by Renée Jaggér
My head snapped up. I had so many more questions.
“I’ve passed on most of the Way of Kings to you, and soon it will be gone from my body. In the past, the Way of Kings was transferred in one event at the crack of dawn. It was a painful experience, or so I’ve heard. Over the years, the Morrigan had found ways to do it over time since the pain had been too much. That also helped quell the madness.”
I nodded, then said somewhat desperately, “You have to help me. There is so much I don’t know.”
Gran’s eyes grew sad. “I wish I could, my dear, but unfortunately, there is little else I can give you since I’ve been out of the world for so long. You need to seek another source.”
“Where would I even begin?” I was exasperated.
“We were supposed to have The Book of the Morrigan to help us. I was supposed to have it so I could pass it to you, but—”
“It was lost. You told me,” I finished with a sigh.
Gran nodded. “Although we have the oral excerpts that were passed from woman to woman, which I have written down, there is still much more we need to know. I have told you about the Way of Kings and how to use it, but the creatures you might come up against in today’s world, I am not up to date on.”
I softened my tone. “I understand. I had hoped for more, but I do understand. Thank you, Gran, for everything.”
Gran laughed. “I’m surprised you aren’t angry with me for bringing your destiny to your attention.”
“I am surprised too, but I suppose I’ve felt needed. I’ve felt like there was something more for me for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Ten years or more. I felt it strongest in Haiti, and it has grown since, but I’ve always felt...stuck.”
Gran nodded. “That’s how I know it’s supposed to be you.”
“I talked to my mother about it.”
Gran silently sipped her tea.
“I understand why she had to say no.”
“Do you want to say no as well?” Gran asked. She asked sincerely—I felt she would take the burden from me if I did not desire it—but I did not feel pressed to say no.
I shook my head. “People need my help, and I don’t want to raise children in a world I had the opportunity to make better but didn’t. I just can’t do it alone.” Saying the words made me feel as though a weight was lifted off me.
“Of course not,” Gran replied. “I’m here to help, and remember, you have the Way of Kings about you. It will grow stronger and allow you more influence over the people you meet. That is what makes you powerful and dangerous.”
And dangerous, my mind echoed. I shifted, not sure how I felt about it.
Gran added, “You will find a way to fulfill your destiny in this new world.”
Chapter Twelve
To my relief, I did not experience any unusual dreams about my goddess destiny that night. I awoke feeling refreshed. I thanked my ersatz grandmother again and kissed her on the cheek before I left. I would spend a few more days at home before I returned to work.
I approached the railway station in my car, and service returned to my phone, I heard buzz after buzz of incoming notifications. What now? I thought with a groan, hoping I wasn’t being called into work. As I waited for the train that would take me home, I scanned the messages.
The first one was from Meg.
Ang! I heard what happened! You need to see what they’ve been saying about you.
Who? People at the hospital?
I read Meg’s next message, which linked to an online news article. My eyes widened when I clicked the link. The headline sprawled before me.
Crow Lady Negotiates Council Flats Building Surrender During Pandemic
I scrolled down to find a brief yet full account of what had happened—without any mention of mythical goblins that had been killed, of course. At the very bottom was a photo.
Of me. I leaned forward, peering closer. The image was of me stepping out of the building, children and the police hostages behind me. It had just begun to rain, so the photograph was blurry. When I looked closer, I realized why the headline had referred to me as “Crow Lady.” Crows lined every windowsill above me.
It looked like an eerie horror-flick poster.
Notifications had come in from other colleagues as well. I searched them to see if Simon had sent anything, but he hadn’t. I felt a strange twinge in my gut when I didn’t find his name, but I shoved the feeling away.
The whistle of the incoming train jolted my attention from my phone. Then, like a flame being ignited in my mind, something came to me, and I sprang to my feet. Once I had boarded the train, I scrambled to find something to write on.
Moments later, I had scribed the words MORGAN’S MURDER at the top of a scrap of paper. Murder as in a gathering of crows, I decided. When I got home, I’d get to work.
Four hours later, I sat back and released a sigh of contentment as I looked at the blog post I had just put up.
MORGAN’S MURDER: a community action group to improve the local area by combating issues like isolation, domestic abuse, and child neglect.
The photo of me coming out of the building with the crows lined up above me was right under the title and tagline.
My eyes scanned the “about” page.
We have all seen many negative effects of the worldwide pandemic, but more go unnoticed and/or are deliberately hidden. After the events of last week, I, Angelica Morgan, have decided to bring these hidden things to light. I am here to fight domestic abuse, isolation, and child neglect, while continuing to work for the hospital that provided me the opportunity to help.
As many of you know, I can’t do it alone. I would love for the community to join me. Together, we can end situations where people feel as though they are living in cages. We can bring into the light the people who victimize others under these circumstances. Crows clear out the rot, so let’s get to work.
