Now, they fed her hedges. The plants had grown twice their height in just the few years of food from their bodies.
Aster toyed with her fingers. “You’re supposed to go now,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Because the faerie kings are very volatile and we don’t know when he might take the throne.” She picked at the raw skin around her fingernails. “He’s not predictable.”
“No faerie is.” Morgan could argue the value of patience until she was blue in the face, but these people wanted her job done sooner rather than later.
Sighing, she strode toward the back of the room. “Fine, if you want me to be appealing to the faerie king, I will be. What does he like?”
The innocent creature behind her squeaked, “Um, whatever do you mean, Madame?”
“I mean he must have a type and I can be the temptress who kills him in his bed.”
Morgan reached her hands up and cleared her mind. She envisioned her closet, full of clothing from now and ancient times. Back in the days when witches had been hunted all the way to modern day where women could wear pants.
The closet shimmered into view, replacing her hammock bed covered in pillows and blankets. Instead, the entire wall of the cottage was filled with clothing.
Aster whispered, “Wow.”
“Magic,” Morgan replied. “It has its uses.”
“I thought witches didn’t use magic often?” Aster asked. “I’ve only met one in my life and she said magic had its price.”
Morgan shrugged. “It does. But my other spell was already ruined, so I might as well sacrifice that to see what I have in my closet. Now, what does the faerie king desire in a woman?”
The faerie took her sweet time in responding before she answered, “Pretty?”
Of course, that was the only thing she could think of. All faeries liked pretty things. They were practically dragons in their desire for glimmering lights, sparkling fabrics, and anything glowing.
Morgan could cover herself in gems that glittered in the sunlight, and she would catch a thousand faeries. All she needed was to look like something expensive.
Snorting, she shifted through a few of the outfits. Some of them were older, a peasant dress from the 1800s, a Victorian gown from when she’d been more important to the humans. Morgan had learned her lesson rather quick when they’d tried to burn her. Stay away from humans at all costs.
No, none of those would work. The faerie king wouldn’t want someone to step out of history and entice him. He’d been there, lived that.
“What is the faerie king like then?” she asked. “Tell me about him. Maybe I can get an idea of his type.”
Aster skipped to her side, all of a sudden infinitely bubbly and happy. “Oh! I love telling stories!”
And Morgan loved her peace. The last thing she wanted was a happy faerie starting to sweat glitter on all her things. It was impossible to get that shit off the floor. It stuck like glue.
They know about the boys, she thought. They will dig up your garden and throw you into a prison for the rest of your life where you will live in hell. Do not test the faerie.
Instead of arguing or making fun of the burst of happiness, Morgan waited for the faerie to speak.
Aster plopped herself down on the floor at Morgan’s side. She wrapped her arms around her knees and eyed the clothing as though they held the answer to the world. “You’re going after the Mountain King. He’s very prickly, like thorns on a rose bush. Nasty.”
“Thorns on a rose bush aren’t bad. They protect the rose from bugs.”
Aster clicked her tongue. “Then not a rose bush. Maybe more like a thistle plant, with the burrs that stick to you and hurt something fierce?”
Morgan liked the man already. He frightened his people into following his every whim. She could respect that. “Okay, so he’s more dangerous than the other faeries. Not into sparkly things?” she asked while holding her breath. Please don’t want me to dress up in glitter and pasties.
“No,” Aster replied vehemently. “He likes nothing that’s faerie, really. The Mountain King lives far away in the wilderness where he’s surrounded himself with only the most loyal of his people. He’s very disconcerting.”
“And women?” She’d never met a faerie who didn’t surround himself with a harem to do with as he pleased. They were sexual creatures at their core.
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” Aster replied. “He values power more than beauty. But mostly, he just wants to be left alone.”
Why did they have to send her to kill someone she might like? Morgan felt the same pain as this mysterious king.
Such a shame he had to die.
She reached deep into the recesses of her wardrobe and pulled out an outfit she thought might work. The white button-down shirt was rather demure, although she would leave it open far past the swells of her breasts. Black leather pants would hug her curves in a distracting way, while the black knee-high boots were modern.
If the faerie king wanted to be left alone, then she would be more than happy to bring the modern world to him. Let him see just how much the world had changed.
“What do you think?” She held the outfit up to Aster.
The faerie woman shrugged. “Hard to tell. I’d suggest sneaking up on him and slitting his throat in the shadows, but the other two didn’t think that would work. He’s protected from every angle.”
And Morgan was no assassin.
Sneaking up on anyone just to slice their throat wasn’t her specialty. She could curse them from here to their dead grandparent. That’s where her talents lay.
So the other two were right. Make friends with the man first and then kill him. That was the best way to get close to the faerie king. Even if she hated to admit Rudolph was right about anything.
Werewolves. She’d never liked them.
Morgan held the outfit against her body and closed her eyes. The spell was easy to create. She sacrificed a few strands of hair and half her left pinky nail.
