Last Card (Older)
Last Card is one of my older attempts at a Novel. I don’t know if I will ever do anything more with this story. I am posting it here, so people can get an idea of my story skills. Please, note, all copyrights and all other rights are reserved by me (Samantha Bankes), Yaoi Bunny. Please, do not use any of my works without permission.
Prologue:
The Fool
Wanted:
Magician Seeks an
Open Minded Artist
For a New Project
Call Morgan at
555-Last Card
“Hello? You have reached Last Card- a Magician's Shop. Morgan is not here now. Please, leave your name and number at the... Wait... Hello? Hello?”
“Hello?” Nora asked uncertain. She eyed her friend with a frown as she waited for an answer. The phone buzzed in her ear.
“Hello? Are you calling about the ad?” A clear concise voice asked.
“I am. My name is Nora.” She started, “I have been an artist for most of my life. I have...”
“You're hired.” The voice snapped with the same concise tone.
“Excuse me?” Nora asked. Her friend was smiling and nodding at her.
“You're hired. When can you come in?” Stated the voice, “Be here today by five.”
Nora hung up the phone smiling, and set the newspaper down on the desk near the phone. She turned to her friend, hugged her and then eyed the clock. It was a quarter past four. Her heart rattled in her chest as her excitement grew. She grabbed her hat, and keys than hurried out the door. Forgetting that she did not know where the Last Card Shop was. Her mind was too busy as it raced over the idea of a new job, new art and possibly a new part of her life.
Chapter One:
The Magician
As she drove down the street from her house, she noticed a small sign off to the side of the road. It had a small striped green and yellow arrow that pointed westward and read Last Card- a Magician’s Shop. She smiled at the convenience of the sign and drove in the direction in which it pointed. She followed several more until she reached a rather large concrete building that was in bright green and yellow swirls. A tall brightly colored door stood out in the middle of the swirls. Nora's stomach turned threatening to reintroduce her to her lunch as she eyed the oddly painted building. She shook her head and shut the car door.
She walked up to the building, and the door opened with a loud creek. There in the doorway stood a tall lanky man with bright auburn hair that was a stark contrast to his dark green eyes. The ends of his hair were white with paint. There was even paint on his nose and across his cheek. He was standing on a rather tall ladder painting the inner hall. He looked at Nora, smiled, put the paintbrush in his breast pocket and extended a painted hand to her.
“Hi.” Nora said shaking his hand careful not to get paint on her. “You must be Morgan.”
The person laughed heartily as he stepped down off the ladder. He wiped his hands on his suit, removed the paintbrush and laid it in the paint tray that lay on the floor. He moved the latter over a couple inches letting the door close and then climbed back up the ladder. He eyed his paintbrush with a pout and sighed. Nora handed him the paintbrush and watched as he returned to painting.
“No, I am not Morgan. I am just a lackey.” He laughed after a few minutes.
“That is Parish.” A voice said from somewhere beside Nora. Yet, when she looked, no one was there. “He's the cause of the nasty paint job outside.”
“I am indeed.” Parish replied with pride. “I like it.”
A door opened to Nora's right.
“Enter.” The voice came from the darkness behind the doorway.
Nora stepped through the doorway into a cream-colored room that was a welcome change. She looked about at all of the cluttered shelves that took up the small amount of space in the room. She saw no sign of the owner. She also did not see the trapdoor that was below her until she fell through and was looking up at it from a padded pillow below.
“Cute.” She snarled as she stood up and climbed off the pillow.
“Yes, you are.” The voice said as a light turned on from above flooding Nora in a warm glow.
Finally, the owner of the voice stood before her. He was a little shorter than she was and was wearing a black pin striped suit, a white shirt below and a bowler hat with a playing card sticking out of the brim. His solid blue eyes twinkled through the curly thick brown hair that hung in his face. He reminded her somewhat of the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland. He smiled at her as he took her hand and pulled her over to a rather large easel.
“I am Morgan.” He replied as he brought out an ornate box of pencils and pens. He drew out another box, this one a little less ornate that held paints and colored pencils. Than two more boxes, each a little less ornate then the first that held different mediums. “I have hired you to create for me unique masterpiece. I want it simple but make it special for me.”
“Why don't you just buy one?” Nora asked innocently.
“Then you wouldn't have a job.” Morgan remarked sharply as he stepped behind the easel. He produced from the other side a rather comfortable looking mushroom stool.
“Again with the Alice theme,” Nora thought. “Must be his favorite book.”
Nora eyed the easel as she sat down before it.
“How long do I have?” She pondered as she picked a pencil from the ornate box. It disappeared.
“As long as it takes.” Morgan replied. He smiled from ear to ear. Something about him unnerved her, but she could not say exactly what it was. Maybe it was the Alice in Wonderland references. She was never fond of that book. Nora removed a few other items from the boxes.
“What happens if I need other materials?” She questioned as she began to sketch the outline of a three maidens. The lines seemed to shimmer on the page.
“Just ask. Be precise what you want. Or you may end up with the wrong thing.” Morgan replied from off to her right against a stone pillar. “For example... if one asked for an apple and received a chapel instead then one would have no one to blame but one's self.”
“Unless upon receipt one informs the dumb ass of their incredulous error...” The painter from earlier remarked with a smirk.
Morgan laughed softly as he nodded his head. “Indeed.”
Nora turned in the chair to see him better.
It was the auburn haired person with those amazing green eyes. He was carrying some blankets and a pillow. He laid these on a bed that she had not noticed until now, and turned to her again. He walked over to the easel, stood beside it and sighed.
“Tea with lemon with ice and a large piece of pecan pie. Plus, a small bowl of bananas and strawberries.” He said to the easel as precise and clearly as he could. Upon the easel next to Nora's sketch of the maidens, were the items he asked for. He removed them from the canvas as easily as if from the refrigerator. He walked from her and set them on a tray next to the bed.
“Oh, are you going to bed?” Nora asked as she started to put away her things.
“No, you are. You will stay here until you finish. Much easier then you going home and coming back.” Morgan informed her as he took her by the hand and led her to the bed. “It will be easier on Parish too, for he won't have to keep opening and closing that enormous door for you.”
“I will not!” She shouted, “This is kidnapping! I am not your pet!” She pulled from him and away from the bed. She was horrified. Never before had she been so afraid and angered at the same time. Her mind shuffled through various horrible thoughts. Scenes of kids taken from their homes and streets, only to never return. Woman taken as slaves and beaten until they could no longer resist, their wills broken. Surely, she was not to become one of those.
“I am not kidnapping you. You can leave at any time.” Morgan replied with a smirk. “As a gesture of good faith, you can have my key. I will make a copy tomorrow.”
This eased her a little and she accepted the key with a slight smile. She eyed the thin metal object, then the grand door. It seemed somewhat humbled by the sheer size of the entrance.
She glanced around looking for other exits and found two; one by the easel and another that lead past a small window. She glanced up at the outline of the trapdoor above her head. She smiled, that was some comfort at least. She knew that if she needed she could leave by those means and even lock them if she felt the urge.
“You shall bring all of your possessions with you tomorrow. Right now, though, you must eat and concentrate on the masterpiece.” Parish responded before Morgan could speak. It was almost as if rehearsed and each knew their parts too well.
Nora sighed heavily as she sank into the bed. They were right; it would be much easier to stay there with the easel and not have to worry about going back and forth. Her friend would not have to worry about her on the couch anymore and maybe Azreal, her cat, would like it here as well.
She looked about the rather large room. There were another two beds off to her left some feet behind the easel, and two rather tall dressers one by each bed. There also were two bowls next to her bed, one for water and the other food. These were more then likely for Azreal.
A small wall divided the spaces, leaving a small sitting area in the middle next to where the easel stood. To the left of the easel sat a table with a picture of fresh cream and a rather hot pot of coffee. Also on the table, were several dishes, varying from dinner to general use plates and bowls. Several coffee mugs and some glasses sat near the plates. Everything seemed to welcome her and be what she needed. She frowned at this thought. Everything here was too convenient.
