Addie looked at Jax, then at A.J., who winked at her. Slowly, she broke out in a grin, as if she couldn’t believe her luck—not luck in getting away with something, but in landing among people who’d back her up without question.
More worrisome than Kel Mathonwy’s escape was the fact that Ysabel Arawen was still at large. Also, Bran’s body had been recovered, but Griffyn’s had not. When the Transitioner forces had finished transporting the live prisoners and went back for Griffyn, his body was gone. “Are you sure he was dead?” Addie asked.
“Yes,” Jax insisted. “Evangeline wouldn’t be free of him if he wasn’t.” Then he grimaced. “But Ysabel can talk to the dead, and she was Griffyn’s girlfriend, right?”
Addie made a face, too. “Griffyn was awful enough when he was alive.”
“Leave it to a Kin girl to drag her dead boyfriend off for company,” said a wry voice from behind them.
Addie whirled around, scowling, but Jax knew Tegan was only yanking his chain and figured he could give as good as he got. “I see you’re wearing your grandmother’s honor blade.” Jax had noticed it earlier and had been waiting for the right moment to comment.
Tegan’s hand fell to the hilt of the dagger sheathed at her side. It seemed like a surprisingly high-quality blade, judging from the engraved hilt. Jax could see it was an antique. “Just for help with the scrying.”
“I also heard that somebody provided a whole bunch of emergency supplies for the Normals driven out of their homes—water, propane, canned goods—and wouldn’t take any money for them. Very honorable.” Jax knew that carrying an honor blade had nothing to do with behaving honorably, but he couldn’t resist teasing her. “What’d your dad think about that?”
Tegan glared at him. “You want to make fun of my dad? He risked his life out there tonight. Him and Thomas both.”
Jax got serious. “Yeah, I know they did. Sorry, Tegan I’m just joking with you. Thanks for everything your family did. We couldn’t have pulled this off without you.”
“Well, you’ve got your two blondies back, safe and sound. That’s all that counts, right?” She looked Addie up and down.
“Don’t worry,” Jax said. “Addie’s my liege and my friend, but not anything else.”
“What do you mean by that?” Tegan’s freckled face flushed to almost the same color as her hair. “What makes you think I care how you feel about anybody, you conceited jerk?”
“I . . . uh,” Jax backpedaled.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Aren’t-I-the-Center-of-the-Universe, I need to see if my father and brother are all healed up from the injuries they got when they did what I asked them to do. To save the world. Not you.”
Jax’s mouth flapped open and shut like a fish while Tegan stomped away.
“Is she your girlfriend or something?” Addie sounded amused.
“Not exactly, but I thought . . .” Jax scratched his head. “Okay, I have no clue.”
“She doesn’t seem very nice.” Addie grinned. “I think I like her.”
By the evening of that day, Jax and his two liege ladies were more than ready to leave Bedivere’s and head back to the mountain cabin. They’d had no sleep the night before, and all three of them were practically dead on their feet. But there was one last surprise in store for them.
After the Table meeting had ended, but before the participants had dispersed, Uncle Finn requested a formal audience with Sloane. His injuries had been healed, but he still looked awful. As for Aunt Marian, she’d lost a lot of weight and sleep in the last two weeks, and she leaned against Dorian’s shoulder as if unable to stand alone.
Sloane appeared annoyed by the request. “All right, Finn. I can meet with you in half an hour.”
“No,” Uncle Finn said. “I’d like to do this in front of the Table members and my family.”
Sloane glanced around apprehensively, as if suspecting Finn had something unpleasant to say and not wanting everyone to hear it. But she composed her face and asked the Table members to return to the meeting room.
Dorian followed his father, and to Jax’s surprise, Aunt Marian motioned for him to come, too. “You’re family, Jax.” While the Table members filed back into the room, Jax grabbed Addie by the arm and towed her along. Who knew what she’d get up to next if he left her alone?
