Page 19 of In the Dark

CHAPTER 7

As far as enquiry was concerned, Morgan took his job seriously. It was an act where he relied solely on himself and his ability to find the information waiting in the ethers of the universe. The material was there if one was willing and able to go out and search.

He hadn’t yet had an opportunity to delve into the bowels of the university library, although it was on his list of things to do. His extremely long list of things to do. To begin, he chose to focus his attention on the books in his den. And his own memory. Which seemed to be having a malfunction at the moment.

Morgan tapped the side of his head and wondered what was wrong with his brain. He couldn’t get it to start.

Funny. He’d always managed to store the minutest details away for later inspection and never had an issue recalling anything. Any memory from any period of his life. Tonight, the one time he needed his mind to be in prime working condition, his thoughts floated, lost to the wind.

He disgusted himself.

So it was back to the books, the fallback of all great teachers.

He’d been an instructor in one incarnation or another for the last thirty years. Teaching certainly hadn’t been his first choice, but once he’d begun the journey, he found he loved sharing his passion with eager young minds. He loved knowing he had their attention, spinning tales from the past in a way in which they became excited, absorbing the information. With each new avatar among humanity, Morgan found himself drawn in some way to academia.

He grew to enjoy the long hours. It was something tangibly his and his alone. Really, in the grand scheme of life, he couldn’t ask for more.

Out of the faces he’d fashioned for himself over the years, and the people he could choose to be, Morgan Gauthier was made from scratch. The hair he had no patience for and kept the ordinary shade of brown cut close to his head except for the longer strands near his widow’s peak. He felt it gave him a youthful expression to counteract the light smattering of silver at his temples. In the end, out of every age group, he’d chosen to land somewhere between thirty-two and thirty-eight. Still appearing to be in the prime of life, but mature enough to be able to rely on the wisdom gained through centuries.

Morgan always remembered to shave, if only to show off the angular jaw and dimple in his chin. The patrician nose, heroic in a way, was the most prominent feature of his thin face. On those long weeks toward the end of each semester where he literally forgot to eat, the hollows of his cheeks deepened in what he considered his “hungry educator” look.

Yes, it was a good face, and only slightly different from his real one. Oh, he’d tweaked here and there so no one would recognize him, but kept a great deal of his natural features. He liked the man he’d made of himself. Not for the looks or the lanky body but for the skills he’d acquired on his own. No special powers, no magic granted by his parentage. His knowledge came from hard work and years of pushing himself through life the hard way.

The human way.

That meant hard work and a lot of sleepless nights. Morgan still believed it was worth accomplishing a goal through grit and fortitude. It meant more when he reached the finish line.

Now he was in a position to do what he wanted, when he wanted. And at the moment, though he’d initially been forced into it, Morgan wanted to help Karsia find the information she desired.

Centuries had passed and with them Morgan became quite adept at reading people. Body language was everything. Especially when dealing with the gods. That lot had more twisted sides to them than a Rubik’s cube. Their words flowed fluidly and it didn’t matter whether they were true or not. He’d never met a bigger group of men and women who could so easily spin a story on the spot and believe their own words with absolute certainty.

Morgan shook himself out of his memories and tried to use his instincts to determine fact from fiction in this case. Karsia was infected, no doubt about it, in a way that would not be easy to fix. Something brewed beneath her surface. Something foreign. He wasn’t one-hundred-percent clear about the source of the issue. Trying to get any kind of good information out of her would take a lot more work.

However, if she felt the answer to her condition lay in an obscure stone tablet, then he would oblige her. He would do anything to see the flash of light in her eyes and the small smile showing a glimpse of straight white teeth. His groin throbbed in response.

“Get it together, man,” he admonished, glancing around at the organized chaos of his home office. “Time is ticking away. There’s no room for fantasies.”

Though he remembered the gist of his translation of the tablet, he could use a refresher. If only he could find his original notes. Most likely they’d been turned into bedding for some mouse family. With the notes in his hands, he’d have a better grasp of what to tell Karsia when she popped in on him again. He had a feeling she wouldn’t take “I’m still working on it” or “I’m sorry, I forgot” for acceptable answers.

Part of him, the immortal half of his soul, bequeathed the masses with sweet dreams around the clock, running on a kind of god-like autopilot, as he liked to consider it. While his conscious mind focused on his very human lifestyle, his subconscious mind worked. Worked and worked and did what it needed to do to keep balance. But his human body still need sleep.

After a few hours to regenerate, Morgan woke early and went through the motions of his morning routine. First, there was the shower, set to an energy-saving temperature resulting in lukewarm water. His breakfast was a weight-watching bowl of oatmeal with almond butter and fresh berries, devoured quickly before he moved upstairs to dress.

Did he actually need the routine? The control? Did his waistline suffer so badly he should eat the same healthy breakfast every day? No. He found the stability helped his mind concentrate on more important matters and made up for the helter-skelter nature of his childhood. It was part of his carefully crafted control. No one determined his path but him.

Once his daily ablutions were taken care of to his satisfaction, it was down to business. Morgan kept the majority of his research materials to the confines of a single room, although it got away from him more times than not. Books and paperwork pushed the boundaries and stretched their limits to take over every inch of available space.

Today he didn’t mind the mess. He didn’t mind the work, if it meant an opportunity to get to know a vibrant young woman better.

Morgan stood in the doorway, surveying his personal domain. “All right,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see what we can find.”

He rifled through piles of documents and records in search of the original manuscript, coming up with zilch. It took him longer to realize he couldn’t find it and needed to expend his energy on other avenues. On any given day he may resemble an absentminded professor. Morgan had never truly felt it until then, with his hair standing on end and his glasses askew.

He spoke to the chaos. “What now, eh? You’ve got to give me something. Anything. I need answers.”

The den was like a small city, with paper skyscrapers stretching to precarious heights, leaving little room to maneuver, but Morgan had no desire to entertain. He’d never invited another person into his house, considering it his personal lair. A veritable fortress of solitude. Now he’d be too embarrassed to have company over even if he wanted it.

“Hmm, where to go. What to look for…” He turned to the computer and wondered at the secrets lurking on his hard drive. Somewhere in the mess was his backup drive. And on it, for certain, a scanned copy of his original notes along with photographs of the stone tablet. Now if he could only remember where he’d put it…

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