Beneath this was a “take action” button that led to a contact page.
My heart rate increased with excitement and anticipation. I wondered if many would join if it was through an online avenue. Would the Way of Kings work in that situation? Regardless, I decided my temporary place in the news might be enough to cause some good and lasting effects.
Next, I set up a group on social media, attaching my blog and information page to it.
Call Mum, I thought, and tell her about it.
My phone buzzed, waking me.
I jerked up from where I had been lying face-down on my sofa. It had been hours since I had started the group. I called my mother, who had not answered, which was odd for her. I had then laid down to take a brief nap. The nap, however, had not been brief. The room had darkened, and although my curtains were parted, only the streetlights outside shone through.
My phone buzzed again, and I reached for it.
Simon, I thought and swiped his text open.
I just saw your group, Ang. I love the idea, and I’m thrilled for you. I look forward to hearing more about it when I see you at work after your leave. Almost two thousand followers and more people wanting to join? Thrilling! Talk to you soon.
My eyes widened, and the number two thousand clanged around in my brain. I opened the group page and was flooded with comments and messages. In no time at all, people had begun discussing their excitement about the group. A flame of pride ignited in me.
“I was there when she settled the issue at the council flats!” one comment read. Others mentioned similar things, some with much detail and others with little.
I smiled. Thanks, Gran, for showing me the way.
“Hello, everyone,” I said to the camera.
I smiled. “I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am for everyone who has decided to join this group and take action against the negative issues in our community. Like I’ve told you all before, I can’t do it alone, so please share things about the area you believe more people should know about. We start with awareness and conversation, t
hen we take action. So, help us all become more aware.”
Moments later, I uploaded the video, and people began to engage with it.
I found having a purpose aside from my daily duties for the hospital put my mind at ease. The result would mean more on my plate but less time wondering about victims who were not yet in the hospital. I preferred to save lives now rather than when they called.
The number of comments on my last video grew. I sifted through them and the messages and emails. I might need to hire an assistant at some point, I thought. Even though the comments were becoming overwhelming, I was delighted.
I skimmed past a few, then one caught my eye.
I came across this group when I saw the photo of you on the street with the crows lining the sills above you. It was chilling and reminded me of the popular urban legends regarding crows. Seeing one crow means bad luck. Seeing two means good luck. Three means health, and four means wealth. Five crows, however, points to sickness coming, and six refers to death. I saw far more than six and was wondering if you knew about these superstitions. I am not personally superstitious, but the photo reminded me of Douglas Velez’s book series The Meaning of Myths, where he regularly acknowledges such superstitions. Anyway, thank you for reading my comment. I love what you’re doing and can’t wait to see what happens!
I smiled at the kind end to the comment, then reread the line above. “Douglas Velez,” I murmured. A quick search brought me to a website that appeared not to have been updated in quite some time.
Douglas Velez is the author of the popular 1990s series The Meaning of Myths, which engages in narrative discussions of mythical creatures, characters, and circumstances. Velez first began publishing his books in 1991 but says he has been writing them since the late `70s. When Velez’s books were first released, they were an instant success. His soaring tales of mythical beings in our world provided stimulation to readers’ imaginations. His stories, however, met with controversy when he began to speak about the truths behind his stories. His comment at a 1995 event with readers where he stated, “My stories are more truth and less fiction!” was detrimental to his ability to continue selling books. His stories are now what many would consider cult fiction.
An eccentric old buzzard then, I thought as I scrolled through the page. The book covers for The Meaning of Myths were present, along with an image of the author. I exited the page and continued to scroll through suggested sites. I clicked on one that led me to a forum and scanned for the date of the last comment.
“2002,” I read aloud. The majority of the comments were questions from readers, mixed with some discussion. My eyes widened as they fell on a comment of some length which was written by Douglas Velez.
They just don’t understand! My stories are not myths, they’re about myths! They’re about the meaning of the myths and how they pertain to our real-life circumstances. The good and evil of the mythology we know is all around us but artfully hidden. Since the beginning, I have sought to bring these things to light. The oppression and torment we experience in our world are due to the creatures who call themselves our friends and colleagues, our authorities and mentors. I wrote it in a narrative sense to appeal to my readers, and it worked. Many have now twisted my stories into tales of escapism, not ones we can learn truth from.
I skimmed the rest of his comment since it was lengthy. The more I read, the more exclamation points and words in all caps appeared. I rolled my eyes. Not the way to go about it, buddy, I thought as I remembered Gran’s gentler approach for telling me about the Morrigan.
At that thought, I sat straight up. This Velez guy seems self-important, yes, but he knows things. I should talk to him. He might just be my new source of information, even if he does seem to be crazy.
I continued my online search to see if there was any contact information for Douglas Velez, but there was nothing. No email, no social media, no business address. If it weren’t for his books and his rants on forums, Douglas Velez might have been invisible. I sighed in frustration.