This thought and more raced through her head as she eyed Morgan. He was standing off to her right, leaning against a tall concrete pillar flipping a card through his fingers. His bright blue eyes sparkled in the mediocre light as he watched the card flip from one finger to another. His skills with slight of hand seemed rather honed. He spoke volumes to her without saying much of anything. His air and mannerisms told her that he was a man of direction and distractions. A smoke and mirrors disappearing act with the flare for the theatrics and melodrama of a one-act play.
Then there was Parish, the lackey. His auburn hair, the dark green eyes, and his gentle smile, all gleamed with charm and charisma, but something else lay beneath the surface. Something she could not quite put her finger on. She could not help but wonder who was actually in control. She felt drawn in to something far more powerful then she could have ever imagined.
Nora turned to the food that sat waiting for her and picked up the fork. As she ate, her mind wandered to the reason why she was there, Morgan’s requested masterpiece. It was to be simple yet special. She leaned against the headboard, put her feet upon the bed and consumed her pie.
She let her mind wander to the picture she had started on the easel, three maidens dressed in flowing white gowns. Why had she chosen maidens? She hardly ever drew people, let alone females. She looked at the easel and took in her sketch. Even though, far from being completed, she could see that she had added a goddess like air to them. They lay about a rather simple but nonetheless beautiful chaise lounge. Yet, she could not help but think that they also seemed unhappy.
As Nora continued to consider her work, she soon found herself to be very sleepy. She yawned and moved down on the bed before snuggling beneath the thick blankets. The last thing she saw before drifting off to sleep was Morgan sitting down at the easel.
Nora slept soundly behind Morgan as he sat at the easel. He switched out the canvases and slowly began to sketch out the figure of a female. His skill with the mediums was literally breathtaking. He possessed flawless talent in refined details and in coloring. This was evident to Parish as he watched from the corner of the room, hidden by a trick of the trade, the shadows. He took in the detail of Morgan's art with a smile.
The woman's skin color was that of warm, golden wheat, with a hint of lively blush, from face to smooth, slim, proud column of throat. Light bluish-purple veins seen just beneath the surface, but added instead of detracted from her perfect pallor. She was small, and delicate. As for her face... nose, neither overly small nor large, lips, happily smiling- she was a statue carved by a master's delicate hand -an Aristocratic Lily with an air of defined strength hidden beneath a demure nature. Bone straight hair, streamed down her back and hung softly in front of her ears. Her eyes completed the picture and were miracles of color. Fierce and mysterious, all at the same time. Their deep brown color drowned anyone that peered into them with waves of cosmic vibrancy and a dynamic beauty.
Her jewelry was fairly simple, but elegant. A wide band of a choker of ornate lavender velvet encircled her neck, in the front, what appeared to be a hand-carved and delicately made silver crescent moons dangling from little bulbs of black onyx beads.
“Is she one of yours?” Parish asked as he walked into the light and over to Morgan.
Morgan nodded. He signed his name to the lower right hand corner and moved the canvas to the side. He replaced Nora's card sketch. He stood up, returned his materials and picked up the canvas.
“What plans do you harbor for this one?” Parish asked as he eyed Nora's sketch.
“I wish to see this to its natural conclusion... I am not a big fan of trying to direct art... I believe we are no more than recorders of art... so where ever it goes I shall have an interest in its destination.” Morgan replied as he took Parish by the hand, led him out the door by the window and up the tall flight of stairs.
It opened up into a medium sized room. Its floor swamped with several luscious pillows of varying sizes. Descending from the opened frame worked ceiling were large rustic iron candle-based chandeliers that cast their ambient light in a soft flowing glow. The orange and reddish waves of light vibrantly danced across the newly painted canvas that Morgan hung on the south wall. The other walls bore within them windows that stretched their panes to each corner and nearly to the ceiling. Strips of Moroccan fabric flowed casually down between the chandeliers with enough distance as not to catch ablaze.
Morgan removed his jacket, folded it and placed it on one of the larger pillows to his side. He tossed his hat onto the only unlit chandelier before he lay against Parish who was strong beneath him but soft and welcoming as well. He nuzzled his head into his friend's neck as he contemplated his composition.
“Who is she?” Parish asked as he combed his fingers through the fine strands of Morgan's rich chocolate curls.
“An aberration of my mind.” Morgan replied solemnly, “Don't mock me my friend. It is a condition of mental divergence. I find myself on a deferred plane, part of an artist elite, preparing to subjugate the barbarian hordes of critiqued disasters of sub par constructs. Even though this is a very convincing reality for me in every way, nevertheless it is actually an assemblage of my psyche. I am mentally divergent, in that I am escaping certain unnamed realities that plague my life here. When I stop going there, I will be unable to diverge myself again. Are you also divergent, friend?”
“Indeed.” Parish smirked as Morgan rolled up onto his elbows and smiled into his eyes. “What does she want?”
”She wishes to devour me.” He breathed. “She is but a lady and as such she wishes to be known. I sought her out of my incommodious mind, to seek some comfort in her feline feminine qualities, for I am at a crossroads with myself. I have been unable to conjure up the adequate emotions for such a decadent revealing of my desires.”
“You are insane then?” Parish laughed.
“I am not. Merely left a bit from it.” Morgan replied with a smirk.
Parish placed a hand gently along side his face and kissed his lips gingerly. He hugged his friend to his side, pulled his shirt from his pants and slid a hand beneath his shirt. It slithered up his stomach to his hardened chest and found within his heartbeat. He rested his head on Morgan's, and kept his hand in place as he listened to the rhythm of their breathing.
“I enjoy your art.” Parish purred as he closed his eyes taking in every part of Morgan's essence. “Though, I am envious of you talent. My work is no where near yours.”
“Credit yourself more. You are better then you think.” Morgan replied sitting up and stretching. “Our lady fair shall be waking soon.”
Parish nodded as he stood, grasped his friend's hand and pulled him to his feet. They left the chamber, leaving behind the hat and jacket for later collection, and went to Nora’s room where she was already awake.
“Oh, good morning!” Nora yawned as she sat up, set her feet on the floor, and pushed the blankets aside. She stretched before standing up and than made the bed.
“It's evening, my dear.” Morgan informed her as he drew the shades on the window.
Nora eyed the window, the dark sky and the moonlight streaming in, and frowned. Had she really fallen asleep and not slept until morning? Why had she taken a nap? Was it the food? She decided she had better be more cautious of her actions and weary of their politeness. She might end up not waking and that would be very bad. Who would feed her cat?
“Are you ready to continue with your sketch?” Parish asked as he sat down at the table. He poured three cups of coffee, added cream and sugar to two of them and handed Morgan one.
The other Nora accepted with a nod. She eyed the coffee with question. She smelled the heavy aroma with delight but something ticked in her mind, and she set the coffee on the tray. She stuck her finger just far enough into the cup to wet the tip and then licked it. It was sweet with the cream and sugar, and did not taste off, a little strong maybe. She figured it probably was not poisoned and that it was all right to drink. She looked up from her coffee to find Morgan reviewing her sketch.
“I will return to it as soon as I go and collect my things.” Nora explained as she stood up. She gathered her keys and pocket book, as she started for the door. She did not know where the sudden need to be away from them had come from but she was not going to complain. Fresh air would be nice, and she could hardly wait to tell Arabela and Azreal about her ordeal. “Will be back shortly.”
Morgan did not move from the easel, he did not say a word as she left. He just sat at the easel staring at the sketch of a card. The lines of the image danced with an iridescent shimmer that eerily seemed to make the image float above the page. He traced a finger over the lines, they responded to his touch with changes of color; blue to purple, purple to red, red to orange, orange to yellow, and as he lifted his finger the colors merged again into a kaleidoscopic incandescence.
He combed his fingers through his hair, untangling some of the curls, and nodded his head. He picked up the pencil that Nora had used- normal. He checked the other materials for signs of magical tinkering and none of them showed any. He smiled at this while he again traced the perimeter of the sketch. The colors changed as they had previously but this time the card actually floated above the canvas.
