Morgana's Bodyguard, page 1
part #3 of Bodyguards of Samhain Series
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One – Morgana
Chapter Two – Theon
Chapter Three – Morgana
Chapter Four – Theon
Chapter Five – Morgana
Chapter Six – Theon
Chapter Seven – Morgana
Chapter Eight – Theon
Chapter Nine – Morgana
Chapter Ten – Theon
Epilogue – Morgana
Next book in series- https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07Z8HVS2W
Morgana’s Bodyguard
Bodyguards of Samhain
Book 3
By: Lisa Daniels
Prologue
He knew he probably shouldn’t have accepted it. Necromancers were supposed to be bad people, but he wanted the money, and it seemed everyone else those days was being hired except for him. Apparently, bear shifters weren’t so fashionable to have, being clumsier and more about brute force than some of the others.
Maybe the firm he was hired by didn’t have as big a reach as others. Maybe the boss just preferred choosing others for the task ahead. Or maybe they only planned to give the worst kind of jobs to him—because when he was landed with that necromancer, all attention from the firm suddenly focused on him. Like he was the diversity hire, protecting a diversity client, so the company could show how modern and forward they were.
Still, a man needed to do his job, and do it right. The necromancer in question was someone called Fela Norman, some daughter of a prominent and non-necromantic family, meaning the magic came out of nowhere. Fela was a fourteen-year-old girl, skittish and somewhat in denial of her own magic. The only reason someone like Theon was supposed to stick with her was just so she could go to school safely, because her parents wanted to home-educate her, but she wanted to remain at school with her annoying and noisy little friends.
It was easy, but boring and demeaning. Sitting there day after day, glowering in a seat or towering a short distance behind her. And then there were the whispers. That maybe he was animated, and not a real person. That Fela was showing off, that Theon was there to make sure she didn’t abuse her powers. Fela hated his presence. She wanted him gone, but he was a package deal with something her parents wanted. Go to school, but deal with the guard. Or be homeschooled, and don’t deal with one at all.
One night, she vanished. Although he was bored witless, he still performed his duties as best as able. He did a random spot check in her room at around eleven at night, one hour after she was supposed to be asleep, and saw the lump in her bed, but no movement to indicate said lump was breathing. Whisking the sheet away revealed pillows and stuffed toys lined up in an approximation of her sleeping form.
He alerted the parents, who instantly became hysterical and went straight for the notion of contacting the police, while her older brother said that she was talking about some party she wanted to go see. He couldn’t go alone—the parents insisted on coming, because they wanted to be there in person if their daughter was at this illicit party. Upon reaching it, most of the teenagers there scattered, while others remained in sullen defiance. There was a clamoring, though, a keening mix of voices that drew Theon to its source.
The swimming pool had someone floating in it, face down, while two teenagers whispered to one another, and another was vainly trying to reach the body with a pool noodle, tears running down her face, while four more teenagers wailed and shrieked behind her. No one seemed to want to enter the water.
Theon waded into the pool and lifted out the limp body of his charge, Fela Norman. Her lips were blue, her chest not moving, and there was a sticky ooze leaking out of her hairline, but he focused on compression and breaths, even as noise screamed around him, people asking questions, people crying, people trying to absolve themselves of blame.
You stupid girl, he thought sadly, still working at her, feeling his muscles burn with the effort of trying to coax life back into her.
“Jace said she was a freak, yeah,” one of the hysterical girls was blubbing. “She was demonstrating her power on some dead mouse we found. She just wanted to be cool and fit in without someone b-breathing down her neck...”
“Jace?”
“Yeah, he pushed her in. But he did it wrong—she hit her head, and she didn’t even try to swim, and Jace… he said she was faking it for attention.”
Theon didn’t stop his CPR, but he felt like he wanted to have words with this Jace person.
The ambulance came and they took Fela away, but it was too late. For all Theon’s powers, there was little he could do when his client wanted to sneak away from him. Little to do against a freak bullying accident. Jace was a dick, but he hadn’t meant to kill her. Didn’t stop him being thrown into jail, and didn’t stop Theon’s pay being cut, since the parents refused to pay a dime in the wake of their daughter’s death.
He did his duty, but when other people messed up, it was all apparently Theon’s fault.
He couldn’t control the casual discrimination of humans against necromancers any more than he could control a fourteen-year-old girl’s need to feel normal in an abnormal situation.
Events happened without his say-so, and he hated it.
He also never wanted to look after another client that young again.
Chapter One – Morgana
“Welcome to Stoneshire.” The receptionist smiled at Morgana Hargraves, who barely twitched a smile in response. “Hope it was a pleasant journey for you.”
“Where’s my sister?” Morgana peered around, as if expecting to see her sister pop out at any moment.
“She’s not here, I’m afraid. She’s a bit busy with a new set of bones from Rwanda at the moment. Something about checking to see if they have latent powers in them.”
