Too Morbid
804 Words
(Raiden)
I left Jordan at her tower, making sure that she shut the door before I exited the courtyard.
My mind spun as I made my way home. Jordan had just seen the Watcher.
He’d appeared to her using some kind of magic, but her fire ball had flown right through him.
What the hell was happening?
Why was he stalking her?
Inside me, my beast growled. Jordan was at risk from a threat we couldn’t see. The idea of it made me want to howl. I had to protect her.
But how?
Even I was a threat. And I knew what I would do if I became too dangerous for her.
But there was even more than that, and asking my people to put me down wouldn’t save her from the Watcher.
I dragged a hand through my hair and descended the stairs to the main door of my hideaway. A place Morgana had found me beneath one of the Catholoc churches in London. Large enough for my men to join me on my mission. My crew that sailed with me every trip I made and had refused to abandon me now.
As I entered, I could feel the gazes of the people inside. Their faces betrayed their emotions: worry, fear—but underneath it all, trust.
They still trusted me, even after I went crazy with the curse.
Even after my eyes had gone temporarily black.
I didn’t deserve such faith, but I’d have to find a way to earn it. As I passed through the hall, I nodded at each of them.
Cyrus would likely be in the back, and he was the one that I sought. I found my right hand in the armory, taking stock of the armor we had brought with us.
It was a blessing that these were relics of the past. Though we still fought, there was no more large-scale war.
Long ago, the Elven people had clashed on the field of battle. Such frays had required armor, sleek and fitted to our beast body.
These days, elves didn’t always get along, but we managed to hash out our disagreements around a table instead of on the battlefield. There might be the occasional one-on-one clash, but nothing that required armor. I’d consider it a success if this room stayed quiet and unused during my stay here though it was doubtful.
When I stepped inside, Cyrus turned, his face relaxing.
“Captain.”
“Cyrus.” I nodded.
He tilted his head, frowning at me.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” The words came by instinct, but they were a lie.
“Actually, of course I’m not. You know what’s happening.”
Kenneth’s jaw tightened, as if he didn’t like to speak of it.
“I…”
“Ignoring it won’t help, you know that.” He heaved a sigh and dropped his clipboard by his side.
“You’re going to ask me to do what needs to be done.”
“If you must, yes.”
Pain flashed in his eyes.
“Can’t we find a cure?”
“Perhaps.”
Probably not.
“More likely the best that I can promise is that I take care of the grisly task for you.”
Horror twisted his face.
“No, you mustn’t.”
“Don’t worry yourself over it. I’ll do it somewhere you’ll never need to know.”
“This is too morbid, boss.”
Yes. It was.
“All the same, you must be prepared to act without hesitation should my eyes go permanently black. I would take myself out of the equation now, but there’s something I need to do before that’s a possibility.”
“Jordan.”
“Jordan. We need to find out what’s happening to her. The Watcher is still after her, but like a spider spinning a web. He won’t approach yet, but he’s just as dangerous. And I must find Kyran. Can I count on you?”
He hesitated, then nodded, clearly hating every moment of this conversation. My second’s loyalty should warm me—and it did—but there was little room in the coldness of my heart just then.
“We’ll stop this,” Kenneth said.
“Somehow, I know it.” I felt a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth.
“Perhaps. It would help if you could tell me everything you know about the Isle of Pyre.” His eyes brightened.
“Of course. That’s something I can do, no problem.”
Cyrus was our resident historian, knowledgeable in all areas of Elven and supernatural history.
“I’m going to get changed,” I said. “Will you meet me there once you’ve collected whatever you need?” He nodded. “I’ll be there soon.”
- Writer