“Toying with her?” Parish asked as he appeared beside Morgan with a cigarette hanging from his lips. His bright green eyes seemed to radiate with the fire that lay in his fierce auburn hair. It reached down to about his waist and curled up slightly at the bottom. He no longer wore the paint-splattered jump suit, but a clean satin bluish-white shirt with the neckline drawn up. Long flowing sleeves with open cuffs that cascaded off his arms like waterfalls. His lower half, a pair of black casual pants fitted at the waist with a black braided fabric belt. His feet were bare and snuggled in to the carpet.
“Merely checking her progress.” Morgan looked over at him as he slowly pushed down on the card, making it sink back into the canvas. No evidence showed of Morgan's handling.
“How fares it?” Parish questioned as he moved a chair over to him, straddled it backward, and rested his hands on his crossed arms.
“Better then I had anticipated. Her strength of power is beyond what I had originally figured. Her ability to manipulate the canvas to her very whim; this too is an ingenious difference of what I had originally supposed. I will be better for this.” Morgan replied.
“This is good but do you still foresee the darkness looming?” Parish wondered as he drew out from beside the easel a deck of worn tarot cards. He handed these to Morgan who eyed them with sadness and concern.
The mood seemed to shift unpleasantly as Morgan moved his stool to the table, now cleared of the clutter. He laid the cards on the table, and cut the deck three times. He precisely set the cards out onto the table. He read over each card as he turned it over and his mood grew dimmer. He shook his head and swiped the cards into a pile. He pushed the cards from him and hung his head. His body shook with his disappointment and anger.
“Damn these cards!” Morgan cried out as he stood up. “They are not but paper and ink. I will go and see for myself what lies before me.”
These words alerted Parish and armed him with fear.
“No, you will not. The last time almost drained you! If you remember, you had a hard time recovering.” He stood before his friend; weary of the actions. “Don't be a fool. Use the girl. You said she was strong and her ability was sharp.”
“She is but a catalyst for me. I will not use her to do what I can myself. “Morgan pushed his way past his lackey and hurried up into the pillowed room. He closed the door before anyone could enter behind him and took down the painting of the woman he had done earlier.
This he set upon one of the larger pillows, sat down Indian style before it, and closed his eyes. He calmed his breathing to one rhythmic beat as he began to chant something beneath his breath. Swirls of color began to rise around him. Hues of blue floated from the surface of his skin and vibrant strays of reds from his hair. These colors spread out in a circle pattern, which collided above his head in a shower of bright shards of light. His frame shimmered like that of the sketch and than began to wane.
The door swung wide open as Parish barged his way in. He fell onto his knees before his friend with tears streaming down his cheeks. He reached his hands out to stop him, but they slid right through his diminishing state. Parish frowned as he eyed the woman in the painting, there beside her sat Morgan. Above them were fine crystalline shards of light that radiated bright red hues.
“Damn you.” Parish hissed as he rose. “You don't make this easy, do you?”
He touched the painting that immediately caused his form to transgress the parameters of his reality and he soon found himself within the painting next to Morgan. He threw himself at his friend and wrapped his arms about his waist. He cried into Morgan’s shoulder. His sobbing and rasped breathing echoed about the confines of the framing of the picture. He sagged heavily against Morgan as his body gave way beneath him.
“Bastard.” Parish cried as he beat against him.
Morgan pried himself away from his lackey, turned to the woman and smiled. He brushed the hair from her
face gently as he leaned forward and kissed her lips. Her hand rose to met his and they interlaced their fingers together.
“Please, do not do this!” Parish pleaded, “I cannot take this, Morgan...”
“Silence!” Morgan hissed, his eyes flashing fierce.
He pulled himself closer to the woman, took her to him and kissed her deeper. As they embraced, a set of five tarot cards formed before him. Each card a different color and meaning. They floated and fluttered becoming more solid and defined with each movement made. Soon, they began to descend until they were mere inches above his head. He touched the blue card; it turned toward him, its significance clear only to him. He touched the red followed by the purple and lastly the green. As he read the last card, a scene formed to the right of him. He focused his attentions on this. He saw himself and a woman who he could not place.
His eyes were hard as steel as he peered down at her lying there on the floor before him. Her ragged body breathing heavily, her bosom pushing against the weak cloth of the tattered dress stained with her blood, sweat and the drying paint that had led him to her. He could hear her sobbing choking up from in her lungs...
He could taste the fear rising from her as he knelt close to her. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty and shimmered with her tears. He laughed softly at her unaltered innocence... her damning purity... he wanted to cherish her... but she had ruined that... she had destroyed any chance at survival...
She was now going to die... He rose up over her, his hand raised and as he brought it down... Parish appeared to his side, his face full of tears and his hand wielding a rather vicious looking knife. This came down to meet his spine, severing various arteries. He watched as his body fell onto the girl's, lifeless.
As the scene dissipated, he found himself out of breath and energy. His body sore and aching as his mind struggled with the meaning of the scene. He collapsed into the waiting arms of Parish who held him tightly and kissed his sweating forehead. Morgan’s vision blurred, his heart raced and his body burned from the inside out. Blackness enveloped him.
“Is he dead?” A solemn voice asked from somewhere behind Parish. “Is it my fault?”
Parish looked up from his friend, turned his body half way round to see better. He frowned as he shook his head and returned his attention on Morgan.
Morgan lay still, cold and limp but not dead, merely greatly drained. His eyes, closed but they moved wildly as if watching something. His heart beat with a low thunderous clap that was barely audible and seemed with half strength. His cold pasty hand clutched his friends as it desperately tried to convey some weakened meaning through small faltering gestures that made little sense. His fingers twitched out broken patterns in the palm of his friend's hand that seemed to want of something but the meaning was lost.
“He speaks but I am deaf, it seems.” Parish sighed as he gathered Morgan up to him and tried to listen to the lips that moved but could hear only faint breathing. “This is his doing.”
The woman of the painting stepped before them and seated herself. Her long lustrous hair fell down her thin frame in waves and gently caressed Morgan's skin. Her bright eyes sparkled with such intensity it was if fire burned within them. She looked over Morgan's still body with a frown and sighed. She took his other hand in hers, she scrawled onto his palm a strange symbol of an ornate design that glowed shortly then vanished before anyone else could understand its meaning. Another symbol appeared in its absence, a symbol that resembled a scrolled “M” and this lingered as long as the last. This seemed to make the woman feel somewhat better and she smiled weakly.
“It seems that he is able to still communicate which is good. Yet, his subconscious is taking him for a little trip it seems.” The woman seemed to purr the words.
“I will need your help.” Parish informed.
“I will help you. Be warned, though, this is not your area to trample on. If he is unwilling to return, you must let him go.” The woman replied in a stern voice.
“It is not his time.” Parish growled with anger.
“This is not your decision.” The woman replied with the same stern tone.
Parish, of course, knew she was right but this did not make things better. This also did not deter him from doing what he knew he had to. He stayed beside his friend, held his hand, and closed his eyes. His breathing calmed and slowed until it was inaudible and almost nonexistent. His mind swirled with dynamic colors that engulfed him and separated his soul from his body.
As he floated above his form, he felt a pull toward a stream of light coming down from the heavens. The will to go within the light was strong but his determination to help his friend was stronger. He turned and looked at the woman who sat watching him, but not seeing him. He smiled as she held out her hands like a little cup. He floated over to her, rested in her hands and waited. His smoke like form continued to pull to the light as darkness poured up from below.
This darkness held bright red flames that twitches and stirred the air with ominous presents that lunged at Parish. He quickly rose up a barrier that kept them from him but shimmered with weakness. He was unable to maintain it for long and hoped the woman would do her part soon.
“Um... how long are you going to sit there?” Morgan wondered as he stared up at his friend.
Parish stood, looked around at the darkness that engulfed them and eyed Morgan with great concern. He held a wispy hand out to touch his friend but it passed through him with great ease. He was alarmed for a moment until he recalled previous events. He calmed a little as he remembered his mission.
“I hate you.” Parish groaned as he floated about nervously. “Why was there two beings floating near your body? This is not a good thing.”
“Argula and Purinaty.” Morgan replied.
“You named them?” Parish gasped.
