The Immortal Series

MORGANA

Idents are identicals. We gods are so bad at naming things. With humans, identical twins are rare and interesting. In the magical world, they’re something more than that.

Idents aren’t born as twins. They’re doppelgängers who tend to find each other when their powers manifest.

And once they’ve found each other, their powers double, forever. Whatever happens to your other half, you still get double juice.

They can be bloody dangerous. The greatest warlords over the generations have been idents.

Which is why James wanted me to hold back. They could triple their power, and they still couldn’t touch me, but they don’t know that. James is protecting me.

James…is protecting me. What the hell?

I turn my steely glare on him, but he’s still avoiding me. I’m tempted to corner him about it right now, but that would defeat the point.

Why, in the name of everything, would he care if I beat the snot out of these little freaks? I’ve never cared when people know who I am.

He must have his own reasons. The problem is that I rarely give a damn about other people’s reasons. I’m a bitch, perfectly styled top to beautifully pedicured toe. He knows that.

He asked me to stop a fight once before, and I threw the girl into next week. Literally.

And he refused to get me water earlier. Ah, screw him; I’m gonna turn these guys into fish for a while.

Again, I can hear your judgment. But it’s like I said, I try not to have friends. I do my best not to care. I do what I want to do, because I know that I can take the consequences.

And if James isn’t too pissed at me, he can even prevent judgment, if it comes to that.

But I notice something out of the corner of my eye. He’s chewing on his lip ring again. He’s actually worried. Something’s going on here that I’m not privy to, which pisses me off.

He has no right to worry about anything I do. Nobody does.

I can’t believe what I’m considering right now.

The tension in the room is getting ridiculous. I’m standing with my hands twitching and my jaw clenched, openly pissed off and spoiling for a fight.

The herald idents clearly haven’t been together for that long, because they haven’t synchronized their facial expressions yet.

Anthony is still a whiny little bitch who doesn’t want to get slapped. He’s cringing away from me.

But Samuel, he’s clearly the brains of the two. He’s expecting me to go off on him. He wants me to, and he looks ready.

He looks prepared.

Dammit. I slump back against the counter and let out a rather shaky breath. I’m staring at Samuel, waiting for the triumph to flare in his eyes.

James seems to have turned to stone. He can’t believe I’ve backed down. To be honest, neither can I, but there are times when I’m smarter than I am angry. Not many times, but they do pop up.

Slowly, he inclines his head toward me. “Anthony, Samuel, this is Anna.”

“Don’t bother,” I snap. “There’s no point in lying.” I nod at Samuel. “He knows who I am.”

Anthony’s brows knot slightly, but Samuel gives me a small smirk. He breaks into a somewhat mocking bow, his clear gaze never leaving mine.

“My Lady Le Fay, I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

Anthony lets out a squeak. An honest-to-gods squeak. I burst out laughing, and I feel, more than hear, James’s rumbling chuckles beside me.

Anthony paws at his ident, tugging on his sleeve. “Samuel, Samuel, this is Morgana Le Fay? You sent me into a room with MORGANA LE FAY?”

Samuel’s still watching me, and I wink at him. “My reputation precedes me, I see.”

Anthony is still beside himself, literally and metaphorically. “Samuel, are you crazy? I tried to listen to her mind, Samuel, HERS. You let me do that! Why?”

“Calm DOWN, Anthony.” Samuel’s voice cuts over the whining of his ident. “She wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Yes, she would.” This phrase comes from three different sources.

My gleeful tone bubbles into laughter at the difference between James’s deep tones and the crack that displays the outright panic in Anthony.

“No.” Samuel still seems far too calm. “She would not.” He gestures at James, who is drinking more coffee and trying to look inconspicuous. “I knew her lover would prevent that.”

“My WHAT?” My voice mimics Anthony’s as it shoots up about an octave. Right, that is it. I let go of the hold I have and let magic course out of me, directing my anger.

Samuel disappears. James appears to be choking on the coffee he just inhaled, and Anthony lets out another squeak before turning to me.

“Where is he? What did you do with him?”

He can see the rage in my eyes, and I can see the struggle within him between fear and concern.

Fear wins. Usually does.

