1
Dylan
Dawn breaks over Central Park, bringing light after another sleepless night. The Raven Guard is nearly whole, but the impact of the events in the Otherside is worse than when Bunny lost use of his wing. We’re lame and incomplete, lacking a member that may never return, and painfully missing our queen.
Our mission is clear: heal the sick, build an army. Both were directives Morgan declared before she abandoned us, slipping away in the Otherside’s core. None of us believe she was taken against her will. No, Morgan has a mind of her own, a plan she has chosen not to share with us, and as her loyal Guardians we have little choice but to do as we’re told.
She needs us now more than ever.
“How the hell are we going to find an army?” Damien asks across the room. I listen as my brothers bicker over the same argument. Who does she expect us to recruit? How do we know who to trust? How long can she wait? What if we’re too late?
“I’ll make a list,” Sam says. “We have allies.”
Clinton replies in a low growl. “Do we? People we trust?”
I watch him closely. He’s been jaded since his time in the dungeons. Paranoid. If he hadn’t had healing time with Morgan…only the gods know what mental state he’d be in now. Unfortunately, he’s right. Now that the three parts of the Darkness are together, sides will be taken. Those who want the apocalypse on the Earth realm, and those who will fight with us to stop it.
“Make a list of who we need to approach,” I tell Sam. “We’ll find enough warriors to return with us.”
“And if we don’t?”
A shadow passes by the door and all of us look toward it. We aren’t alone in the house. Hildi is here. Sue and Davis helped remove the corpse of her partner Andi moments before our return. We were too late with the cure, at least to spare her life. Adding another layer of grief in the house is hard to manage.
Sam’s question still lingers, waiting to be answered.
I take one last look out the window at the cloudless, blue sky outside. It’s the exact opposite of what Morgan will see from the Otherside. Turning to face my brothers, I declare, “Then we go back and fight alone.”
2
Morgan
The strings tighten, pulling hard against my waist.
“Ouch,” I say, grunting through the discomfort and pain jabbing into my ribs. “Is this really necessary?”
“You’ve been invited to a formal dinner with the Morrigan and her court,” Nevis says, pushing her knee into my back for leverage. I buckle, but the corset doesn’t allow me to move far. “This is considered appropriate dress.”
“She must plan to kill me in this. Because there’s no way I can defend myself while wearing this wretched thing.”
Nevis replies with final hard yank.
Truthfully, the gown is exquisite. The fabric is a dark blue silk, embroidered with tiny gold stitching. The hem grazes the floor and the skirt is fluffed out with thick crinoline. A glance down reveals that my breasts are an asset I’d never fully realized. Just seeing the whole outfit, along with my carefully arranged hair and makeup, in the mirror brings me to a halt.