Chapter 134 - Changing

As Morrigan slipped through the staff area, she passed an orderly whistling and spinning a keychain around his finger. For a moment, she thought he was staring at her, but he kept going as if he hadn’t noticed her at all. She supposed that if he’d truly seen her—white face, red eyes—he would have stopped dead in his tracks. Even with glamour, she’d still look like a goth-girl patient whom he’d likely assume escaped her room; there was no way she’d passed off as a staff member.

She exited through the smokers’ door into the parking lot, where several police cars and ambulances had gathered. Even without her reaper magic, she figured they’d be too distracted by the day’s chaos to notice her. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about that oddly casual orderly. Had he not heard what happened? Maybe he’d been on the other side of the hospital and hadn’t heard there was a killing. She also recalled the unsettling thickness of his jaw. Wasn’t that weird? Though, it could have been her own rattled nerves talking.

Morrigan shook her head. She’d seen more than her share of violent deaths, but witnessing someone get repeatedly stabbed was a new experience. Then, receiving an impromptu therapy session from the victim’s spirit while his body lay on the floor was just surreal—especially considering they were both murdered by the same person. That was quite a connection to make with someone, even if the doctor hadn’t fully pointed it out.

After sneaking off the hospital grounds, she found Emma waiting by a tree down the street. Emma stood the moment she saw her.

“Morrigan? Is everything okay?” she asked. “A bunch of emergency vehicles just came by.”

“Yeah… they were here for my client,” Morrigan said, her voice sounding strange even to her own ears. “You saw the list—my client was murdered. It’s not pretty.”

“Are you okay?”

“I will be. Don’t worry.” She paused. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now. Let’s just get back to your place.”

As they began walking, Emma stole glances at Morrigan—glances that Morrigan caught in the corner of her eye. She thought about what Dr. Larson had said about lightening her burden, but she couldn’t just lay everything out yet. She hadn’t merely witnessed a murder; she had witnessed her own attacker kill someone else. He’d taken part in assaulting her. He treated her like a plaything he found slinking around the graveyard and ended up killing her.

She felt the changeling stir, practically purring at the memory of Frank. Part of her truly did want to go back there and confront him. But why? Demand an apology? No... that wasn’t the desire the changeling was reacting to. She pictured something far darker. She imagined unleashing the changeling, letting its tendrils slice him to ribbons, leaving thin spatters on the wall like an impressionist painting, and—

“Morrigan?” Emma’s voice cut in.

Morrigan looked up, realizing they were already at the bus stop. Her gaze flicked to Emma, who was watching her with deep concern.

“Uh… yeah?”

“You’re… really spacey,” Emma said, though the worry in her voice ran deeper than that.

What is she seeing right now? Morrigan wondered.

She glanced down at her gloved hand—fingers slightly curled as if ready to grab for something. Or someone.

She forced herself to relax, rolling her shoulders. “I’m fine,” she lied.

Emma’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Did something else happen in there? Something besides your client dying?” Her voice was quiet but laced with worry. “I’ve seen you after a reaping before. You don’t usually look this shaken.”

“Oh. I look shaky?”

“Yeah. Like a leaf.” Emma frowned. “Something else happened, didn’t it?”

Morrigan glanced around. A man stood at the bus stop, leaning against a light post, with a single earbud in his ear, softly nodding along. Someone else was approaching as well. Morrigan couldn't talk about it here. She was thankful for the delay—she needed time to figure out how much she could safely reveal to Emma.

“I’ll tell you,” Morrigan said at last, “but not right now.” She sighed. “Actually… I think I need to pay Arietta a visit.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Really?” Last time Morrigan met Arrietta, she made a pretty solid declaration that she had no intention of ever seeing that crazy witch again. Her Grandfather, the Great Wizard Atomyst, seemed pretty okay though.

Morrigan nodded. “Well, maybe. I’ll explain later. I promise.”

Emma only looked more perplexed but slightly reassured that Morrigan at least acknowledged something was up. Morrigan figured that had to be better than nothing.

***

The two girls stayed quiet for the entire bus ride. Once they reached Emma’s neighborhood, they crept around to the side of her house, and Emma climbed the tree first to demonstrate. There was a knot on the trunk that wasn’t large enough for proper balance, but it gave her just enough of a foothold to spring upward and catch the lower branch. She then used her legs to boost herself, hooking an armpit over the branch and straddling it until she could stand precariously. From there, one big upward step put her on the roof, right by her bedroom window.

“See? Easy,” Emma whispered down.

“Easy for you, maybe,” Morrigan muttered, sizing up the climb.

With a resigned sigh, she tried the same technique. She pushed off the knot, but her foot slipped more clumsily, and she nearly missed the branch. Dangling there, her feet scrabbled for purchase against the bark as she tried to pull herself up—an unpleasant reminder of failing at pull-ups in gym class. Eventually, she managed to get her armpit over the branch, her legs left hanging while she caught her breath.

“Good job, you almost got it,” Emma urged, keeping her voice down.

Morrigan grunted, arms quivering as she struggled to hoist herself the rest of the way. The branch dug into her chest and the crook of her arm, and as she attempted to swing a leg over, she fell short, leaving her awkwardly draped.

“Almost there,” Emma coaxed. “Try pulling your body up just a bit more first.”

Morrigan’s muscles were already burning from the unfamiliar angle. She was tempted to drop down and simply use perception blocking to sneak through the house. Then, a ripple in her back gave her another idea. The changeling. She could sense its frustration, knocking at the seal as though asking permission.

For one of the first times since having it enter her life, she decided to answer the door.

