Update
Today, I started NaNoWriMo by breaking down the stories involved in the novel. I have 7 stories planned for the novel, of which 3 will be editing and re-writing from start to finish the 3 Morgana Lugus shorts I've already written. To start, I'm going with the titular story Fata Morgana, where Morgana is sent to look for a rich kid gone missing in the underworld of Arkham.
Current Word Count: 1,560
Scene of the Day
A series of three solid knocks sounded on my office
door, pulling me from what had been an unusually peaceful sleep.
I muttered a curse before sitting up straight, trying to
at least look like a professional.
“Morgana, you’ve got clients in,” a cheery voice called
from the other side of the barrier.
“Send ‘em in,” I called before hurriedly dragging my
hair back from the nest my desk had made it.
I’d managed to get it decently under control when the
door slid open and a couple walked in.
They looked incredibly unhappy as they stiffly walked
into my office, and their misery washed over me in waves to further cement the
visual clue.
“Hello. Please, take a seat,” I offered with a pasted on
smile I hoped wasn’t too noticeably fake.
They took the offer woodenly, looking as though they
were afraid they’d get burnt just being near me.
I kept my expression carefully neutral as I fully took
their appearance in.
“What can I help you with?”
“Are you the witch?” the woman immediately retorted,
using the word like it was a curse.
She appeared to be in her late 50’s, her ruddy red hair
showing signs of greying through the tight bun she wore it in.
Her eyes reminded of my assistant, the hard blue so icy
I resisted the urge to grab a nearby blanket.
A sharp, black business suit covered a slightly muscular
frame, which, combined with her expression, indicated she wasn’t use to having
people speak to her without being asked first.
I felt an instinctive desire to push her buttons, but
managed to rein it back in as I nodded.
“I am, among other things, a witch, yes. What can I do
fer you?” I reiterated.
“Why’re we even here?” the man grumbled in response.
In comparison, the Ice Queen’s husband was far more haggard in appearance.
He was garbed in a well-worn, grey suit that matched
almost all the hair left on his balding head, the color making his already pale
complexion look practically corpse-like.
His face had a large amount of sagging skin, and frown
lines were etched deep around his lips.
He glared at the floor as he asked, his small, beady
green eyes missing all of the intensity and none of the warmth of his other
half’s.
It would be hard to say either wanted to be there, in my
office, but he was clearly even less happy about it than the Ice Queen.
“We’re here,
Brandon, because those dolts at the police department couldn’t find a clue if
you gave them an illustrated map,” his wife hissed, giving him a harsh glare
that went entirely missed by him.
“Well, I’m always happy ta' take up the slack when the fine members of the APD fail ta' deliver,” I quipped, drawing their attention back to me.
“So we’ve heard.”
Somehow, I had the feeling I was being insulted, but
them being in a bad mood made my day brighten.
“So, and I know that it’s hard ta' stay with me here, but
do try, what can I do fer you?” I asked again.
“How dare you speak to your clients that way!” she
hissed.
I shrugged, her glare a lot less impressive with me than
she was clearly used to.
“You haven’t paid me yet, so ya' aren’t actually my
client, yet. Ya' definitely haven’t told me why yer here yet, which means ya' literally can’t be my client, at this
point in time,” I returned.
“Nor will we be. So insolent,” the man snarled as he
moved to stand up.
“Ya' came to me fer a reason. If I have to ask what that
reason was again, I’ll boot ya' out, an' ya' can take your chances with
the APD,” I retorted.
My tone stopped him cold, and the woman’s eyes widened
at the way the room seemed to suddenly grow warmer.
“We need you to look for someone who’s gone missing for
us,” the woman finally explained as he sank back to his former position.
It wasn’t that odd, really, that I’d be the go-to after
the police department.
In the wonderfully crappy city of Arkham, Massachusetts,
with a population of just over 235,000 people, and boasting the title of one of
the U.S.’s epicenters for the weird and horrific, the options outside of the police
were limited.
The missing case reports alone were nearly enough to
warrant their own department, and by no means were they close to being the
city’s worst problem.