“Gana.” James's throat is raspy, and he is still pounding his chest every few seconds.

“What?” My tone is low and dangerous. People better tread the hell carefully around me now that I’ve been accused of being a whore.

“Gana, did you just kill a herald?”

I cross my arms over my chest like a child and look at him, eyebrows raised. “So what if I did?”

Anthony bursts into tears. Big, gulping sobs.

I regard him coolly. “Should have gone for the other one.”

“Gana.” James puts his hand on my shoulder. I scowl at it, then at him, but he isn’t deterred. “Joking aside, did you just kill a herald?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Then w-w-where is h-he?” Anthony blubbers out.

I sigh and reach behind me. I hook the handle of the coffee mug and spin it around to show them. There’s now the design of a lavender plant on it.

“You put his essence in a mug.” James seems somewhat unimpressed.

Anthony snatches it off me and cradles it to his chest. I get perverse pleasure at watching the remnants of my coffee ruin his white suit.

“Turn him back,” he snaps at me.

“Make me.”

“Turn him back, witch!”

My eyebrows shoot up. “I am not a WITCH, you little freak. And don’t fucking test me. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Anthony’s tears are still falling, and his face has turned red and blotchy. Not hot, not hot at all. But he’s standing up to me, which is always fun.

“I know who you are, Morgana. You’re the world’s first black magic sorceress. You killed your own brother. You’re a monster.”

And I see red. I can see that he’s still talking, but all I can hear is pounding blood in my ears. This little bitch is about to die.

But before I can shoot off a curse, James darts in front of me. There’s a flash of light, then nothing. He’s gone. The herald has gone.

James had a hand thrust out to catch the mug containing Samuel’s essence, and he places it on the table before turning to me.

He barely opens his mouth before I throw him into the air and slam him into the wall. Tendrils of magic flow over my skin like water, and I push more out to hold him off the floor.

“WHERE IS HE?”

This is why I don’t have friends. Anthony insulted me, so Anthony is going to die. It’s the way I live. The fact that James prevented this means he gets punished too.

“Gana, put me down.” His voice is resigned and only serves to piss me off further.

“Do I need to explain the rules to you, Katondan? He belongs to me now. Where did you send him?”

We both know where James put him, but I want him to say it. James must have called some local spirits to hide Anthony from me.

“You can’t kill him, Morgana.”

“Like HELL, I can’t.” Even the use of my full name doesn’t pierce the rage I hold on to. “You STOLE him from me. I’ve killed in front of you before. What do you care?

“He called me a monster, James. He accused m—”

“And maybe not EVERYTHING is about YOU.” James pulls against the restraints I have on him, frustrated. He’s never raised his voice at me before.

He bangs his head back against the wall before continuing in a slightly quieter tone. “For someone who’s seen so much, you are unbelievably selfish sometimes, Gana.”

“He called me a monster.”

James sighs. “Yes, I know. And you have rage issues and no filter and, ultimately, are a total bitch. I know, I know.” He just sounds weary now, but I still don’t put him down.

He looks down at me, and I can see the years in his dark eyes. He’s old before his time. He’s looking for the same in me. Looking for the pain, the hurt, the lessons learned.

I show him nothing. There’s a wall inside me that he won’t breach.

He shakes his head slightly. “It must be awful being you. Everything is so fleeting. Everything breaks. Everyone dies. The world just moves on, and you’re…stuck.”

His head snaps to the left as I use magic to slap him. He looks back at me, and I see pity in his eyes. I hit him again.

“You don’t know me. Don’t you DARE judge me.”

“And you don’t really know me.” He shrugs, which is actually quite hard while pinned to a wall.

“I know your mother was a witch.”

His eyes shoot back to me at that, and I smirk. “Yup. I know you’re half Katondan, half warlock. That’s why you age so slowly. You’re what, a hundred and fifty?”

“One sixty-two.” He’s shocked.

I’m bored now. I unceremoniously drop him onto the floorboards and walk back to the mug.

James manages to land like a cat and follows me. “Please let him out.”

I turn to him. I’d put my sneer on, but he’s pretty immune. “Why? As a favor? Because you’re my friend? Tch, gimme a break.”

