CHAPTER NINETEEN

MORGAN

“Come along, Alex. Don’t dawdle.” O’Toole pushed Alexander along.

 “It’s a long way from home,” the boy whispered. Surprisingly, he missed his parents. Even more surprising, he missed his brother and sister too.

O’Toole pointed to the west. “This way.” Abby and Alexander trotted after him, with Malley close behind, peering over his shoulder without slowing his pace. “Of course the safety of the whole valley hinges on our success. So a little less chatting and a lot more walking,” O’Toole said.

“And try not to die,” Malley added. “At least not a permanent death.”

Alexander became silent. His head drooped as his eyes focused on the ground. For the first time, he realized, without a doubt, that he’d signed up for a dangerous journey.

                                                                 

The group crossed one street and then another without incident. The buildings abruptly changed from homes to businesses.

Alexander marveled at a two-story building, painted black and purple, on the other side of the street. “What gives with the guards?” he asked.

“That’s the King’s bank,” Malley answered, spitting on the sidewalk to show his disgust. “The guards aren’t there for security. Nobody would be crazy enough to steal from the King.”

“That is the prison. The guards are there to prevent those unfortunate enough to anger the King from leaving the building.” O’Toole had answered before Alexander asked the question.

“Is the King evil?”

O’Toole looked at Abby and shrugged his shoulders. “Do you want to respond that question, Abby?”

Abby bowed her, head but remained silent.

If the security guards noticed the strange group of travelers staring at them from across the street, they didn’t show it. They stood stoic as the group passed them and rounded the corner at Main Street.

Alexander paused. The castle towers hid behind skyscrapers, but in the distance he could see the flash of brightness cast by the floodlights.

O’Toole crowded behind Alexander. “Are you ready, lad?”

“Nope,” Alexander sighed. A lump formed in his throat, making it hard for him to breathe.

“Relax, everything will be all right,” Abby soothed, looking up the street.

“You really think it will be okay?” Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

“Sure, why not,” she lied.

“Chin up, Alex.” Malley handed Alexander a burrito from his pocket. “We’re staying with you tonight.”

Alexander refused the burrito with a flick of his wrist. “Why?”

“Because you look famished,” Malley his mouth full of pocket-burrito said.

“No, why aren’t you leaving before sunrise?”

“We’re staying. Now hush up,” O’Toole interrupted.

They walked the sleepy sidewalk in silence. Nothing stirred in the buildings to their left or right. Alexander’s muscles ached. Even his fingertips hurt.

Alexander noticed the change in Abby’s mood. It became more pensive and withdrawn with every step.

After what seemed like zillion miles, they finally reached a granite statue of the King. His back faced away from the castle, with his left hand stretched out toward his people. Alex wanted to leave. The gray stone castle frightened him.

Abby shook her head in disgust without saying a word.

“The statue would be touching,” Malley whispered, “if you didn’t know the outstretched hand was demanding taxes.”

They all walked away from the statue in silence. Alexander couldn’t believe how much Abby resembled the statue—albeit a shorter, more female version.

                                                                 

A well-manicured, lush, green, tree-lined square sat next to the east castle’s wall. O’Toole chose the empty park for the group’s final stop of the night. In the morning, they would meet with the King. “This is a good spot to spend the night.” He pointed to a tree next to a recently used fire-pit. “Remember we’re technically resting in enemy territory. Talk quietly if you must talk.”

Alexander collapsed, exhausted. Abby drifted down like a feather and landed next to him.

“Malley, my friend,” O’Toole wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Do you have anything handy for dinner? Something simple.”

Malley dipped both hands deep into his pocket and withdrew a chicken, Provolone cheese, Ranch dressing with a couple of strips of bacon on top. “Will this do?”

O’Toole raised an eyebrow. “We’re not uncivilized pirates.”

Malley juggled the food in one hand and delved into his pocket with the other. Purple paper plates with matching silverware flew out of his pocket, followed by a red and white checkered tablecloth, which floated effortlessly onto the lawn. “Satisfied?” he asked.

Alexander’s nose perked up at the aromas wafting past him. He sat with his legs crossed and pushed a humongous chunk of chicken between two crackers into his mouth. Sighing with joy as the last morsel hit his taste buds, he licked his fingers clean.

“You obviously forgot napkins,” Abby observed.

Malley retrieved napkins out of his pocket and handed them over. Abby tossed several to Alex.

O’Toole looked at Abby as she chewed on a slice of cheese. “I think it’s time for you to go see your father.”

She looked at the castle. “I think I’ll stay with you guys tonight.

Abby and the King’s relationship were rocky for as long as she could remember. The King blamed her for the death of his wife, and the truth was Abby blamed herself too. But, she was unaware of the true cause of her mother’s demise, which started with an argument between her parents after her birth.

The King wanted to name his daughter Nola after his evil aunt. Her mother thought Abigail sounded musical. King Boyce’s servants poisoned his wife, with his instructions, so that he could have his way. He named his daughter Nola Abby to prove he harbored no hard feelings. Of course, Abby, being a white witch who consistently undid his carefully plotted evil plans, didn’t help too much.

“Are you sure that’s a wise decision?” O’Toole spread a generous dab of jelly on a cracker and popped the delicacy into his mouth. “I’m sure he knows you’re here.”

Alexander looked at Abby, but was too busy making another cracker, ham, and cheese sandwich to care where she was sleeping tonight.

“I’m sure,” Abby laid her head on Alexander’s shoulder.

O’Toole stifled laughing at Alexander’s pained expression. “Suit yourself. I suggest we all get some sleep. The sunrise isn’t far off.”

                                                                 

Alexander waited until he heard soft, shallow breathing coming from Abby before he freed himself from the girl’s grip. Stretching, he crawled over to O’Toole, who sat a few feet away.

Malley gazed into the moonless horizon. “You should get some rest. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.” He never even looked back, lost in thought.

“It’ll be hard to survive the day with a decent night’s sleep, impossible if you’re too tired,” O’Toole agreed.

Alexander arched his back. “You can’t sleep either?” He shielded his eyes from the glare. “I’m surprised anyone can sleep.”

O’Toole didn’t budge. “It’s not the lights. They don’t bother me.”

“Are you worried about our meeting with the king in the morning?” Alex asked, sitting next to the old leprechaun.

“The King will do whatever the King does. It’s no longer under our control.” O’Toole picked up a dirt clod and tossed it toward the castle.

“What is it then?” Alexander followed O’Toole’s pointing finger to a flicker of light.

“Maybe it’s nothing. Morgan is awake.”

                                                                       

Morgan came from a broken home. It never mattered to her that she was the one responsible for breaking the home.

Her delusional childhood memories placed the blame for her dysfunctional family firmly on her mom and dad. She’d turned her parents into mice because of their limited parenting skills. Then to prove that she loved and forgave them, she placed the family cat, Spot, in the other room, to prove her love with all of her black heart.

There was a slight incident at her school, the Which Witch Preparatory School, when she purposely turned the entire teaching staff into toads. Morgan claimed she accidentally cast the spell. The school was not the least bit impressed. To Principle Grimm, there was little choice but to expel his star pupil when she refused to retract the spell. Not to be deterred, Morgan decided immediately to become the best witch in the history of witches. With hard work, firm determination, and a natural sense of maliciousness, she became pure evil.