Morgana puffed out a sigh. First her cousin refused to meet her at the airport. Second, she wasn’t even here now that Morgana was in range. Felt as if Amelia Hargraves’ avoidance was deliberate. “Where am I staying?”
“Oh, let me show you!” The receptionist sprang to her feet, all red-lipped smiles and sparkling eyes like an excited child. “We’re taking you to the same suite where another necromancer stayed. Everything will be set there for you and your bodyguard, too.”
“My what now?” Morgana glared at the woman’s back, who seemed utterly unperturbed.
“Bodyguard. It’s not so safe in these parts for your lot to be around, after all. Have you been reading the news? We’re getting up to two shootings a day, and the necromancer death rate’s rising again. But you mustn’t think you’ll be in danger with us, of course! Safe as houses, here!”
“Wasn’t this house decimated by a revenant?” Morgana said.
“That was five months ago. No troubles since!”
Somehow, Morgana didn’t feel particularly inclined to address that. But at least for her brief time here, she was getting paid a lump sum for her services. Part of why she accepted the six-month contract in the first place. She hadn’t really been looking forward to dealing with her cousin, because sometimes their branch of the family liked to pretend the other one didn’t exist.
Something to do with something her father and uncle did to one another some time ago. Morgana’s father insisted that the other Hargraves was a dirty cheating bastard, but that could have been for any reason, really. Not that he seemed inclined to share it, which might have defogged the air on the whole matter. Maybe people just liked having a reason to be angry at one another. Add some drama to their otherwise dull and monotonous lives by finding different ways to hate things.
“Are you really serious about assigning a bodyguard to me?” Morgana said, and the receptionist bobbed her head.
“Of course. It’s very risky. The current administration is very much against death magic and darker magics of all forms, and people are eating it all up. But not me. You mustn’t think I am! I’m cool with necromancers. I even have a necromancer friend!”
Something about the woman’s bubbly tone irritated the ever-living hell out of her. Like she was trying too hard to prove that she was clearly not like the others, when in fact she probably was but didn’t want to admit it.
“What type of bodyguard? Normal? Supernatural?”
“A supernatural,” she confirmed. “Got them for a good price, too.”
Nice to know they weren’t cutting costs on the price of her life, then.
“He’s going to arrive in an hour or so—we were hoping to get him to meet you at the airport, but sometimes things don’t work out the way we hope, do they?”
That was definitely true. Since if Morgana had her way, she’d be back in Ireland, working in Dundalk rather than exiled all the way out here. Even if this job was lucrative in every possible aspect, and they had forwarded her because of her connection to the anthropologist, Amelia Hargraves. Since it was Hargraves’ discovery that caused the stink in their international circles, no matter how they tried to hide it.
“I’ll be happy to meet this protector,” she said. Though she’d much prefer to meet her sister.
She went into her new rooms and settle
She never thought she’d be back in Stoneshire so soon. The message her sister had sent was urgent, and cryptic.
We need you over here. There’s an operation you’re going to have to break into. We can only do it with necromancers, and most of the ones who work in this country are known to those who the police intend to infiltrate. I offered your name, a deal, and… it’s a good one. Think about it, will you?
Amelia Hargraves was not so forthcoming beyond that. Which gave Morgana the impression that the kind of things she wanted to say was probably best not to be heard over the phone. All sorts of people might be listening.
Given the whole mass hysteria of being a necromancer over in the US at the moment, Morgana was a little reluctant. Ireland was more accepting of necromancers. So was Mexico, actually, but Morgana didn’t like heat. She much preferred wintry days, snow, rain, and a light bluff breeze. Stoneshire had that going for it at least—many of the buildings had that accumulation of damp green moss from the frequent rains within the city and its countryside.
Morgana lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as a brief bout of exhaustion consumed her limbs. The last time she was here happened to be when she had a massive fallout with her parents. There was the older Amelia Hargraves, making a name for herself as she strived to advance her field of forensic anthropology. There was the middle child, Jakis Hargraves, getting himself into the family business. And there was Morgana, neither of those things, who was packed off to international boarding school the moment they found out she was a necromancer, only coming home for major holidays.
Needless to say, it didn’t exactly help foster warmth between them. Sure, her parents wanted to give her a good education, but it did feel an awful lot like they just didn’t want her near them. The last family moment they had came from Thanksgiving, the year she’d just started university. No one had anything to say to her apart from Amelia, and after all that frostiness was over, Morgana discreetly rearranged the terms of her flight and went back to university, and stayed in Ireland ever since. Lucky they had some Irish relatives which helped matters, but the relatives were more like different beings altogether, rather than the Hargraves Morgana knew.
She closed her eyes. Yes, the money would be good. Yes, it would be welcome. Fresh into her new consultant job with the Irish police, she needed more opportunities to prove herself. Being twenty-five and fresh out of uni made it a little slow to get things started. Morgana didn’t particularly fancy staying in the same role for ten years, so she wanted to push herself. To dazzle.
