “but this clearly…oh.”

  “It’s a simple pattern, really,” Gale says, as engrossed in the ward patterns as Bri, “one rune here, and another, followed by a binary Bindrune, then a triple one, so these here should be five, and seven, to follow the Fibonacci sequence[34].”

  I tune out their voices, glad that they, at least, are making some progress.

  Unlike me. My efforts to bring Mordred to our side have been fruitless. He barely spared me a minute when I first arrived, and since the fight in the arena, he hasn’t bothered to come down to visit me once. Maybe it’s just as well. I can’t forgive him for what he’s done to my friends. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see are their distorted faces, screaming at me to free them.

  “Now that’s done, let’s talk about the next step in our plan,” Gale says, drawing me out of my nightmarish memories. “I’m here to take down the dragon—”

  “You really think you can do anything while Carman’s around?” Bri retorts, still taking notes from her runic book.

  “You’ve got it wrong. I need to find a way to cut the dragon up and encase its ogham in iron. Carman is Morgan’s problem.”

  “Thanks,” I retort. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, even if you do manage to cut Carman off from her Fey powers, my hands are kinda tied at the moment.”

  Gale cocks his head at me. “Whatever happened to the strong-willed girl who defied both a knight and a Fey lord to come here?”

  “She’s wizened up,” I mutter.

  “Or given up,” Bri says. She looks down, as surprised as I am by her outburst. “Sorry,” she adds in a small voice.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I say, the words struggling to get out. “It’s just…I thought I knew what I was doing, what I was getting into. I had a plan. But nothing’s going the way it was supposed to. And now I’m lost. And I’ve dragged you guys into it…”

  “Morgan, don’t you know nothing ever goes according to plan?” Gale says. And, as he’s done before, he reaches inside the remains of my jacket to pull the poppy he’d given me out of my pocket, the flower bearing but a single red petal now. “That’s why we work together, as a team.”

  “So we can watch each other’s back?”

  “So we can catch each other’s mistakes,” Gale says with a nod.

  “You mean you make mistakes too?” Bri says, sounding like Keva.

  “But it doesn’t mean we don’t believe in you anymore,” Gale says. “Besides, you’re soon going to get the opportunity to cause all the mischief you’re apparently so good at making.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, with a strangled laugh.

  Gale’s about to reply, when he suddenly goes still. “We better get going,” he says, as distant footsteps reach us, getting louder.

  But Bri doesn’t move, her eyes on me, filled with worry.

  “She’ll be fine,” Gale says, grabbing her arm, “she’s a survivor.”

  There’s a little scratch at the door, and Owen pokes his head in, eyes like pools of darkness that reveal nothing. “Time,” he says.

  And in a flash, all three leave, locking the door behind them. I find myself holding my breath, ears perked for any sound of scuffle. But when I hear the heavy footsteps stop before my cell, I know they’ve managed to slip away safely.

  A key turns inside the lock, and the door creaks open once more. I stare, slack-jawed, as Mordred struts inside, the flickering light of a torch pouring in behind him.

  “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Mordred says, eyeing me coldly, like a mortician studying the next body to embalm.

  He, on the other hand, looks just peachy.

  “Come here to gloat?” I ask, leaning my head against the stone wall, grateful for its coolness against my feverish skin.

  “You actually did a nice job on that ghoul,” Mordred says, crossing his arms over his pectorals. “Impressed quite a few.”

  “What does that matter anymore?” I ask angrily.

  “It matters if it’s the only thing that will keep you alive,” Mordred says.

  “Oh, and forcing me to fight these horrible monsters is the way to do it?”

  “You and I share the same blood, the same abilities. Surely you don’t think the ghoul would have posed me any problem, do you?”

  I look away from him, unwilling to answer. I wish he’d leave me alone. Instead, however, Mordred drops into a crouch in front of me.

  “Morgan, these people don’t understand things like pity, or mercy. They are signs of weakness, and weakness among them means death. The only way, therefore, you could have blended
in—if you could ever truly blend in anywhere—was if you shared these same instincts as theirs.”

  “Could have? Was?” I ask, finally looking back at him.

  Mordred brushes my hair back to look at the side of my face, where Carman scored me from temple to jaw, and lets out a disgusted grunt before tossing something onto my lap. My fingers brush the old iron-threaded jack in dismay. It’s the one Arthur had given me eons ago at the ball, the one I wore my whole time down in Hell, and that I tossed out the moment I got back here. And though it’s now threadbare, it’s better than the ripped-up jacket I’m wearing now.

