libraean
Libraean stared at the blank piece of parchment sitting in front of him, waiting for the words to come.
It had been a week since they boarded Lucius’s ship, one of the latest in traveling innovations that utilized steam. Originally built as a merchant steamer, Lucius had it entirely restructured with passenger comfort in mind. Their perpetually gracious host, despite his typical air of annoyance, had provided them all with fresh clothing to travel with, even though he had to argue loudly with Cahira: “All this money has been stolen from filthy rich bureaucrats—half of it is rightfully mine, but half is Angelique’s and you’re goddamn right she should pay for our excursion! Now take the damn clothes and stop your complaining. I bought you knives, as well.”
The rest accepted his generosity, for they knew money was irrelevant, but to pretend to be human, one had to play the part. Libraean had been long accustomed to Lucius’s penchant for opulence and grandeur, and did not waste the mental exertion on how he managed to acquire such a vessel. The upper decks had been furnished to mimic any other aristocratic establishment, boasting a sleek dining hall, library, common room, and several covered porches. The second deck held a dozen passenger rooms and sitting areas, with the furthest end intended for cargo. The crew lodged in steerage, a group of silent professionals hired by Lucius’s lawyers who seemed to understand they were not sailing with ordinary humans and kept themselves completely isolated.
Libraean had been lost since they put Jacob in the ground. The four immortals had ridden in silence to the chapel, a crumbling edifice that once belonged to the fortress that defined the city. It was in a better state than its crumbling predecessor, though ivy relentlessly climbed its mossy stones. A lawyer named Jonathan Harrow had made the arrangements, even filling the grave digger’s pockets with extra coins to ensure the grave was dug the full six feet deep.
Libraean felt as if he walked in a dream, grateful for Morrigan’s guiding arm as they maneuvered through a graveyard that wore a blanket of white like fresh paint, save for a singular trail of footprints. The gravedigger wiped sweat from his brow, though icicles covered his coat. It was Mr. Harrow who addressed the lumbering priest exiting the church. The terrified fellow crossed himself several times, refusing to look any of them in the eye as he hurried through the service, clearly wanting nothing more than to retreat to the safety of his chapel.
Lucius appeared equally annoyed by his presence, but remained respectfully stoic; David’s expression held its own blend of emotions. He patiently waited until Morrigan stepped back, and linked his arm around Libraean’s, patting him reassuringly though he was distraught himself. It felt good to have them all there, even Lucius. He hated that his heart hurt so badly at Jacob’s loss. He had known their days on Earth would be brief—they’d existed for centuries apart before—but still, he ached. While grateful they had a chance to reconnect, their final separation occurring at a time where there was forgiveness and love rather than hatred, all these logical, rational things had no effect on his mourning. He was utterly, irrevocably devastated.
David squeezed him a bit tighter when the priest finally ended his sermon and abruptly took off. The gravedigger slammed his spade back into the earth. “I’m sorry, my friend,” Libraean heard him murmur. He didn’t respond, not knowing how to articulate that no one should be sorry for death, that he was not upset that death came for Jacob, he was actually envious, for Jacob had easily achieved what Libraean had always yearned for—natural, well-earned death. It was he who secretly longed to be in the ground, freed from his prison of flesh. But he could never tell David that, the two having an unspoken accord to live out the rest of their days together. Yes, it did pain him to be away from the man he loved. But he knew, in the way that those who often indulge in introspection know, that first and foremost, he was envious.
Mr. Harrow motioned to return to their carriages. Libraean caught sight of Morrigan and Lucius standing inches apart, looking into the grave with the calmness one would expect from two gods of death. The blinding white snow caught on their black cloaks and equally black hair, and they both offered him a look that showed they understood exactly how he felt without having to say it. It was that look that finally dismantled any residual anger he had towards them on behalf of David, melting away like the snow that caught on his shoes.
David hadn’t wanted to leave his side since the service, but finally Libraean insisted, explaining that the longer he waited to resume his solitude, the harder it would be for him to return to it. The first few days, he simply slept, wondering if he could just fall away like David could—he was older than him after all, with a far older body—yet he couldn’t stop his mind from racing long enough to stay planted in deep slumber.
On the fifth day, he finally pulled out the ink and quill Lucius provided for him, laying them out neatly on the desk in his room before gathering a stack of unmarked paper.
And there he’d sat for an hour, staring at the blank pages.
He threw off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was so much more to write, so many more layers to a story he thought he’d known. He had yet to write Cahira’s tale, he’d only just met Sandrine, and now, the one who had once been the most loathsome immortal they’d ever known was playing generous host, leading them forward on their adventure with a completely different perspective than had ever occurred to him.
He gazed out the small circular window in his room, noticing the sky grew brighter. He wondered what David was doing, considering taking the stroll down to his room. He decided against it, staring back down at the blank page with fresh determination. He grabbed his quill, dipped it in the ink, and scrawled out, “The Immortals,” which he promptly crossed out to write, “The Gods,” which he also crossed out and wrote “The Vampyres,” before letting out a sound of exasperation, crumpling the paper, and tossing it across the room. He stood up, grabbed his hat, and hobbled down the hall. It didn’t matter that he’d easily adjusted to having human feet after centuries of living behooved, his joints still creaked with age. As he headed down the smooth hallways with freshly painted walls, he wondered if he should just give in and buy himself a cane. He had a feeling Jacob would have approved.
He gave a swift warning knock before he entered the stately library and annexed study, knowing the person inside would most likely apprehend him with a raised eyebrow. Instead, Lucius hopped right to his feet as if he was waiting for him, grabbing a stack of books from the nearby desk. “I had Mr. Harrow make sure the library was stocked before we left, but there are a few titles he couldn’t grab in time,” Lucius explained as he breezed past him out the door. “Come on, I don’t expect you to carry these with that limp of yours.”
Libraean took a moment to wrap his mind around their odd interaction before hobbling after him down the hall. Lucius strode into his bedroom, setting the books down on his desk with a thump. He frowned when he noticed the crumpled parchment on the floor. “You will get there again,” he told him softly. “Grief persists in waves, but normality does return.”
Libraean squinted up at him. “You’re different.”