She fed magic into the seal, and the embroidered threads on her hoodie glowed faintly as they shifted through the fabric. A single tendril emerged and coiled around the branch, and with its help, pulling herself up was simple. She heard Emma gasp, but Morrigan ignored it as she inched to a standing position on the branch. Another tendril slithered out and stabilized her by pressing against the tree trunk. When she took that last big step onto the roof, it even gave her a helpful nudge.

Once her feet were on the comparatively solid ground of the roof, the tendril slithered back under the seal, as if it knew its work was done. Morrigan sent a little more magic to seal it in properly again.

Emma just stared, eyes and mouth agape. “When did you learn to do that?”

“Uh… pretty recently,” Morrigan said with a shaky grin. In truth, that was the first time she’d actually used the changeling to do anything practical. She’d experimented once with a bar of soap, only to cut it clean in half. This time, the changeling had moved with more control—almost like it understood what she needed without explicit commands.

“Anyway, let’s get inside,” Emma said, eyebrows still raised. She knelt by her window and pushed it open. Once they’d climbed in, she grabbed a bottle of Windex and a paper towel from her closet, leaned out the window again, and wiped away her prints from the glass.

“Thorough,” Morrigan remarked.

"Yeah, my mom is too, and that's the problem," Emma muttered, snapping the window shut. She replaced the cleaning supplies and sank onto her bed with a relieved sigh.

Morrigan unzipped her hoodie and tossed it over a chair. Now that they were inside—and since Emma had liked her outfit so much before—she figured there was no point continuing to keep the changeling covered up. Still, Emma’s tense expression suggested that her thoughts were somewhere other than Morrigan’s wardrobe; she clearly wanted to know what had happened at the psych ward.

Outside, a soft breeze stirred the branches they’d just climbed, but the room itself remained hushed, with only the low hum of the air conditioner to break the silence.

Emma sat with her knees drawn up, watching Morrigan expectantly. “So… are you going to tell me what happened at the psych ward now?” she asked gently.

Morrigan blew out a slow breath and paced, searching for somewhere to perch herself before settling onto the chair, swiveling it to face Emma. “Well… like I said, there was a murder, but…” She hesitated, wondering how much she should reveal. Once she started, there would be no going back.

She couldn't decide it was too troubling to let Emma carry this piece of baggage. Once she said it she couldn't just take it back later. Emma, for her part, waited patiently.

“It was a doctor who died—a therapist,” Morrigan finally said. “A patient killed him, and that patient... he, uh…” She trailed off.

“Was he... someone you know?” Emma ventured, gently.

Morrigan nodded, her gaze distant. The image of herself in a lonely padded cell flickered through her mind again—Frank was huddled in a corner, terrified, maybe screaming for help because the dead girl had come for him.

“So… I told you what happened to me in the graveyard.”

Emma’s eyes went wide.

“It was him,” Morrigan said at last. “Frank.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat. Morrigan could practically see the gears turning behind Emma’s eyes as she tried to absorb the weight of it.

Then Emma’s shoulders tensed. “Frank… as in that Frank?”

Morrigan nodded stiffly.

“Oh my god, Morrigan. And he’s the one who—”

“Killed my client, yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Morrigan said, letting out a shaky exhale. “Kind of yes and no. When I first walked into that room, I had no idea it was him. I assumed the doctor was my client and that the patient would somehow stab him, but I didn’t realize who the patient was. Then he started talking about a witch cursing him, and… it all started to click. Then, they were talking about me, about how he killed me. He said my name, and that’s when it hit me. I just froze. Then he pulled out a knife he’d taped under the table—must have hidden it earlier. I don’t really know the details, but…” She swallowed, deciding to spare Emma the more graphic descriptions of what occurred next.

Emma shook her head as if trying to dislodge the terrible thought. “Morrigan, that’s… awful.”

Morrigan leaned back in the chair, running a hand over her face before looking at Emma again. “After he killed Dr. Larson, the orderlies rushed in. They tackled him. But then… Then he looked right at me.”

Emma’s mouth opened slightly, her brow furrowing. “But… how? I thought—”

“I don’t know. I was still blocking perception—he shouldn’t have seen me. But he did. And the second he did—” She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “—he lost it.”

Emma pressed her lips together, her worry deepening. “What do you mean?”

“He started screaming, thrashing against the orderlies. He kept shouting, ‘She’s right there! The dead girl is right there!’ Like he’d just seen a ghost—which, I guess as far as he was concerned, he had.” Morrigan gave a half shrug.

“They assumed it was some kind of psychotic break,” Morrigan continued. “They pinned him down, and sedated him. But Emma… he saw me.” Her fingers dug into the chair’s armrest. “And he knew who I was.”

Emma covered her mouth,. “Morrigan… that’s—” She hesitated, lowering her hand. “That’s not normal, right?”

“No,” Morrigan said firmly. “They’re not not suppose to be able to see me. Maybe it’s tied to Arietta’s curse. Maybe it gives Gazer abilities like Pepper.”

Emma got up and wrapped her arms around Morrigan, resting her chin against her shoulder. Morrigan tensed at the contact—she could feel the changeling stir inside her.

“Thanks for telling me,” Emma said softly. “That must have really rattled you.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” Morrigan admitted with a short, uneasy laugh. Memories of Frank’s assault and her rising desire for revenge flickered through her mind. As that darkness tightened in her chest, she nudged Emma away. The changeling was restless, and Morrigan couldn’t help thinking maybe she should put her hoodie back on after all.

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Chapter 135 - Magic Shop