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Chapter 5: Gemma

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Morrigan walked slow, fast enough to fool him into thinking she was leaving, but too slow to get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time. When she felt it was safe, she brought her hand up, leaned against a tree, and condensed the smallest amount of static to her hand.

She felt the urge to move, to run from the park and seek shelter behind her wards at home. She hesitated, her body refusing every command until finally, she managed to snap her fingers. The pulse shot out, the static revealing the park. The park was slowly emptying as the sun crept over the horizon, leaving only a gust of wind and the presence she felt since cutting her date short.

Morrigan followed the map in her head. She snapped again, the static bursting from her to paint an image of the threat. She saw nothing in the pulse but felt a void, a massive dissonance in the only source of vision she had.

She realized her mistake. Whatever it was, it sensed the static and followed it. It now hunted for its source. She stopped cold, smelling blood as the creature neared, an intoxicating scent.

Despite its heavy step, she struggled to measure its pace. It stood at a fair distance, but as fractions of a second ticked by, it seemed much closer. She caught the sound of rushing wind, the massive form forcing air aside as it darted across the park.  

Morrigan hid behind a tree, her back leaning against the trunk. It whispered her name. Morrigan's memory stirred then failed, twisted by the passage of time and horrors best forgotten.

"I smell you," it teased. Its voice blended that of a woman and a beast, a growl polluting an otherwise beautiful tone. Morrigan's breath shook as she tried to keep her breath still and calm. Her eyes widened when she pieced together what the creature was.

 

She didn't have cane. She couldn't fight it even she did. A tear crept down her face, its trail drying in a sudden rush of wind that blew by and faded in the span of a single second. 

The whisper came again, spoken inches from her ear "Hello sister." 

The creature was humanoid, but its form was impossible to see in the static. When the static interacted with it, the image came only half formed like a puzzle missing crucial pieces.

This monster, this impossible thing, was a mask. Called The Red Mantle, it was an avatar of Morrigan's goddess. The mass of shapes that served as an image folded back on itself, an endless weave of formless terror.  Skin tore and bones cracked. The creature twisted, transforming into something much more palatable. Morrigan often wondered if it was like removing a mask or putting one on. 

The creature was gone, revealing the woman behind the beast. She was frail, old, and dressed in blood-red robes. "Aren't you going to defend yourself? I never thought you, of all people, would give up so easily." The old woman raised her voice, "I was actually excited about our next meeting. The confrontation was supposed to be biblical in scope, you assured me as much."

"Gemma," Morrigan began, pressing herself against the tree. "You know better." 

"You're still faithful? After all this time." Gemma began as she inched closer.

"Faith has little to do with it," Morrigan replied. "It'd be a waste of time."

Gemma sighed, staring at Morrigan for several moments before speaking, "I talk to her every day. I wonder when the goddess last spoke to you?"

Morrigan shouted as if anger could dry the tears, "Can I help you? Is there a reason you and I happen to be in the same place? I was pretty clear I wanted nothing more to do with you."

"I'm not here for you. I was well on my way home before I felt the static."

"Why were you here in the first place? It's a big world out there, and you happen to be here?" Morrigan asked.

"Burial. You slaughtered a few of our own in the attack. I enjoyed the show." Gamma said, revealing a tone of pride and admiration. "Immortality hasn't helped your attitude, but that display was astounding. Rose would have been proud."

"Fuck you."

"I was trying to give you a compliment," Gemma said.

Morrigan snapped. "You've tracked me down. You know where I am. What now?"

"Again," Gemma said, "I'm not here for you."

Morrigan scoffed. "I don't believe you." 

"Should I care?"  Gamma replied. She was silent for a moment, then spoke again, "It's a new moon, you have work to do, I assume. There's a new man in your life, after all."

Morrigan's nostrils flared. Her jaw clenched as she shook her head. "That is none of your business." 

"How can you expect to be forgiven when you are unwilling to give the same?" 

"I don't expect forgiveness," Morrigan said with a smirk on her face. "I expect you to die. All I need to do is wait. After what you've done, death would be a mercy." 