“Am I?”
“Is it Morrigan?” Libraean pressed, searching Lucius’s gold eyes over the rim of his glasses.
He noticed something flash in them at the mention of her name, but Lucius chose to deflect rather than respond. “You have the record of our individual histories, the lives that have led us up to where we are now. But you have nothing that describes what we are. We’ve become a species in our own right, and it doesn’t appear that we will be going anywhere anytime soon. Even if Angelique succeeds in killing us, there will still be immortals left walking the earth. You are the Earth’s record keeper, and it is high time for another installation.”
Libraean walked over to his desk to examine the books he’d given him—volumes of folklore and mythology, scientific speculation on blood fevers, and theories of the supernatural. He was stunned, wondering if Lucius had somehow read his mind.
Lucius opened up the book on top, pulling out a small, printed pamphlet that had been nestled inside. Clearing his throat, he read:
“But first, on earth as vampire sent,
Thy corpse shall from its tomb be rent,
Then ghostly haunt they native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race,
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life,
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce,
Must feed thy livid living corpse;
Thy victims ere they yet expire,
Shall know thy demon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are withered on the stem.”
He replaced the pamphlet, closed the book, and set it back on the stack gently. “Despite our best kept efforts to remain hidden, the humans see us—they know us. Now whether we go down in history as the romantic fantasies of writers like Lord Byron, or in cheap penny dreadfuls, or as the ancient gods responsible for the very world we walk upon is entirely up to you. I’d like to think the world will someday want to know our true origins. Besides, it would be interesting to determine why some of us have no empathy and are brutal killers, while others do.”
Libraean was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, which he swallowed. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
He must have noticed the shift in his voice for Lucius quickly resumed his apathetic tone. “Oh, please, we all know I enjoy notoriety, don’t thank me for being selfish.” But as he exited the room, he patted Libraean gently on the shoulder, saying nothing more as the door swung shut behind him.
Libraean turned back towards the stack of books and his empty parchment. He took his place back behind his desk, moistening the tip of his quill with his tongue and dripping it back in the ink before writing on the top, “The History of Vampyres.”
He wasn’t sure how long he sat at his desk writing, but when he looked up to see who had arrived at his door, it was night again. Morrigan stood tentatively in his doorway in her perpetual shroud of black, her brilliant eyes shining between waterfalls of raven hair. “Am I disturbing you?” she asked softly.
Libraean looked down to see his wrinkled hands were covered in ink, the well running shallow next to scores of scribbled pages that were scattered all around him, some sticking to his elbows. “I could use a break,” he admitted as he straightened up his mess. “Please come in.”
She drifted into the room in her weightless, ethereal way; she always managed to move gracefully, even though she was tall and commanding when provoked. There was a faraway look in her eyes as she observed his room, a veil of sadness hanging over her as she took a seat across from his desk, folding her hands in her lap. “How is he?”
Libraean removed his glasses for they had begun to painfully indent his nose. “He seems distant...distracted.”
“Is that a typical reaction when he comes out of one of his spells?”
Libraean sighed, suddenly longing for a cup of Jacob’s tea. “Usually, he is in better spirits, even getting dressed and going into town. Considering the circumstances, however, I think his temperament is to be expected.”
Morrigan nodded. “You must detest me,” she said sadly.
“On the contrary,” he assured her. “While we are long past any glimmer of a maternal bond, I know your heart is good.”
She blinked. “It has been a very long time since I’ve heard words like those said to me,” she murmured. “Will you wait here a moment?”
Libraean nodded, though he was confused. She left for several minutes before surprising him with a tray in her hands, a tea kettle and cup balancing on top next to a tin of herbal tea. “I don’t know what kind of tea Jacob used to make you, but the pantry had a few different blends. I used to adore spiced tea as a human.”
Libraean stared.
“Oh, forgive me,” she laughed as she set down the tray. “I didn’t mean to read your thoughts, but you don’t put up any guard. Your craving came to me loud and clear. We are shapeshifters, remember, connected in animal thought.”
“Oh yes,” Libraean chuckled. “Sometimes I forget these things. David has always been telepathic, but I suppose I forget I’m also around other creatures with abilities. Thank you for the tea; that was very kind of you.”
“My pleasure,” she said as she handed him a cup. The steam drifted into his face, a rich aroma of black tea and citrus wafting up into his nose. He was grateful to have been so far removed from drinking blood that his human cravings were back, his palette longing for things like tea and biscuits. He took a sip, letting the warmth revive his tired bones as she sat back down in the chair.
“If you wish to resume your solitude, please let me know,” she said. “This journey feels agonizingly long, and I am infamously restless and lonely.”
Libraean smiled. “I’ve been trying to update my memoirs to alleviate my own such restlessness. As a matter of fact, since you are here, would you mind helping me fill in your book?”
Morrigan flinched. “I've grown to hate recalling the past.”
Libraean stood, shuffling to the bookcase nestled in the corner of his room, where he had lined all of his books, including their handbound histories. He pulled out hers, a thick tome covered with a carmine fabric that had already begun to fray, titled “Lilith,” with a snake and a crow drawn underneath. “Ah,” he pointed out, “but I know you appreciate the keeping of records.”
“Touché.” She smiled.
Libraean retrieved another glass jar of ink before he took his seat back behind his desk. He poured it into the inkwell and gingerly opened the delicate book, smoothing out the first blank pages. The scent was lovely, swirling with the aroma of his tea. One day, he’d print all his books and bind them in leather.
“Where would you like to begin?” she asked him, a touch of nervousness in her voice.
He smiled. “I would like to begin at the beginning. Do you remember anything at all from the early days?”
