A Wish Upon the Stars (Tales From Verania 4)

And just like that, I knew we’d be okay.

Jeffrey whirled around just in time to see Morgan of Shadows step toward him. He looked fondly bemused as he took the scene before him in. Tiggy waved at him, and Gary blew kisses in his direction.

And me?

I just… stared in awe, as I’d done ever since the day I’d found him in the gardens. It’d been four months since the showdown with Myrin, and I still couldn’t get over the fact that Morgan was here, that he was alive, that he had chosen life, Verania, us, me, over crossing the veil.

When Myrin had taken his magic, Morgan had died. He sacrificed himself for me, for my Destiny of Dragons. But he hadn’t crossed the veil, not at that moment. He’d been in a sort of limbo that apparently wasn’t all that different than midtown City of Lockes. He’d conversed with gods on sidewalks lined with clou

ds, eaten with old friends in a diner run by elves almost as old as the Great White. I knew he’d seen Anya—his cornerstone—again, but he didn’t say much about that. I didn’t push. It wasn’t meant for me.

But even with all of that, even with the promise of a life ever after beckoning him, David’s Dragon had given Morgan a choice: either return to the living world or cross the veil to his reward for a life well lived.

He chose the King and the Prince. He chose his labs and his Grimoire. He chose Randall and Gary and Kevin and Tiggy. He chose Ryan. He chose Verania.

“But above all else,” he’d whispered in my ear as I sobbed into his shoulder in the garden, “I chose you, little one, because a world in which I could not see your face isn’t a world I’m ready to live in.”

So, yeah. Awe. Every godsdamn time.

“Oh girl,” Gary said to Jeffrey. “You’re in for it now.”

“Oh girl,” Tiggy agreed. “So in.”

“Morgan of Shadows,” Jeffrey squeaked.

“So it would appear,” Morgan said mildly. “I grew concerned when I realized no one had seen any of you for at least an hour. Which, as we all know, is surely a sign of shenanigans.”

“So many shenanigans,” Gary said. “And I apologize, Morgan, but you know how Sam is.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You know how I—wait a minute.”

“I mean, I tried to tell him that today of all days was not the time to try and go on an adventure,” Gary said. “But do you think he listened to me? Of course not. He just did what he always does. Why, I came along to make sure he didn’t end up hurting himself.”

I was outraged. “That’s not what happened at all! Jeffrey was supposed to be Gary and Kevin’s postwedding booty call! Gary asked me and Tiggy to go with him in case Jeffrey turned out to be, and I quote, a crazy-ass psycho who wants to lick my nuts and then chop them off and use them as earrings.” I frowned. “Which, now that I think about it, is an oddly specific thing that should have made me aware how stupid this was. I should have realized Gary was a fucking motherfucker with terrible ideas.”

“I have the best ideas,” Gary snarled at me. “Tiggy, tell him!”

“No, Tiggy! Tell Gary his ideas are dumb and stupid and that you love me!”

Tiggy looked conflicted. Then he turned to Morgan and said, “Tiggy wanted no part of this. Just minding my business. Getting dressed. Counting brooms. Then Sam and Gary say, Tiggy, you need to do bad things. Tiggy didn’t want to do bad things. But I love them, so I did them.”

“Oh my gods,” I moaned. “Morgan! Free us right this second. I need to squish his face so godsdamn hard!”

Morgan sighed but waved his hand.

The vermilion roots crumbled to dust, and Tiggy was already waiting with open arms as Gary and I charged at him.

Seventeen minutes later (after coming up with three new rules for the Sam/Gary/Tiggy Friendship), we finally stopped hugging and turned back to the others.

Jeffrey was chatting amiably with Morgan, completely unaware of the world of hurt coming his way.

“Morgan,” I said lightly, “you might want to take a step back and to the right.”

He did just that.

“Ooh,” Jeffrey said. “Should I move as well? Are we playing a game?”

“Yes. A game. And no, you can stay right where you are.”