Birth of a Goddess (Reincarnation of the Morrigan Book 1)

by Renée Jaggér

  Douglas’ cracked lips parted in a knowing smile. His eyes glittered, and he wagged his finger at me again. Then his expression grew sour.

  Keep pushing. “I’ve heard about your books, and I must say I’m intrigued about why you wrote them.”

  The wariness in Douglas’ expression did not recede. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Angelica Morgan.”

  Douglas rubbed his chin and spoke in a musing voice. “Morgan. Hmm. How did you find out about my books?”

  I decided to tell him the truth or at least some of it. I mentioned the group I had started and why and the comment I had received about the superstitions regarding crows.

  Douglas’ brows rose. “I’m surprised the person who submitted the comment even knew about me.”

  “Many people know about you, according to the research I’ve done.”

  Douglas started and wagged his finger again. “Don’t go on about how my stories aren’t real and how I’m wrong and all that bull—”

  “I’m not going to,” I cut in. “I’m curious. I want to know more.”

  Douglas was not convinced. “Don’t you play me, girl. If you came here to mock an old man, that would be bad enough. If you’re here to fill my ears with pitying lies, you can go straight to hell. I won’t have my name brought up on some shit activism site.”

  Indignation flared. I wanted to shake the old man and tell him to shut the hell up. He hadn’t even heard me out. This was what happened when you ended up bitter and alone.

  I addressed him in a calm yet firm voice. "What if I told you I'm not just saying I believe you, but I've actually got some things to share?"

  I saw Douglas Velez’s guard go down a bit. "I'd say put your cards on the table."

  "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

  At last, Douglas smiled. I saw his guard drop like a pin and delight flood his expression. “I’ll help in whatever way I can. What do you want to know?”

  I sat back, feeling more comfortable. “I’ll start by telling you what really happened that night, but you can't tell anyone.”

  Douglas snickered. “Do you know who you’re talking to? No one will believe me anyway!” He threw his hands up in exasperation, but his delight had not abated.

  We might get along, after all, I thought. I explained what had gone on at the council flats but left out that I had had a vision before then. Keep some cards close until you learn more, I told myself. I also left out the whole being a goddess thing.

  When I finished, Douglas sat back, stunned. He scratched his head and stared at the floor for some time, then his head snapped up. “Phouka.”

  I nodded. I also did not mention Gran. No need to tell him I have goddess powers and that I’m using them on him now. This man seemed reactionary, and I didn’t want more to deal with. I leaned forward. “What do you know about them?”

  Douglas began to explain, his voice full of excitement. “They’re shapeshifting creatures of the goblin order, though lesser than even the common goblin. They often shift into furry beings with golden eyes, as you described. Under normal circumstances, they travel in packs. Finding a lone phouka is rare, but it does happen. If you find one in a city, it is likely to be alone and in the shape of a human, though they cannot keep their human shape up for long.”

  My interest rose.

  “Not all phouka are bad,” Douglas continued. “If you remember William Shakespeare’s play A Midsummers Night Dream, you will recall that Puck, the main character, was one. Of course, Shakespeare’s interpretation is fictional, but all the same…”

  I had heard of it but had never paid it much mind.

  “Phouka are dangerous when under the control and authority of a higher evil being such as another goblin or even...” he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “a druid.”

  I wasn’t sure what effect the word was supposed to have on me, but I didn’t think it was good.

  “I’m guessing the creatures you encountered were under such an authority.”

  My eyes widened. “You mean there are more?”

  Douglas nodded, his expression grave. “These kinds of dangers are all around you.”

  I sighed. “I feel like I’m in over my head.” I had not meant to admit this aloud, but when Douglas’ expression softened, I found I didn’t regret it.

  He spoke to me with sincerity. “You can read all my books, or if you prefer, you can have my research notes. They’re more fact and less narration.”

  My face brightened. “That would be very helpful, thank you.”

  A moment later, Douglas had gathered stacks of paper and some leather-bound notebooks. He handed them to me gingerly. “I-I’ll need them back. Very precious.”

  “I don’t have to take them if you don’t want—” I started, but Douglas cut me off.

  “No, take them. We need to work together. Why do you think I’ve been hiding all this time?”

  Because people thought he was a crazy old man.

  Douglas answered his own question. “Those creatures don’t like that I’ve written about them. If they find me...” He clasped his hands together.

  Seeing he was nervous, I rose, his books in hand, and gave him a kind smile from behind my mask. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Velez.”

  “Douglas.”

  “Yes, Douglas. We’ll keep in touch?”

  Douglas nodded. “I would love to.”

  I tilted my head, an idea coming to me. “Would you be interested in working for me? On a volunteer basis at first. I need an admin for my group.”

  Douglas thought about it for a moment. “Answer comments and such?”

  I nodded. “Facilitate discussion without going off on anyone.”

  Douglas gave me a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “If anyone knows it’s me, no one will believe me.”