Cool air flowed down her torso as though she had stepped under a waterfall. It brushed through the snarls of her hair, smoothing them out into ebony curls, soft and bouncy. Magic scrubbed the dirt away and left her face fresh and clean. It melted the clothing onto her form and dressed her like the most loyal of servants.
Aster let out another, “Oh!”
When the magic had finished, Morgan opened her eyes. “Never seen witch magic up close, have you?”
“Not like that,” the faerie replied. “That was beautiful!”
She wished she still had such love for magic. Morgan vaguely remembered a time in her life when she had been enthralled by her teachers. They had levitated items into the air, and she had lost all breath in her lungs.
Now, magic was just part of her life. She didn’t even think about the hovering cauldron, the magical closet, or how she could wish herself clean. Such things were basic magic.
She was just a hedge witch. Other witches were capable of much more powerful spells than she. They could move mountains if they wished.
Morgan kept herself and her home clean.
Clearing her throat and mind of such thoughts, she gestured to the door. “I have things to do. If you want me to kill the faerie king, I only have a week. The witch council is holding a gathering I cannot miss.”
“But, Madame Lefair, I can only assume killing a faerie king would take longer than that?” Aster asked.
“I guess we’ll see,” Morgan replied. She didn’t intend to take that long.
Walk into the palace like something out of a storybook. Charm the king into giving her a few minutes alone under the pretense she’d always wanted to see what faerie men hid underneath their trousers. And then voila. Kill the man.
Her hands weren’t shaking because she feared taking another life. They were shaking because she hadn’t been clean in a long time and she didn’t feel like herself. That was all.
Aster trailed behind her as they both left the house. Mo
rgan waited, but Aster just stood in the middle of her garden, staring at her with those wide, strangely blinking eyes.
“Well?” Morgan said.
Aster blinked again.
Oh Heavens and Hell, she hated faeries. “Where are we going, fae?”
Aster jumped, lifting her hands and pressing them against her cheeks. “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, Madame Lefair. Into the woods, wherever you’d be comfortable with me opening a portal.”
She had to hold in the groan of disgust. A portal? A faerie portal? On her property?
Faerie portals were notoriously difficult to close because they connected with nature to open up. The trees would be reluctant to let go of the magic feeding into their roots. She’d have to deal with countless wandering fae until she could find the right spell to close the damn portal.
“Is there no other way?” she asked.
“Not to get to the Mountain King’s home. He lives in a land between lands, one he made for himself and the closest of his people.” Aster replied.
“Really?” Impressive. She’d never heard of such magic.
“Really.” The faerie woman rolled up a single sleeve. Her skin, pale as parchment paper, had bright green veins at the wrist. “At your order, Madame.”
“What are you doing to open the portal?”
“My blood will do it. Faerie blood spilled on green grass will summon the Mountain King’s help.” Aster met her gaze and shrugged. “I’m of his court. That’s why they left me with you. I can get you to him.”
Well, it made some kind of morbid sense. Morgan would want to keep the portal closer to her so she could put some kind of spell around it and contain the beasties who wreaked havoc wherever they went. She pointed to the back end of the garden, still within the wooden fence surrounding her property. “There, then.”
Aster skipped to the place she pointed. Without a single moment of hesitation, the faerie slit a long cut in her palm and held it over the ground. “Mountain King, I call upon thee. Save one of your own and allow me safe passage to your haven in the wilds.”
As Morgan watched, three heavy drops of verdant blood dripped from Aster’s hand and onto the ground. The grass undulated, and the ground rolled. Then, a shimmering wall rose from the ground to about ten feet high.
She licked her lips and nodded. “Impressive.”
“Thank you,” Aster replied with a happy giggle. “Now, all you have to do is go through the portal, find the king, and kill him.”
Right, like that would be so easy when he had surrounded himself with faeries. They made it seem like a hedge witch could do this in her sleep.
Morgan stepped close to the portal and furrowed her brow. “You never explained why you came to me and not a more powerful witch.”
“Oh I don’t know. You’d have to ask Louis that question, he’s the one who found you.” The faerie leaned down and picked a handful of grass. She pressed it against the wound and the blades laced through her flesh like gauze.
“So helpful,” Morgan murmured.
It made little sense. If there were more powerful witches, and there were hundreds, why would they come to her? Because she was the only one they could blackmail? She also doubted that.
She turned back to Aster and closed her hands into fists. “You know, I could just kill you now and run. Your friends wouldn’t be able to find me.”
“You could try,” Aster replied. “Faeries are harder to kill than you might think.”
“I’ve killed a few in my day.”
“I remember the stories. You’re a lot older than you look, Morgan Lefair.” She grinned, all sharp teeth and faerie magic. “But so am I.”
Aster reached out, her hand quicker than lightning. She thumped her palm against the center of Morgan’s chest and shoved her hard. The force thrust her through the portal and into the realm of the Mountain King.
3
Morgan fell through the portal and landed on her butt. The impact zinged through her hipbones and down into her knees.
