Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity

by Lydia Sherrer

  The ancient wizard stopped beside John Faust and let her gaze settle on Sebastian. Whatever insubstantial aura of power Lily’s father carried around with him, Morgan’s was twice as strong and intimidating as all get out. She looked down her long, thin nose at him where he crouched in the cage, and her stare made him feel like a trapped animal.

  You are weak. You are worthless. She will crush you like a worm beneath her boot!

  Sebastian gritted his teeth and resisted the instinctive urge to shrink away. He’d stood up to Roger, dagnabbit, this hag couldn’t be any worse. He was a knight, right? It was hard to imagine that, locked away in a tiny cage, but it was all he had.

  “I remember this one. He helped that traitorous welp of yours attack me. I shall deal with them both accordingly”—she raised one long, pale finger as John Faust opened his mouth to protest—“after we have prepared a warm greeting for our expected guests.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” John Faust said, dipping his head briefly.

  Sebastian opened his mouth, thinking perhaps he could bargain with Morgan and use a little of his sweet-talking skills to gain an advantage. But he snapped his lips closed at the warning look John Faust flashed him. There had been real fear in the wizard’s wide blue eyes. Only for a moment, but it had been there. Sebastian had never seen Lily’s father scared before. But what did it mean? Was he afraid of Morgan and her power? Or worried that Sebastian’s interference might ruin his carefully laid plans?

  Before Sebastian could decide, Morgan had snapped out orders to John Faust and Roger to attend her as she stalked away to the edge of the casting circle. There she began a heated, though quiet tirade, complete with sharp gestures. Sebastian could only hear a phrase here and there of what she said.

  “...with the loop gone...trap has been sprung too early...this incompetent witch...I want solutions.” As she finished, she reached into an inner pocket of the suit and drew out a large ring with a flat, round top, its surface shining a pale gold in the warehouse lights. Sebastian recognized it immediately from the drawing Aunt B had shown him at her house. Was that what Roger had stolen from the museum? His aunt said it could be used to amass power—but how? He shuddered to think what it might be capable of, considering how much trouble Roger had gone through to get it.

  In response to Morgan’s angry words, Roger started whining, not even trying to keep his voice down as he protested that he had done everything they’d asked, and that none of this was his fault. That was when Morgan slapped him. The woman was tall, taller even than John Faust in her heeled boots, and it looked like she knew how to deliver a solid blow. The swift and unexpected strike sent Roger reeling and he dropped to one knee, shaking his head as if dazed.

  A surge of delight coursed through Sebastian. He gripped the bars of the cage and pressed his face between them, longing to be closer so he could see the look on Roger’s pathetic face.

  Yes, yes! Strike down our enemies. Kill them all!

  Sick horror came quick on the heels of his pleasure, and he shoved himself away from the bars like they had burned him. Crouched now in the middle of the cage, he passed a shaking hand over his eyes and wiped away beads of sweat he hadn’t even noticed were there. One moment of distraction and his mind was flooded again without him even noticing.

  “This isn’t me,” he whispered and hoped it was true. “I’m a knight. I’m sacred. I’m a knight. I’m—”

  Nausea hit him in a wave that dropped him to his hands and knees. He knew that feeling. Knew what it meant. Limbs trembling with the effort, Sebastian forced himself to look up. What he saw was exactly what he’d feared: black shadows enveloping Roger and twisting tendrils reaching out from the darkness.

  His shoulders were on fire. He’d been hanging from his wrists for hours, and every molecule of his body burned and begged for relief. Yet he barely noticed the physical pain. His mind was consumed with fear, waiting for It to invade his thoughts again.

  The flashback made Sebastian’s stomach heave, and he vomited onto the concrete floor beneath the bars of the cage. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be safe. But John Faust had taken his ring. He wanted to curl up in a ball in the back of the cage and weep. Instead, he kept whispering, trying to hold on.

  “I—I’m a k-knight...I—I’m s-sacred...”

  “Mr. Blackwell...Sebastian...are you okay?”

