Chapter 117 - In and Out

  Morrigan lay in bed, propped up on her pillow to keep her stomach bent and avoid straining the makeshift stitches. Pepper was in the bathroom, back from the hospital with a freshly bandaged arm, and it was almost time for lights out. But then a knock came on the door, just before being swung open without waiting for a reply. Sarah stood in the threshold with Miss Cheyenne in tow behind her.

  “Uh, hey… Something up?” Morrigan asked as she sat up and perched on the corner of her bed.

  “It looks like you weren't entirely honest with me earlier,” Sarah said.

  “About?” Morrigan asked, taking note of the intense scowl Cheyenne had fixed on her.

  Geeze lady, take a chill pill.

  “You know exactly what about,” Cheyenne said. “We dug into the claim about you sneaking out and, let's just say, uncovered a few videos from other residents here.”

  “Uh… I'm sorry?”

  “It seems you've been doing it regularly, haven't you?” Sarah asked.

  Morrigan wore a sheepish grin as Sarah and Miss Cheyenne stood with crossed arms, their expressions hovering somewhere between disappointment and frustration.

  Well, Morrigan knew there was no hiding it now. One of the three bitches must have shown their video evidence, and Morrigan had a pretty good idea this wasn’t going to end with a pat on the back and a “don’t do it again.”

  “Okay, okay,” Morrigan finally said, throwing up her hands in surrender. “Look. When I sneak out it’s never for long. I just really need to see my friend sometimes… I miss her. And I always come right back! It's not like I'm doing anything illegal or getting into trouble!”

  “That’s not the point,” Sarah said sternly. “What if something had happened to you?”

  Miss Cheyenne scowled, her tone sharper than Sarah’s. “We can’t have you treating this establishment like a hotel you check in and out of whenever you please. There are rules for a reason.”

  That metaphor doesn’t quite work. You know, you don’t check in and out of a hotel every time you leave to run an errand. That’s more of a daily-basis kind of thing.

  Morrigan bit her tongue and held herself back from making that retort.

  “Where’s your sewing kit?” Sarah asked.

  Morrigan’s head snapped up. “Oh, come on. You don’t have to take that away. It’s one of the only things keeping me sane around here.”

  “You can have it back in the mornings, but you’re to return it before lights out. And I’ll be counting the needles,” Miss Cheyenne said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

  “Wait... so... you’re not kicking me out of the shelter?” Morrigan asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Sarah sighed, her stance softening slightly. “You’re on thin ice. But we don’t have anywhere else to send you right now, so you’ll stay here—for the time being. That said, we are actively looking for longer-term options for you.”

  “We should take her cell phone as well,” Cheyenne added, her voice brisk and unforgiving.

  Morrigan winced. She had hoped they’d overlook that part. “Wait, my cell phone doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “You’ve been using it to coordinate your escapes,” Cheyenne said matter-of-factly.

  Again, escape isn’t the right term. Escaping usually means not coming back.

  Morrigan knew they were not going to take no for an answer on that one, so she reluctantly had to hand it over. Luckily, she anticipated this might happen and already coordinated with Hilda, who told her to come by her apartment. Then, realizing she wouldn’t be able to shadow step without tearing her stomach, she sent a message to Death, asking for a ride, and deleted all the messages afterward.

  After taking the phone, Cheyenne gave her one final look before turning toward the door. “I’ll be checking in on you regularly tonight. So don’t try anything.”

  Morrigan exhaled as the door clicked shut, and she nearly flopped backward onto her bed but stopped herself. Too sudden of a movement had a good chance of tearing her makeshift stitches.

  The stab wound wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened to her after the changeling attack when she spent a few weeks being healed by Hilda. Granted, the witch had some demonic aid in putting Morrigan’s body back together, but a simple stab was nothing in comparison.

  Thinking about the changeling, she then went to the mirror and looked over her shoulder as she lifted her shirt. The stab wound felt sore and throbbing, but the changeling fighting against the seal had injured her earlier as well… except, that didn’t hurt anymore. As she scanned her back, she saw she wasn’t wounded at all. There was the blotching gray patch where the changeling lived, and it rippled with small waves as she acknowledged it, but there were no injuries.

  Did it heal me?

  She watched as the demonic flesh pulsed slightly, one tendril pulling away and swatting at the air, perhaps checking for the seal, and then a few other small, curious tendrils rose out as well. Morrigan shuddered and quickly put her shirt down again.

  “I’m never going to get used to that…”

  ***

  That night, after Noir’s arrival, Morrigan took extra care to stuff clothes and towels under her blanket to make it look like she was in bed. Even if she got caught, there wasn’t much else she could do about it. She was much more afraid of running afoul of the reaper police than she was of this shelter. Then she wondered if Alice would ever make another appearance.