Maybe the police could do me a favor and find out where he lives. I’d have to come up with an explanation. I’d tell them it is research for my activism group.
I collected my things before leaving. Be with me, Gran. I need this to lead somewhere.
Although it was not in any way, shape, or form the task of an EMT to perform a welfare check, I was up for some acting, and I felt like it was worth violating the rules about unneccesary travel in this instance. If the Way of Kings worked the way I wanted it to, he wouldn’t know the difference. I had decided on my way from the police station that telling this author I was assuming the role of an ancient goddess and needed to know more probably wasn’t the best idea.
What if he turns me into some science experiment or wants to expose me for profit? I mused, then remembered the strength and speed that had come to me at the council flats. I could more than handle this.
Fortunately, and to my surprise, Douglas Velez lived not too far from my flat. It was like the universe was pulling all of this together. Feeling as though I was sinking into my mother’s New Age ideas, I shoved that idea away.
I pulled up to the small residential building and turned off my car. My eyes traveled from the worn brick walls to the full gutters lining the top of the structure. The outdoor stairs were rusted, and many of the windows were broken. Did they have a repairman for this place? I approached the building’s front doors with a little trepidation.
Once inside, I found that flat number twelve was on the second floor. The hallways were narrow and the wallpaper was peeling, just as had been in the council flats last week. They’re all the same around here, I realized.
I halted before the door to the flat that was supposed to be Douglas Velez’s. Looked like his rants about his writing being real killed his career. Based on how popular the books had been in the nineties, I had expected better living conditions. Spent it all on alcohol and gambling, perhaps.
I knocked once. No response. I knocked again. Nothing. I blew out a sigh of frustration. I might have come here for nothing.
Just as I was going to knock again, I heard noises from inside. First shifting, then a crash that might have been a china plate dropped on the floor. Next, the grumbling voice of an irritated man.
The door swung open, and I almost stepped back in alarm.
The man’s expression was a mix of fury and surprise. “I don’t want to buy anything, and I’m not going to church!” he exclaimed.
I held neither a brochure nor a bible. What a great start. He was giving me hell before I could ask for help. I mustered a smile. Even though I was wearing a mask, I knew that if it reached my eyes, he would be able to tell. “Mr. Velez? I’m here to conduct a welfare check. I’ve come to see how you’re doing.”
Douglas Velez’s cheeks flushed. Flustered, he muttered, “I’m just fine. You can leave me alone.”
Not yet, old man. I stepped closer before he could shut the door in my face. “I must insist on talking with you.”
Douglas looked me up and down. I took a second to observe him too. He was balding, and his complexion was pale. He was clean-shaven, and his glasses looked a bit too small for his face. He was dressed better than the man in the blue-checkered dressing gown from the other council flats, but I could smell the unwashed laundry in the den behind him. Apparently, I have a thing for running into this type, I thought, remembering certain ex-boyfriends.
I folded my arms and fixed him with a firm stare. This would be a good time for my power to kick in. As I thought this, Douglas’ expression softened. Still grumbling, he moved aside and ushered me in.
I stepped into the dimly lit living room. The television was on, with the volume set low. I could hear the kettle in the adjoining room. Douglas opened his curtains to allow the afternoon light to stream in. A cat meowed from a chair in the corner of the room.
Douglas motioned toward his sofa. I wrinkled my nose at it but said nothing as I sat down, deciding that worrying about h
ow dirty my trousers would be when I stood up wasn’t important at the moment. The older man sat in a chair opposite me.
Was he going to offer me anything to drink? He didn’t.
Douglas shifted and folded his hands together. “I really don’t see why you have to check on me. I’ve gone to all my appointments. I stay home. I don’t see anyone.”
I decided I would keep up my act. “Do you take your medication?”
Douglas frowned. “I’ve not been prescribed any medication. Are you sure you’re checking on the right person?”
I wanted to kick myself. “Right, well—”
“You’re not taking notes or anything,” Douglas interrupted me. “This is not how a normal welfare check goes. Who are you?”
Don’t lose your cool or look flustered. “You’ve had welfare checks before?”
Douglas grew flustered. “Did you read the file?” Before I could answer, a change came over the man’s face. He began to laugh and wagged his finger at me. “I’ve seen you before. It was in the news! Crow lady.” He chuckled. “Many think I’m overly superstitious, but crows, especially so many, are a sign of death.”
I leaned forward, giving in. “You’ve written about crows, haven’t you?”
Douglas’ eyes brightened, but he maintained his guard. His response was short. “Yes.” He narrowed his eyes. “So, who are you? You’re sure as hell not a welfare worker. Do you work with the police?”
Fine, I’ll give it up. I leaned back. “No, I work for the hospital. Yes, I am ‘crow lady’ as they like to call me, but don’t ask why there were dozens of crows on the building that night. I’m still trying to figure that out.”