Morrigan frowned, but she closed her eyes as if trying to sweep the dust off of memories as old as time. “None of us can remember the true beginning, nor exactly how humans came to be,” she began. “I remember flashes of Isis and I as children running through fields, but nothing solid. Philosophers have tried to answer the question of whether humans are born with knowing or if they learn from the environment in which they are born. I cannot answer these questions—I don’t think any of us can. Maybe the humans created us, maybe we created them.” She looked pensive. “All I know is that one day, they existed, but humanity was so fragile that Isis decided to take care of them. So, she did so with David, who she pulled down from the stars along with Lucius. I don’t remember caring for either of them back then, they just didn’t matter to me like my sister did. Besides I was always exploring and searching, enamored by all the secrets the earth revealed to me. I had little desire for anything else. Meanwhile, civilizations sprang up around us, which Isis and Osiris took care of. I remember being briefly worried about what would happen to the souls of the humans when their bodies died, but Set was put in charge of them. I had nothing to worry about for years, except protecting my sister from harm. Then one day, the humans began to speak of me as if I was Set’s wife and then I just was. I also don’t know how we started...when we started…” She trailed off, her porcelain cheeks pulling up a shade of rose.
“Making love?”
Morrigan shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yes, making love.”
“Breeders,” Libraean shook his head with a laugh. “So painfully modest about something so natural.”
His playfulness relaxed her, bringing about a grin. “In my defense, you are technically my son, who just so happens to adore David. Talking about making love to his brother seems rather insensitive, no?”
“I see your point,” Libraean said pleasantly. “Please continue.”
“I have no idea when nor how we began to express our love for each other physically,” she continued. “I can’t even answer the question of why.”
“You didn’t know any other way,” he offered.
“True,” she said, crossing her legs beneath the black ripples of her skirt. “And most importantly, I cannot recall when that stopped being enough.”
THE BEGINNING
morrigan
“Nephthys, where have you been?”
Morrigan turned to see her sister, hands folded tight with apprehension. She looked every bit a proper queen, gold jewelry and gemstones sparkling against her skin, her bright white tunic wrapped tightly around her curves, revealing slivers of bronze legs as she moved. Her heavily kohled lids made her green eyes impossibly vivid as the wind tossed her straight black hair. Morrigan wondered what she must look like in return: the rambunctious twin, dried mud underneath her toenails and splattered up her legs, sweat clinging to her back even though she’d ripped up her tunic to allow for breeze. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d combed her hair, nor the last time she’d scrubbed the dirt from her face. “I was helping the humans finish the harvest before dry season,” she explained.
“They found a way to create life,” Isis said quickly. “Osiris told me this afternoon. I have been searching for you since.”
Morrigan blinked, openly stunned. “How is that possible?”
“Do you remember telling the women stories of you and Set as you helped them wash their clothes in their river?”
“Yes, but we do not create life that way. Only pleasure.”
“It is another one of Earth’s mysteries,” Isis decided. “When the humans perform that act, a child grows inside the woman, just like it happens for the animals.”
“Does that mean they do not need us anymore?” Morrigan wondered.
“I think they need us even more now,” Isis replied. “Especially their death gods. When the humans begin to steadily procreate, they will populate the Earth faster than ever before. There will be just as many deaths as there will be new births. Perhaps you and Set could reinvest your time back in the Underworld?” A bit of hope clung to her words.
Morrigan frowned at the mention of her arranged husband’s name as she thought of the dank lower realm they had been forced to inhabit. It was a suffocating, dismal place that filled her with dread. She much preferred to spend her days running free under the rays of the sun or working amongst the humans in the dirt.
“You never gave it a chance.” Isis gently took her hands. They read each other’s minds so often that neither of them questioned it when it occurred. “You have been so angry you were forced to have a husband that you let it spill out into the entire realm. Over time, you have come to enjoy his company—why let it upset you still?”
Morrigan sighed as she thought of him, wondering where he’d disappeared to. Unbeknownst to the others, neither one of them spent much time in the Underworld, nor with each other, meeting for the occasional romp before promptly going their separate ways. She did enjoy that part of their interaction, but other than physical pleasure, their connection was nonexistent. “He is away.”
Isis shook her head. “Osiris spoke with him earlier. He is in your realm now.”
Morrigan sighed again, looking down at her tattered, dusty clothes. “I am taking a bath, then I will join him.”
Isis smiled and wrapped her in a hug. The fragrance of lilies drifted up from her hair. “Thank you, sister.”
Morrigan waited until she was back at the palace before she walked down to the edge of the Nile, peeling off her clothes along the way. She wasn’t worried anyone would see—the humans were unaware of the hidden stretch of river she swam in, bordered by lush palms and flowering bushes. The water was deliciously cool and crisp as she dove into it, soothing her sunburnt skin. She let the current carry her as she floated, thinking of her sister’s words and weighing their implications. It wasn’t that she hated the Underworld, she just loved the Earth more. It felt as if it was an extension of her own body—the mountains, her curves, the trees, her bones, the water, her blood, the birds, her children. She couldn’t imagine life apart from something so integral to her being.
But as much as she adored the colorful light of day, there was something captivating about the night, the way the air suddenly cooled and sharpened, inviting the owls, the bats, and the cobras to come out and play beneath a dome of starlight and silver moon. Perhaps if she looked at the Underworld like it was simply the night to the Earth’s day, she could learn to love it in the same way. She swam for a bit longer, procrastinating, until finally she stood in the shallow end, letting the water stream off her body as the fiery rays of the setting sun dried her skin. She closed her eyes, filling her lungs with a few last breaths of fresh air before she would have to return to the stale realm of the dead.
She heard rustling in the leaves. Startled, she whipped around to behold her brother-in-law, Osiris, his eyes wide as he stared. She wasn’t sure why she’d never recognized how handsome he was before that moment, but she found herself admiring eyes the same shade as her sister’s, and light hair with flecks of gold. Her eyes traced a distinct jaw that managed to construct a face that was strong, innocent, and kind, all at the same time. She realized he was admiring her in similar fashion, his eyes sweeping over her exposed breasts, her stomach, down to her legs. The look in them thrilled her, bringing color into her cheeks as she watched him nervously lick his lips. She smiled and gave a gentle wave of her fingers before disappearing under the water’s surface, letting it pull her down into the realm of the Underworld.
She dropped easily to the ground, right in the middle of her neglected bedroom. She squeezed the water out of her hair as she searched for something to wear, sorting through the hundreds of tunics Isis sent her until she settled on one that felt right—a shade of ebony that matched her long waves. Just like the night.