  The urgent question pulled him out of the fog slowly suffocating him, and he turned his head to see Richard, the man’s eyes wide with fear. But Sebastian barely paid attention to the FBI agent. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the limp form in the man’s lap. Instinct, more than rational thought, drove him to speak.

  “Lily. Please. I need—touch her.” Sebastian collapsed against the side of the cage and stretched his arm through the bars, reaching as far as he could. He was just close enough to reach the adjoining cage, and he motioned feebly.

  “Please...”

  Richard cast a fearful glance toward the thing Sebastian could not bring himself to look at, then the man scooted closer and brought Lily within reach. Sebastian grasped at her hand with the desperation of a drowning man. As soon as he touched her, his nausea ebbed and the buzzing torment in his head faded into the background.

  Now able to think a little more clearly, Sebastian knew things were quickly going downhill and they needed to get out of there, fast. He had to make a plan. But the voices in the middle of the room drew his attention, and he found his gaze drawn inexorably to them, driven by the same instinct that made a rabbit stare, motionless, at the wolf creeping slowly toward him.

  “—grown weaker by the day,” the demon, Afnergu’alak, was saying. He stood before the two wizards in all his dark glory, having overtaken Roger’s will and form with his own. His white hair seemed to glow even whiter than normal under the harsh light, and his eyes burned fiercely. Every other part of him drank in the light, swallowing it up in blackness so that his exact form was difficult to make out.

  “This worm is no longer a fitting host, and were I free of his worthless frame, I could complete the spell you have been attempting.”

  Morgan stood tall and proud, not a hint of fear in her demeanor—which meant she was either very competent, or very stupid. She examined the demon with an assessing gaze, then spoke, her voice clear in the tense silence.

  “Powerful you may be, but what makes you presume to be worthy of me, a queen among wizards? You have already failed once. I have a mind to banish you and call another, stronger demon in your place. One who will not fail me.”

  Sebastian flinched, expecting Afnergu’alak to explode with rage at the proud wizard’s slight. But what the demon did was worse. It began as a chuckle deep in his black chest, and it grew in power until it burst from his lips and echoed throughout the warehouse.

  “Ah, you mortals. You never cease to amuse me with your grand ideas. I am worthy of you, oh Morgan of the Fae, because I am a prince among demons. What is more, I was there. Thousands of years ago at the beginning of it all, I was there when the ring you possess was made. I know its secret workings just as fully as you know your own thoughts. It is this mortal’s weak mind that has held me back. But you—you are vastly more powerful than this weakling, and together we would be invincible. I need naught but your willing assent, and then I will give you all the power and revenge you so richly deserve.”

  “Your Majesty, this is a foolishly reckless course of action. If we just take more time—”

  “Silence!” Morgan’s icy command cut off John Faust’s warning.

  “But my lady,” the wizard began again, his voice increasingly urgent.

  “Defy me again, LeFay, and though you are my descendant, I will wipe you from this earth. I have waited fifteen hundred years to retake what is mine, and I will not be denied. Now be silent and do not question my decisions.” She didn’t even bother looking at him, but Sebastian did, and even at a distance he could recognize the calculation in John Faust’s gaze. But Morgan didn’t s
ee it—her eyes, her entire attention, was riveted on the demon slowly but surely seducing her.

  For whatever reason, whether because John Faust thought he could not match Morgan one-on-one, or because he simply decided it was better to wait and see what happened, the less powerful wizard finally bowed his head and stepped back. The move put him at Morgan’s back, with plenty of distance between himself and the creature who was clearly in charge of the situation.

  Yes, Sebastian knew exactly what was happening, and knew that no matter who ended up dominant in the end—Morgan, or the demon she gave herself to—both outcomes would be beyond disastrous. Roger, at least, had been cautious, using multiple fail-safes to control the demon he had shared a body with. Sebastian had once glimpsed the intricate symbols tattooed onto the witch’s flesh, a precaution that Morgan would no doubt dismiss as an unnecessary delay. He almost wanted to shout out a warning to the overconfident wizard, but he clamped his lips firmly shut, knowing better than to draw attention to himself.