“I did.” Morgan smiled as he ran his fingers through the mist like resemblance of his hair. He had carried with him into his subconscious this old habit. He floated over to a small glowing object that had not been apparent before. This, he held as he returned to Parish. He lifted it up as so that they could see into it better. Inside the orb was a vision of their physical forms laying in the room of pillows. He tapped on it gently and it disappeared. “I am glad that she remained to look over everything. I figured that she would but I was not sure. You can never tell with conjuring. They are rather fickle at times.”
Parish merely nodded uncertain of what to say or do. He was not used to being in other people psyches and he remembered the woman's warning. Be warned, though, this is not your area to trample on. If he is unwilling to return, you must let him go. He hissed bitterly.
Morgan's form shimmered and flickered as it faded out then faded in. He wiggled his shoulders in disgust and sighed deeply.
“Um…” Parish said. “Stop that.”
“I wish I could. I have grown weak.” He replied and if to verify his point, he faded out again. This time it took a bit longer for him to fade in. “I hate it. I was so stupid.”
“No comment.” Parish commented.
“You were right. I am sorry.” Morgan's voice faded this time and was a whisper. “For... give... me...”
“Hush now. Come back to me.” Parish floated to him and tried to hold him the best he could. He playfully combed his fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. “You have too much to do.”
“I am tired.” Morgan sat down pulling his friend with him. “I... have... little... Will…”
Parish slid into his friends form then out again, leaving behind what he hoped was enough strength to allow both of them to return. He collapsed, faded out then back in again. He laughed wearily as he faded then in for a second time. He coughed as he held himself up right and tried to focus on Morgan.
“Stop that... you will kill us both.” Morgan hissed. “We need her.”
The orb appeared between them, floating and spinning slightly revealing the woman. She peered at them with a frown as she crossed her arms and slumped forward. She reappeared before them in a dazzling gown of ornate colors. Her skin was paler and carried less of the warmth that he had painted into her. Her small had dulled as well but this was to be expected Astra-projection was very hard on one especially when one used it as a gateway into the psyche of another.
“Okay, time for you boys to stop playing.” She hissed, “I will lose myself if you insist on dragging me in and out of your minds.”
“Forgive me. “Morgan responded. “Forgive us; we need your help, High Priestess.”
At the sound of her true name, the woman began to fade and changed her appearance. Her skin color warmed to a golden tan, with a hint of lively blush. She was small and delicate as she sat upon her throne that had formed at the back of the space. Her face defined her strength and it lay beneath her bone straight hair. Her eyes, waves of cosmic vibrancy and dynamic beauty that only highlighted her royal stature.
She wore a thin strip of a lavender gown half hidden by the rather cumbersome thick robe of black velvet. The robe, adorned with golden silk-spun moons that sat at the corners and a thin line of circular detailing in the middle. It draped about her in large clumps of fabric and made her look tiny beneath it. Her jewelry was fairly simple, but elegant. A wide band of a choker of ornate lavender velvet encircled her neck, in the front, what appeared to be a hand-carved and delicately made silver crescent moons dangling from little bulbs of black onyx beads.
The throne was rather ornate with simple engraved carvings of the sun and moon. Light luscious cream cushions comforted her and were a stark contrast to the dark ebony wood of the arms and back. It was a tall regal chair for such a demure woman.
“What do you want from me?” She asked blankly. No emotion showed in her.
“Give me strength.” Morgan replied, as he lay at her feet, helpless.
“Is that all?” She asked as if this task was nothing more then a minor indulgence.
“For now.” Parish responded, “We must not over do it. For we have already taxed ourselves to the limit.”
“Indeed.” The woman smiled as she stood from her throne. She allowed her robe to fall to her feet as she floated toward them. As they rose to meet her, she knelt down and kissed each of their foreheads. “You are wise to not draw out too much of me yet. When the time is right, you will have to draw upon me and tell me of your desires. I can sense you are keeping something from me. I do not like this.”
“Yes, maim. We most certainly will.” Morgan replied as his strength slowly seeped back into him. He rose up in a fire of red flames that consumed him with such intensity it burned away his wispy form returning him to the physical plane.
Morgan looked about for Parish and saw him lying next to him. He sighed very much relieved, leaned over, and kissed him.
“Don’t ever do that again.” Parish hissed as he sat up.
“What? Kiss you? But, I thought you liked it when I did that.” Morgan asked honestly confused.
“No, you jerk. Do not go running off to get yourself killed. You almost died again!” Parish growled as he brushed away Morgan’s embrace. “Don’t even try to act like your innocent. I do not like it when you try to kill yourself. Remember that is something you are trying to keep from doing.”
“No. It’s something that I am trying to keep you from doing.” Morgan commented innocently.
Parish glared at him.
“You bastard. I am trying to help you and all you can do, is throw that back in my face. Maybe, your idiocy leads me to kill you. It seems to be the cause from what I see.” Parish snapped very disturbed by his friend’s words and manner.
“I apologize. You are right, you have done so much for me and all I can do is belittle you. Forgive me?” Morgan replied with a deep frown.
“Absolutely not.” Parish hissed. “You will not get out of this with an apology. Not this time and not anymore! I will not allow that to lure me back into your insane attempts to kill yourself.”
Morgan frowned as tears streamed down his face. He knew that they were honest words and that is what hurt him the most. He eyed Parish with great sadness and then stood. He shook his head unhappy with himself. He waved a hand casually causing his hat to fall from the chandelier. He put it on and left the room. Parish quickly followed him, wanting to know what he planned.
“Where are you headed?” Parish asked as he followed Morgan down the stairs and into the room with the easel.
“I am going to go and retrieve Nora, so that she can finish her sketching. I want to be done with her as soon as possible.” Morgan replied with fierce anger.
“Oh, I see, now you are gonna take this out on the girl!” Parish snapped as he grabbed Morgan’s arm in an attempt to stop him.
Morgan threw off his hand and turned to face Parish. His anger was evident as he glared violently at Parish. He step extremely close to Parish and held his face mere centimeters from Parish who stared back at him just as fierce.
“You have no idea what you are talking about! Back off!” Morgan said, his anger pouring into his voice. His words were a sea of daggers that struck Parish hard and drew from him an intense hatred. A hatred not for Morgan but for his actions, for his sheer stupidity towards the matter.
“You psychotic imbecile!” Parish’s voice was almost a whisper as he strained to speak. The anger and hatred that tore at him, also poured like acid into his voice. He knew that he was not helping matters but he could not keep himself from telling Morgan what was on his mind. He moved from Morgan and leaned against a pillar. His body shook violently. Morgan watched him as his own body shook with its own surge of anger. Bitter tears streamed down his face and he violently wiped them away. He closed his eyes and fought back the tears. He bit his lower lip forcefully causing it to bleed.
“You dare to tell me that I have no idea what I am saying? Who was the one that bailed you out every time your stupid ass got into trouble? Who was the one that had to retrieve you from yourself? Who? Please tell me who! ‘Cause apparently I haven’t a an idea!” Parish screamed. He turned to face Morgan and his heart shattered as he saw Morgan’s condition. His heart tugged at him to help Morgan but his mind screamed for him to leave him alone. Usually Morgan’s own stupidity always led him to trouble. “You idiot.”
Against his better judgment, Parish walked over to his friend and hugged him gently. He smiled faintly as he felt Morgan’s arms surround him tightly. He shook his head and sighed when he felt his friend is choking sobs. He pushed Morgan from him and looked lovingly into his face.
“You are a serious ass, but I can’t seem to stay mad at you. You need me. I need you. It’s an annoying situation we have here, is it not.” Parish said as he hugged his friend to him.
“Indeed.” Morgan replied.
“Now, let’s stop standing here and let’s go retrieve Nora. It is getting rather lonely here without her. Besides, she’ll be a good distraction for you.” Parish said taking charge of the situation once again.
He took his friend by the hand and led him out of the main door. As he closed the large cumbersome door behind them, he heard a voice calling his name. He turned and saw Nora walking up to him. In her arms, was a dark gray longhaired cat with demonic green eyes. On her back, she wore a book bag that looked rather small. Parish could not help but wonder how long she was planning on staying. He decided it was better not to ask. Parish smiled and nodded at her.