Set was waiting for her in the throne room, slumped over his chair wearing a look of annoyance. He was free of the headdress he’d had fashioned into an intimidating jackal, allowing his own black hair to cascade down his shoulders, pulling out the color of his amber eyes. They brightened when he saw her, though his expression stayed grim. “Did Isis find you?”
“Yes,” Morrigan sighed as she approached him. “They want us to recommit to our roles as death gods.”
“The audacity,” he growled. “Who are they to tell us what we must do—we are their equals.”
“It is not their fault,” Morrigan said as she tried to push away the vision of Osiris creeping back into her mind. “It was the humans who decided what sort of gods they required.”
“Yes, the humans,” Set pronounced the last word with open disdain. “The insignificant creatures whom we should have dominion over are the ones who decide our fate.”
“It does not have to be so bad,” she insisted. “We can create our own home here.”
“We?” He raised an eyebrow. “When have you spent more than fleeting moments here?”
“I will help you,” she promised. “But if I must rule the dead alongside you, I want a say in how. There will be no more harrowing challenges for them to fight their way through. If they pass the Weighing of the Heart, they will be allowed to rest peacefully until their souls want to return to Earth. I will keep track of it all, but I need to build something to help me organize the records.”
Set softened as he listened to her talk. “I will make you whatever you wish,” he told her.
“Good,” Morrigan said, pleased. “And I want us to have a palace like the one on Earth, but it will be ours, with rivers, lakes, ponds and fountains, painted in colors that match the evening sky with flowers that only bloom when the moon rises. I want it to be like the night.” She realized her words were coming into fruition as she spoke them, Set’s eyes and hands building in sync with the cadence of her voice. The pressing vision of Osiris slipped out of her mind to be firmly replaced by him, suddenly beautiful to her as he created a world for them, the action pulling forward the smoldering appeal that lay beneath his hard exterior. Although she had always been attracted to him, knowing he could fill her entire body with pleasure, he was even more so now, surprising her by how gentle he looked when separated from his hatred. She bit the inside of her lip, hoping it wouldn’t be too long before they finished so she could pull him into her bed.
Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad after all.
* * *
Morrigan was miserable.
“You are not leaving,” he snarled, crossing his arms as he stood in front of her.
“You cannot control what I do,” she argued. Though she had tried to make good on her promise to stay planted, she had grown utterly bored, longing for fresh air and sunshine. She’d managed to keep it at bay, up until the moment he strode into her room to tell her that he was leaving.
“Yes, I can,” he told her. “You are my wife and you belong down here with me. I created this entire realm for us—for you. I made it exactly how you wanted—there is simply no reason why you need to go to Earth.”
Morrigan laughed in his face. “If you think that is going to convince me to stay, then you are sorely mistaken.”
“The humans need me to preside over their wars,” he explained hotly. “I cannot just stay down here forever. There needs to be someone here to take care of things while I am gone—that is your job.”
“Why is it my role to be left behind? Why can you not stay here and take care of things while I am gone?”
“What do you have to do that is so important,” he snorted. “Teach women how to make love to their husbands? Plant flowers?”
Morrigan’s anger flared up around her as she glared at him. Every part of her wanted to tear the condescending expression right off his face.
“I have wasted enough time trying to reason with you,” Set snapped as he threw on his crown, the vicious jackal glaring back at her with glowing eyes. She noticed his spear at his side. “I will be back soon.” He disappeared, leaving her alone to seethe.
Her skin vibrated with anger, rendering her unable to put together thought until she drew in a steadying breath. She marched back to the Records Hall, determined to get her way. How foolish she had been to think he would continue to make the best of things with her, that he wouldn’t eventually abandon their duties. She reached the towering documents where the histories of souls were housed and focused her energy until it began to move by itself, shuffling and organizing as if she stood there directing it. There, she thought victoriously. Now I can leave, too.
She spun around to be greeted by young Cerberus, who cocked his triple heads at her. Although he was Set’s animal companion, she’d grown to appreciate his company as well. “I will return,” she promised, scratching him behind one set of ears.
He let her slip away and she ran down to the long river that surrounded their palace, diving in without hesitation. She felt the old familiar squeeze of realm travel as it popped her out at the surface of the Nile. She swam to shore, rising to her feet triumphantly before transforming into a kite and taking to the skies.
She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed flying, watching the landscapes roll beneath her as she navigated the sky. She found exactly what she was looking for within moments—a settlement of humans preparing for battle. She found a perch on one of the tents they had erected, observing peasant men readying maces and sharpening arrows before filling their leather quivers. Though the men were aware they were going to die, there was palpable excitement in the air. Morrigan wondered what it would be like to fight alongside them, to run barefoot and shirtless towards the enemy, unleashing a spear.
Her imaginings were interrupted when she sensed Set in one of the tents, her suspicions confirmed when she heard his booming voice over the excited chatter of the army. She flew in closer, hoping no one would notice a lone bird of prey perched unnaturally close to camp.
Set had disguised himself as human, his dark hair free of his jackal headdress and hanging loose down his back. He scowled as he spoke to the men gathered around him, towering over most of them in height. “You long for power and territory, but you lean on peasants to fight your wars. You must organize and train your soldiers.”
One of the men scoffed. “We do not have enough men.”
“Then cover them with protection before they fight. You sacrifice their bodies to the enemy, then wonder why your numbers are too low to win.”
The men murmured amongst themselves, taking in his words. Morrigan softened despite herself. The humans did need him for help. While Osiris and Isis guided them with the basic necessities of life, Set helped them to be strong. Her anger at being abandoned still held firm, but its intensity had cooled. Perhaps she could find some way to manage their unpleasant situation.
She returned to the river, dissolving back into human form as she prepared to head back, when suddenly a sparkle of light caught her eye. Upon closer inspection, she learned it was a bracelet, the silver band dotted with shimmering lapis lazuli stones, brilliant in the sun. Beneath it were a few sheets of papyrus stacked neatly into a pile. Confused, she looked around, wondering who could have left it behind. Then she lifted up the pages to see.
A warm blush crept into her cheeks as the realization dawned on her. They were verses written in ink from Osiris...for her.
