Page 13 of In the Dark

CHAPTER 5

Morgan felt bad for her. This sweet, innocent woman with no clear concept of the horror she was up against, falling on the sword in place of her sister. He didn’t know the exact circumstances of the sacrifice, but something about Karsia made it impossible not to feel moved.

“Is there anything else you can say about what happened? Please, if you can. Give me a little more background on this story,” he said, burying his reaction in his plate of flounder. He had a feeling Karsia would not appreciate his sympathy.

“No. I’m not ready to tell you the rest. I just have to find a way to reverse what was done.” Unconsciously, Karsia raised a hand to her heart, rubbing. “To get the darkness out of me before I’m consumed. I may tell you differently but know that I’m not ready to become the veil. I’m not ready to leave my family and give up my life.”

“Not even so the rest of the world can avoid the chaos of the leaking rogue magic?”

“My sisters and I will find a way. Trust me. I can’t help them if I’m worried about what I will do. I hurt people,” she insisted.

“Like I said before, I’m going to need some time.”

“But you’ll help me? Us?”

“I’ll do what I can. I can’t promise you more.” Already picking up on the death threat in her eyes, Morgan remained calm and took another sip of his wine. “And please remember this does not in any way mean I’ll abandon you in this venture. In fact, I’m fascinated.”

“I’m glad one of us is excited,” Karsia grumbled.

He grinned over the rim of his glass. “It means I get to spend more time with you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I don’t know you very well, true. We still have an opportunity to change that. We have good food, and the restaurant isn’t crowded. There’s enough time to sit and get to know each other. It will be good,” he clarified, “for my research.”

“Why don’t you start?” Karsia countered. She picked up her fork and stabbed her entree with it. The grin she sent him was pure evil. He would have been afraid if not for the tiny spark of amusement he recognized on her face. “It will take my mind off of the desire to beat you to a bloody pulp.”

“I’m okay with that—the going first, not the beating—although there isn’t much to say about me. I’m a simple man with simple needs and desires.” Not true in the least, but it wouldn’t do to scare her off immediately. He had to draw her in first before the big reveal. “I enjoy reading—”

“Pass.”

“Walking by the lake—”

“Pass, too. The sequel.”

“And damsels in distress. Like I said, simple desires.”

Something about the way he spoke let Karsia know exactly what he desired at the moment.

“How do you like the veal?” he asked her instead. Innocent as a thief with a satchel full of stolen goods.

She hadn’t touched much of it, succeeding only in pushing it around her plate until it presented a different appearance. “It’s fine.”

“I love to cook,” he admitted. “It was a close second-choice, beyond my love for mythology and history.” Indeed, during the first few years of his life, Morgan hated the occupation destiny and parentage had laid out for him, dreaming instead of creating fantastical dishes fit for the gods. “Turns out I can’t cook. At all. I can’t boil water without burning it.”

“Burning water?” she asked.

“Or melting a hole in the bottom of the pan.”

His father had always insisted there were people to cook for them, lesser gods and humans, bastard offspring begging for a chance to please. Morgan never understood.

“I’ve heard men make better chefs than women, so I can’t imagine how you can burn water.” She quirked a brow.

Morgan found her casual rudeness charming, and if he wasn’t mistaken, this was her attempt at a joke.

He continued with his story. “My father was decent enough to try a bowl of beef and barley soup I attempted to make one afternoon using pretty much any ingredient I could get my hands on with reckless abandon. Needless to say, the pile of slop I came up with was unappetizing and quite sufficient to make anyone in the same room sick to their stomach from the smell.”

He remembered the day, down to the exact look on Hypnos’s face. His hundreds of brothers and sisters had run from the room, claiming they were on the verge of vomiting. Morgan had been admonished thoroughly and told if he were to ever try that blasphemy again, he would be expelled from Olympus faster than he could blink. The threat stuck with him and he hadn’t cooked anything complex since.

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