Updated Apr 13, 2026 • ~13 min read
Chapter 12: Morgan Drake
Oliver
Oliver is cataloging historical binding methods with Daniel over video call when Sage’s ex-girlfriend walks into Thornwood Occult like she owns the place, and Oliver knows immediately that his life is about to get significantly more complicated.
MORGAN DRAKE is everything Oliver isn’t—a powerful witch, sophisticated in ways that make Oliver feel like a perpetual disaster, tall and elegant with silver hair that’s either prematurely gray or a deliberate aesthetic choice, wearing clothes that probably cost more than Oliver’s monthly rent. She moves through the shop with the confidence of someone who’s been here before, who knows where Sage keeps things, who has history that Oliver can’t compete with.
Oliver dislikes her on sight, which is petty and he knows it, but he’s never claimed to be mature about his feelings.
“Daniel, I’m going to have to call you back,” Oliver says, closing his laptop just as Morgan reaches the stairs leading to Sage’s apartment.
“Oliver? What’s—”
“Sage’s ex just showed up. I’ll explain later,” Oliver says, hanging up before Daniel can respond with something unhelpful like “don’t be jealous” or “try not to be weird about this.”
Oliver is absolutely going to be weird about this.
Morgan doesn’t knock, just opens the door to Sage’s apartment like she has every right to, and Oliver hears Sage’s surprised voice from upstairs—not alarmed, which somehow makes it worse, just surprised and maybe pleased—and he knows he should stay downstairs, should give Sage privacy to deal with her ex, but he’s apparently a masochist because he finds himself climbing the stairs anyway.
He reaches the doorway just as Morgan is pulling Sage into a hug that lasts approximately three seconds too long for Oliver’s comfort, and when they break apart, Morgan’s hands linger on Sage’s arms in a way that makes Oliver’s chest tight.
“Sage, darling, I heard about the investigation,” Morgan says, voice low and cultured in a way that makes Oliver feel like his Boston accent is suddenly too obvious. “I came as soon as I could. I can help.”
“Morgan,” Sage says, and she sounds… fond. Genuinely fond, in a way she never sounds with other people except maybe Rowan and—Oliver hopes—him. “You didn’t have to come all the way from New York.”
“Of course I did,” Morgan says, like it’s obvious. “You’re being hunted by an entity powerful enough to kill your entire coven. Did you really think I’d stay away?”
That’s when Morgan notices Oliver standing in the doorway, and her expression shifts from warm concern to cool assessment in the space of a heartbeat.
“Who’s the human?” Morgan asks Sage, like Oliver isn’t standing right there.
Oliver feels his smile go sharp, the kind of friendly that’s actually a warning, and steps fully into the apartment. “Oliver Reyes,” he introduces himself, offering a hand that Morgan looks at like it might be cursed. “Curse-breaker. Sage’s partner on this investigation.”
“Partner,” Morgan repeats, and the word drips with skepticism. She takes his hand briefly—her grip is firm, her skin cool, and Oliver’s sensitivity picks up immediately that she’s powerful in ways that make his trace magic feel like a flickering candle next to a bonfire. “Since when do you work with humans?” This directed at Sage.
“Since I found one worth my time,” Sage says, and Oliver tries not to feel too pleased about the defense.
Morgan’s eyebrows rise, and she looks between Sage and Oliver with the kind of knowing expression that makes Oliver want to defend himself against accusations that haven’t been made yet.
“Interesting,” Morgan says, and it doesn’t sound like a compliment. “Well, I’m here now, so Oliver can step back and let actual practitioners handle this.”
“Actually, Oliver has been invaluable to the investigation,” Sage says, and there’s steel in her voice now, the kind that means she’s getting annoyed. “He’s the one who identified the entity as Nathaniel Thorne and traced the historical pattern.”
“How impressive for a human,” Morgan says, and Oliver can’t tell if she’s being genuine or condescending—actually, no, it’s definitely condescending.
“Morgan,” Sage warns.
“I’m just saying, darling, that this is clearly beyond his capability,” Morgan continues, moving further into the apartment with the ease of someone who’s been here many times before. “An immortal witch hunter who’s been killing practitioners for two centuries? This requires serious magic, not—” she gestures vaguely at Oliver, “—trace sensitivity and research skills.”
Oliver feels anger flare, hot and sharp, because being dismissed as useless is one of his trigger points, but before he can respond with something that will definitely make this situation worse, Sage steps between them.
“Oliver is my partner,” Sage says firmly. “If you’re here to help, then work with both of us. If you’re here to critique my choices, you can leave.”
Morgan looks genuinely surprised, like she didn’t expect Sage to defend a human quite so thoroughly, and her gaze sharpens as she studies Oliver with new interest.