  “Why is Lily unconscious and how do we wake her up?” he whispered to Richard, mind busy considering their options while his eyes remained fixed on their swiftly approaching doom.

  “I drugged her when I—I took her. But after I got her here, the woman, Morgan, put a spell on her. She’s been comatose ever since, even while they tested some sort of magical ritual on her. Morgan kept ranting about a trap and how everything had to be perfect, but I have no idea what they were preparing for.”

  Morgan’s voice rang out, distracting Sebastian from his next question.

  “You, bring me the book.”

  One of the five witches by the door scuttled to obey, nearly tripping over herself as she hurried to the stacks of baggage by the beds. She lifted a large, leather-bound tome from one of the cases and carried it gingerly out in front of her like it was a ticking bomb. Sebastian recognized it instantly and felt an odd surge of relief. It was here, the Book of Names. That was horrible, of course, but since it was here, perhaps he could get it back. Maybe if he gave it to Thiriel, she would forgive him—

  “What are we going to do?” Richard’s question brought Sebastian back to his current situation, and he gave Lily’s warm hand a reassuring squeeze, though of course she wasn’t awake to feel it.

  “The cavalry is on its way,” he murmured, hoping against hope that they actually were. “We need to figure out how to get out of these cages so that when they arrive, we’re ready to act.”

  “How are we supposed to do that? I’ve already tried picking the lock. Whatever I use on it just melts, like it’s been enchanted or something. Is that a thing? Magic locks?”

  “Yup,” Sebastian said grimly. He was tempted to try his hand at the lock on his cage, but that would mean he’d have to let go of Lily, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. It was almost certainly a waste of time anyway. They had taken his pack away somewhere, and the only things he had in his pockets were his truth coin, and Lily’s charm bracelet. The magic on the cage meant it wasn’t merely mundane anymore. That meant the trifling gift Thiriel had given him all those years ago—she’d promised he could never be held captive by mundane means—wouldn’t work. That little trick had gotten him out of many a sticky situation, but didn’t help him much against wizards. Sir Kipling might be able to open it, but so far there’d been no sign of the cat, whether because it wasn’t safe to come out or because the demons had already—no, better not to think about that. Sebastian’s heart clenched. He hoped Sir Kipling’s absence meant the cat was simply busy keeping one step ahead of his pursuers.

  So, their only option was to wake Lily and hope she could use her magic to get them out. But how? Were the thick metal cuffs on her wrists and around her neck what was keeping her asleep? Or was it a spell? Or both?

  A cold, clear chanting cut through Sebastian’s thoughts, and his attention was drawn back to Morgan. To his horror, she had a knife in her right hand, which she held to her left arm. Her suit sleeve was bunched up to bare pale, unmarred flesh, though it wouldn’t stay that way for long. The trembling female witch from before now held the Book of Names open before the wizard, looking like she would rather be anywhere in the world than standing between an insane wizard and a bloodthirsty demon. Morgan, for her part, ignored her terrified minion. She was busy carving bloody symbols into her flesh with a hand so steady that she either had a will of iron, or was crazier than a bag full of ferrets tripped out on speed. He put his bet on the latter. Strangest of all, though, was that she chanted in the language of wizard magic—Enkinim, was it called?—and not the language of demonology. What was she doing? Did she think she was so powerful that mere spells could bind Afnergu’alak’s will? Or did she know some ancient technique of controlling demons long lost to wizardkind? Either way, he heard Afnergu’alak’s harsh name amid the syllables that vibrated with power as they left Morgan’s lips, so at least she got that part right.

  For the demon’s part, he stood relaxed, with his red eyes half-closed and his head tilted back, thin lips just barely parted in a look of rapture that sent a shudder of disgust through Sebastian. He wanted to stop watching, but then a grotesque sight riveted his attention.

  Slowly, like pulling taffy, the demon’s form began morphing—splitting. Whatever wards Roger had put in place to control Afnergu’alak, either they weren’t strong enough to withstand the pull of Morgan’s magic, or they had never really controlled the demon in the first place. Perhaps Afnergu’alak had been toying with Roger this whole time, using him as a convenient pawn and biding his time until a more useful host came along.