  “Where did you find this?” I ask.

  “That’s not important,” Mordred says. “What’s important is for you to finally understand that there’s nothing anyone can do against Carman. No one’s stronger than she is. Not Lugh, not your boyfriend’s paltry army, not Danu, and certainly not you.”

  I glare at him, bunching up my old vest in my manacled hands, wishing I could slap some sense into him. “You took all this trouble to get down here just to tell me that?” I ask. “To be careful? You shouldn’t have bothered.”

  “Shut up, Morgan. I know exactly what I’m doing, unlike you, who keeps bumbling about all the time, making a mess of things.”

  “Well if it’s Carman’s plans I’m making a mess of, then I’m not sorry at all,” I retort. “I can’t let her free Balor.”

  Mordred snorts in derision. “You mean I need to free Balor. She can’t open Hell’s seventh gate on her own, not even with the way Dother’s changed the wards. Only I can do that.” He pauses, golden eyes locking with mine. “Or you.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I breathe out. “You’d honestly let Carman use you so she can destroy this whole world?”

  Flashes of Mordred’s punishment for what happened at Caamaloth come back to me, the vision from Danu’s cave still fresh in my mind. Carman’s hate for Mordred was evident, and the only reason she kept him alive was because she needed him still. So why is Mordred still OK with playing her lackey?

  Mordred’s smirk turns into a soft snarl. “I am nobody’s servant,” he says, leaning so fast I jerk back and hit my head against the wall, “and you’d better remember that.”

  “That’s certainly not what it looks like,” I bite back, annoyed.

  But I immediately regret the taunt at the flat look he gives me in return. I need to remind myself that Mordred’s my brother, that he’s like me, trying to find his place in the world, one where we wouldn’t constantly have to be afraid for our lives and freedom because of what we are. He’s just going about it a different way.

  If only I knew how to show him my way’s the right one…

  Mordred suddenly pulls away from me. “Look, I’ve come down here to let you know to be good these next few days,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I won’t be here to defend you if you don’t.”

  “Why—”

  “And that includes your little friends,” Mordred continues.”

  Blood drains my face. “What—”

  But Mordred’s already out, the door closing behind him

  I hunch back down on my pallet in the sudden darkness. Despite my exhaustion, I keep mulling over his last words, turning them over and over in my mind until I think I’m going crazy.

  And maybe I am, for I can’t help but think that he just admitted to being on our side.

  ◆◆◆

  “I smell something frying,” someone sniggers as the door to my cell creaks open, making me jump.

  It feels like ages since I saw Mordred, though Bri says it’s only been two days. And still I don’t know what to make of his last visit. Bri says to ignore him, that unlike me, he can lie through his teeth. Which is true. But somehow, I don’t think he did this time around.

  My gut tightens as Urim’s pale face pokes inside my cell. Right on cue, Thummim squeezes behind him, flashing me his commercial-bright smile. “Neurons, I think,” he says. “The frying, I mean.”

  “Can’t you guys give me a rest?” I mutter, shifting uncomfortably on my pallet.

  “You’ve had 7,614 minutes of rest already,” Thummim says. “Time to get moving.”

  I snort in derision. Right. “What do you guys actually want?”

  “Oh, so many things,” Urim says, as if he was waiting for me to ask him just that. “Carrot cake and some absinthe would be good for a start.”

  “Going to a water park, making dogs out of balloons,” Thummim says.

  “Fulfilling the prophecy, driving a Formula 1 car, going to a spa, and getting our nails done.”

  “But we’re always so busy,” Thummim finishes with a theatrical sigh.

  “Wait,” I say, looking up at the strange pair. If they’re talking about prophecies, then… “Are you guys saying you want to go back to Paradise, too?”

  “We’ve been away from home for a while,” Urim says.

  “Never really thought I’d miss it,” Thummim adds.

  “Home,” I repeat. “Last I checked, that wasn’t in Carman’s plans. So why are you working for her.”

  “Last I checked, we were working with your brother,” Thummim says.

  “Who’s helping Carman, so it’s essentially the same thing,” I say.

