“Seriously?”
“With a spell, yes, I think so.”
I look around the room at all the paintings. There’s an equal number of both. “He’s created gates.”
Damien nods. “All over the fucking city.”
“Why?” The realization is almost too big to comprehend. “Why would he do that?”
“Because,” a voice surprises us in the doorway. “The Morrigan can’t do it without me. Not anymore. So she found someone new.”
“Bunny?” I’m still shocked. He’s always been the most steadfast. The most loyal.
“I suspect he had a little help.”
“From who?” Damien asks, but the pieces are clicking into place.
“Anita helped him. She’s the one spreading the virus.”
Morgan nods. “The virus I spread to her. We need to find them and cut off the Morrigan’s reach before it goes too far.”
Damien and I share a look. We’ve never had to go after one of our own before and Morgan isn’t at full force. I don’t tell her this. He doesn’t either. Our job is to protect her and keep the Darkness away.
“I’ll get the others.”
Morgan nods. “I’ll meet you in the training room.”
“Why there?” Damien asks.
“Because we’re going to need weapons to kill them,” she replies and walks out of the room.
Chapter Twenty
Morgan
All four of my remaining Guardians meet me in the training room. I’m dressed for battle: stretchy black pants, shin-breaking boots and a leather jacket Damien gave me to wear on his bike. The men watch me as I enter, four sets of eyes skimming down my body. I walk past them and go directly to the weapons case, p
ulling out my blade.
“You’re taking that?” Damien asks.
“Yes.” I slide it into the harness on my back, another gift, from Clinton.
Sam steps in front of me. “You do understand you can’t kill anyone, right?”
“I understand I’ll do what I have to.” I tug the edge of my gloves higher. “Since we’ve been unable to find Anita, I called in a favor.” I walk across the room and open the door. Hildi stands on the other side, dressed to fight. Her blonde hair is woven in a tight braid.
“Hello Morgan.” She nods at the Guardians. “Boys.”
Dylan stares at me so hard I think his brain may crack. Finally he clears his throat. “Can we speak for a moment? Alone?”
“Sure,” I reply, following him into the hallway. He didn’t dress for a fight but his shirt is tight enough to show the curved muscles over his shoulders. Intimidating to anyone that crosses his path. “Problem?”
“It’s unorthodox to bring in an outsider for a situation like this.”
“A situation where I’ve been betrayed by one of my own?”
He crosses his arms. “Yes. The outside world cannot know we’re having this problem. It’s a sign of weakness.”