Morrigan

by Jonathan King

  “And?” Morrigan asked.

  “And having a child out of wedlock is bad enough as a Christian,” said Abel. “It’s even worse when you’re a pastor or only nineteen. At least, so I’ve been led to believe by people’s reactions on those rare times when they find out.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Mom and the Reverend got married as soon as they knew I was coming, but people still knew. The rushed engagement, the ‘premature’ birth. It was all a big show, and it didn’t fool anybody. They all knew their pastor had broken the rules he preached, slept with a girl before they were married. We had to leave the church and head upstate. Dad preached at a few different churches, but even there, the rumors followed them. All that judgment, all the scrutiny and whispers, it hurt her more than she ever told me. But I could see it in her eyes. And the Reverend never got enough respect from his flock, so he demanded it from us. We had to be the perfect family, and he had to be the perfect father and husband, even when he wasn’t.”

  Abel met Morrigan’s eyes. “And then I left. Even in the worst times, she always had me. But now she’s broken. Because I wasn’t there.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “It may not be the same responsibility as two hundred years’ worth of deaths, but it still stings.”

  It was a moment before Morrigan spoke. “So last night, when you broke things off—”

  “I like you,” Abel said. “Like, a lot. But I won’t be my father. I won’t make his mistakes. No matter how much I want to.”

  She took his hand and rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. “What we shared last night—hell, what we’ve shared from the beginning—it’s not bad. I won’t believe that. Maybe it was too fast for you, but you have to remember, I’ve lived for thousands of years, and mortals only have less than a hundred years of life. That’s like an hour in my eyes, and every second that slips through my fingers is time I’ll never get back with that person. If I want something with them, if it’s important to me, I have to grasp it before they’re gone forever.” She took a deep breath. “It’s worse now with you. I don’t know how much time you have left. For all I know, you won’t last the day. I hate it, but it’s the truth. I only have seconds left to know you. You don’t have time for me to wait.”

  Abel smiled. “It could still be awhile.”

  “But there’s no way to know,” said Morrigan. “If this is your last night on earth, how would you spend it?”

  Abel looked into her eyes. He knew what he wanted to answer, but he couldn’t. Not now.

  “You’re probably safe enough tonight,” said Morrigan. “You’ve got a little time. Just think about it.”

  “I’m not sure I should,” said Abel.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I might do it.”

  Morrigan smiled. “I can only hope.” She glanced at the puddle of puke soaking into the carpet. “I should take care of that.”

  Abel shook his head and headed for the kitchen to grab the bleach. “It’s my mess to clean up. I’ve got it.”

  24

  The rest of the day dragged by. No one was in the mood to speak to each other, except Brigid, who tried to start up at least four different conversations, all to no avail. By evening, even she was grumpy, which was right around the time Mac got his spirits up enough to invent what he called a seasburger—“A crab cake for the beef patty, topped with cheese, shrimp and scallops,” he told them with a grin, but Brigid only rolled her eyes. As for Abel, he was doing his best to avoid Morrigan’s meaningful looks, while casting his own glances at the door to Brigid’s bedroom, where his mother was sleeping it off. In the end, he begged off dinner to spend it with his mother.

  “Here,” Mac said, adding a foul-looking concoction in a tall glass to the tray loaded with two plates of baked salmon and mashed potatoes. “Guaranteed to cure any hangover. Tested on people who actually have hangovers.”

  “Thanks,” Abel said, and carried the meal to the bedroom.

  Inside, his mother was sitting up in bed, dressed in Brigid’s bathrobe, moaning in agony and pressing her temples to her forehead. “This is why I don’t drink.”

  “I’ve found extreme blood loss reduces the chance of a hangover in the morning,” said Abel, setting the tray on her bed.

  Dorothy’s eyes flew open. “Did you … are you all right?”

  “I’m better now. It’s a long story.” Abel handed her the glass. “Drink up.”

  She made a face. “Do I have to?”

  “Did I have to take all that cough syrup you fed me when I was sick?” Abel asked.

  “Touché.” Dorothy eyed the glass, braced herself, and downed the contents in one long gulp. She stuck out her tongue and shivered in disgust, but then her body and face relaxed as the pain eased.

  “Better?” Abel asked.