“You really care about him,” Morgan observes, speaking to Sage but watching Oliver. “That’s… unexpected.”
“My feelings are none of your business,” Sage says coolly. “We broke up five years ago, Morgan. You don’t get to have opinions about my life anymore.”
“Five years ago you ended things because you were grieving and refused to let anyone close,” Morgan corrects, voice gentling. “Not because we didn’t work. And I never stopped caring about you, Sage.”
The air in the room gets tense, and Oliver feels distinctly like he’s intruding on something private, something intimate in ways that have nothing to do with current feelings and everything to do with shared history.
“Morgan—” Sage starts.
“I’m not here to win you back,” Morgan interrupts, but the look she gives Sage suggests that might not be entirely true. “I’m here because you’re in danger and I can help. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t… concerned about you trusting your safety to someone with no real power.”
Oliver’s hands clench into fists because she’s not wrong—he doesn’t have real power, can’t throw magic the way Sage and Morgan can, would be useless in a direct magical confrontation—but being dismissed for it still stings.
“I trust Oliver with my life,” Sage says, and Oliver’s heart does something complicated because she sounds like she means it. “More than I’ve trusted anyone in five years. So if you’re staying, you need to respect that.”
Morgan is quiet for a moment, and Oliver watches emotions play across her face—surprise, disappointment, resignation, and maybe a hint of respect.
“Fine,” Morgan finally says. “I’ll work with your human. But Sage, if he gets you killed—”
“Then I’ll have no one to blame but myself,” Sage interrupts. “Now, are you actually here to help or just to judge my life choices?”
“Both, obviously,” Morgan says, and there’s affection in her voice that makes Oliver’s chest tighten with something that’s definitely jealousy.
Morgan settles at the dining table like she belongs there, and Sage briefs her on everything they’ve learned—Nathaniel Thorne’s history, the pattern of attacks, the types of magic he’s collecting, the timeline for his ritual—and Oliver watches the two of them work together with the ease of people who’ve done this before, who know each other’s rhythms and capabilities.
They’re good together. It’s obvious and painful. Morgan anticipates what Sage needs before she asks, understands magical theory at a level Oliver can only barely comprehend, and contributes insights that are genuinely valuable.
Oliver feels increasingly unnecessary, relegated to the corner with his laptop while the actual witches do the real work, and he hates it, hates feeling like Morgan is right that he’s out of his depth.
“Oliver, what do you think?” Sage asks suddenly, and Oliver realizes he’s been zoning out, lost in his own inadequacy spiral.
“Sorry, what?”
“The binding ritual Morgan suggested—does it match any of the historical methods you found?” Sage repeats, and she’s looking at him with genuine interest, like his opinion matters.
Oliver pulls himself together and examines Morgan’s notes, forcing himself to focus on the work instead of his feelings.
“It’s similar to what was used on Thorne in 1692,” Oliver says, scanning his own research. “But that binding failed eventually because they didn’t account for him stealing power from his guards. We’d need a modified version that prevents any magical absorption while he’s contained.”
“Good point,” Morgan says grudgingly. “How would you modify it?”
Oliver blinks, surprised to be asked, and then ideas start flowing—anti-siphon wards, rotating guard schedules so Thorne never has access to the same witch twice, magical dead zones that prevent all energy transfer in both directions.
By the time he’s done explaining, both Sage and Morgan are looking at him with expressions he can’t quite read.
“That’s actually brilliant,” Morgan says, and she sounds like the admission costs her. “For a human.”
“Morgan,” Sage warns again, but there’s less heat in it this time.
“I’m complimenting him!” Morgan protests. “Conditionally, but still.”
They work through the afternoon, tension gradually easing into something almost collaborative, and Oliver starts to understand why Sage cared about Morgan, why they worked together—she’s brilliant and competent and clearly still cares about Sage in ways that are hard to miss.
It makes Oliver feel insecure in ways he hates, because how is he supposed to compete with someone who’s part of Sage’s world in ways he’ll never be?
By evening, Rowan has shown up with dinner and taken one look at Morgan before grinning like all her prayers have been answered.
“Oh my gods, is that Morgan Drake?” Rowan asks with entirely too much enthusiasm. “Sage’s legendary ex-girlfriend who she definitely still has unresolved feelings about?”
“I do not have unresolved feelings,” Sage says flatly.
“You definitely do,” Morgan and Rowan say simultaneously, then look at each other and laugh.
“I hate everyone in this room,” Sage declares, but Oliver can see her fighting a smile.
“Even me?” Oliver asks before he can stop himself, and he immediately regrets it because it sounds needy and jealous and exactly like someone who’s insecure about his place in Sage’s life.
