He hands me the bottle and then digs a protein bar out of his bag and tucks it into my hand. “Eat something.”
I nod but can’t get the wrapper open. I’m too weak.
He grimaces and opens it for me.
I take a bite.
“Would you like me to put that back up for you?” he asks, pointing toward the grill.
I take a deep drink of water. “If it’s not too much trouble. There’s a ladder in the garage. I just don’t trust myself not to bang up the walls with it.”
“No need.” He grabs the grate and screws, breaking apart into shadow. Black tendrils twist and lift, repositioning the grate on the wall and screwing it in. I stare at it, again wondering why the spell I needed came to me that night after we’d visited Bad Witches’ Club but the spell to switch my anchor hasn’t come when I’ve called for it over and over again the past few weeks. Maybe it doesn’t exist.
“Thank you,” I say when he re-forms next to his black bag.
He holds up a thermos. “Please excuse me. I have not fed, and I’m delighted to say you were more of a challenge tonight than I was expecting.”
“Knock yourself out. I think I’m done for the night. Just making it upstairs to bed is going to be a challenge.”
“Rest. Hydrate. If we need to, we’ll call it an early night.” He drinks, staining his lips red with the contents of the thermos. Blood. I concentrate on my water.
“Can I ask you something personal?” I’m suddenly keen to distract myself from the pain in my head and the sight of blood on his lips.
“Of course. I’d like to think we’re friends. That seems like something friends would entertain.” He gives me one of his bright white smiles.
“We’re definitely friends. I really appreciate you helping me. I was just wondering why the turtlenecks?”
“Turtlenecks?” He glances down at himself, then at me.
“I’ve never seen you wear anything else,” I point out. “And I got the impression from Damien that your clothing can look any way you please.”
He nods, confirming it. “Saves time,” he says softly. “And hides this.” He pulls the neck of the sweater down to reveal a jagged, raised scar that travels from above the hollow of his throat toward his left collarbone.
I inhale sharply at the ghastly sight. “That looks brutal. But… couldn’t you hide the scar the same way you transform from shade to human form? Damien made it seem like you can look how you wish to look.”
He scratches the back of his head. “Damien oversimplified. I suspect he didn’t want to overwhelm you with the details of our transmutation. Scars this deep are difficult to hide. I can mask it, but only at a high cost of power that would leave me at a disadvantage in a fight. The same with why we prefer to wear clothing rather than create it as part of our illusion.”
I lift an eyebrow. “So Morpheus’s scar, the one on his face, it’s real?”
He smiles softly. “It is. We earned them at the same time. It was Damien who saved us from the worst of it though. Saved our lives.”
“How so?”
He takes a seat on the sofa. “Would you like to hear the story?”
I nod and take another bite of the protein bar. It’s chalky but better than nothing.
“Hundreds of years ago, before the three of us were drawn here through the rift, there was a war over the forested territory between the kingdom of Stygarde—the kingdom of the shades—and the kingdom of Willowgulch, where the dark elves rule. Damien’s father Malek was captured a year into the war, leaving Damien as the oldest son to rule at the side of his mother, Nyxadora, the queen. As prince regent in his father’s absence, he served as supreme military commander of Stygarde’s army of warriors, the umbrae.”
“Were you and Morpheus soldiers in that army?”
He grunts like he finds the word soldier distasteful. “Not a soldier, an umbrae warrior.” He taps his chin. “You might consider us similar to samurai in your world, or perhaps Navy SEALs. Each one of us was highly trained, deadly, and powerful, and while we would follow orders as a team, we often accomplished missions independently. One umbrae was as good as an entire legion of soldiers.”
“Sorry if I offended you.”
“No offense taken. How could you have known?” He sips again from his thermos, his lips coming away red. “Damien devised a system of patrolling the grounds and had made a deal with the witches of Dimhollow to provide Stygarde with wards as well. We’d successfully thwarted every attack on our lands since the king was taken, but Damien refused to give up on getting him back.
“Damien, Morpheus, and I had been friends since our school days and advanced through the ranks together. My mother was a wealthy landowner, and Morpheus’s father was Lord of Aendor, the coastal territory of Stygarde and commander of a fleet of ships that was the source of all goods delivered by sea. As such, we’d been aware of each other practically since birth and had aligned ourselves from our first royal ball. He knew he could trust us in a way he couldn’t trust his siblings.”