  I shrugged. “You’ll be me, then. It’s too much work on top of my job. Plus, I have research to do now.” I hefted the books in my arms, and my eyes glittered with excitement. I’m going to kill myself being up all night reading instead of sleeping. Well, coffee is already my hero.

  Douglas shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “All right, I’ll do it.”

  I restrained myself from jumping up and down with excitement. I found a new source! I wanted to tell Gran, but perhaps she already knew. I had the sneaking suspicion she did.

  “I’ll reach out when I’ve started reading.” With those words, I left Douglas’ flat.

  When I stepped outside, the sun was setting.

  A small black figure flashed in the corner of my eye. I turned to find a crow flapping its wings on the windowsill above me. Rather than flipping it off as I might have done a week ago, I smiled. Crows might be an omen of death, but to me, they meant something was going to happen, whether it was good or bad. A murder of crows had saved me the other night. What was I supposed to think?

  We were just getting started.

  The Third Morrigan

  The city below was on fire.

  The woman who called herself Night stood above it, arms crossed and face filled with delight.

  Her laugh was low and bitter. The wolf at her side growled. “Heed me, Morgo. It’s almost time.” She crouched, bracing a pale hand on the loose rubble. She had launched the battle this morning, and now the blood of the people cried out to her from the stone streets. The people had offered her songs and dances at first, praising her and requesting her favor, but now they were her victims.

  She had set the markets aflame first. The temples had been second, followed by the libraries. Last had been the brothels and the poor districts where the people were dying of starvation. The sound of cattle squealing as they attempted to escape had made her heart pound and her blood rush through her veins. The cisterns were dry, but the city was wet with their blood.

  Night wiped it from her mouth. She had collected more than enough scars to mark her as a warrior today. And I’m not done, she thought. Later, sh
e would wipe all those marks from her skin and become perfect again. Pale complexion, rose-red lips, crow-black hair, and eyes that gleamed like the stars.

  The sky hid the light. No stars were visible now. The moon was also hidden, as if it were behind a sacred veil she could not tear through. The gods are not on my side tonight, she mused. She shrugged. Oh, well. I have enough power on my own. With the wolf, she bounded off the pile of rubble she had been standing on. She landed softly on her feet, her movements having a feline quality.

  She had moved through the city like a wraith before, her movements quiet until she wanted all eyes turned on her. With a scream that could tear the waters apart, she had released herself on the people. Flames had appeared, but they had not been angry and red. They had been blue and as swift as the strongest wind. Her fire had swept through the city. The cries uttered by its people before they were burnt in their beds had resounded for only an instant.

  One glorious instant Night would savor in her memory for years to come.

  Just yesterday, the people had worshipped her. The altars where they had burned their children, she had left standing. She stood in a narrow street with a long blade in each hand. They dripped blood but were not yet drenched. She had burned the whole city, all but the fortress where the king and his damned son, the prince, were hiding. Like mice in the wall. She laughed, the sound clattering through the streets and bringing an icy chill to anyone who had survived but was staying out of her way.

  “The Queen of Heaven has arrived!” she shouted. Her voice was high and cackling. She stalked through the winding streets, passing houses that were now mere ash. Clouds of smoke still lifted from other parts of the city. She could hear distant screams. She would deal with those later.

  The fortress came into sight. Night gave it an appraising look as if the enormous structure before her were a peasant’s hut she could bring down with a single match. The guards had long since fled. The king and the prince within were at their most vulnerable.

  Just like I was when he came into my bed and forced himself on me, she thought. Rage simmered inside her. His body had been heavy and damp. Though he was much to behold, he had been less than pleasant. Less than kind.

  Night didn’t know about kindness anymore. What she considered kind was ending the lives of the last Morrigan so they would no longer have to deal with the wars of the world. My knife at their throats was my first gift, she thought.

  She entered the darkened fortress. All torches had gone out, and there was no light. Regardless, she found her way through with ease.

  Just days ago, one of the prophets in this city had written about her, and his words had reached her. Many had proclaimed them in the streets. His words had been the last straw.

  “The children gather wood, the fathers kindle fire, and the women knead dough, to make cakes for the queen of heaven. And they pour out drink offerings to other gods, to provoke me to anger,” the prophet had said.

  He had also said, “But we will do everything we have vowed. We will make offerings to the queen of heaven and pour out drink offerings for her, as we did, both we and our fathers, our kings and our officials, in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem. For then, we had plenty of food, and prospered, and saw no disaster. But since we left off making offerings to the queen of heaven, we have lacked everything and been consumed by the sword and by famine.”

  He is no prophet. I am, she thought with malice stirring her heart. It had been her at the river, washing the clothes of the soldiers who would die the next day. She had appeared in an old woman’s form so men who lusted after her beauty would pay her little mind. After that, she had flown in a crow’s body above the city to see who still made sacrifices to her. In the wolf form, she had stood at the fortress’ entrance.

  Later, in the form of a goddess, she had entered the brothels and found the men she would pleasure until she killed them in the morning. The prince would receive no such pleasure before her knife met his throat. The king would not be afforded any either.