Inside, Uncle Finn went down on one knee in front of Sloane, who turned very pale. “Everyone here knows my daughter was taken by the Morrigan,” Finn said gruffly. “She’s presumed lost by most of you. But witnesses saw Lesley overcome the Morrigan to save her brother, even if it was only for a few seconds. I refuse to believe my daughter is beyond hope. Therefore, I ask to be released from my vow of vassalhood so that I can devote myself to tracking down the Girl of Crows and rescuing my daughter. If the Morrigan is using other people for the Old Crone and the Washer Woman, I mean to free them as well. Additionally, I ask that this task be appointed to me as an official Quest of the Table so that I can carry the strength of all of you with me.”
Confronted in this public manner, Sloane didn’t have much choice, but she still made a token protest. “Finn, I don’t want to let you go. I need you.”
Uncle Finn looked up at her bleakly. “As much as my daughter does?”
There was no way for Sloane to answer that. She glanced around at all the watching people, then placed her hand on Finn’s head to release him from his vow to her and the Dulac family.
One by one the other members of the Table approached Finn as he knelt on the floor, tapped him on both shoulders with their honor blades, and charged him with the Quest of “seeking the Morrigan and freeing her captive human hosts.” Aunt Marian stood silently by with tears on her cheeks. Dorian put an arm around his mother and watched the ceremony with an expression Jax had never before seen on Dorian’s face in connection with his dad.
Pride.
When Riley took his turn, Finn looked up at him and asked, “You’ll make sure my nephew is safe and happy?”
“Yes, sir,” Riley replied. “On my honor, I will.”
Sloane went last. She laid her dagger on each of his shoulders, appointed him to the Quest, and added fiercely, “Go get her, Finn.”
40
JAX SLEPT FOR SIXTEEN hours straight on Thursday and woke up sweaty. It was August—something he still couldn’t wrap his mind around after jumping forward a week in that mountain house, bound to Kel Mathonwy—and the cabin wasn’t air-conditioned. Even in the normally cool mountains, August was humid and sticky.
After grazing on everything he found in the refrigerator, he checked his phone and computer. Billy had asked for an update approximately six million times via voice mail, text, chat, and email. The only thing missing was a video.
While Jax was glancing through the messages, Riley stumbled past with nothing but a grunt in greeting. He returned from the kitchen a few minutes later, looking more cheerful and carrying a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, a Mountain Dew, and a plastic container of Jell-O pudding.
“You should have some sugar with that breakfast,” Jax said.
Riley flung himself into a chair. “Any news?”
“Billy wants a report.”
Riley heaved a sigh. Jax was sure he’d gotten his own texts and calls from Billy. “I’ll call him later. His mom, too, ’cause we’ve got to make plans for you to move in with them,” Riley said around a mouthful of cereal. “School starts in, what, two and a half weeks?”
Ugh. Eighth grade. “Do I really have to go? They have schools around here, and we’re not in hiding anymore.”
“True, but I doubt we’ll stay here long. The house is too small already, and now we’ve got Evangeline and Addie. I’m not sure where we’ll end up, and I don’t think it’d be good for you to change schools again, maybe more than once. You need to go back to a place you know, with a friend like Billy. Also . . .” Riley paused for another mouthful, then continued casually, “Michael Donovan mentioned that he wanted to pull up roots and start over someplace where he wasn
’t so notorious, but Tegan vetoed it. She wants to finish middle school where she is. So, she’ll be there too.”
Sure. Tegan was having way too much fun confusing Jax to move away. But if Riley was fishing for how Jax felt about it, he was going to be disappointed. Jax changed the subject. “When are you and Mr. and Mrs. Crandall leaving for Wales?”
“Sunday. We’ll be gone till Thursday or Friday. You and A.J. will have to watch out for the girls while we’re gone.”
“No problem,” Jax said. “I bet they’ll sleep most of the day.”