  After sneaking down the stairs and out the back door, she went down the street, where Noir appeared at her side to lead her to where Death would be waiting.

  “Honestly, Morrigan,” Noir chided as they walked. “I knew continuing to stay there would cause problems.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t really want to hear it from you. I asked for your help, remember?”

  Morrigan didn’t admit to the fact three humans had seen her true appearance. She would sparse out that detail once she was hopefully alone with Death and could hopefully skip listening to Noir’s complaints.

  Morrigan reached the street corner where Death's Phantom was waiting, its sleek, black design gleaming under the dim streetlights. As she approached, the driver's side window rolled down with an old-school mechanical whir. Death sat inside, one skeletal hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other holding a cell phone. “Morrigan! It feels like it’s been too long.”

  “Yeah, it's good to see you, too, Death,” she said as she started to walk towards the passenger seat.

  “Ah, Morrigan, just a moment, please,” he said, getting out. “Might I inspect your wound first?”

  “What? Afraid of me bleeding on your seats?”

  She said it sarcastically, but the way he stared back without answering made her realize that was exactly the problem. Morrigan returned a dry expression, then grabbed the hem of her shirt and hoodie, lifting them just enough to show off her patch job. The paper towel was already red and crusty, and there were a couple of streaks of likewise crusty, dry blood dripping down her stomach. “Happy?”

  “Ah, well… I suppose you’ve done a fairly decent job, but…” he reached into the car and pulled out a small red tin with a blue medical plus sign on it. “Why don’t we take a moment to be extra certain?”

  Still not sure if he’s more worried about his seats than my well-being… oh well.

  Morrigan sighed, her shoulders slumping as she reluctantly let her shirt and hoodie fall back down. "Okay, okay, fine.” Though, she couldn’t help being amused by the love he had for his beloved Phantom.

  Death smiled—at least, that’s how she interpreted the subtle shift of his jaw—as he motioned for her to sit on the curb. “There are times when one cannot risk carelessness.”

  After Morrigan sat, Death crouched gracefully beside her, opening the red tin to reveal an assortment of bandages, alcohol wipes, and other small tools. “It’s not every day I play medic, you know,” he said, pulling out an alcohol wipe and snapping it open with skeletal fingers. “Consider yourself fortunate.”

  “Fortunate, huh? I guess that's one way to spin it. Just try not to make it worse, okay?”

  Death made a sound that could’ve been a scoff. “Worse? Please. I’ve been around long enough to perfect many trades, Morrigan.”

  “Sure, sure,” Morrigan muttered, tilting her head back as she braced herself. “Just don’t forget you’re supposed to be the one taking people apart, not putting them back together.”

  Death’s skeletal fingers worked quickly, dabbing the alcohol wipe against the dried blood around the wound. Morrigan hissed, her fists clenching at the sting, but she didn’t flinch away.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Ah, this stitch job…” Death muttered, leaning closer to inspect it. “You really took the term ‘do it yourself’ to heart, didn’t you? I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.”

  “Go with impressed,” Morrigan said through gritted teeth. “It’s all I had to work with.”

  Death chuckled. “Well, it’ll hold for now, but you’re lucky this wound didn’t get infected with your... let’s say, creative method. Let me clean it up properly before it does.”

  He worked with surprising precision for someone whose hands were nothing but bone. The alcohol stung fiercely, but Death’s movements were steady and unhurried like he had all the time in the world. Morrigan supposed he technically did.

  “So,” he began, his tone light but probing, “would you care to explain why your self-repair skills were necessary in the first place? I imagine this wasn’t a routine day at the shelter.”

  Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say a certain situation got a little out of hand. Jenna thought it’d be a good idea to wave a knife around. There was a struggle, and… well, you see the result.”

  Death’s hollow sockets seemed to focus more intently on her as he carefully placed a fresh bandage over her wound. “And how many people saw you as you truly are?”

  Morrigan hesitated, looking away. “How did you know?”

  “I’m afraid it wasn’t too hard to deduce.”

  Among Death’s many talents, reading people was one of them. He was absurdly good at knowing things about total strangers at a glance, so it was no surprise he could do the same to her.

  Morrigan sighed and said, “Three.”

  “All of them are residents at the shelter?”

  “At least one of them is soon to be an X-resident.”

  “I see,” he said, smoothing out the bandage and standing up. “Well then, I’ll take you to Miss Hilda’s apartment. On our way, we should talk about what your next steps should be.”

  Morrigan stared at Death as she rose from the curb, brushing off the back of her jean shorts. His skeletal features betrayed no emotion, but she could feel the weight of his statement. “You mean I need to leave the shelter?”

