Page 37 of In the Dark

CHAPTER 11

Morgan caught Karsia in his arms and watched as tree trunks returned to nothing among the ruined sidewalk. God, the street was a mess. It would take the city weeks to clean it if he chose not to act. He glanced down at the woman he held and shrugged. She was his problem. Not the city. It was beyond his capabilities and would have to be erased by someone with a different set of magic skills. There were those in the vicinity who would see to it—with a little convincing.

She weighed nothing, light as a feather. How could someone that skinny cause so much trouble?

He took her in, lines carved into her face that had not been there before. Even in sleep, trouble lay heavy on her.

“You’re going to be fine. Trust me,” he told her softly, shifting his shoulders until she rested easier. “It’s time for me to take control. You’ve run amok for too long. Nothing to see here, folks,” he stated for the crowd to hear.

The horrified masses scurried away from them. Not a scratch on most of them, Morgan was pleased to see. However Karsia had managed it, she’d kept the worst of her power centered on the street instead of the people. Kudos for that, at least.

“Absolutely nothing to see. Move along.”

It took him by surprise when a hand grabbed his shoulder. The arm attached to the hand whirled him around until the fellow filled his vision, a tall man with massive shoulders and close-cropped blond hair. Morgan was not upset when Karsia’s foot smacked into the man’s midsection.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Orestes asked, his saccharine voice as sweet as a lie.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked what you’re doing. She’s not going anywhere with you. The little bitch is coming back to the Claddium to pay for what she’s done. She’ll spend the rest of her life in the Vault, thanks to this little display.”

“I would think it obvious what I’m doing, sir.” Morgan shifted to adjust his glasses and quirked a brow. “I’m leaving and I’m taking Karsia with me.”

“You will kindly release the girl to our keeping and come with us for questioning. Sir.” Cold blue eyes stared at Morgan through a face like an immovable mountain. And about as far from trustworthy as a person could look. He shifted his voice until it was the perfect tenor of reason. Like they’d been friends for countless years. “I do not advise leaving. It’s not in your best interest.”

Yeah right, no way in hell would Morgan do anything of the sort. Everything about the stranger rubbed him raw and he’d made it a study to learn from first impressions. Whoever said to look beyond the cover of a book had not been raised with gods and goddesses on Mount Olympus.

“I’m sorry. Who might you be?”

“Who I am is not important. Your little girlfriend here destroyed half a city block and threatened the safety of everyone in a half-mile radius, and you’ve put yourself in a bad position.” Orestes scowled. “It is well within my right as a Claddium representative to exterminate both her and you where you stand. It is only by the grace of my generosity that we are having this conversation.”

“Your generosity could use a little bit of work.” Morgan stopped and stared the man up and down, from the tips of his handmade Italian leather loafers to the permanent scowl etched on his brow. This was a person obviously accustomed to using his power. For what, he could not say.

“And I’ll correct you on one important matter. She’s not my girlfriend, although the idea has crossed my mind.” Standing straight, the two were evenly matched in height, though Morgan may have an extra inch or two if it came down to specifics. If it came down to a brawl, he was certain to win. Especially if he shifted his form fast enough.

Clearing his throat, Morgan continued. “And since you haven’t given me the courtesy of answering my question, I’m not particularly inclined to do a damn thing you say. Death threat or not.”

Orestes’s eyes narrowed to small points. “Let me repeat. It is in your best interest…sir…to do as I say.”

“And it’s in your best interest, you malodorous abomination, to leave me alone.” Morgan had drawn on his deep well of history and literature for an interesting, albeit antiquated, insult that was sure to leave the man reeling. It disappointed him when the words rolled over his adversary with no visible reaction.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go anywhere,” Orestes Voltaire countered. He folded his arms across his chest and drew himself up to full height.

Morgan scoffed. “You know, I’ve only been in Chicago for a grand total of five hours and already I’ve seen that the citizens lack any sense of propriety. You are a regular bunch of scum, let me tell you. Although you especially, you unutterably malignant reprobate, are the cream rising to the top of the scum heap. And what goes on inside your head at night…” Morgan shook his head. “Yes, I remember you. You’ve been dreaming about horrible things since you turned ten. It’s all I can do to stomach a visit to you every once in a while. I’ve mostly written you off as my brother’s problem.”

Now that he’d tuned in to the signature in front of him, Morgan recognized the man belonging to the dreams. Haunting, vicious things hidden beneath a thin veneer of honeyed bliss. It had been too long since the last time he visited Orestes and his unconscious. He hadn’t missed much, it seemed.

“You listen here—”

Orestes never had the opportunity to continue. In the span of an instant, enchantment flooded him and his minions at his back, and they all fell to the ground, eyes closed in an unnatural sleep.

Done.

“I’m surprised your mother never taught you any manners. She sure as hell tried, the poor woman,” Morgan told the prone form of Orestes. He nudged the torso with the tip of his foot and scowled. “Disgusting mortal.”

In another blink of an eye, the rest of the onlookers on the street drooped down in slumber. Morgan jerked his shoulders and sighed as magic flooded him. Yes, he had missed it, normally reserving it for the night. When he had a job to do.

Using it in the daylight felt sinfully good.

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