“Hello!” Nora greeted. She stood before them, smiling happily. She eyed Morgan who was wiping at his eyes and she titled her head to the side in confusion as if the new perspective would give her answers. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He replied, his tone blank. “Come in, you have work to do.”
She nodded with a bit of a frown.
Prologue:
The Fool
Wanted:
Magician Seeks an
Open Minded Artist
For a New Project
Call Morgan at
555-Last Card
“Hello? You have reached Last Card- a Magician's Shop. Morgan is not here now. Please, leave your name and number at the... Wait... Hello? Hello?”
“Hello?” Nora asked uncertain. She eyed her friend with a frown as she waited for an answer. The phone buzzed in her ear.
“Hello? Are you calling about the ad?” A clear concise voice asked.
“I am. My name is Nora.” She started, “I have been an artist for most of my life. I have...”
“You're hired.” The voice snapped with the same concise tone.
“Excuse me?” Nora asked. Her friend was smiling and nodding at her.
“You're hired. When can you come in?” Stated the voice, “Be here today by five.”
Nora hung up the phone smiling, and set the newspaper down on the desk near the phone. She turned to her friend, hugged her and then eyed the clock. It was a quarter past four. Her heart rattled in her chest as her excitement grew. She grabbed her hat, and keys than hurried out the door. Forgetting that she did not know where the Last Card Shop was. Her mind was too busy as it raced over the idea of a new job, new art and possibly a new part of her life.
Chapter One:
The Magician
As she drove down the street from her house, she noticed a small sign off to the side of the road. It had a small striped green and yellow arrow that pointed westward and read Last Card- a Magician’s Shop. She smiled at the convenience of the sign and drove in the direction in which it pointed. She followed several more until she reached a rather large concrete building that was in bright green and yellow swirls. A tall brightly colored door stood out in the middle of the swirls. Nora's stomach turned threatening to reintroduce her to her lunch as she eyed the oddly painted building. She shook her head and shut the car door.
She walked up to the building, and the door opened with a loud creek. There in the doorway stood a tall lanky man with bright auburn hair that was a stark contrast to his dark green eyes. The ends of his hair were white with paint. There was even paint on his nose and across his cheek. He was standing on a rather tall ladder painting the inner hall. He looked at Nora, smiled, put the paintbrush in his breast pocket and extended a painted hand to her.
“Hi.” Nora said shaking his hand careful not to get paint on her. “You must be Morgan.”
The person laughed heartily as he stepped down off the ladder. He wiped his hands on his suit, removed the paintbrush and laid it in the paint tray that lay on the floor. He moved the latter over a couple inches letting the door close and then climbed back up the ladder. He eyed his paintbrush with a pout and sighed. Nora handed him the paintbrush and watched as he returned to painting.
“No, I am not Morgan. I am just a lackey.” He laughed after a few minutes.
“That is Parish.” A voice said from somewhere beside Nora. Yet, when she looked, no one was there. “He's the cause of the nasty paint job outside.”
“I am indeed.” Parish replied with pride. “I like it.”
A door opened to Nora's right.
“Enter.” The voice came from the darkness behind the doorway.
Nora stepped through the doorway into a cream-colored room that was a welcome change. She looked about at all of the cluttered shelves that took up the small amount of space in the room. She saw no sign of the owner. She also did not see the trapdoor that was below her until she fell through and was looking up at it from a padded pillow below.
“Cute.” She snarled as she stood up and climbed off the pillow.
“Yes, you are.” The voice said as a light turned on from above flooding Nora in a warm glow.
Finally, the owner of the voice stood before her. He was a little shorter than she was and was wearing a black pin striped suit, a white shirt below and a bowler hat with a playing card sticking out of the brim. His solid blue eyes twinkled through the curly thick brown hair that hung in his face. He reminded her somewhat of the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland. He smiled at her as he took her hand and pulled her over to a rather large easel.
“I am Morgan.” He replied as he brought out an ornate box of pencils and pens. He drew out another box, this one a little less ornate that held paints and colored pencils. Than two more boxes, each a little less ornate then the first that held different mediums. “I have hired you to create for me unique masterpiece. I want it simple but make it special for me.”
“Why don't you just buy one?” Nora asked innocently.
“Then you wouldn't have a job.” Morgan remarked sharply as he stepped behind the easel. He produced from the other side a rather comfortable looking mushroom stool.
“Again with the Alice theme,” Nora thought. “Must be his favorite book.”
Nora eyed the easel as she sat down before it.
“How long do I have?” She pondered as she picked a pencil from the ornate box. It disappeared.
“As long as it takes.” Morgan replied. He smiled from ear to ear. Something about him unnerved her, but she could not say exactly what it was. Maybe it was the Alice in Wonderland references. She was never fond of that book. Nora removed a few other items from the boxes.
“What happens if I need other materials?” She questioned as she began to sketch the outline of a three maidens. The lines seemed to shimmer on the page.
“Just ask. Be precise what you want. Or you may end up with the wrong thing.” Morgan replied from off to her right against a stone pillar. “For example... if one asked for an apple and received a chapel instead then one would have no one to blame but one's self.”
“Unless upon receipt one informs the dumb ass of their incredulous error...” The painter from earlier remarked with a smirk.
Morgan laughed softly as he nodded his head. “Indeed.”
Nora turned in the chair to see him better.
It was the auburn haired person with those amazing green eyes. He was carrying some blankets and a pillow. He laid these on a bed that she had not noticed until now, and turned to her again. He walked over to the easel, stood beside it and sighed.
“Tea with lemon with ice and a large piece of pecan pie. Plus, a small bowl of bananas and strawberries.” He said to the easel as precise and clearly as he could. Upon the easel next to Nora's sketch of the maidens, were the items he asked for. He removed them from the canvas as easily as if from the refrigerator. He walked from her and set them on a tray next to the bed.
“Oh, are you going to bed?” Nora asked as she started to put away her things.
“No, you are. You will stay here until you finish. Much easier then you going home and coming back.” Morgan informed her as he took her by the hand and led her to the bed. “It will be easier on Parish too, for he won't have to keep opening and closing that enormous door for you.”
“I will not!” She shouted, “This is kidnapping! I am not your pet!” She pulled from him and away from the bed. She was horrified. Never before had she been so afraid and angered at the same time. Her mind shuffled through various horrible thoughts. Scenes of kids taken from their homes and streets, only to never return. Woman taken as slaves and beaten until they could no longer resist, their wills broken. Surely, she was not to become one of those.
“I am not kidnapping you. You can leave at any time.” Morgan replied with a smirk. “As a gesture of good faith, you can have my key. I will make a copy tomorrow.”
This eased her a little and she accepted the key with a slight smile. She eyed the thin metal object, then the grand door. It seemed somewhat humbled by the sheer size of the entrance.
She glanced around looking for other exits and found two; one by the easel and another that lead past a small window. She glanced up at the outline of the trapdoor above her head. She smiled, that was some comfort at least. She knew that if she needed she could leave by those means and even lock them if she felt the urge.
“You shall bring all of your possessions with you tomorrow. Right now, though, you must eat and concentrate on the masterpiece.” Parish responded before Morgan could speak. It was almost as if rehearsed and each knew their parts too well.
Nora sighed heavily as she sank into the bed. They were right; it would be much easier to stay there with the easel and not have to worry about going back and forth. Her friend would not have to worry about her on the couch anymore and maybe Azreal, her cat, would like it here as well.
She looked about the rather large room. There were another two beds off to her left some feet behind the easel, and two rather tall dressers one by each bed. There also were two bowls next to her bed, one for water and the other food. These were more then likely for Azreal.
A small wall divided the spaces, leaving a small sitting area in the middle next to where the easel stood. To the left of the easel sat a table with a picture of fresh cream and a rather hot pot of coffee. Also on the table, were several dishes, varying from dinner to general use plates and bowls. Several coffee mugs and some glasses sat near the plates. Everything seemed to welcome her and be what she needed. She frowned at this thought. Everything here was too convenient.
This thought and more raced through her head as she eyed Morgan. He was standing off to her right, leaning against a tall concrete pillar flipping a card through his fingers. His bright blue eyes sparkled in the mediocre light as he watched the card flip from one finger to another. His skills with slight of hand seemed rather honed. He spoke volumes to her without saying much of anything. His air and mannerisms told her that he was a man of direction and distractions. A smoke and mirrors disappearing act with the flare for the theatrics and melodrama of a one-act play.