“Because I’m trying to help you.”

I stiffen at that. He’s chewing on that damned ring again, hoping I don’t go off on one again. I can feel my fingernails pressing into my palm as I clench my hands.

“I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, actually, you do.” James gives me a level look and holds his hand out for the mug.

“You’re stuck, Gana. You’ve spent the last thousand or so years just floating around, killing when it pleases you, not getting attached.

“You’ve ended a fair share of wars, and you’ve started a whole load of others. You try not to feel anything because mortals are so damn fragile.”

His hand is still out, and I clutch the mug closer, trying to ignore him.

“Gana.” He’s speaking softly now, just like when people try and tame wild animals. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” is my immediate and honest answer.

He sighs again. “Do you even like me?”

“I don’t like anyone.” Okay, well, maybe that’s slightly less true. I do like James. But whatever’s going on here is starting to freak me out.

I don’t like people helping me, I don’t like not knowing things, and I bloody hate it when people see me being vulnerable, which is exactly what James is witnessing now.

The look on his face shows he clearly doesn’t believe me. I scowl at him. “I don’t dislike you. If I did, you’d be dead already. You’re useful to me.”

James rubs a hand over his stubble and makes a noise in the back of his throat that tells me how frustrated he is. Why is it so important to him that I like him?

“James…” I can feel my eyes widen as I sweep my gaze over him. “You’re not, you’re…not in love with me, are you?”

He holds my gaze for a few heartbeats, and then a thundering laugh rolls up in his chest and spills over his lips. He laughs long and loud.

“No offense, woman,” he finally manages to choke out, “but I don’t hate myself enough to love you.”

I flash him a blinding smile at that, and—being generous, I might add—I throw him the mug. He catches it one-handed, still chuckling to himself.

You know, most other women would be offended by his reasoning for not being in love with me, but not me. I’m so relieved he doesn’t that even the laughing is music to my ears, deep, grumbly music.

“I still don’t like you,” I shoot at him when he calms down.

James simply grins and slaps his hand onto my shoulder. “I know, Gana. I don’t like you either.”

I shrug him off. “Don’t call me GANA.”

He shrugs and looks down at the mug, rolling it between his hands. He gets a little more solemn as he considers it. His eyes flick to mine, and he opens his mouth to…

“I swear to all the known gods, James, that if you chew on that damn lip ring again, I’ll rip it out of you.” I’m still smiling, but he knows I would actually do it.

Don’t get me wrong, the lip ring is kinda hot, but I’d still go ahead if he keeps bugging me with it.

He smirks and deliberately closes his mouth. His arm raises, and he holds the mug up in front of me. He raises his eyebrows and shakes it slightly. He wants me to let Samuel out.

I pout a little. “If I bring him back, will you give me Anthony?” I might not be mad enough to kill him anymore, but he’ll still have to pay.

“Do you promise you won’t permanently disfigure him?”

I shrug. “Not gonna lie, James; could go either way. What is it exactly you need him for? If I give you back the ident, why don’t I get the other one?”

James takes a deep breath. “Something’s going down. There was a ritual death in England. Lots of bodies, no explanation.

“The high-ups want me involved because I’m the only Katondan with some warlock blood.”

“Why would that matter?” I consider this while he avoids my gaze. “There are loads of beings that can talk to the dead.”

I narrow my eyes. “What is it that died? Humans? No, no, it’s not humans.”

It doesn’t make any sense why any warlock blood would be necessary if it was simply humans that died. It was the same with most magical beings.

There are only a few races that the children of Katonda can’t call on.

“Is it witches? I know Katondans can talk to witch spirits, but anyone with the Rainbow can, and they’re cheaper than you.”

I realize I’ve been pacing, and I stop and turn to him as something occurs to me.

“How many died? What was the ritual?”

His gaze rises slowly from the floor to meet mine. This means trouble.

I repeat myself: “James, how many were killed?”

“Fifteen.”

I blanch. He knows why. This can only mean one thing. I recover my composure, but a dark anger rolls over me.

“I’m coming with you.”

He nods and hands me the mug.

Somebody has sacrificed a coven of sorcerers. That person now has to face me.