Morrigan heard the sounds of flesh tearing and twisting as Gemma's body transformed once more. The beast emerged and swiped at Morrigan with a long, slender arm. When the blow landed, Morrigan flew back, breaking the tree in two and rolling to a stop. 

Morrigan screamed in pain, only growing louder when she tried to move. Her screams went unheard. After a moment spent anticipating another assault, Morrigan realized Gamma was gone. 

She struggled to move. She reached out and touched her arm, felt the warm flow of blood pouring from an open wound, and winced as she felt the bone protruding from her skin. 

She harnessed the static, casting it over the area around her. The blood gravitated toward her, seeping back into her veins steadily as her bones snapped back in place. She crawled until her body healed enough to stand, a process that persisted well after leaving the confines of the park.

It took hours to reach the steps leading up to her apartment. Her body needed rest, but with Gemma nearby, she refused to sleep alone. She felt herself dozing off but forced her eyes open.

She considered calling Tyler, then quickly dismissed the idea. Too many questions and not enough energy to explain. She could try Damon, but it would take a few hours for him to arrive. 

She entered her apartment and reached out to find the far wall. She felt along the wall until reaching her bedroom. She collapsed on the bed, landing on stacks of books and clutter. Despite the pain, Morrigan shifted, knocking things to the ground until she felt comfortable enough to rest.

She retrieved her phone from her pocket and felt the crack on its screen. She held her breath, letting it out only when it was clear the phone still worked. She dialed a number, one of the few she cared to remember.

A woman answered, "Morrigan?"

"Beatrice," Morrigan began. 

"What's wrong?"

Morrigan spoke, but the conversation was a blur. She grew lethargic, the call of sleep too loud to ignore.

 

Morrigan slept until she woke to a knock at her door. It was loud, almost angry. Was someone trying to kicking the door in? She tried to collect her thoughts but jolted up when she heard the front door open. Pain shot through her arms and legs. She felt around the bed, hoping to find her cane. Morrigan heard the intruder call her name, and her body relaxed in an instant.  

"In here," Morrigan called, then waited for Beatrice to enter the room.

"Jesus," Beatrice said, rushing forward and helping Morrigan up. "You expect me to believe you fell?"

"Don't worry about it," Morrigan groaned, adjusting to a more comfortable position.

"I can see the fucking bone."

"I was caught off guard," Morrigan said.

"Is it still around?"

"No, she was an acquaintance of mine," Morrigan began, doing her best to stand up. "I didn't have my cane, my coat, my hat, or anything. I can't work without my tools."

Beatrice helped her up, supporting Morrigan's weight. "An acquaintance? I'd hate to see what an enemy does to you."

Morrigan laughed. "Oh, it's much worse." They made their way to the living room, a slow walk in the narrow hallway of Morrigan's apartment. 

"I was literally on my way out of town," Beatrice said, letting Morrigan fall to the couch. "You're lucky I stuck around after the attack."

"Sorry, I didn't know who else to call."

"No worries." Beatrice paused and she sat on the recliner across from Morrigan, "Damon told me about your little experiment. How's that going for you?" 

"Horribly," Morrigan said, grabbing her coat. She noticed the silence and immediately added, "Don't worry. He didn't do this. He isn't even in the know yet." She pulled out a small vial, filled with blood and opened it.

"Do I get to see some spooky shit?"

Morrigan nodded, felt up and down her legs, and winced when she touched the open wound.  She opened the vial, began dripping the blood onto the wound, and waited.

After several moments, Beatrice spoke, "Whenever you're ready."

"Sorry." Morrigan began, tossing the bottle to the side. She immediately worked to find a solution, "It's not working. She probably cast a hex."

"That bitch. What's a hex?"

"Think curse. I couldn't ever do it. It can do many things. It's a very broad term." Morrigan stood, searched the room for another vial, and failed. "I know I have some more somewhere."

"If you kept it clean in here, or maybe hired someone, it might be easier."

Morrigan stopped and glanced over. "Maybe, doesn't help me now does it?"

Beatrice stood up, walked over, and held out her hand, "My hand is right in front of you, take a little of mine if you need it."

Morrigan was already in the process of pulling out her knife when Beatrice finished her sentence. "Thank you." The static in her veins called to Morrigan, every cell speaking to her, begging for her to collect what was offered.