They’d all arrived back at the cabin around eleven p.m. last night, exhausted. Evangeline had thrown herself facedown on the sofa and refused to move. So Jax had led Addie to Evangeline’s normal sleeping spot. At the sight of the closet under the stairs, Addie had made the exact same Harry Potter joke Evangeline had made when she first saw it before crawling in and collapsing. Tired as he was, Jax had laughed silently to himself. The sisters were a lot more alike than either of them would ever admit.
“Your uncle’s coming,” said Riley. “To Wales, I mean. It’s impossible to tell where the Morrigan will turn up next, but the transportation of three dozen Kin to Oeth-Anoeth might be hard for her to resist. You never know.”
“I hope he finds her.” They’d had casualties on their side of this conflict, but Jax didn’t want Lesley to be one of them. And that reminded him . . . “About the Sword of Nuadu. I thought I was the one who was supposed to use it. Not that I wanted to kill anyone, but didn’t it have to be me?”
Riley had moved on to the pudding. “That’s the problem with prophecies and magic artifacts. You can’t count on ’em. Prophecies are vague, and magic objects are tricky. You invoked the Sword against Griffyn and brought it into his presence. You drew it on him, even. The Morrigan was probably the only creature on earth who could hold it besides you. The Sword killed Griffyn, and Lesley’s body did the deed—thus fulfilling the innocent hand requirement. Remember, Bran Llyr had the Spear of Lugh, and it wasn’t supposed to let him fail. But somehow Addie got it away from him.”
Jax wanted to know how she did that, but getting the story out of her might take work. The girl was even more prickly and secretive than Tegan.
“Anyway,” Riley continued, “regarding our living arrangements, if you pass eighth grade with a better average that you had in seventh grade—and I bet Mrs. Ramirez will make sure of that—we’ll reevaluate the situation. The Crandalls need to find jobs, and we want to settle close to New York so Evangeline and I can attend to Table matters. If we land in a place with a good high school, you can live with us next year. Assuming you still want to.”
The Crandalls were going to need jobs, but not Riley? Jax nodded to himself. It was just like he’d thought. “Do the Crandalls know yet?” he asked.
Riley swigged from the Mountain Dew. “Know where we’re going to live?”
“No. What you plan to do to keep from aging seven times as fast as Evangeline.”
Riley choked on a mouthful and put the bottle down. “I should’ve guessed you’d figure it out.”
It hadn’t been very difficult. Evangeline couldn’t live on his timeline, but Riley could live on hers. He’d proved that when he duct-taped their wrists together in an attempt to pull her into the seven-day world. Instead, he’d jumped to the following week with her, just like Jax did when he was tied to Kel. If Riley bound himself to Evangeline on a semi-regular basis, he’d stop racking up seven times as many days as she did, equalizing their aging rate. Not completely—but enough to make it tolerable.
He’d also skip over weeks at a time. Jax felt a little sad about that, which was weird, considering how much he’d despised Riley not that long ago. But if it made Evangeline happy, Jax would get used to it.
“Gloria figured it out, same as you,” Riley admitted. “She disapproved at first. Said I’d be foolish to throw my life away for a girl. So, I told her that without this girl, it wouldn’t be a very happy life.”
“And she—”
“Started bawling. Like in a cartoon. The tears practically flew off her face.” Riley illustrated with hand gestures. “She gave me her blessing and went off to blow her nose.”
He’d made Mrs. Crandall cry? Jax was impressed.
Riley, however, looked apprehensive. “I haven’t said anything to Evangeline yet. It’s . . . awkward. We haven’t even had a date. How do I ask her to drag me through time with her?”
“You don’t count fighting the wyvern as a date?” Then Jax realized Riley was serious. He was actually afraid of getting rejected. “Riley, you idiot. Just ask her. Or do you want me to pass her a note that says, Do you like Riley? Circle yes or no?” Jax ducked the empty pudding container Riley threw at his head, then frowned as another thought suddenly occurred to him.
“I’ll be around,” Riley assured him. “Once every eight days. Plus the other seven any time you need me. I’m not abandoning you.”