The police were often the best advertisers for my
business, in their lack of resources, though, so I couldn’t bring myself to feel
too bad for them.
It had, more likely, been my reputation that got these
posh people to lower themselves to coming to my office, though.
I’d become known around the city as a protector, of
sorts, and I was essentially a Swiss army knife, metaphysically speaking.
Not many people were capable of going face-to-face with
everything from vampires and pissed off spirits to real, full-fledged demons
and monsters from beyond our reality.
My job sucked, but my mindset of ‘someone has to do it’
had gotten me a fair bit of funds over the years.
It also, unfortunately, made me the target of completely
unpleasant clients, like the pair before me just then.
“There're a lotta' missing people around this city. I
need a description, at least.”
“Of course. Well, I suppose we should introduce
ourselves. My name is Roselyn Levi, and this is my husband, Brandon Levi,” she
stated with a flourish.
Clearly, she thought the name was something that should
impress, because she stopped talking after the introduction, seeming to wait
for something.
I got the impression she was looking for me to faun over
her, or perhaps do a jig.
Either way, a quick glance at their auras had given me
that much information already, so she was doomed to disappointment.
When I didn’t respond, she frowned deeply and pushed
onward.
“Our son, Johan, has disappeared. I know that it’s not
surprising, in this accursed city, but-”
“That bastard can’t be going around screwing up the work
we’ve put into our social standing,” Brandon cut in with a glare. “We need you
to drag his ass, kicking and screaming if necessary, back to us. We need to
make sure he can’t embarrass us or do something stupid.”
“My husband is… blunt,”
Roselyn muttered with a glare at him, “but he’s essentially correct. We’ve put
years into building up our community standing, and Johan has a tendency toward
the stupid and dramatic.”
I stared at the two, barely able to resist a shudder at
the positively poisonous auras they were spreading through my office.
If ever people thought that vampires were monsters
solely because of their effect on people, I would gladly introduce them to the
toxic couple to shut them up.
“Are you really a witch?” Brandon growled into the
ensuing silence. “Shouldn’t you have a pointy hat or something?”
Normally, I take things in stride and ignore what people
think when they aren’t Arkham locals.
Being woken up and immediately thereafter subjected to
their lovely personalities, though,
had cut my patience significantly, and with it went my usual tact.
I let my eyes narrow until the world blurred slightly,
and as it did, the colors outlining their bodies grew clearer.
A hum filled the air as I focused, and I listened
intently as their life stories were sung to me through the aether.
They both shivered, I noticed, likely from the way my
green eyes had become nearly neon in their color.
“Brandon Thadius Levi, age fifty-nine, born in
Springfield, Illinois. Made a nice chunk of wealth on the stocks for a few
Fortune 500 companies, and lived it up in style. Your grandmother died, and
suddenly, you’re stuck with an unsellable house that'll drain your funds if
ya' don’t suck it up and move inta' Arkham. How’s that?” I asked.
He was white as a sheet, and he had almost comically
fear-widened eyes locked on me.
I’d long come to terms with the fact that at just under
five feet tall, with a complexion like glue and hair a shade darker than
fire-red, I tended to strike people as someone not fitting to fight hellions.
It never failed to work as a wonderful ego boost, then,
when I made someone turn that particular pallor.
“Yo… You could’ve just looked that up,” he reasoned
unconfidently.
“Ya' also had a terrier named Rutger until ya' were ten,
hated your grandmother and sucked up to 'er growin' up for her inheritance, and
were considering lighting her house on fire when you found out, ta' take the
insurance payment and be done with the whole thing.”
His jaw dropped, and I felt a somewhat cruel smile
curling my lips.
“All of which, I assure you, I couldn’t have looked up,
considering I didn’t know you were even a person until you walked through my
door. I tolerate a lot, but I’ve put a lot
of work into my skills, and I don’t like having my abilities questioned.
Now then,” I said in a much brighter tone, “if we could discuss my fee, Mrs.
Levi…”
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