Anything, really.
Knock knock.
“Come in,” Morgana said, before remembering she’d locked the door, and getting up to open it. On the other side stood her older sister, with a few lines around her lips and eyes and forehead, and a careful smile.
“Been a while since we’ve last met, hasn’t it, little one?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Morgana replied, before accepting her sister’s hug and giving a rather half-hearted one in return. She didn’t really do so well with affection.
“Thanks for coming over, though. Wasn’t sure if you’d want it. But it’s a big deal, what we have here. The police want to keep it on the down-low, because there’s enough negative crap about necromancers without adding yet more fuel to the fire.” She walked in and closed the door, now starting to make herself something to drink without asking. “You heard about that… incident, haven’t you?”
“I assume you mean the Stoneshire one? Oh yes—your media went into a frenzy over it. Everyone I knew in Ireland found it silly, how worked up you guys got.”
Amelia Hargraves let out a little chuckle. “Keeps things exciting. I suppose your lot like to talk about the weather a lot? Burning sofas?”
“Our big news is that an old brewery that’s been in operation since 1342 might need to shut down, and all the locals are pitching together to save Dundally Dew,” Morgana said with a grin. “That’s our drama.”
“I can see why you want to live there,” Amelia replied, imitating Morgana’s grin. “But seriously. Here’s the sitch. Police think they have evidence of an illegal deadring.”
Deadring. Oh no. Morgana hit the bed hard, watching her sister select one of the tea packets. They had enough trouble with that in Europe. “You want me to go somewhere like that? They’ll eat me alive, Amelia.”
“You’ll have people to help. Unfortunately, all the necromancers in America that work with law enforcement are well documented, and their relatives, too. But not you—because you didn’t spend much time in the States, so...”
“Right.” For some reason, Amelia’s words felt like a personal blow against her. I wasn’t out of the States previously by choice. “So I’m your proxy. You realize the only way a deadring’s gonna accept me is if I participate, right? Will I be arrested for that?”
“You won’t. You’ll have permission to do so as part of a sting operation. If you can infiltrate, you’ll be doing all of us a great favor.”
“Was there a body snatched? Special bodies, I mean?”
“A few,” Amelia said. “The most recent are the bones of president Montgomery Garcia-Lent. First supernatural president from the 1900s.”
“With two surnames as a name. What were his parents thinking?”
“It’s not funny. People are going frothing mad at the loss of these bones, and they’re finding other ones missing, too. Isabel Chantraine’s been taken, too, the one who laid the founding stones of Stoneshire. There’s been a small task force on it for months, but pressure since Montgomery was taken is putting considerable strain on the department.” Amelia Hargraves let out a sigh. “Honestly, magic’s more trouble than it’s worth at times.”
“It’s not the magic that’s the problem,” said Morgana softly. “It’s the people. It’s always the damn people.”
The sisters shared a meaningful look.
“There’d better be a hefty compensation on my ass if I die, though,” Morgana added. “I have a Last Will set up. You’re to take my house if something happens. If you don’t want it, Ian Webster gets it instead—our second cousin twice removed, because I know he’s having a hard time of things.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Amelia replied, eyes fierce. “No one’s killing your red ass.”
“At least I have the accent to match my hair,” Morgana said. “They’ll never suspect me of being in league with you.”
Amelia looked rather sad, but Morgana didn’t really feel pity for her older sister. After all, Amelia must have known somewhere what she planned to send Morgana into.
A rather frosty silence descended between them and didn’t look as if it planned to abate any time soon. Amelia finished her drink, which she’d forgotten about, and waited in the armchair as Morgana stared at the door.
Knock knock knock knock. A pause, then the same four sharp raps.
“I’m popular today,” Morgana said.
“That might be your bodyguard!” Amelia seized the chance to restart conversation, and watched Morgana peel herself off the bed to answer the door for the second time that day.
Two men waited outside the door. One was a nervous, mousy, little man, most likely an anthropology student interning here. The other…
Well, that was a bodyguard and a half if she ever saw one. Bold, blue eyes nestled in a broad face with wide cheekbones, reminiscent of some of the Native American bloodlines that ran in society. He had such a well-defined frame that Morgana wondered wildly if he weightlifted on a regular basis, since that was a mountain of a man. Good god. And that was a tattoo, poking out of his shirt sleeve. Full-on, proper gangsta tattoo.
“We may have got him on a deal, but that doesn’t make his worth any less,” Amelia said slyly from behind, and it was enough to break Morgana’s temporary speechlessness.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” she said, waving for the bodyguard to come in. She just knew she was never going to hear the end of it from her sister about her reaction.
Chapter Two – Theon
Theon felt a strange kick in his guts when he laid eyes upon Morgana Hargraves. Small, red-haired, brown-eyed and freckly, she reminded him of a former case. Not just any former case, either—but the one involving the necromancer kid who went and got herself killed to try and prove she was normal.