  “It was an admirable attempt you made to balance out your reaper duties with continuing to live your normal life. I supported the endeavor, as I believed finding some closure could be crucial for you, but I’m afraid the risks are far too great now. There is more scrutiny on you than before.” He paused as he climbed into the car and set his skeletal hands on the steering wheel. “Well, what are your thoughts? Did you at least accomplish what you wished to as far as Pepper is concerned?”

  Morrigan hesitated as she took her place in the passenger seat and buckled up. “I’m… not sure. Jenna is going away, she was the ring leader, but I think Livy and Tyler will be staying. Granted, they’ve been exposed for the kind of people they really are, so maybe the staff will know to keep an eye on them and not let them mess with Pepper anymore, but… I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I mean, will they be able to just forget what happened? Pepper is the only other one living with the secret of what I am, and if she’s there alone, they might… I don’t know; I just don’t see them quietly agreeing to a cease-fire and forgetting about it. Especially if nobody is there to make them think twice about it.”

  “You would be that person?” Death asked.

  “Well, sure. They’re scared of me now.”

  One skeletal hand rose from the steering wheel with an extended finger. “Fear is a double-edged sword, Morrigan. It can often stay one's hand, but it can just as easily stir one into action.”

  “But me not being there won’t change that. They might still go after Pepper.”

  “But is Pepper your responsibility?”

  “She’s my friend,” Morrigan stated firmly. “I’m not just abandoning her.”

  Death nodded as he turned the wheel, gliding the car smoothly around a corner. “Be that as it may, the situation at the shelter has become untenable. It was always a precarious arrangement. I’m afraid, as your mentor, I’ll have to decide for you. I try to allow you to go about things at your own pace, but there is a necessity to be problematic about what is possible and what is not.”

  Morrigan turned her gaze out the window. He was right, of course. She knew that.

  “So what, then? Do I just disappear?”

  “It is not difficult to do so.”

  “But that has complications as well. They know about Hilda and Emma, the police will question them. I’ll have a harder time going to see my mom and… I don’t know.”

  “Yes, every course of action has its consequences. Though you’ll still have chances to reconcile with your mother, I think, and Hilda and Emma can handle themselves.”

  She had no counter arguments to present, so she just rode in silence.

  Upon arriving at Hilda’s apartment, the older witch opened the door. She was wearing sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. “Hey there, troublemaker. And Death, long time no see! How’s the ride?”

  Death gave a small, almost imperceptible nod as he gestured toward his sleek black car. "The ride is, as always, impeccable. Though I must admit, the driver is growing weary of cleaning up after certain passengers." His empty sockets shifted briefly toward Morrigan.

  Morrigan sighed, adjusting her hoodie and trying not to grimace. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. No bleeding in the fancy Death Mobile."

  Hilda chuckled, stepping aside to let them in. "Come on, Morrigan. Let’s take a look at that stab wound before you collapse on the floor."

  The apartment was cozy, filled with the comforting smell of herbal tea and faintly burning sage. Books and magical trinkets were scattered everywhere—on shelves, the coffee table, and even the kitchen counter, though mixed in with the clutter were much more ordinary tools like wrenches and drills. In Hilda’s usual style, it was a total disorganized mess, but somehow, she always seemed to know exactly where to find everything.

  Morrigan took a seat on the couch and spotted Hilda’s staff leaning against the entertainment system, the staff that apparently used to belong to her mother and the one that defeated the changeling.

  Hilda gathered some supplies, herbs, and moon water, then had Morrigan lie down as she carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage from her stomach. Hilda’s brow knitted as she examined the wound. Morrigan gritted her teeth when the cool air touched her skin, resisting the urge to pull away.

  “You know, this is healing surprisingly fast. Too fast, honestly,” Hilda said as she gently probed around the edges of the injury.

  Morrigan frowned. “That’s… a good thing, right?”

  “Normally, yeah,” Hilda said, straightening up slightly. “But reapers don’t have any particularly advanced healing. Right, Death?”

  Death, leaning casually in the doorway, inclined his skull in agreement. “Quite the opposite, actually. Reapers, by design, typically heal slower than normal humans unless aided by magic. Though Morrigan hasn’t been one for long, her body should be mostly that of a normal human.”

  Hilda looked back at Morrigan’s wound with a puzzled expression. “Well, this isn’t normal, and I don’t sense any magic at work here.”

  A chill prickled down Morrigan’s spine. “So… what does that mean?”

  Hilda bit her lip, mulling it over. “The only thing that makes sense is… something else is helping you heal.”

  Morrigan’s expression darkened. “Like what?”

  Hilda hesitated before giving a casual shrug. “It could be the changeling.”

  Morrigan’s heart skipped a beat. “What? No—noooo way. It’s on my back. How would it even—”

  “Your body’s a closed system,” Hilda interrupted, her tone calm but insistent. “Even if the changeling’s flesh is limited to one area, its cells could still be finding their way into your blood and influencing the rest of your body.”