Heart racing and skin hot, she tucked the pages into the shelf of her tunic. She struggled to keep herself grounded, making sure the pages stayed with her as she descended into the dank Underworld gloom, where she could stow them safely away in her box of jewels. She left the bracelet clasped around her wrist, however, admiring the cool metal against her skin. She kept it on even when she retired, crawling under her blanket with a smile as she drifted peacefully to sleep.
She awoke to the sensation of Set’s fingers trailing up and down her skin, lingering around the dip of her waist and around the curve of her hips. She didn’t turn towards him like she always did when he was near, her way of accepting his invitation.
“Forgive me for leaving you.” His voice was soft and deep in her ear. “It is not fair that I asked you to stay behind while I left. I did miss you.”
Morrigan snatched the blankets back around her body as she flipped over to glare at him. “You are only saying that so I will let you touch me.”
“I am not,” he said, indignant.
“Leave me alone.”
He growled with frustration, jumping out of her bed. “You cannot expect me to stay down here with you and ignore the humans.”
She tried not to linger at the sight of his naked body. “Then take me with you,” she said.
“I can collect the expired souls myself.”
“No, I want to be a part of the battle.”
He laughed. “A death goddess fighting in a war? Do you hear yourself? Besides, who will run things down here while we are gone?” He sat back down on her bed and reached out his arms. “Enough with this nonsense, come to me.”
Morrigan fumed. “No.”
Set let out a sound of exasperation. “You are not coming with me and that is final. Play all the games you want in the meantime.” He withdrew, slamming the door shut behind him.
She rolled over, trying to calm her fury as she fingered the bracelet on her wrist. She pictured Osiris’s letters, mouthing the words she’d memorized as she imagined his arms around her, holding her as she fell back to sleep.
From that moment on, she crept back up to Earth to find more of Osiris’s letters every time Set left her behind. She cradled his words to her heart, dreaming of a life with a true companion who ran freely by her side. Eventually, she replaced them with her own.
Then one night, Set tried yet again to seduce her. He’d filled her room with dozens of white roses spilling out of obsidian vases, leaving bands of silver jewelry set with gleaming white stones to look like the moon near her bedside. Her breath caught in her throat, touched by the gesture, until he slipped his hands around her waist. She shoved him away, furious at herself for falling for his charms.
He threw up his hands in frustration, the fireplace in her room suddenly roaring to life, throwing light against his back. “You are impossible to please!”
“The only one you care about pleasing is yourself,” she shot back. “These gifts mean nothing to me.”
He snorted. “You accuse me of being selfish, but you and I are exactly the same. You cannot wait for me to leave so you can run away yourself. I saw what you did with the Records Hall. You do not wish to be trapped down here anymore than I do.”
“At least I tried,” she growled. “I have made my decision—I am tired of trying. The Underworld will carry on fine without me. I am done with this place—I am done with you.” She tried to march out the door, but he blocked her, crossing her arms as his height filled the doorway. Her anger reached its boiling point, threatening to explode. Instead, a torrent of water came pouring into her room. Startled, Set jumped back, distracted enough that she could fly past him, skidding down the corridor on her bare feet.
He realized she’d gotten away and ran after her, fire appearing in bursts around her as she shoved open the palace doors, tearing down the shoreline. The river had become a swirling whirlpool, opening its watery vortex as she picked up her pace. She braced to launch herself into it, but before she could, a ring of fire sprang up around her, stopping her in her tracks. The flames prevented her from doing anything other than stand, lest she get burned. She whipped around to see Set with a triumphant smile plastered across his face. “How did you do that?” she hissed between gritted teeth that chattered with her rage.
“I wanted you to stop and the fire listened. The realm must know you are supposed to stay here with me.”
Morrigan tried to calm her fury so she could think clearly. She heard the river churning over the sound of the crackling flames of her sweltering cage. She closed her eyes to focus on the sound, imagining the cool river against her skin when she swam. The feeling of gliding through water, weightless and deliciously free. They burst open in surprise when the waves hit her, extinguishing the flames as it swept her up and down into its watery womb. Her heart sang with triumph as it pulled her down until she reached the space that separated the realms.
Her head popped out of the Nile, and she hurried to the river’s edge as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. Her nose immediately filled with the smell of living things, of fresh, sparkling nature, soothing her tumultuous emotions. She almost cried out with relief, but forced herself to keep moving, transforming herself into a kite so that she could find a place to hide amongst the humans.
The sensation of flying through the sky alleviated any lingering upset their argument had caused. She knew better than to think their relationship would be anything more than what it was, but she had let hope override her rationality—and she would never let it happen again. She swooped across the village she often visited in her younger days, deciding to land and recharge.
It was nice to see the humans laboring fruitfully, to observe their race thriving. She didn’t recognize any of their faces, letting her know the length she’d been absent, but she was still grateful to see them. She felt their eyes on her as she wandered around, but it was quite a different reaction than what she was used to. Many looked away, fear flickering across their faces as they murmured amongst each other, trying to shrink from view.
Dismayed, she headed towards the edge of the village where she observed an older man, sitting on a stone bench in the shade. “Do you know who I am?” she asked him.
He nodded. “You are the great goddess Nephthys.”
“Why do the humans look at me with such fear in their eyes?”
“Do not be dismayed by them,” he told her. “They only fear you because they fear death. They fear the trials that lay before them in Duat, that their hearts will weigh heavier than the feather of Ma’at. They fear the dark parts of themselves.”
“They fear Set,” Morrigan realized.
“Though you are his wife, the oldest amongst all gods, remember you are a kind and gracious goddess,” the old man assured her. “Your heart is good.”
They were interrupted by the sound of screaming. Morrigan left his side to dart into a nearby hut, observing a woman with a fully pregnant stomach laying on the ground, surrounded by two others. One held her hand, while the other lingered by her spread open legs as she wailed in agony. The women noticed Morrigan’s arrival, immediately bowing their heads in fear.
“What is happening?” Morrigan demanded.
“Please, please do not take my baby,” the laboring woman managed to gasp.
“Why would I take your baby?”
“You are the goddess of death,” another woman responded in a shaky voice. “Your presence here means you have come to collect a soul.”