  Whichever the case, Roger was now helpless to stop what was happening, and it looked like he would have stopped it if he could have. With excruciating deliberation, the demon’s form was pulling away from Roger’s body, and as it did, Roger’s own shape became more and more clear—complete with an open-mouthed mask of agony, as if the witch were trying to scream yet had no air to push through his vocal cords. As the separation proceeded, Roger’s features aged, withering visibly until he was no more than a skeleton. When Roger’s body finally dropped to the ground, abandoned by the evil force he had sought to control, it was nothing more than the empty, lifeless husk of the man he’d once been, jaw still frozen wide in a soundless scream of despair.

  Despite everything Roger had done—he more than deserved his fate, and he was only reaping what he had sown—Sebastian still felt a moment of sickened pity. Almost worse was knowing the same demon had successfully seduced a new host and no doubt planned to bring even greater horrors to pass regardless of what Morgan’s own plans were. Words from long ago echoed in Sebastian’s mind, words of his aunt’s that he had ignored at the time, but now felt all too deeply.

  Your intentions mean nothing, Sebastian. Nothing! You are giving yourself in to the control of something evil beyond compare, and with its power you can do nothing good, no matter how hard you try. Do not believe the lie that such a thing can save you or bring you your heart’s desire. It will bring you only death.

  Too bad Morgan le Fay wasn’t interested in hindsight. No, she welcomed the demon with open arms. As his now insubstantial hands touched hers, he gave a sigh of pleasure and spoke, his words both captivating and spine-chilling to hear.

  “What delicious, wondrous power you hold, Morgan of the Fae. You will be my beautiful, dark queen, and together we will force the world to kneel at our feet.”

  With that, he embraced her, his form sliding into hers and his black lips passing through her pale ones as if to kiss her on his way to possessing her soul.

  The transformation happened in a billowing cloud of dark mist that writhed and twisted in inky swirls. When it cleared, it did not dissipate like smoke, but shrank suddenly as if sucked inward by a powerful draw of breath. It revealed a breathtaking and terrible sight: Morgan, sheathed in a gown of blackest night that swallowed all light that fell upon it. No longer was her hair the color of a blazing sunset, but black as the depths of the earth and long, falling about
her bare shoulders in a cascade of silken ink. Black opals glinted at her wrists and neck, and on her head was a crown of obsidian identical to the one he’d seen countless times upon Thiriel’s brow. Morgan’s porcelain skin and shadowy hair were the exact opposite of Thiriel’s, yet everything else was so strikingly similar that Sebastian had a sudden, horrifying suspicion.

  His train of thought was cut short when Morgan, blood-red eyes sweeping the room, finally spoke.

  “Kneel.”

  If Sebastian hadn’t already been sitting down, he would have dropped to the floor. Everyone in the room on their feet did so, some with grunts of pain as their knees struck unforgiving concrete. The witches—formerly Roger’s—all had looks of abject terror on their faces. John Faust’s head was bowed, so Sebastian couldn’t see his expression, but his posture was utterly submissive.

  “Crawl to me and kiss my feet.”

  Sebastian felt an insane need to obey, but it passed quickly—perhaps because it was not aimed at him, but at the seven witches now shuffling across the floor on hands and knees. How could Morgan exert so much control without the eye contact Roger had needed? Was it because she was a wizard and was using magic as well? Or was the demon stronger in a stronger host? Whatever the case, the witches obeyed without hesitation, if not from compulsion then from terror at what would happen if they did not comply. Blond-haired Cassius did not even glance at his father’s withered corpse as he crawled past. Once the witches had gathered, Morgan made them stand one by one while she held their faces between her pale hands and gazed deep into their eyes. Was she mind-controlling them like Afnergu’alak had done to Aunt B? Sebastian assumed so, judging by the way their bodies relaxed and their terror left, along with their free will. Finally, Morgan commanded John Faust to come to her, and he obeyed with the same instantaneous fervor, as if he could not please her fast enough.