Hissing, she reached back and massaged the base of her spine. “I’m getting too old for this kind of treatment.” Although, she supposed her age wasn’t an excuse anymore.
When one was over five hundred years old, age wasn’t worth tracking.
She rolled onto her feet and stretched her arms up over her head. Portal travel always made her feel strange. The electricity of magic ricocheted through her entire being, making her hair stand on end for hours. Not to mention it always made her stomach queasy.
“You couldn’t have told me where to find the Mountain King?” she shot back at the portal. “You had to shove me through before getting all the information?”
Find the Mountain King, they said. Kill him with nothing more than her own magic. Surely that should be easy enough?
If she got her hands around that stupid werewolf or Louis’s neck, she would squeeze so hard they realized she was a better killer than they thought. Of course, they wouldn’t let her. The chances of seeing those fools again were slim to none.
She didn’t have weapons in her home. Guns went haywire around magic. Swords were far too medieval and had never worked against faeries to begin with. So she’d have to rely on her own magic.
In that, her strange new friends were correct. They had sent her into the portal with the strongest weapon she had.
Herself.
Morgan turned around and eyed the overgrown forest beyond. “Find the king,” she repeated. “Where oh where am I going to find a king?”
In a castle if she knew faeries. And she did, because she’d studied them very early in her witchcraft. They had fascinated Morgan. The natural allure of the fae was tantalizing to a young witch.
But faeries only liked beautiful things. They devoured beauty as she did ice cream. Anything less than perfect was beneath them.
He was definitely in a castle.
Her sturdy knee-high boots would come in handy in the middle of a forest. The trees here were larger than ones she’d ever seen, even back when she’d first been born. Morgan reached out a hand and touched the bark of the nearest one.
Flashes of memories burst behind her closed eyes. People who had walked past the ancient being. Creatures who made their homes within its branches and deep inside its trunk. This tree was more than just old. It had survived the dawning of time.
“Hello,” she whispered. “Do you mind if I wander a bit?”
The trunk groaned, and the tree leaned in. Just enough for her to know the tree had agreed, although she got a flash of warning behind her eyes as well. Red blood splattered on the trunk of a tree. The dead body dragged deep into the earth by roots impaled through the creature’s chest.
The forest refused to stand by while an attacker came into its realm. Such a shame. She’d have to run past them back to the portal when she finished killing the king.
Morgan removed her hand and gave the tree a nod. “I hear you, ancient friend. I understand.”
Unfortunately, she just wouldn’t be able to abide by the forest’s rule. No matter how much it wanted to protect its king, she had to protect herself first.
The first rule of witchcraft. Always take care of yourself, then others.
Morgan left the portal and started off through the woods. She tried to walk as straight as possible, but she didn’t worry too much about finding the portal again. A beacon in her little cottage always called to her. If she wanted to return home at any point, it would guide her back to the portal.
Birds burst into flight overhead, their bodies covered in crystal gemstones. Their feathers appeared to be made of glass, casting colorful shadows across the forest floor. Spears of light shimmered nearby. Dancing orbs hovered in the beams and she realized they weren’t just dust motes. They were actual faeries, all whispering about the newcomer who had stepped into their home.
She made her way to the largest grouping of firefly-like beings and asked, “Do you know where I can find the Mountain King?”
All the
whispers ceased. The motes floated in a strange, repetitive movement. As if they could convince her they weren’t faeries at all.
Sighing, Morgan rolled her eyes. “I know what you are. I’ve met faeries before.”
One orb started drifting away. Nonchalant and so small it was almost difficult to see, the mote tried to escape the conversation.
Morgan reached out and snatched it from the air. Immediately, the other faeries burst into tiny shouts that sounded like the ringing of bells.
“Put her down, human!”
“That’s not yours!”
“Release our sister!”
Morgan was careful not to squish the faerie in her clutches. She held up her closed fist to the other faeries. “This? You want me to let go of this... dust mote?”
“Yes!” they shouted in unison.
“All right, then. Why don’t you tell me how to find the Mountain King? I’ll let her go in trade for the information.”
They all gathered together, hovering like a single orb. They whispered over each other until Morgan couldn’t guess what they were saying. Their words were so jumbled, she doubted they even knew what the others were saying.
Faeries.
Morgan waited patiently for them to make their decision. The faerie in her hand tried biting through her palm, but her hands were calloused and leathery from years of labor. The faerie would need much sharper teeth to break free.
Finally, the other faeries settled back into their strange hovering pattern. “First, release our sister.”
“No can do,” Morgan replied, shaking her head. “I’m not letting go of her until I get my information.”
She wasn’t stupid. The moment she released the faerie, the others would burst away into flight and she’d get nothing out of them.
They all bunched up again. This time, Morgan let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I don’t have all day. I can just crush her and get on with it.”
“No!” The faeries shouted. “Fine then. If you keep going straight through the forest, you’ll come to the largest tree. Take a left there, and his home is in the clearing. Now release her, demon!”
King of the Mountains Page 2