  Except it’s not, I realize as I look at their mischievous faces. Working with, not for. Which means they chose to go with Mordred.

  Mordred who left me with a warning not to get into trouble.

  “Where’s Mordred?” I ask.

  Thummim shrugs. “Not at Lake High, that’s for sure.”

  “Threw Carman all up in a tizzy,” Urim says, sounding rather pleased.

  “I think she might be leveling a city or two up in the human world for that,” Thummim says thoughtfully. “Something about deadly hail…”

  Saint George’s balls.

  I was right. Mordred and these guys have turned against Carman at long last.

  A memory pushes its way to the forefront of my mind. “When I came back here the first time after you guys had taken over the school,” I cautiously hedge, “you were waiting outside for someone…”

  Both Dark Sidhe stare at me, unblinking.

  “You mentioned you were waiting for a different mutt,” I forge on. “You meant you were waiting for Carman, didn’t you? That means you guys have known all along that she’s only half-Fey. Was that your way of giving me a hint?”

  “Took you long enough to figure that one out,” Thummim says, scratching his jaw. “At the rate you were going, we figured we’d drop a few more hints.”

  “The geas wouldn’t allow us to tell the truth outright,” Urim explains with a disappointed sigh. “But I thought we’d nonetheless been quite obvious.”

  I nod slowly, though this is still too much to take in at the moment. “Thanks for…trying to help me,” I say at last.

  Urim’s smile deepens. “No, no. Thank you for letting us help you.”

  Both Dark Sidhe move at once, and before I can make sense of what’s happening, they’re upon me, one of them holding me down, the other grabbing my arm and exposing it, flesh part up.

  Panic fills me as I struggle to shove them away. They played me, and the eager idiot I was fell right for it!

  “Stop struggling, princess,” Thummim says, pulling out a sharp knife. “It’ll hurt less if you do.”

  “I thought you wanted to help,” I say, angry tears leaking out the corners of my eyes.

  “But we are,” Urim says, pressing down on me harder. “Didn’t you profess to be one of us now?”

  “And those of a feather…,” Thummim says, pressing the tip of the knife into my forearm.

  I whimper as he drags the knife down my arm, my flesh splitting easily beneath the blade.

  “…eat together,” Urim finishes, as Thummim pulls out a large, yellow gem from his pocket.

  “Present from Gadreel,” Thummim says before shoving the demon’s ogham into my arm. “Bon appétit.”

  “NO!” I shout,
thrashing against their hold.

  Urim’s other arm snakes around me, until he’s practically covering me with his entire body.

  “Just hold on,” Thummim says through gritted teeth as he keeps both hands pressed firmly around my arm, until the wound closes up again.

  My legs kick out, spasms overtaking me. My stomach cramps up as the foreign presence burns through my body, spreading goose bumps across my skin. I buck against their combined weight, lifting Urim up, then slam my head against my pallet so hard, stars burst across my vision. I want to grab Thummim’s knife and slice myself open to rip the ogham back out and stop this agony.

  “Shhh,” Urim says, holding my head to stop me from bashing my brains out. “It’s gonna get better.”

  A scream tears through my throat. My fingers clamp onto Urim’s arm, and I feel his bones shatter beneath them.

  A maniacal laugh escapes Thummim. “Stop fighting it and enjoy the rush!” he shouts, struggling to loosen my grip on Urim.

  I arch on my pallet so violently I feel tendons and muscles tear in my back. It’s too much. My body isn’t meant to absorb all this foreign power at once. I’m barely conscious of both Dark Sidhe diving before my cell echoes with a resounding BOOM!

  The walls and ceiling explode, the grey stone pulverized to dust in less than a second. Warm tears flow down my face, and I can’t tell if they’re of relief or…relish. My whole body’s thrumming with the energy I got—no, stole—from Gad.

  I roll over and heave, chills coursing down my body.

  “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Thummim asks, coughing.

  A Fey light pops into existence, a purple glow that casts a devilish sheen over the destruction I’ve just caused.

  “Better than I thought it would be,” Urim says.

  He picks himself up, eyes traveling first to the door hanging halfway off its hinges, then around the crater that’s become my prison cell, and finally up at the cracked ceiling through which the sky-lake is now visible.

  “Though perhaps not as discrete as one might have hoped,” he finishes.

  “Who cares at this point?” Thummim says, wiping the dust from his face.