Sage’s expression softens, and she meets his eyes across the table. “Especially you, Reyes.”
But the way she says it sounds like the opposite, and Oliver feels some of his tension ease.
Dinner is awkward in the way that meals are when you’re sharing food with your maybe-girlfriend and her definitely-still-interested ex-girlfriend and an apprentice who thinks the whole situation is hilarious.
Morgan tells stories about her and Sage’s past—cases they worked together, spells they developed, near-death experiences that Sage apparently survived through a combination of skill and stubbornness—and Oliver tries very hard not to feel like he’s being shown everything he’ll never have with Sage, all the history he can’t compete with.
After dinner, Rowan leaves with many significant looks, and Morgan announces she’s staying at a hotel nearby but will be back tomorrow to continue planning.
“Sage, walk me out?” Morgan asks, and Sage agrees, and Oliver tries not to watch them descend the stairs together, tries not to imagine what they might say in private.
He fails spectacularly, of course, and when Sage returns twenty minutes later, Oliver can’t help himself.
“So,” he says, trying to sound casual and probably failing. “Morgan seems… nice.”
“Morgan is many things,” Sage says, moving to clean up the dinner dishes. “Nice isn’t usually one of them.”
“She clearly still cares about you.”
“We have history,” Sage says, not denying it. “That doesn’t mean I want to revisit it.”
“She wants to,” Oliver points out, and he knows he should stop talking but jealousy has apparently stolen his brain-to-mouth filter. “Revisit it, I mean. She looks at you like… like she never stopped loving you.”
Sage stops washing dishes and turns to look at Oliver directly. “Are you jealous?”
“Yes,” Oliver admits, because lying would be pointless. “Absolutely. She’s everything I’m not—powerful, sophisticated, part of your world—and you two clearly had something real, and I’m sitting here feeling like an inadequate human who can’t compete.”
Sage stares at him for a long moment, and then she does something Oliver doesn’t expect—she laughs.
“What’s funny?” Oliver demands.
“You,” Sage says, moving closer. “Being jealous of Morgan when you’re the one I kissed, the one I admitted I’m falling for, the one I defended to her face.”
“You have history with her,” Oliver says, stubbornly clinging to his insecurity. “Five years of shared experience and magical compatibility and—”
“And I ended it,” Sage interrupts. “Not because of timing or grief, though that’s what I told her. I ended it because being with Morgan felt like what I was supposed to want, not what I actually wanted. She’s brilliant and powerful and we work well together, but I never felt… seen with her. Not the way I feel seen with you.”
Oliver’s chest gets tight. “Sage—”
“You’re right that I can’t compete with Morgan magically,” Sage continues. “But you don’t compete with magic, Oliver. You complement it. You see patterns I miss, you ask questions I don’t think to ask, you make me explain things in ways that help me understand them better. You’re not inadequate—you’re exactly what I need.”
“Even though I’m human?” Oliver asks quietly.
“Especially because you’re human,” Sage says. “Because you chose to be here knowing you’re outmatched. Because you care enough to be jealous even though we’ve agreed not to define this until after the case. Because you bring me coffee and make terrible jokes and stay even when I try to push you away.”
She’s close enough to touch now, and Oliver can see sincerity in her eyes, vulnerability she’s choosing to show him.
“I don’t want Morgan,” Sage says softly. “I want you. And if that’s not clear enough, I don’t know how else to say it.”
Oliver swallows hard, emotions warring in his chest—relief, joy, lingering insecurity that’s hard to shake. “I want to believe that.”
“Then believe it,” Sage says, and she reaches out to take his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m not good at this—at feelings, at reassurance, at any of it. But I’m trying. With you. Only you.”
Oliver looks at their joined hands, at Sage’s expression that’s open in ways she never is, and he feels his insecurity start to crack.
“I’m sorry for being weird about Morgan,” he says. “She’s here to help, and I should be grateful instead of jealous.”
“You’re allowed to be jealous,” Sage says. “As long as you trust me when I say she’s not a threat to… whatever this is between us.”
“Whatever this is,” Oliver repeats, and he can’t help but smile. “Very romantic.”
“Shut up, Reyes.”
“Make me, Thornwood.”
Sage rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and when she squeezes his hand before letting go to finish the dishes, Oliver feels settled in a way he hasn’t since Morgan walked through the door.
They return to research, and when Morgan shows up the next morning with coffee for everyone and a genuine apology for being dismissive of Oliver’s contributions, he decides maybe he can handle having Sage’s ex-girlfriend around.
As long as Sage keeps looking at him the way she is now—like he matters, like he’s chosen, like he’s exactly what she wants.
That, Oliver can work with.
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