Capricorns and Devil Horns

In My Wings

   Jamie knew everything when he woke up. Morgan must've told him, which was convenient for me, I supposed. It saved me the trouble of explaining everything, and it made convincing him to go away a hell of a lot easier. Morgan had used my laptop to buy he and the kids plane tickets to Spain for the following morning. I didn't speak to Jamie that night. I didn't speak much at all that night. After he'd seen what he'd seen, Morgan knew immediately what I'd done and didn't question it at all.

   He didn't look at all angry- or even surprised. As soon as he looked into my eyes, he softened and stroked my cheek. He took my to the bathroom and carefully unbuttoned my bloody shirt, patting at my skin with a damp flannel, washing away the blood. His gaze never left mine; his icy eyes burned into my own. I didn't feel exposed in front of Morgan because his eyes never once fell down to my body.

   Morgan Sterner made me feel protected without feeling vulnerable.

   He trapped Hannah's wings under an old glass bowl, placing it on the shelf above my bed. It was covered with an old t-shirt for the night whilst Jamie and the kids slept in there.

   Morgan held me as I slept that night, his body curving against mine as if that was the way it was made to be. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Hannah. I'd expected to see her bloody wound behind my eyelids- but no.

   I saw Hannah at 7, refusing to play with dolls because they were for "babies". I saw Hannah at 10, whispering to me about how she'd seen her auntie kissing a boy. I saw Hannah at 15, giving me tips on how to get the "cute blond boy from art" to like me. I saw Hannah at 19, doing shots in a video she'd sent me. And I saw Hannah at 20- nearly 21- giggling and dancing with Morgan in the living-room. That was the last time I'd ever seen Hannah, and not just her shell.

   By the next morning, I felt fine. Probably due to some kind of "healing" from Morgan as I slept, but I didn't question it. I was just glad to feel better. Grief and guilt just get in the way of what you had to do. And at 4am, I had to drive Jamie and the kids to the airport.

   I left Morgan in bed with a kiss on the forehead, before rounding the three of them up into the car. Eli and Evie were so excited for their holiday, but I could see the dread in Jamie's eyes. Being alone scared him, even in a different country. I could sense his fear from a mile off, but it was the best thing for him. The car was filled with the kids babbling on about their holiday and not much else. Neither I or Jamie attempted any form of conversation until he thanked me, when I pulled up. He kissed my cheek, before getting the kids from the back and the bags from the boot. I could tell this would be the last time I'd see him for a while.

   It was still dark when I got back and Morgan was still asleep. I crawled back into bed beside him curving my body around him like he had with me the night before. I closed my eyes, but I didn't sleep, just salvaged the feeling of him, knowing that, as soon as he woke, life would become too hectic for moments like this.

   His skin was always so cold beneath mine, like he'd just stepped through the door from a day out in London in the snow.

   Was I this cold to touch?

   Morgan stirred against me, murmuring. It was strange- he never dreamed. I would tell him about my crazy dreams over bowls of stolen cereal (he would eat my Crunchy Nut, so I would eat his Cheerios) almost every morning. He would be in awe that my mind could conjure up such vivid images as I slept. This was before I'd known of his... status... as the Ruler of Hell. If so, I would've retorted with how incredible his mind must've been to build the place "from the ground up", so to speak.

   He jerked suddenly. Then again. And again. Soon, his murmuring became loud, but incoherent, babbling. Unsure what was happening or how to react, I shuffled away from him, watching. The babbling started to form a word- just one word. Over and over.

   "Trap."

   "Trap."

   "Trap!"

   "Trap!"

   It was now more than clear: it was a cry.

   With one final shout, he bolted upright, wide awake. He sat for a second, before running a hand through his stubble. After staring at him in shock, I made myself known.

   "Morgan?"

   He jumped out of his skin, looking at me as if I were an intruder.

   "Fuck you!" He hissed, not in malice, but in distress.

   "What was that all about?"

   "I-I don't know..."

   "You were dreaming, weren't you?"

   "I think so... I was dreaming about Hell."

   "Hell?"

   "Not just Hell... The Only."

   "You were saying "trap"- what does that mean?"

   "The Only is a trap, Nora. A trap..." He paused, furrowed eyebrows and a bitten lip, "We can trap her there."

   "What?"

   "It won't be easy, Love, but it means we don't have to kill her. But, we need the spell."

   "Wh- Hannah... Where can we find the spell? "

   "In my wings."