“It’s not that,” Jax said. “It’s just—I read a lot of King Arthur legends this summer, trying to catch up on what every other Transitioner knows. Some of them say Arthur didn’t die on the battlefield—that he went into a suspended state where he could return and help his people when they needed him.”
Riley put the empty soda bottle aside. “So what?”
“So, that’s going to be you now, isn’t it? You’re going to jump into the future, a week at a time. Your aging will slow down. I’ll get older; you won’t. And if I need you, you’ll be there. You’re the new King Arthur.”
Riley’s mouth fell open. “No. Way.”
“Yeah. Way.” Jax grinned.
A second later, Jax was yanked from his chair, Riley had him in a half nelson on the floor, and Jax was getting a noogie. “Stupid legends,” Riley growled. “What a bunch of crap.”
Jax wriggled uselessly. “You know, it won’t be long—by your counting—that I’m as big as you are. Then we’ll see who’s getting the noogie. What d’ya think of that?”
“Looking forward to it, Squirt.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I WROTE THE FIRST draft of The Morrigan’s Curse in the winter months of 2014 while I was still teaching full-time. I had plenty of days off to work on it because Pennsylvania was hit that year by an astonishing number of snow and ice storms. When my fellow teachers heard I was writing a book with weather gods in it, they of course blamed me for the bizarre wintry mix—freezing fog? really?—which didn’t break until I’d finally defeated the Llyrs. Coincidence? I think not. Despite the weather, my colleagues never failed to express their support for my writing, and I want to thank all of them, especially the “purple” team: Nichole Brown, Matt Krykew, and Kelly McGuffin.
I owe thanks to my agent, Sara Crowe, and my brilliant editors, Alexandra Cooper and Alyssa Miele, who helped me take the early drafts to the next level. The design team at HarperCollins and the cover artist, Mike Heath, deserve my unending gratitude for the eye-catching covers on all the books in the series.
I also want to thank my family, Bob, Gabbey, and Gina, for their enthusiastic support and my beta readers: Krystalyn Drown, Marcy Hatch, Katie Mills, Susan Kaye Quinn, and Maria Ann Witt. My reading students of the 2013–2014 school year—the very last fifth-grade students of my teaching career—talked me into reading them the first draft of this book so they could give feedback (and get their names listed here). Many, many thanks to my awesome students and devoted fans: Nik, Edson, Evelyn, Julian, Ava, Jasmine, Annie, Jack C., Kimberly, Omar, Brisa, Brandon, Belinda, Yareli, Aidan, Michael, Dylan, Jenny S., Tori, Liliana, Jenny B., Jacqui, Kate, Emma, Reece, Marley, Max, Jacob, J.J., Jimmy, Ethan, Rachel, Michelle, Erik, Chloe, Jackie, Lucy, Lauren, Sophia, Maggie, Matt, Joey, Caleb, Victoria, Ricky, Caitlyn, and Jack T.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Catchlight Photography
DIANNE K. SALERNI attended the University of Delaware, where she earned her bachelor’s degree in elementary education, and then went on to
earn a master’s in language arts education at the University of Pennsylvania. She was an elementary school teacher for over twenty years and has also written several books, including We Hear the Dead and The Caged Graves. The Morrigan’s Curse is the third book in the Eighth Day series. Although Dianne knows there’s not really such a thing as a secret Eighth Day, discovering one would explain all the food that disappears in her house. Until then, she’ll continue to blame her husband, Bob, her two teenage daughters, Gabrielle and Gina, and her dog, Sorcia. Dianne lives in Chester County, Pennsylvania. You can visit her online at www.diannesalerni.com.
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BOOKS BY DIANNE K. SALERNI
The Eighth Day
The Inquisitor’s Mark
The Morrigan’s Curse
CREDITS
Cover art © 2016 by Mike Heath
Cover design by Heather Daugherty
COPYRIGHT
THE MORRIGAN’S CURSE. Copyright © 2016 by Dianne K. Salerni. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2015950812
ISBN 978-0-06-227221-8 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © January 2016 ISBN 9780062272232
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