Then there was Parish, the lackey. His auburn hair, the dark green eyes, and his gentle smile, all gleamed with charm and charisma, but something else lay beneath the surface. Something she could not quite put her finger on. She could not help but wonder who was actually in control. She felt drawn in to something far more powerful then she could have ever imagined.
Nora turned to the food that sat waiting for her and picked up the fork. As she ate, her mind wandered to the reason why she was there, Morgan’s requested masterpiece. It was to be simple yet special. She leaned against the headboard, put her feet upon the bed and consumed her pie.
She let her mind wander to the picture she had started on the easel, three maidens dressed in flowing white gowns. Why had she chosen maidens? She hardly ever drew people, let alone females. She looked at the easel and took in her sketch. Even though, far from being completed, she could see that she had added a goddess like air to them. They lay about a rather simple but nonetheless beautiful chaise lounge. Yet, she could not help but think that they also seemed unhappy.
As Nora continued to consider her work, she soon found herself to be very sleepy. She yawned and moved down on the bed before snuggling beneath the thick blankets. The last thing she saw before drifting off to sleep was Morgan sitting down at the easel.
Nora slept soundly behind Morgan as he sat at the easel. He switched out the canvases and slowly began to sketch out the figure of a female. His skill with the mediums was literally breathtaking. He possessed flawless talent in refined details and in coloring. This was evident to Parish as he watched from the corner of the room, hidden by a trick of the trade, the shadows. He took in the detail of Morgan's art with a smile.
The woman's skin color was that of warm, golden wheat, with a hint of lively blush, from face to smooth, slim, proud column of throat. Light bluish-purple veins seen just beneath the surface, but added instead of detracted from her perfect pallor. She was small, and delicate. As for her face... nose, neither overly small nor large, lips, happily smiling- she was a statue carved by a master's delicate hand -an Aristocratic Lily with an air of defined strength hidden beneath a demure nature. Bone straight hair, streamed down her back and hung softly in front of her ears. Her eyes completed the picture and were miracles of color. Fierce and mysterious, all at the same time. Their deep brown color drowned anyone that peered into them with waves of cosmic vibrancy and a dynamic beauty.
Her jewelry was fairly simple, but elegant. A wide band of a choker of ornate lavender velvet encircled her neck, in the front, what appeared to be a hand-carved and delicately made silver crescent moons dangling from little bulbs of black onyx beads.
“Is she one of yours?” Parish asked as he walked into the light and over to Morgan.
Morgan nodded. He signed his name to the lower right hand corner and moved the canvas to the side. He replaced Nora's card sketch. He stood up, returned his materials and picked up the canvas.
“What plans do you harbor for this one?” Parish asked as he eyed Nora's sketch.
“I wish to see this to its natural conclusion... I am not a big fan of trying to direct art... I believe we are no more than recorders of art... so where ever it goes I shall have an interest in its destination.” Morgan replied as he took Parish by the hand, led him out the door by the window and up the tall flight of stairs.
It opened up into a medium sized room. Its floor swamped with several luscious pillows of varying sizes. Descending from the opened frame worked ceiling were large rustic iron candle-based chandeliers that cast their ambient light in a soft flowing glow. The orange and reddish waves of light vibrantly danced across the newly painted canvas that Morgan hung on the south wall. The other walls bore within them windows that stretched their panes to each corner and nearly to the ceiling. Strips of Moroccan fabric flowed casually down between the chandeliers with enough distance as not to catch ablaze.
Morgan removed his jacket, folded it and placed it on one of the larger pillows to his side. He tossed his hat onto the only unlit chandelier before he lay against Parish who was strong beneath him but soft and welcoming as well. He nuzzled his head into his friend's neck as he contemplated his composition.
“Who is she?” Parish asked as he combed his fingers through the fine strands of Morgan's rich chocolate curls.
“An aberration of my mind.” Morgan replied solemnly, “Don't mock me my friend. It is a condition of mental divergence. I find myself on a deferred plane, part of an artist elite, preparing to subjugate the barbarian hordes of critiqued disasters of sub par constructs. Even though this is a very convincing reality for me in every way, nevertheless it is actually an assemblage of my psyche. I am mentally divergent, in that I am escaping certain unnamed realities that plague my life here. When I stop going there, I will be unable to diverge myself again. Are you also divergent, friend?”
“Indeed.” Parish smirked as Morgan rolled up onto his elbows and smiled into his eyes. “What does she want?”
”She wishes to devour me.” He breathed. “She is but a lady and as such she wishes to be known. I sought her out of my incommodious mind, to seek some comfort in her feline feminine qualities, for I am at a crossroads with myself. I have been unable to conjure up the adequate emotions for such a decadent revealing of my desires.”
“You are insane then?” Parish laughed.
“I am not. Merely left a bit from it.” Morgan replied with a smirk.
Parish placed a hand gently along side his face and kissed his lips gingerly. He hugged his friend to his side, pulled his shirt from his pants and slid a hand beneath his shirt. It slithered up his stomach to his hardened chest and found within his heartbeat. He rested his head on Morgan's, and kept his hand in place as he listened to the rhythm of their breathing.
“I enjoy your art.” Parish purred as he closed his eyes taking in every part of Morgan's essence. “Though, I am envious of you talent. My work is no where near yours.”
“Credit yourself more. You are better then you think.” Morgan replied sitting up and stretching. “Our lady fair shall be waking soon.”
Parish nodded as he stood, grasped his friend's hand and pulled him to his feet. They left the chamber, leaving behind the hat and jacket for later collection, and went to Nora’s room where she was already awake.
“Oh, good morning!” Nora yawned as she sat up, set her feet on the floor, and pushed the blankets aside. She stretched before standing up and than made the bed.
“It's evening, my dear.” Morgan informed her as he drew the shades on the window.
Nora eyed the window, the dark sky and the moonlight streaming in, and frowned. Had she really fallen asleep and not slept until morning? Why had she taken a nap? Was it the food? She decided she had better be more cautious of her actions and weary of their politeness. She might end up not waking and that would be very bad. Who would feed her cat?
“Are you ready to continue with your sketch?” Parish asked as he sat down at the table. He poured three cups of coffee, added cream and sugar to two of them and handed Morgan one.
The other Nora accepted with a nod. She eyed the coffee with question. She smelled the heavy aroma with delight but something ticked in her mind, and she set the coffee on the tray. She stuck her finger just far enough into the cup to wet the tip and then licked it. It was sweet with the cream and sugar, and did not taste off, a little strong maybe. She figured it probably was not poisoned and that it was all right to drink. She looked up from her coffee to find Morgan reviewing her sketch.
“I will return to it as soon as I go and collect my things.” Nora explained as she stood up. She gathered her keys and pocket book, as she started for the door. She did not know where the sudden need to be away from them had come from but she was not going to complain. Fresh air would be nice, and she could hardly wait to tell Arabela and Azreal about her ordeal. “Will be back shortly.”
Morgan did not move from the easel, he did not say a word as she left. He just sat at the easel staring at the sketch of a card. The lines of the image danced with an iridescent shimmer that eerily seemed to make the image float above the page. He traced a finger over the lines, they responded to his touch with changes of color; blue to purple, purple to red, red to orange, orange to yellow, and as he lifted his finger the colors merged again into a kaleidoscopic incandescence.
He combed his fingers through his hair, untangling some of the curls, and nodded his head. He picked up the pencil that Nora had used- normal. He checked the other materials for signs of magical tinkering and none of them showed any. He smiled at this while he again traced the perimeter of the sketch. The colors changed as they had previously but this time the card actually floated above the canvas.
“Toying with her?” Parish asked as he appeared beside Morgan with a cigarette hanging from his lips. His bright green eyes seemed to radiate with the fire that lay in his fierce auburn hair. It reached down to about his waist and curled up slightly at the bottom. He no longer wore the paint-splattered jump suit, but a clean satin bluish-white shirt with the neckline drawn up. Long flowing sleeves with open cuffs that cascaded off his arms like waterfalls. His lower half, a pair of black casual pants fitted at the waist with a black braided fabric belt. His feet were bare and snuggled in to the carpet.
