Page 10 of In the Dark

CHAPTER 4

The clock on the wall ticked the seconds away. Morgan watched the iron hands move steadily around the clock in perpetual motion and stifled a groan.

He was at the restaurant, prompt and on time. He’d made it a point to arrive early to have the opportunity to observe Karsia Cavaldi. A lot could be learned from a person by studying their actions when they weren’t aware of being watched. No, that made him sound like a creeper, when he considered himself the opposite. A scholar.

Though normally prompt to any social event—in order to maintain the upper hand—Morgan had extended his buffer time by a considerable twenty minutes. That way, she would have no chance of getting the jump on him. It always paid to be prepared.

He’d lain awake the night before with the bulk of his responsibilities heavy on his shoulders. It went beyond the schoolwork, which demanded his blood with the petulant cries of the underaged and overprivileged. The papers still sat on his desk, ready for the red pen and the low grades. Forgotten for now.

Instead, there were dreams to bestow.

He’d been in charge of the subconscious images of mankind since his birth. It was his duty. The dream messenger of the gods, bequeathed with communicating a divine message through stories and visions. His skill of mimicking the human form better than any of his brothers was not the gift of his father, the God of Sleep, but rather his mother. The one who told him he could be anything, anyone, he wanted. She’d believed in him and pushed him to follow his passions until she passed away. Old age. Something he would never experience unless he chose the shape.

He was not the god the legends wrote about, or what the pantheon of immortals wanted people to believe. Morgan himself helped perpetuate the lie saying that Pasithea, the Goddess of Relaxation and Rest, was his true mother. Only a select few knew better.

Legends lied.

Like the whole thing about sleeping in a cave full of poppy seeds. It had happened one time, one, on a dare from his brother. Damned uncomfortable things, he remembered, though he’d managed to stay the entire night without making a fuss. He was stubborn.

Once he’d finished with the dreams of mortals and lay in his own bed, Morgan’s thoughts shifted from errands to the face haunting him from behind closed lids. The sweet little witch with the tormented soul.

He’d done his homework on her, of course, sending her name into the infinite abyss of Internet search engines and scrolling intently through the results. There he determined several facts. Karsia originally hailed from Chicago, from a family of immense affluence and social standing, and was a frequent user of social media up until a month ago.

Everything he learned seemed at stark odds with the woman he’d met. Her happy, laughing face staring at him from the collage of selfies was not the same one begging for his help amidst a funnel cloud of shattered sheetrock.

The contrast strengthened his resolve to help her.

Morgan went through an entire basket of bread waiting for her to arrive for their date. He checked the clock again. No, he still had a few more minutes before he wrote her off. Crunchy crust stuck to his gums. He stared out the window. Glanced down at his watch. Took a sip of water and stared up at the clock. Waited.

As February marched on, the weather declined from those intermittent days of chill to the colder, robust tones of winter. Morgan didn’t mind. It reminded him that life, like everything else, went through cycles of death and rebirth. Each year the earth hibernated, only to be renewed in spring. He cherished the seasons for what they represented. Through darkness there is light, through bad times there are good. In his many years of existence, sometimes it was easy to forget.

Then his attention snapped to the street. Morgan blinked twice. Surprising. She’d actually come.

Karsia had appeared out of the dark as though by magic. Morgan smiled. Watched her take shape and step forward from the shadows. He liked the look of her, he decided. This was a woman with a secret. It added weight to her slight frame. Beyond the dark stain she carried in her blood, he noted the beauty. Her good looks were real. Raw. She marched with the purposeful stride of someone on a mission.

Even in the bitter air, made worse by the wind off the lake, she wore hardly anything. A simple wool scarf and a coat were the only outer clothing separating her from the weather. How peculiar. He knew she was an earth witch, capable of manipulating flora and tapping into the healing powers of plants. She shouldn’t be able to access the atoms of air around her body to keep her warm. So why wasn’t she freezing to death?

He didn’t know the exact reason why, but he found himself intrigued by her even more. Something tugged at him and drew him forward. He knew better now than to ignore any subconscious summoning. She had a part to play in his future and he was determined to be there to see it through. For whatever reason.

He waved her over the instant Karsia walked through the door. “There you are,” he called, standing and straightening his jacket unconsciously.

A flash of color and movement caught her attention. Morgan stood alone at a corner table with a sad basket of crumbs and a bottle of red wine open and breathing. She took him in for a moment, dressed in the archetypal professor garb, with the glint of candlelight reflected off his glasses. Today he’d managed to ditch the cardigan and chose to go with a classic tweed jacket complete with leather elbow patches.

Oddly enough, seeing him had the corners of her mouth tugging up in a grin.

He was attractive in an odd sort of way. Odd in that his features fit together too perfectly. If not for the clothes and horn-rimmed glasses, he might have stepped off the cover of a high-profile fashion magazine. Flecks of silver had begun to grow from his temples and lent a distinguished air to the already put-together picture.

He waved her over, his lanky frame nearly upending a hanging plant when he gestured.

Karsia scoffed and shook her head. She’d noted the moment he spotted her, a smile rising to crinkle the skin around his eyes. He shouldn’t do that. Shouldn’t smile at her like she was someone worth knowing. Like finally seeing her had made his night.

She’d found the place with ease by accessing the minds of the people around her for directions. The restaurant was exactly as Morgan described: a small, dingy place with limited seating and a delicious aroma flavoring the air.

“You made it. And only ten minutes late.” Morgan maneuvered to pull out her chair before she sat.

Karsia pushed him away. “I can do it myself, thank you.”

“If you insist.”

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