Morrigan didn’t have a chance to correct her, for the woman began to scream again, a fresh stream of blood appearing from between her thighs. Morrigan watched in quiet reverence during the entire process, hanging in the shadows as the women held each other during the birth, dampening the wailing mother’s forehead with wet cloth, and changing the linens which quickly became saturated with crimson.
After several hours, when Morrigan was certain the woman would die from the pain, she let out a shuddering cry and went limp, the oldest gently lifting her child from her womb. The baby was completely still and white. The older woman sighed, still wrapping it lovingly in blankets. “I am so sorry,” she told the mother as she cradled the baby to her bosom.
The mother let out a sound that chilled Morrigan to her core. She turned to flee but before she could go, she heard a tiny cry, realizing the child’s spirit was in her arms. She looked back up at the humans in surprise, meeting expressions that dripped with loathing.
“It was not me...” she tried to explain, but the infant’s soul was pulling at her, needing her guidance to find its resting place. She flew out of the hut, back through the village, and to the river’s edge. The baby’s soul gazed up at her adoringly with its tiny dark eyes. She gave it a kiss on its forehead as she lowered it gently into the river, letting it peacefully float away to the Underworld, where she knew it would be safe. Death was a gift, a transition like all others, but humans could not see it. The grieving mother would not see the soul of her child existing in perfect happiness, only knowing the pain of its departure.
Morrigan headed back across the desert on foot, trying to shake the dread that had settled over her. She plodded up to the palace, no longer concerned if Set found her. Any residual anger she felt had been replaced by sorrow. The humans no longer wanted her near them like they once had. They believed she was a monster, a harbinger of death, a goddess to be feared, to be hated. They saw her just as they saw him.
She walked under the towering palace dome to see her sister, who brightened immediately. “Nephthys! You have come for a visit.”
She forced a smile. “I have.”
“How is the Underworld? You have been gone for so long, I am excited to hear how things have been.”
Morrigan didn’t have the heart to tell her, remaining quiet as she let her sister guide her deeper into the palace.
Suddenly, Osiris strode in from the gardens. His appearance was like a fresh, rejuvenating breeze, immediately lifting her spirits. She tried to temper her elation at seeing him, wanting to appear composed in front of her sister. She could tell he was lost in a similar battle, his eyes struggling to stay focused on Isis as she spoke.
“Nephthys has graced us with a visit,” she told him.
“I heard you and my brother were quarreling,” Osiris said softly, finally letting his eyes land on her. Morrigan shivered, although the day was warm.
“Set can be such an intolerable fool,” Isis commiserated before Morrigan had the chance to reply.
“You are welcome to stay here as long as you need to,” Osiris offered, as casually as he could muster. “This is still your home, after all.”
Morrigan struggled to maintain her own facade. “Thank you.”
Isis beamed, blissfully unaware of the tension between them. “Come, let us get you some clean clothing. We can share my room, like we used to in the days before.”
Morrigan nodded, allowing her to lead her away. Though she had once lived in their palace long ago, she never paid it much attention. As she followed Isis down the halls, she felt as if she was seeing it with new eyes. The walls were impossibly high and painted into bright designs, the ceilings cut into patterns that opened to allow light to stream through. The current sunset pulled reddish orange into the space, glinting against the bronze and gold effects that created the interior. Columns lined each room, interrupted by extravagant arrangements of plants and statues of wild beasts. She imagined Osiris designing it in the same way Set had once constructed their palace under the earth, bringing a smile to her lips.
Isis led her into her bedroom, a chamber that dripped of her sister, from the sheer white fabric that draped the open windows and bed, to the clusters of flowering plants in each corner. Birds drifted in and out at will, twittering as they flitted around the brightly colored blossoms.
“Please get comfortable,” she told Morrigan as she removed her headdress, setting it between towers of jewelry that reflected in the polished silver mirror of her vanity. “Tell me what happened between you and Set.”
“Sister, I can no longer play goddess of death,” Morrigan told her as she folded down to the floor. “The humans detest me now, just as they detest him. I cannot blame them; I can barely stand him myself.”
Isis frowned, sinking down next to her. Morrigan liked to see her without all her glittery effects, for it reminded her of the days of old when they both were wild and untamed. She longed for their simplicity; the memories were becoming harder to remember, grains of sand slipping through her fingers.
“I thought you both enjoyed each other,” she said.
“My body feeling good is not the same as my heart,” Morrigan explained. “There is a disconnect.”
“One does not go along with the other?”
“How is it with Osiris? Do you feel connected to him in your heart as well as your body?”
Isis laughed. “Oh no, we do not do those things.”
Morrigan was taken aback. “Truly?”
Isis nodded solemnly. “The act that you, the humans, the animals perform—that has never been a part of our relationship. Osiris and I like to create things together, to nurture. That is the root of our bond.”
Morrigan frowned, thinking of Set’s face as he built their new home, remembering the faint glimmer of hope she’d had in that moment. “The reason I am unhappy with him is because he seems only capable of physical love—there is nothing else in his eyes. That is not enough for me.”
Isis gave her a sad smile. “Nothing in this world is enough for you, sister. You are restless by nature.”
Morrigan looked away, knowing she was right.
“Let us rest now,” Isis suggested. “We can figure things out when the sun rises.”
Morrigan nodded. The two burrowed into Isis’s soft, pillowy bed and though her twin drifted off easily to sleep, Morrigan found she could not follow. Instead, she slipped from beneath the covers and paced about the room, trying to gather her thoughts. She found herself rifling through her sister's things, wrapping herself in her bright white dresses and covering herself in her jewels. Then she went to Isis’s mirror and lined her eyes with her stick of kohl, standing back to admire her reflection. She smiled, wondering if anyone would be able to tell the difference if she ran out to greet the humans or Osiris.
Then a terrible feeling seized her. It hit her that, although they were identical and there was once a time where they couldn’t tell where one of them began and the other ended, she would never be Isis. She was never going to be adored by the humans, never freed of the incessant longing for something she could not place, never delivered from her state of perpetual restlessness. She would never be loved like Isis was loved, never be happy like she was.
