“There’s no good answer here. No good solution. People are dying—people have died. I can’t let fear hold me back from at least trying to stop her and find a cure.”
Hildi sits on the bed next to her partner and takes her hand. There’s no doubt that the look in her eyes, directed at me, is nothing but pure pity. “I don’t wish the burdens you carry on anyone, Morgan. You’ll have to make the decision.”
“I feel like it’s already been made. Do I even have a choice?”
“May the gods be with you.” She stands and gives me a hug. “But if you succeed, bring me back the cure.”
I squeeze her tight. “I will.”
Chapter 11
Dylan
After hours of absolute frustration, tedious work, and three shots of whiskey, I’m able to download and print off Sam’s photos. There’s little doubt the Guardian documented his final moments in this realm so we would find them. There are dozens of shot with no organization, just a continuous shot of the grisly, dark scene.
My brothers didn’t even have the chance to fight. The Morrigan slipped in from an invisible portal, one that simply merged our worlds together. I stare at the photo—a vision?—of Clinton, bound and beaten. I recognize the hard stone floor and the chains.
“Oh my god. What…what is that? Where is it?”
I spin and find Morgan in the doorway of the dining room. I’ve spread the photos across the long table. My heart pounds--I didn’t want her to see them, but then again, it’s her fight too. The truth will help us find them.
She snatches the photo from my hand. I pretend not to see the tears in her wide, dark eyes and reach for the final, erratic shots, stashing them in a pile. Her hand clamps down on my wrist. “Don’t. I want to see them.”
I hand them to her, each worse than the last. Whip marks, lashes, and bruises. Blood pooling on the cold, stone floor. “I don’t think Sam saw them before he was taken or even had a clue what was coming.”
“Does that make it better?” Her voice is hard.
“I’m just trying to piece it together.”
“They walked into a slaughter. So the Morrigan—or at least some manifestation—was able to sneak through a completely invisible entrance and ambush them.”
I point to one of the photos with the black, coiled tentacles slipping from one world to the next. “They’re in the castle dungeons.”
“How do you know?”
I roll up my sleeves and point to the scarred tissue around my wrist, then cut my eyes to a photo of Damien chained with his arms extended over his head. Iron manacles wrap around his wrists. “It’s not the first time the Queen has taken a guardian prisoner.”
She frowns and touches the marks on my wrists. “You? When?”
I look down at our hands. “When you opened the gate before.”
“When my parents died.”
I nod. Morgan looks like she may be ill. I pull out a chair and guide her into it. “Don’t blame yourself for that one. It was all my doing.”
She doesn’t seem convinced, but drops it anyway. “How far in the future do you think these photos show?”
I’ve already studied the wounds. The scabs and reopened injuries. I see the gaunt thinning in their cheeks, the lost glimmer in their eyes.
“A few weeks.”
“Weeks?” Her jaw drops.
“I suspected all along that they were still alive.” I wrap my hands around the back of the chair. “It’s not her way to make anything quick and painless.”
Morgan stares at the photos, her mind running. I see the way her eyes move, the way her fingers clench. Her emotional reactions are why I hadn’t told her. She’s not the best at keeping in check.
She turns and lifts her chin. Her next comment catches me off guard. “Andi is sick—she caught the virus.”
Another stone sinks. “And Hildi?”
“She’s fine. Probably immune.” She exhales and glances over the photos one last time before standing. “I’m going to bed.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No.” She gives me a weak, tired smile. “I’m exhausted. I probably just need a little time alone.”
It’s not exactly a dismissal or even a rejection. I’m exhausted as well. Even if we bonded tonight, I’m not sure how much energy I’d have to give.
I grab her hand before she leaves, tugging her back to my chest. I do kiss her. I’m not letting her get away so easily, and the flare of heat still rises between us. “Find me if you need me, okay?”
She nods, licking the taste of me off her lips.
“Goodnight, Dylan.”
“Goodnight.”
Chapter 12
Morgan
I don’t go to bed or even go to my room. Instead I walk up the four flights of stairs and enter Bunny’s studio. The massive, high-ceilinged room is drafty and cold and I wrap my arms around my chest to stave off a chill. I hadn’t been in here alone before. Not before or after Bunny’s betrayal.
I had seen the paintings, though. Canvas after canvas of similar, haunting scenes. Most are of the castle. The Morrigan’s castle. I’ve seen it in my dreams. Written about it. I know that in the realm where she lives it’s cold and barren—a reflection of the soulless anger that resides in her heart.
I walk to the one with the tear and touch the jagged canvas edges. Dylan almost killed Bunny that night. It’s a testimony to my confusion that I’m okay that he missed.
I walk down the long row of paintings and find a hint of obsession. What was Bunny trying for here? Some kind of perfection? Slight variations occur in each scene. A light in the castle window of one. The curved branch of a withered tree in another. Stopping at one set in the gloomy gray of the Otherside’s day, I try to figure out what I’m missing. My eyes keep going back to the light in the arched window, a faint pale yellow. A slight blur mars the middle of the glass. A person? Someone watching.
A faint, cool breeze wafts over me and I blink, realizing my nose is centimeters from touching the canvas. I feel the tingle of magic, a faint reminder of the day I stepped between realms in the park. Narrowing my eyes at the two-inch window, I press a finger against the yellow glass.
Nothing.
Just hard, painted canvas, cast in the shadow of fading magic. Bunny must have infused it in the materials but how do I activate it?
I stare at the painting for a few more minutes, quite sure I can see something beyond the glass. If there’s something in there, then I can hopefully get through there, like Bunny, Anita, and the other Guardians did. I’ll need strong magic and someone to walk me through it—not Dylan. Someone more willing to take on the darker sort of magic required for this kind of spell.
I’m not exactly sure who can help me, but I have an idea where to start.
*
The zap is familiar this time as I pass through the disarming wards of the bar. Being so unfamiliar with my magic and abilities, I’m never sure what I’m losing—they’ve only been strong under spells or in the fighting ring—but I feel a specific loss when I step past the bouncer and into the shadowy room.