The Demon's Revenge (The Fay Morgan Chronicles Book 4) (5 page)

“Um, earth to Morgan, hello hello.”

I shook my head, clearing out the cobwebs of an old woman. “Merlin’s mother said the angel told her that her son would be a great man among the people of his tribe and land. That he would help a great king come to power.” I paused and sighed at the idea that Merlin’s main use had been in helping my brother Arthur wage his many bloody and senseless battles.

“So she did it with an angel… um, is that even possible? Like, do they have all the necessary dangly bits?”

“One assumes, since Merlin was born. And there were those in his tribe and later in Camelot who sang songs about his divine provenance, but there were other whispers. Some of his powers were uncanny. He was genial and yet there was a drive within him, equally dark as it was light, and he would do anything for Arthur. Those that crossed him whispered that his wrath was that of a demon and not an angel. So perhaps
…
.”

“Queen McHell wants Merlin because he’s part demon?” Lila said. She chewed on her lip and looked upward at the tall buildings made of glass and refracted light. “Maybe his dad wants to see him again.”

“If he's still around, his father would be powerful. And to become the Queen of Hell, one would have to make a lot of powerful demon alliances.”

“Promise me you won’t help her get Merlin stuck in Hell,” Lila said.

“I promise.” I had tried to kill him, but that didn’t mean anyone else was allowed to harm him.

“Okay, so should we somehow find Merlin and warn him?”

“No. You say he’s out of town. Let him stay out of this. Let us visit Diego instead,” I said. “He knows more about Hell than any other human.”

And oh, how my friend the Spaniard had paid for that knowledge.

7

Cursed

We found the cursed Spaniard trudging around Greenlake, a circular man-made lake in North Seattle with a path that wound around it. We caught up with him near the watery cattails that had a couple of redwing blackbirds flitting among them. Diego walked slowly and hunched over, with a rain-coat draped across his frail shoulders, though the day was sunny.

“Diego,” I said, as we came up behind him.

He jerked as though my voice was a slap. “Morgan,” he said, turning his head to slowly look at me. “It’s been much too long, mi bruja.”

“Much too long,” I said. I looked at his ragged sneakers and his thread bare jeans. I usually brought him new shoes and a change of clothes every week, because Diego wore through shoes and clothes quickly.

He’d been cursed to always walk the earth and never stop walking, for the crime of breaking into Hell and stealing back his lost love. His love, for the crime of escaping Hell with her lover, had been cursed to eternal torture. I wasn’t sure which of them had the worse fate: for every step Diego took he knew that his lost Maria suffered immeasurably.

“I’m sorry,” I gestured at his feet. I made a note to talk to Lila about bringing him weekly supplies. Then I remembered that she was changing, and must not be asked to perform any favors. Who else could I ask? I thought of a dozen unders I could call, but how many of them were in the thrall of the Hell Queen?

I sighed. I could be in this world, or I could leave it behind. I chose to leave it, and that meant I had to not care over-much about what would stay behind. Yes there would be regrets, but that was as it was. I was done with living.

Lila and I walked on both sides of Diego as roller-bladers zoomed by and joggers made S curves around our slow-moving forms.

“I told Morgan about the unders going all bonkers-evil,” Lila informed Diego. “So we went on a witchy walk, met a demon, and he took us to meet the Queen of Hell at a hot yoga studio.” She sounded proud. “I mean hot like hot, not like sexy.”

Diego winced as his feet moved forward. Ever forward. “Una reina del infierno? In Seattle? So she’s behind the strange trouble.” He sighed and frowned.

“She’s here and she is capital T trouble,” Lila said. “Oh, and I brought you some stuff. Here.” She reached into her oversized purse and brought out a box. She opened it to show new shoes, jeans, and a clean pair of socks within. “I was assuming Morgan would refuse to help so I was planning on swinging by here to see you today.”

My heart… This girl. I would miss her.

Diego took the box from her hands and tucked it under his arm. “Gracias, mija. I will put them on my next rotation past the bathroom.”

He always hid the awkwardness of getting anything on or off his walking body. I had offered, many a time, to help. He said he would like to keep any small dignity he had left.

“So, la reina is here, and that is one mystery solved but it blooms a hundred more. Why here? Why not send her minions? Why has she not gathered the charmed unders and taken them down already?” He stroked his scraggly gray beard and trudged on.

“She hinted that she wanted an ancient soul. That she would be willing to trade the under souls for that.” I shrugged and hoped he would not guess that I suspected it was me she was after, and that I might make the choice to go there.

“An ancient soul,” he repeated and stared off at the lake for a long moment.

“We’re pretty sure she’s hot for Merlin’s soul,” Lila said. “Because he’s probably part demon.”

“Merlin?” Diego asked mildly but a troubled look covered his face.

I nodded. “Perhaps. But we need more information. Every word she says feels slippery and cunning. She is made of smoke and mirrors. Lies and avarice.”

“As are all the Hell folk.” He studied me with his watery eyes and asked carefully, “So, this is some sort of a new queen?”

I nodded. “And originally human. Which makes her even more hungry for finding allies, I assume.”

“Human?” His eyes widened and he shook his head.

“What are you thinking?”

“Nada importante,” he said quickly and looked away. Then he looked back and squeezed my hand in his. “Mi bruja, did it really take the Queen of Hell to get you out of your bed and back into this world? If so, so be it. I have missed you, Morgan. We all have.” He held my gaze and looked deeply into my eyes. “Though I see you are not here for long,” he whispered.

He knew. He could see it. Of course, of all the people in the world, he would be able to see death and my desire for it. The man who could never die. What must the Spaniard long for every day but death, and death, and more death?