  Morrigan stared at her, her breathing uneven. “Does that mean it’s taking over?”

  “Hey, hey! No one said that,” Hilda replied. “Sit up, take off the hoodie, and let me see your back.”

  Morrigan did as asked, balling the hoodie in her lap and Hilda lifted her shirt up to her shoulders. “You said the changeling tore into you again earlier?”

  “Y-yeah. But it healed already.” Morrigan winced as she felt Hilda touch the changeling carefully, and a few small, resistant tendrils snapped out. Morrigan hugged her balled-up hoodie tighter, trying to think happy thoughts to keep the changeling calm.

  “Uh… hmmmm…” Hilda put her shirt down again.

  “What?” Morrigan prodded, turning around.

  “Right… well, uh,” Hilda coughed into her hand. “It seems to have, uh, spread a little.”

  Morrigan’s eyes widened, her lip quivering slightly. “W-w-what?”

  “I mean, just a little!”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better!” Morrigan placed a hand on her forehead, her breath hitching a little. “Oh my god, it really is going to take over.”

  “Hey! What did I just say? There’s no reason to panic yet.”

  “Yet!? You just said it fucking spread!” Morrigan yelled, and then she heard a rip as a tendril lashed through her undershirt and whipped at the air behind her. Morrigan started fumbling with the hoodie, quickly willing the tendril back, forcing her arms through the sleeves and zipping it up. Anxiety started to grab her heart and she suddenly couldn’t keep her breath steady.

  “Morrigan! Hey, relax. There are ways to deal with it, okay? Stopping it from spreading is actually pretty easy.” Hilda glanced over her shoulder to her staff. “Just calm down and… Uh… hang on a second.”

  “What are you doing?” Morrigan asked anxiously as Hilda grabbed the staff and stood before Morrigan.

  “Just do me a favor and look into this fancy gem up top,” Hilda said, tapping it a few times as her smirk softened into something more reassuring.

  Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do?”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it for now. Just a little spell. While I’m getting it ready, I just wanted to ask—how’ve you been holding up with everything lately? I imagine you’re not exactly getting eight hours of beauty sleep.”

  Morrigan sighed, leaning back slightly into the couch and clenching her hands together to try to drive back the panic attack. “Beauty sleep hasn’t exactly been a priority.” She found her eyes following the faint shimmer of the gem and realized Hilda was waving it back and forth in a slow motion.

  “Trust me, I know. Too much crap can really wear you down after a while.”

  “Uh… y-yeah…” Morrigan said, thinking Hilda was acting weird.

  “Sometimes it feels like you’re carrying the weight of a world, and it just won’t let up.”

  “Uh… sure?”

  “But sometimes, you just need to… let all that weight melt away.”

  Morrigan blinked. Something about Hilda’s tone shifted. It was subtle at first—just a slight rhythm in her words, like the faint lapping of waves against a shore. She wasn’t sure why, but her shoulders relaxed, and her grip on her hoodie loosened while her eyes continued to follow the blue gem back and forth. Was it glowing now?

  “Don’t you want to just let it melt away? Morrigan?”

  “I uh… I…” Morrigan murmured, her voice suddenly sounding distant even to herself. “Yeah, that’d be nice…”

  “That’s it,” Hilda said gently, her words curling through the air like soft wisps of smoke. “But you’re safe here. You can relax. You can just… let yourself drift. Just for a little while. Let your mind rest; let those worries melt away, and just... Just be… quiet.”

  Morrigan nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the gem now, barely hearing Hilda’s words. “Quiet,” Morrigan echoed in a soft, wispy voice.

  Hilda smiled faintly, her voice dipping lower and slower, each word wrapping around Morrigan like a cocoon. “That’s right. Just quiet. You only hear your own breath… Slow… In… and out. In… and out.”

  Morrigan’s eyes fluttered as her anxiety faded into a soft haze. It was like sinking into a warm, endless ocean, her body weightless and her mind still.

  Morrigan couldn’t hear Hilda’s words anymore, she just watched that blue gem. Everything else disappeared. She wasn’t aware of her surroundings, the changeling or even her own thoughts. There was just… nothing. She didn’t even notice when Death waved his skeletal hand in front of her face.

  “Miss Hilda?” Death asked ruefully. “Did you just hypnotize my apprentice?”

  “Well, yeah,” Hilda said, sitting back with a relieved sigh. “She was freaking out! I had to do something.” She propped the staff against the coffee table so it stayed in Morrigan’s line of sight.

  “Hmmm… I see. Well, do you truly have a way to stop the changeling from spreading?”

  “Oh, hell no!” Hilda scoffed. “I’m no demon expert! But I couldn’t tell her that now, could I?”

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