“Merely checking her progress.” Morgan looked over at him as he slowly pushed down on the card, making it sink back into the canvas. No evidence showed of Morgan's handling.
“How fares it?” Parish questioned as he moved a chair over to him, straddled it backward, and rested his hands on his crossed arms.
“Better then I had anticipated. Her strength of power is beyond what I had originally figured. Her ability to manipulate the canvas to her very whim; this too is an ingenious difference of what I had originally supposed. I will be better for this.” Morgan replied.
“This is good but do you still foresee the darkness looming?” Parish wondered as he drew out from beside the easel a deck of worn tarot cards. He handed these to Morgan who eyed them with sadness and concern.
The mood seemed to shift unpleasantly as Morgan moved his stool to the table, now cleared of the clutter. He laid the cards on the table, and cut the deck three times. He precisely set the cards out onto the table. He read over each card as he turned it over and his mood grew dimmer. He shook his head and swiped the cards into a pile. He pushed the cards from him and hung his head. His body shook with his disappointment and anger.
“Damn these cards!” Morgan cried out as he stood up. “They are not but paper and ink. I will go and see for myself what lies before me.”
These words alerted Parish and armed him with fear.
“No, you will not. The last time almost drained you! If you remember, you had a hard time recovering.” He stood before his friend; weary of the actions. “Don't be a fool. Use the girl. You said she was strong and her ability was sharp.”
“She is but a catalyst for me. I will not use her to do what I can myself. “Morgan pushed his way past his lackey and hurried up into the pillowed room. He closed the door before anyone could enter behind him and took down the painting of the woman he had done earlier.
This he set upon one of the larger pillows, sat down Indian style before it, and closed his eyes. He calmed his breathing to one rhythmic beat as he began to chant something beneath his breath. Swirls of color began to rise around him. Hues of blue floated from the surface of his skin and vibrant strays of reds from his hair. These colors spread out in a circle pattern, which collided above his head in a shower of bright shards of light. His frame shimmered like that of the sketch and than began to wane.
The door swung wide open as Parish barged his way in. He fell onto his knees before his friend with tears streaming down his cheeks. He reached his hands out to stop him, but they slid right through his diminishing state. Parish frowned as he eyed the woman in the painting, there beside her sat Morgan. Above them were fine crystalline shards of light that radiated bright red hues.
“Damn you.” Parish hissed as he rose. “You don't make this easy, do you?”
He touched the painting that immediately caused his form to transgress the parameters of his reality and he soon found himself within the painting next to Morgan. He threw himself at his friend and wrapped his arms about his waist. He cried into Morgan’s shoulder. His sobbing and rasped breathing echoed about the confines of the framing of the picture. He sagged heavily against Morgan as his body gave way beneath him.
“Bastard.” Parish cried as he beat against him.
Morgan pried himself away from his lackey, turned to the woman and smiled. He brushed the hair from her
face gently as he leaned forward and kissed her lips. Her hand rose to met his and they interlaced their fingers together.
“Please, do not do this!” Parish pleaded, “I cannot take this, Morgan...”
“Silence!” Morgan hissed, his eyes flashing fierce.
He pulled himself closer to the woman, took her to him and kissed her deeper. As they embraced, a set of five tarot cards formed before him. Each card a different color and meaning. They floated and fluttered becoming more solid and defined with each movement made. Soon, they began to descend until they were mere inches above his head. He touched the blue card; it turned toward him, its significance clear only to him. He touched the red followed by the purple and lastly the green. As he read the last card, a scene formed to the right of him. He focused his attentions on this. He saw himself and a woman who he could not place.
His eyes were hard as steel as he peered down at her lying there on the floor before him. Her ragged body breathing heavily, her bosom pushing against the weak cloth of the tattered dress stained with her blood, sweat and the drying paint that had led him to her. He could hear her sobbing choking up from in her lungs...
He could taste the fear rising from her as he knelt close to her. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty and shimmered with her tears. He laughed softly at her unaltered innocence... her damning purity... he wanted to cherish her... but she had ruined that... she had destroyed any chance at survival...
She was now going to die... He rose up over her, his hand raised and as he brought it down... Parish appeared to his side, his face full of tears and his hand wielding a rather vicious looking knife. This came down to meet his spine, severing various arteries. He watched as his body fell onto the girl's, lifeless.
As the scene dissipated, he found himself out of breath and energy. His body sore and aching as his mind struggled with the meaning of the scene. He collapsed into the waiting arms of Parish who held him tightly and kissed his sweating forehead. Morgan’s vision blurred, his heart raced and his body burned from the inside out. Blackness enveloped him.
“Is he dead?” A solemn voice asked from somewhere behind Parish. “Is it my fault?”
Parish looked up from his friend, turned his body half way round to see better. He frowned as he shook his head and returned his attention on Morgan.
Morgan lay still, cold and limp but not dead, merely greatly drained. His eyes, closed but they moved wildly as if watching something. His heart beat with a low thunderous clap that was barely audible and seemed with half strength. His cold pasty hand clutched his friends as it desperately tried to convey some weakened meaning through small faltering gestures that made little sense. His fingers twitched out broken patterns in the palm of his friend's hand that seemed to want of something but the meaning was lost.
“He speaks but I am deaf, it seems.” Parish sighed as he gathered Morgan up to him and tried to listen to the lips that moved but could hear only faint breathing. “This is his doing.”
The woman of the painting stepped before them and seated herself. Her long lustrous hair fell down her thin frame in waves and gently caressed Morgan's skin. Her bright eyes sparkled with such intensity it was if fire burned within them. She looked over Morgan's still body with a frown and sighed. She took his other hand in hers, she scrawled onto his palm a strange symbol of an ornate design that glowed shortly then vanished before anyone else could understand its meaning. Another symbol appeared in its absence, a symbol that resembled a scrolled “M” and this lingered as long as the last. This seemed to make the woman feel somewhat better and she smiled weakly.
“It seems that he is able to still communicate which is good. Yet, his subconscious is taking him for a little trip it seems.” The woman seemed to purr the words.
“I will need your help.” Parish informed.
“I will help you. Be warned, though, this is not your area to trample on. If he is unwilling to return, you must let him go.” The woman replied in a stern voice.
“It is not his time.” Parish growled with anger.
“This is not your decision.” The woman replied with the same stern tone.
Parish, of course, knew she was right but this did not make things better. This also did not deter him from doing what he knew he had to. He stayed beside his friend, held his hand, and closed his eyes. His breathing calmed and slowed until it was inaudible and almost nonexistent. His mind swirled with dynamic colors that engulfed him and separated his soul from his body.
As he floated above his form, he felt a pull toward a stream of light coming down from the heavens. The will to go within the light was strong but his determination to help his friend was stronger. He turned and looked at the woman who sat watching him, but not seeing him. He smiled as she held out her hands like a little cup. He floated over to her, rested in her hands and waited. His smoke like form continued to pull to the light as darkness poured up from below.
This darkness held bright red flames that twitches and stirred the air with ominous presents that lunged at Parish. He quickly rose up a barrier that kept them from him but shimmered with weakness. He was unable to maintain it for long and hoped the woman would do her part soon.
“Um... how long are you going to sit there?” Morgan wondered as he stared up at his friend.
Parish stood, looked around at the darkness that engulfed them and eyed Morgan with great concern. He held a wispy hand out to touch his friend but it passed through him with great ease. He was alarmed for a moment until he recalled previous events. He calmed a little as he remembered his mission.
“I hate you.” Parish groaned as he floated about nervously. “Why was there two beings floating near your body? This is not a good thing.”
“Argula and Purinaty.” Morgan replied.
“You named them?” Parish gasped.
“I did.” Morgan smiled as he ran his fingers through the mist like resemblance of his hair. He had carried with him into his subconscious this old habit. He floated over to a small glowing object that had not been apparent before. This, he held as he returned to Parish. He lifted it up as so that they could see into it better. Inside the orb was a vision of their physical forms laying in the room of pillows. He tapped on it gently and it disappeared. “I am glad that she remained to look over everything. I figured that she would but I was not sure. You can never tell with conjuring. They are rather fickle at times.”