“I’ll catch up,” Lila said as she stopped to pet a young golden retriever who was off leash and giving her a beguiling “pet me” look.

Diego and I walked on. “I’m… sorry to be leaving you with all this. I’m sorry about the Queen,” I told him. “If I had been vigilant, she would not have been able to get so far with the unders. There may be… more of such things to come.” I looked at the weeping willows full of swallows. At the homeless man sleeping near the lake in a ragged sleeping bag. “There are always predators out there, and unders hiding in the land of humans will always be preyed upon.” A pang ran through me, of all that I would leave behind. I had holed up in my house for months, depressed and feeling nothing in the long gray days. But now, today, it felt like I was waking up. Ironic. I liked living my last day.

The Spaniard shook his head. “Sorry, you say? Then stay and protect Seattle. Stay a while longer,” he murmured. “You can always
choose
to leave later.”

Choose. He spoke it heavily, this man who had no choices of his own. He would never die. Every minute of every hour he would walk, forever, until the sun went red and the oceans burned away. Presumably that would end his curse. Billions of years into the future.

“Who knows what will happen on this day?” I said, and noticed that the utter conviction of my own annihilation felt
…
lighter. “What can you tell me that will help us fight her?” I asked.

He paused for a while. His brow furrowed with thought.

Lila caught up with us. “I miss Adam,” she said.

“That dog you were petting reminded you of your boyfriend?” I asked and raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “Well, his inner animal is most definitely a dog.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“What did I miss?” Lila asked.

“Diego was just about to tell us about Hell and her Queen.”

He nodded. “First, none of the unders are damned, yet. They won’t be until they take that final step through the door into Hell of their own volition.”

“There’s a door?” Lila asked.

Diego nodded. The path forked and we took the one on the right that led us off the lake path and toward the wide lawns and forested glades of Woodlawn Park. “Yes, and it must always be entered willingly, though frequently through trickery. That is the one reason Hell has not devastated our own realm. It is hard for demons to come through the door, and they cannot kidnap anyone they want, though Hell folk are endlessly ravenous for souls. I say this to you both quietly. Privately. They will hurt me. They will hurt me even more than they already have, if they know I have spoken of this to anyone.”

“Of course.”

“For sure.”

The path turned from concrete into dirt thick with pine needles. The air smelled fresher as we stepped into the trees. Where was he taking us?

“The door is the weakest spot. For if a door can open….” Diego said.

“It can be closed,” I said.

Diego nodded and stayed silent for a slow ten steps. “I also wonder at her being here. Hell is a rebellious realm. Leaving it, for any amount of time, leaves room for uprisings. If she is here, then there is some thing, some soul, she desperately wants.” He bit his lip and stared up at a towering cedar tree as we trudged along. “Tread carefully, Morgan and Lila. They play rough. They do not take being foiled in any way lightly. Anyone who goes to that door and does not enter, there are grave punishments.”

“And for those who enter and walk out again,” I said.

Diego had walked out. He’d escaped, for a time. I wondered if he ever thought of going back to try to rescue his lost lover again. I studied my old friend who wore an old and aching body. It was hard to imagine he would risk greater punishment. But always, he carried the knowledge that his love was still there. Still being tortured. For every moment of every day.

“So where is this door?” I asked lightly.

“Ah, another well-guarded secret.” He sighed. “If there are demons, that means the door is open and it is on this earth, but it moves around. It is likely in Seattle at the moment. We can go talk to a friend who lives in the liminal between good and evil, who may be able to help us with the door’s location.” He looked up at the towering cedar trees on both sides of the path we walked upon. “But are you sure, bruja, that you wish to take this risk? Believe me, it is no walk in the park.” He gestured to the path we walked upon with a rueful twist of his lips.

“Do not over worry yourself about the consequences, friend,” I said. This was the day’s path, and I would take it wherever it led. “If we are able to find the door, we will close it.”

Diego nodded reluctantly and added, “If you can.”

“Morgan can. She can do anything. And I’ll help,” Lila said with no doubt in her voice. With no concern for her own well-being.

It made me want to cocoon her in a dozen protection spells so thick that she wouldn’t be able to move.

Diego glanced at me.

“Take us to your friend,” I said.

Diego nodded. “Gabriela?” he called out.

Ten feet in front of us, someone jumped down from the branches far above. She fell sleek and swift, down and down, and landed like a graceful cat. The… creature was short with black hair and a large bust. “Hola, Diego y Morgan,” she called out sweetly as she stood and straightened her long, flowing dress that hid the true strangeness of her body.

8

A Lovely Maple Sapling

Gabriela was a patasola who had lived here ever since this land had been nothing but a thick forest. Back before the city had risen up and surrounded her, leaving her with this small bit of forest in the park. Patasolas were solitary creatures who were bound to a specific location, and she had no choice but to stay here and make do. Patasolas were one-legged creatures that shapeshifted to look like the female fantasy of the man they were nearest to. I had seen her tall and androgynous, and another time plump and middle-aged. But she wasn’t a woman, nor any sort of human.

A patasola lived to commune and protect nature. She also lived to seduce men into the forest before tearing those men apart and eating them. At least that was her kind’s history. Gabriela, like so many of us, had mellowed as she aged and these days seemed content to shelter the bunnies, crows, squirrels, and feral dogs who lived in this forested part of Woodlawn Park. Even reformed, she was still a creature of the night and darkness, and one distantly related to demons. I agreed with Diego that she likely had some knowledge about the Queen and the Hell door. Surely, she would have been one of Seattle’s unders who had been approached by demons.

“Hi, I’m Lila,” my assistant said and smiled at the patasola who stood before us with leaves and branches wound through her thick dark hair. “She’s pretty,” Lila whispered to me.