"Damn," Beatrice said. She took in a sharp breath of air when Morrigan made the cut, a small incision on the wrist, "Fell for your tricks, again, I see. "

Morrigan nodded. "It's not even a trick anymore." The blood steadily flowed into a new vial. When finished, Morrigan clasped her hand around the wound, focusing the static to seal it shut.

"Why do you beat around the bush? why not just ask?"

Morrigan shrugged. "A quirk of my gifts. Blood has to be willingly given to be used for healing. I can't ask you for it."

Morrigan tried healing again, the blood dripping into the wound. This time, it sizzled. The skin grew, the tissue forming and sealing the wound shut. She did the same for her arms and every other open wound. The only evidence of the damage lingered in the form of bruises and light scrapes. Those would need to heal on their own.

"Neat trick," Beatrice said, plopping down on a loveseat. "So, your boy's having trouble, yeah?"

"Hmm?" Morrigan began, lost in the sensation. Foreign blood coursed through her veins. It was like a high, and she was still at the peak. "Tyler? Yes, he is."

"It's been a while," Beatrice said. "He an Atheist?"

"Yes."

"You want my advice?"

Morrigan laughed. "I'm not cutting him loose. I happen to like the boy."

"I figured that much. That's not what I was going to suggest."

"Oh, well then yes. Please help me. I've never done this before."

Beatrice thought a moment, putting the words together in the best way she could think of, "I know from experience: if someone can't take the hint, you're gotta be blunt."

"That's dangerous. If I just throw back the curtain, reveal everything, Tyler could snap. You don't come back from that and that's assuming he actually understands anything I say."

"True," Beatrice replied, "but skeptics need that kick in the ass. How hard it is depends on you." She stopped and sighed. "The Candlelight tends to make people impulsive. Skeptics will often start obsessing before they finally get it. Has he started obsessing?"

"Not that I'm aware," Morrigan began. "He's remarkably well-behaved." She stood up and felt along the wall till she found a shelf. She pulled out a book, sat down, and opened it. "He's not really the clingy type, anyway. It's like he's looping, stuck in the first stage, but never forgetting entirely."

"I don't mean overbearing or clingy. I meant the concept of you. You don't make sense to his closed mind. This will eventually be an obsession driven by a need to understand. That's how you know he's close."

Morrigan shook her head, turning pages as she spoke, "I doubt he'd be that honest about it. If so, I wouldn't know."

"What about his mannerisms?" 

Morrigan looked up and smiled. "When I first met him, he was shy. Now he talks to me with more confidence even after forgetting."

"That's a good sign. What's with the book?"

Morrigan thumbed through the pages, stopping every so often and running her fingers down the page, "I have an idea." She continued her search until she found the page she was looking for. "Oneiromancy."

"You can mess with people's dreams?" Beatrice asked.

Morrigan nodded, "Yes, I can. It's actually pretty common for us, but not as useful." Morrigan paused and brushed her fingers over the raised bumps on the page. She was slowly putting a plan together. "You share the dream-space, which means both parties can end up bringing more of themselves into that space than intended."

"Are you worried about your demons showing up?"

"Not at all," Morrigan replied, scanning the page. "I'm counting on it."

 
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Oct 29, 2020 00:20 by Jacob Billings

As always, your writing is wonderful. Few small things:   "Morrigan called, then, waited for..."   This is the kind of comma usage I forgot about last time. The double commas around then are in the style of what would happen when you use the word "however" or do some fancy stuff with your conjunctions. It should be "Morrigan called, waiting for..." if I can properly imitate your tense. That also makes it feel less clunky.   I like the context on both the character and the magic system as well as the shorter length of the chapter. Though, there are still a few terms that you leave dangling for the reader so I'm curious as to where you're going to describe them in full(unless I'm blind and missed it like your description of the Static).

Oct 29, 2020 00:41 by R. Dylon Elder

Yeah, my spell check flagged that comma. It didnt make sense to me either, its wrong. I like that. I shall change it. Most exposition will come in the coming chapters. I wanted to get the plot going and then fill in the blanks but this is my first novel. Idk if that is best. Thank you good sir, and I'm glad the smaller chapter length was appreciated.