She frantically ripped the jewels off her body, peeling off Isis’s tunic. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the jade encrusted knife she used to sharpen her makeup and grabbed it, taking her long hair in one hand, the knife in the other. She hacked into her locks with fervor, chunks of raven waves falling to the polished stone floors. What was left behind immediately sprang up, light and wild, joyous to finally be free. She stared at her new reflection and smiled.
Then she bolted, naked, out into the night, the cool breeze and moonbeams on her skin as she raced back to her beloved river and dove in. She was delirious with the joy of it, so lost in the moment, that she didn’t realize that Osiris had joined her until she collided with him. He smiled as he waded in front of her, his eyes sweeping over her face.
“Your hair,” he said in surprise.
She blushed as she ran her fingers through her damp, shortened locks. “I know you thought I was beautiful because I mirrored my sister, but I needed it gone.”
He frowned. “Oh no, I mean—well, your physical self is quite beautiful, but I am in love with your soul. The way it pours out of your eyes. The way you are so feral. That has not changed. In fact, I think your hair suits your spirit.”
He didn’t have much time to finish his last word before she was kissing him, pressing her naked skin up against his. He was surprised at first, but took her lead, synchronizing his lips to hers as his hands began to shamelessly explore her body. He pulled away with a shiver. “Forgive me, I have never felt like this before.”
“I will show you,” she whispered, pulling him back to her as the wind rifled the leaves around them.
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN, 1858
Morrigan bolted upright out of her bed, cursing when she realized she’d been caught by yet another dream. This one felt real, as if David had just left the space beside her. She could even smell him, his telltale aroma of burnt tobacco and fresh hawthorn teasing the air. She threw off her blankets in frustration. She’d assumed her conversation with Libraean would sate the nagging feeling that had settled in her stomach since they boarded, perhaps putting a halt to her dreams. But no sooner had she left him to his writing and settled herself into a potentially satisfying slumber, did they return.
She dressed, deciding to stretch her legs. If the dreams would not stop, then she would not slumber. Her supernatural body didn’t need it anyway; she only hoped to use sleep to pass the time until they reached their destination. It was becoming clear she needed to find something else to occupy her, something that didn’t involve either brother, strategically situated on opposite ends of the ship.
The night air that raked through her hair was warmer than it had been for weeks, a telltale sign they had reached the southern waters. The skies were completely clear, revealing layers of stars often obscured near the smoggy cities. She walked through the covered patio that bordered the ship until she reached the open deck, leaning forward to rest her arms on the edge so she could feel the spray of the ocean. Water never ceased to revive her, soothing her now with its gentle waves. She lingered for a moment before looking up to the stars, just in time to catch one shooting across the speckled expanse.
She closed her eyes against another wave of memories that came forward: the day Daghda had tattooed Morrigan. She ran her fingers over her skin, remembering the conflicting sensation of pain and pleasure as he tapped his inked needle against her flesh. They were both quiet as he worked and once he’d finished, she asked him to lay with her in the dewy grass, the moisture cool against her sore skin. The two of them splayed out under the sky, watching her crows make trails in the fluffy clouds above them.
“I think that is where I came from,” he told her, folding his hands on his chest. “The sky.”
“I cannot remember where I came from.” She tried to think back.
“You came from the mud,” he teased.
She stretched her arms out, admiring the settling ink that crossed them. “Do you think I am mad for wanting these?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “Everything about you makes sense to me. If you tell me to carve up your skin like the human warriors, then so be it. I do as you command.”
Morrigan laughed as she sat upright. “Then perhaps I should be your mate so I can command you forever.”
David sat up to face her, suddenly serious behind his thick auburn beard. “Say the word and I would dedicate myself to you for the rest of our lives.”
Morrigan was taken aback, not expecting her playfulness would be taken to heart. “Do you mean it?”
He took her hand in his. “I cannot put it into words, but just as it feels I came from the skies, it feels I have known you before this life. As if we are connected somehow.”
Morrigan frowned, finding herself at a loss for words. Since she arrived on earth and was inducted into their clan, she felt drawn to him, a bond developing between them that transcended the camaraderie with the others. There was a flirtatiousness to their interactions that no one could deny, but she’d never stopped to imagine it as something more. She looked up at her crows, suddenly unsure if she wanted to commit herself to another being, to be like the domesticated women around her who she could not relate to.
“I do not say this to try to trap you,” he said as if he heard her thoughts, drawing her eyes down to rest in his gaze. “I know you are a bird that needs to fly freely over the hills, who desires her independence above all else. I only want to be yours, demanding nothing in return.”
She studied him. “Sometimes I feel as if I have known you before this life, as well,” she admitted.
“Then perhaps we were both born of the skies,” he said with a grin, bringing a sparkle to the forest that was his eyes.
She couldn’t help but smile back. He grabbed her face to kiss her, sending her crows into an uproar. He broke away to laugh. “Even your crows know we are meant to be. Say yes, Morrigan. You can command me for the rest of our lives.”
Morrigan melted under his warm hands around her face, suddenly wanting to crawl into his lap and kiss him again. “I can command you for the rest of your life without marrying you,” she teased.
David studied her face. “I do know better than to try to get a decision out of you so quickly. Take your time, but if you still cannot decide by the evening of Samhain—the night when I first met you in the mud—then I will let it go and never speak of it again. I will adore you just the same.”
She beamed. “Agreed.”
The memory of the brilliant daylight sky darkened into starry night, with Morrigan alone beneath it. David of the skies, Lucius of the stars, she of the Earth, and Isis of the creatures of it, she thought to herself. Perhaps they were all destined to be entangled in each other’s lives. Or they were meant to be apart.
She hugged her arms, trying to distract herself from long-dead memories by focusing on the present. She shifted her thoughts to Anubis, looking forward to seeing him again. She had been enjoying getting to know Libraean and was grateful Cahira was softening towards her, but she missed Anubis. None of her experiences as a mother were conventional, but of all the children that had come in and out of her life, Anubis was the one tied to her heart. He had been the one who sought her out in the ancient times, a distant but steady presence, no matter the lifetime. She wanted to know him in this one, to learn about his lives both human and immortal, though she’d learned the current state of Africa was far from pleasant. The trading of humans was nothing new for the human race, so quick to force others into servitude and set themselves higher than the rest. But it had taken on devastating proportions. She was glad to learn many had opened their eyes to the cruelty, yet men were not quick to let the things that made them powerful slip out of their hands so easily. They kept their women suppressed and punished those who deviated from their sexual absolutes. It made her proud to know Anubis spent his life fighting against them, for the betterment of humanity, but she felt a twinge of guilt that her own focus had long shifted from the living to the dead. Perhaps the living needed them more than she thought.