  At last, she found them. They were huddled together, quaking in their fear. She smelled piss and blood. She smirked at them. “Remember me?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The children gather wood, the fathers kindle fire, and the women knead dough, to make cakes for the queen of heaven. And they pour out drink offerings to other gods, to provoke me to anger.”

  —The Book of Jeremiah, Passage VII

  To say I was looking forward to digging through Douglas’ findings would be a major understatement. Who the hell had I turned into that I was going to spend all my free time investigating mythical Irish creatures? Plus, I wasn’t particularly fond of academic pursuits. I had gotten through medical school on the notion I would actually be of some use to people, not because I enjoyed studying.

  Comes with the job, I thought, referring to the goddess role as I entered my flat. And not so mythical. I knew my flesh and blood was as real as anything, and the power in my body was just as present. I could feel it even when I wasn’t around other people. I have one more day before I have to be back at work, I reminded myself. I would fill every minute with research until my eyes were heavy and my body forced my mind into sleep.

  To my pleased surprise, Douglas had everything organized by topic. His flat had been a mess, but his organizational methods showed he cared about something. “Passionate” was a light word to describe his vigor.

  I moved from my sofa to my bed to the floor in the living room. I carried his notebooks with me to the bathroom, too. I selected his writings on phouka first. “What am I up against?” I murmured as I flipped open the first leather-bound journal.

  Douglas Velez did not have the best handwriting. I almost called him to translate, but after frowning at the page for a while, I was able to make out the words.

  Phouka most commonly roam in packs, though lone phouka can be found if a pack disperses within a populated area. E.g. a city, town, etc. Though far less dangerous than goblins of a higher order or druids (either of which might be holding power over them), they do pose a threat to humans and animals. They are tenacious and greedy. They thrive in places of filth and abandonment. They prey on the weak.

  Next, I read the information Douglas had already shared with me. They were shapeshifting creatures who often took the form of a human but could not hold it for long. Douglas had written a description of their physical features: gold eyes, bristling blue and black fur, enormous height and breadth, and of course, long, sharp, curved claws. Below this description was a rough sketch. The real thing looked a lot more threatening, and I could not suppress the shudder that passed through me when I looked at it.

  I’d love to never come across one again, I thought as a question popped into my mind. How large were phouka packs? I scanned the pages until the word “pack” caught my eye, and I found the answer I was looking for.

  Packs of phouka range from ten to twenty, depending on who is controlling them and the area they have been unleashed in. Phouka who roam forests and rural lands are less likely to be on the hunt, so to speak, with their pack. Rather, they are with their pack in a herd-instinct sense.

  “Ten to twenty,” I echoed. A knot formed in my stomach. I had only faced six, which meant there were at least four more roaming the streets in human form. I gulped. Which human bodies had they mimicked?

  I went back and found where Douglas had written about the possibility of a phouka being alone in a populated area. Maybe I could find one alone, corner it, and get some answers.

  I had to stop myself and ask what answers I was looking for. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. I had been reading for a long time and had allowed simple things such as sleeping and eating to go by the wayside. I wanted to know more about the Morrigan so I could protect people before they were admitted to the hospital. I wanted to know what I was up against and make sure they knew I was in control.

  I did have to admit that my curiosity was selfish as well. I wanted to know who the hell I was
supposed to become by taking Gran’s power. “Knowledge is power,” I muttered, pushing myself to at least finish reading up on phouka. Douglas had written extensively about them and I was beginning to wish he wasn’t so long-winded.

  Take a break and finish tomorrow. I commanded myself. The day after that, I had to go back to work. I flipped to the next page anyway and found that the phouka section was finally over and a new one began. As I read the title of the next section, my stomach tightened and a lump formed in my throat.

  Douglas had written Druids in the middle of the page with three lines under it. My eyes widened, remembering what he had said about druids being far more dangerous than phouka and often having control over the less powerful creatures.

  I shut the journal with a soft thump. From what I knew, druids had been the creators of Halloween. They’d danced around fires and sung weird songs. When I thought of druids, I was reminded of cults in weird indie films where the main character always got sacrificed by the end. I shuddered. But they were so much more, I realized. I was sick of seeing Douglas’ handwriting, and I decided to go to bed.

  Tomorrow I would go find the real thing.

  It turned out that hunting down a mythical creature like a goblin was nothing like hunting a deer. One of my only fond memories of my father before my parents’ divorce was of when he took my brother and I deer hunting in the countryside of northern England. In fact, we often went near where Gran lived, but since he wanted nothing to do with Gran, we never visited her.

  I hadn’t had an aversion to hunting or killing animals back then. Perhaps the tough skin I’d developed doing that at a young age had been useful when I entered the medical profession.

  Hunting in a city was nothing like hunting on a moor. I had to think about what Douglas wrote. “Places of filth,” I muttered to myself as I climbed into my car. I knew of plenty of filthy places besides the council flats I always seemed to be returning to. Alleys were plentiful. So were rundown pubs and nightclubs. Even with the raging pandemic, people enjoyed their nightly escapes.