Parish merely nodded uncertain of what to say or do. He was not used to being in other people psyches and he remembered the woman's warning. Be warned, though, this is not your area to trample on. If he is unwilling to return, you must let him go. He hissed bitterly.
Morgan's form shimmered and flickered as it faded out then faded in. He wiggled his shoulders in disgust and sighed deeply.
“Um…” Parish said. “Stop that.”
“I wish I could. I have grown weak.” He replied and if to verify his point, he faded out again. This time it took a bit longer for him to fade in. “I hate it. I was so stupid.”
“No comment.” Parish commented.
“You were right. I am sorry.” Morgan's voice faded this time and was a whisper. “For... give... me...”
“Hush now. Come back to me.” Parish floated to him and tried to hold him the best he could. He playfully combed his fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. “You have too much to do.”
“I am tired.” Morgan sat down pulling his friend with him. “I... have... little... Will…”
Parish slid into his friends form then out again, leaving behind what he hoped was enough strength to allow both of them to return. He collapsed, faded out then back in again. He laughed wearily as he faded then in for a second time. He coughed as he held himself up right and tried to focus on Morgan.
“Stop that... you will kill us both.” Morgan hissed. “We need her.”
The orb appeared between them, floating and spinning slightly revealing the woman. She peered at them with a frown as she crossed her arms and slumped forward. She reappeared before them in a dazzling gown of ornate colors. Her skin was paler and carried less of the warmth that he had painted into her. Her small had dulled as well but this was to be expected Astra-projection was very hard on one especially when one used it as a gateway into the psyche of another.
“Okay, time for you boys to stop playing.” She hissed, “I will lose myself if you insist on dragging me in and out of your minds.”
“Forgive me. “Morgan responded. “Forgive us; we need your help, High Priestess.”
At the sound of her true name, the woman began to fade and changed her appearance. Her skin color warmed to a golden tan, with a hint of lively blush. She was small and delicate as she sat upon her throne that had formed at the back of the space. Her face defined her strength and it lay beneath her bone straight hair. Her eyes, waves of cosmic vibrancy and dynamic beauty that only highlighted her royal stature.
She wore a thin strip of a lavender gown half hidden by the rather cumbersome thick robe of black velvet. The robe, adorned with golden silk-spun moons that sat at the corners and a thin line of circular detailing in the middle. It draped about her in large clumps of fabric and made her look tiny beneath it. Her jewelry was fairly simple, but elegant. A wide band of a choker of ornate lavender velvet encircled her neck, in the front, what appeared to be a hand-carved and delicately made silver crescent moons dangling from little bulbs of black onyx beads.
The throne was rather ornate with simple engraved carvings of the sun and moon. Light luscious cream cushions comforted her and were a stark contrast to the dark ebony wood of the arms and back. It was a tall regal chair for such a demure woman.
“What do you want from me?” She asked blankly. No emotion showed in her.
“Give me strength.” Morgan replied, as he lay at her feet, helpless.
“Is that all?” She asked as if this task was nothing more then a minor indulgence.
“For now.” Parish responded, “We must not over do it. For we have already taxed ourselves to the limit.”
“Indeed.” The woman smiled as she stood from her throne. She allowed her robe to fall to her feet as she floated toward them. As they rose to meet her, she knelt down and kissed each of their foreheads. “You are wise to not draw out too much of me yet. When the time is right, you will have to draw upon me and tell me of your desires. I can sense you are keeping something from me. I do not like this.”
“Yes, maim. We most certainly will.” Morgan replied as his strength slowly seeped back into him. He rose up in a fire of red flames that consumed him with such intensity it burned away his wispy form returning him to the physical plane.
Morgan looked about for Parish and saw him lying next to him. He sighed very much relieved, leaned over, and kissed him.
“Don’t ever do that again.” Parish hissed as he sat up.
“What? Kiss you? But, I thought you liked it when I did that.” Morgan asked honestly confused.
“No, you jerk. Do not go running off to get yourself killed. You almost died again!” Parish growled as he brushed away Morgan’s embrace. “Don’t even try to act like your innocent. I do not like it when you try to kill yourself. Remember that is something you are trying to keep from doing.”
“No. It’s something that I am trying to keep you from doing.” Morgan commented innocently.
Parish glared at him.
“You bastard. I am trying to help you and all you can do, is throw that back in my face. Maybe, your idiocy leads me to kill you. It seems to be the cause from what I see.” Parish snapped very disturbed by his friend’s words and manner.
“I apologize. You are right, you have done so much for me and all I can do is belittle you. Forgive me?” Morgan replied with a deep frown.
“Absolutely not.” Parish hissed. “You will not get out of this with an apology. Not this time and not anymore! I will not allow that to lure me back into your insane attempts to kill yourself.”
Morgan frowned as tears streamed down his face. He knew that they were honest words and that is what hurt him the most. He eyed Parish with great sadness and then stood. He shook his head unhappy with himself. He waved a hand casually causing his hat to fall from the chandelier. He put it on and left the room. Parish quickly followed him, wanting to know what he planned.
“Where are you headed?” Parish asked as he followed Morgan down the stairs and into the room with the easel.
“I am going to go and retrieve Nora, so that she can finish her sketching. I want to be done with her as soon as possible.” Morgan replied with fierce anger.
“Oh, I see, now you are gonna take this out on the girl!” Parish snapped as he grabbed Morgan’s arm in an attempt to stop him.
Morgan threw off his hand and turned to face Parish. His anger was evident as he glared violently at Parish. He step extremely close to Parish and held his face mere centimeters from Parish who stared back at him just as fierce.
“You have no idea what you are talking about! Back off!” Morgan said, his anger pouring into his voice. His words were a sea of daggers that struck Parish hard and drew from him an intense hatred. A hatred not for Morgan but for his actions, for his sheer stupidity towards the matter.
“You psychotic imbecile!” Parish’s voice was almost a whisper as he strained to speak. The anger and hatred that tore at him, also poured like acid into his voice. He knew that he was not helping matters but he could not keep himself from telling Morgan what was on his mind. He moved from Morgan and leaned against a pillar. His body shook violently. Morgan watched him as his own body shook with its own surge of anger. Bitter tears streamed down his face and he violently wiped them away. He closed his eyes and fought back the tears. He bit his lower lip forcefully causing it to bleed.
“You dare to tell me that I have no idea what I am saying? Who was the one that bailed you out every time your stupid ass got into trouble? Who was the one that had to retrieve you from yourself? Who? Please tell me who! ‘Cause apparently I haven’t a an idea!” Parish screamed. He turned to face Morgan and his heart shattered as he saw Morgan’s condition. His heart tugged at him to help Morgan but his mind screamed for him to leave him alone. Usually Morgan’s own stupidity always led him to trouble. “You idiot.”
Against his better judgment, Parish walked over to his friend and hugged him gently. He smiled faintly as he felt Morgan’s arms surround him tightly. He shook his head and sighed when he felt his friend is choking sobs. He pushed Morgan from him and looked lovingly into his face.
“You are a serious ass, but I can’t seem to stay mad at you. You need me. I need you. It’s an annoying situation we have here, is it not.” Parish said as he hugged his friend to him.
“Indeed.” Morgan replied.
“Now, let’s stop standing here and let’s go retrieve Nora. It is getting rather lonely here without her. Besides, she’ll be a good distraction for you.” Parish said taking charge of the situation once again.
He took his friend by the hand and led him out of the main door. As he closed the large cumbersome door behind them, he heard a voice calling his name. He turned and saw Nora walking up to him. In her arms, was a dark gray longhaired cat with demonic green eyes. On her back, she wore a book bag that looked rather small. Parish could not help but wonder how long she was planning on staying. He decided it was better not to ask. Parish smiled and nodded at her.
“Hello!” Nora greeted. She stood before them, smiling happily. She eyed Morgan who was wiping at his eyes and she titled her head to the side in confusion as if the new perspective would give her answers. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He replied, his tone blank. “Come in, you have work to do.”
She nodded with a bit of a frown.