When the scent of burning cloves joined her thoughts, it seemed completely natural, until her mind broke free from its stream and she realized what it implied.
She saw only the thick, winding smoke from a cigar and the silhouette of crossed legs a few meters down from where she stood, their owner keeping respectful distance as he quietly rocked in one of the wooden deck chairs.
“How long have you been observing me?” she called to him.
“Since the moment you walked outside,” he told her honestly.
She continued facing him as she leaned her arm against the ledge of the ship. “Even though we’re supposed to stay away from each other, you somehow always manage to be near,” she teased.
“Can you blame me?”
“This trip has proven to be excruciatingly long,” she sighed, turning back to peer across the dark waves.
“I agree completely,” he said from right beside her.
She slid him a look. His hair was disheveled, fluttering in the wind as he gazed down at her. “You are breaking the rules,” she warned, though she was secretly glad he was near.
“Are you really surprised?” He grinned.
“No, but the last thing we need is another hydra attack,” she pointed out.
He didn’t leave, instead studying her profile. “Something is off with you,” he determined.
“I cannot seem to rest.”
“Oh?” She saw his concerned expression out of the corner of her eye.
“I’ve been dreaming about the past,” she clarified.
“As have I,” he admitted with a sigh. “I believe it is because we are all together, traveling closer to the place from where we originated. The memories have been quite vivid.”
She was relieved to hear she wasn’t alone, though the thought of Lucius reliving their tumultuous past unnerved her. “We do not have the most pleasant of histories.”
“Do you remember anything from the time your soul was tied to Delicia, when you were the vampyre Morgana?” he asked.
She frowned, loathing to recall the centuries she spent battling over the body she shared with a madwoman. “Yes, but it is a hazy recollection at best.”
“David claims I lost my mind when I burned down the Library of Alexandria, but I still clung on to my hope for humanity after that. I helped establish the Sorbonne in Paris, remember?”
Morrigan suddenly recalled the freshly paved streets of the burgeoning medieval city and the sounds of church bells echoing from within Gothic cathedrals, drowning out the squawks of the seagulls who lingered above the Seine River. She could see the Louvre fortress, could picture the enormous domed edifice that would one day become the University of Paris. “The 13th century,” she remembered. “You taught astronomy there.”
He beamed. “While simultaneously corrupting young minds with my blasphemous ideas,” he added. “The rector detested me.”
Morrigan continued to piece together that time, when David had left on one of his solo excursions to Italy, leaving her alone with Lucius to ravage the city like the deplorable blood drinkers they once were. She startled when her thoughts ended at their townhouse, realizing the importance of that time in their lives.
“Lucius…” she warned him.
“I’m not trying to seduce you,” he promised with a chuckle. “Not yet, anyway. I think I was dreaming of that particular time in our lives because that was the closest I was to remembering who you really were. You swore it was Delicia’s aspect that wanted me back then, but in those moments, I felt you trying to find me again.”
Morrigan was quiet, unnerved by the revelation. She hadn’t realized it then, but he was right. She could almost picture his expression when he walked in the door of their townhouse, surprised to see her waiting for him.
“I thought for sure you’d be traveling with David,” he’d remarked.
“Then who would you sleep with while I was gone?” she had replied with a mischievous grin.
He’d been so pleased that he attacked her where she stood, the two of them engaging in what they considered lovemaking back then, ending up naked, breathless, and wearing each other’s blood and sweat on the wood floor.
“I hate this city, Lucius,” she told him after they caught their breath. “I want fresh air again. And trees.”
He leaned on his elbow to study her face. “Both your eyes are blue,” he remarked.
She looked away, flustered. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He rolled on top of her, so she was forced to face him. “It means that, in this moment, you are Morrigan. In fact, since we came to Paris, I’ve noticed you overpower Delicia, depending on what you’re doing.”
She shoved him off her, furious at what he implied. “You are a fool,” she fumed, grabbing for her clothes. “We are braided souls—one cannot overpower the other.”
He merely smiled from where he lay on the floor. “Morrigan likes fresh air and trees.”
“Morgana likes war,” she insisted. “There are wars in Scotland.”
“Scotland.” He wrinkled his nose. “Is that where you want to go?”
She pulled her underdress over her head. “Well, I know you will never let us return to Ireland after what happened between David and me.”
“Ah ha,” Lucius flew up where she stood, locking his arms around her waist. “You are Morrigan right now.”
“I am hungry,” she told him, refusing to acknowledge his assertion. “Let us go kill some supper.”
The present Morrigan let the memory fade as a new revelation dawned on her. It was she who had driven herself mad at the end, by constantly forcing Delicia away until she could no longer control the switch of her personalities. It was all her own doing. She shivered, though the air was warm.
Lucius took her long silence as denial. “Wishful thinking, anyway,” he said, joining her gaze across the rolling water before his flickered back up to the sky.
She wrestled her thoughts away from that horrible time in her life, joining him in drinking in the night. They stood in comfortable silence, listening to the waves, as close to each other as they could without touching. Finally, Morrigan murmured thoughtfully, “He might own the bright sun and clouds, but you own the night and its stars. Sharing the same space, but never at the same time.”
He gave her a defeated smile. “And unfortunately, the Earth needs both light and darkness to thrive.”
She started to reply but found she could not argue, and he slid his fingers up under her hair to cup her face. She froze, unable to pull away from his adoring gaze.
“Goodnight, Morrigan,” he whispered, running his thumb gently along the line of her jaw as if wishing it was his lips. Then he withdrew, disappearing before either of them could make a decision they would regret.
“Goodnight, Lucius,” she sighed, and headed back to her room.