  “Much.” Dorothy took one of the plates and dug in. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. It’s been a long time since I ate.” She laughed. “I must have been drunk this morning. One minute I was sitting by a tree, and the next thing I knew, I was in this house. I actually thought I was in the tree. How crazy is that?”

  “Pretty crazy, but not as much as you’d think.” Abel peered at her. “How did you end up like this, Mom?”

  Dorothy shrugged. “A reaction against your father, I guess. I couldn’t stand him or his rules any longer. The man has a knack for driving people away.”

  “Tell me about it,” Abel muttered.

  “So when you left, I finally realized I could do something about it. I could leave. And I did.” She beamed at him. “And I found you. My darling boy. I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “Of course I’d come back to see you. You’re my mom. And I have to take care of you. Maybe tomorrow we can get you to Granddad and Nana’s house.”

  Dorothy froze mid-chew. “No. No way. I can’t go to them.”

  “Why not?” Abel asked. “You need someone to look after you.”

  “I can’t face them now. I mean, look at me, running away from my husband, drunk after one night on my own.”

  “You know them,” said Abel. “You know they’d understand.”

  But Dorothy shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too embarrassing. I’d die of shame.”

  “Okay,” Abel said with a shrug. “I guess you could always stay here.”

  Dorothy put a hand on his arm. “At least that way I’ll be close to you.” She gave a wry smile. “Not sure how your friends will feel about it, though.”

  Abel nodded. Brigid and Mac would probably be fine with letting her stay, but he was pretty sure Morrigan still didn’t trust his mom. Besides, it was bad enough being trapped here himself. He couldn’t ask his mom to give up any life outside Angel Oak.

  “Look at us,” he said. “Running away from our problems, with nowhere to go.”

  “We could find somewhere else to go,” Dorothy suggested. “Just you and me.”

  Yeah, and I could get killed out in the open, and then you’d be all alone and worse off than ever. Abel sighed. “No. We’ve been running too long. We have to go back.”

  Dorothy drew back. “Back? To him? You’re not serious.”

  “We can’t keep hiding forever,” said Abel. “Some things you have to face.” Like my untimely death. “Dad’s seen how serious we are. He’ll listen to us now if we go back.”

  “No he won’t. You know the man. He’ll bluster on about respect in his own house and how a good Christian family should act, and we’ll be trapped all over again.”

  “This time will be different. And if it isn’t … well, we’ll deal with that when it comes.”

  “Going back, though,” said Dorothy. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

  “It’s the best thing for you,” Abel said. “That’s all that matters.”

  Dorothy nodded. “What will your friends think?”

  “We’re not going to tell them,” said Abel. “They think it’s too dangerous. They’d never let us leave.”

  “Too dangerous?”

  �
�Nothing you need to worry about,” Abel assured her. “But if they ask, you want to stay here for a while so you can get back on your feet. Then, once everyone’s asleep, we’re leaving.”

  “Together?” Dorothy asked.

  Abel took her hand. “Together.”

  Wednesday, October 30

  8:56 PM

  Hey, God. It’s me, Abel.

  I failed my mom.

  When I left, I was so focused on myself, on how the Reverend was making me feel and how I needed to break free and why I couldn’t stand him one minute longer. At most, I thought about how me leaving would affect him, how it would make him angry or make him see reason or tear him apart.

  I never realized how it would affect Mom. I never thought about how much she needs me.

  But I left, and she fell apart. Did she cry out to you, ask you why you took her baby boy from her? Did she blame Dad for driving me away and then run out into the night like I did? How did she even get all the way down here? And when she did, was she too ashamed to face her own parents? How much pain did she feel that she felt the need to go to alcohol to numb it?

  That’s my fault. And that’s what I’m about to put right.

  There’s a chance this could be the death of me, if Morrigan knows what she’s talking about—and she usually does. But please, let me live at least long enough to bring Mom home. Let them reconcile. And then … Thy will be done, I guess.

  But I’d really rather not die. You know, if you’re taking requests.

  Thanks, God. Abel out.

  25

  Abel lay in his bed, straining his ears for the slightest sound of activity. When he was sure no one was still up, he slipped out from beneath the covers, pulled on his borrowed clothes, strapped his sword to his side, and sneaked out of the room.

  There were a couple of potential snags in his plan that he’d considered. The first was Morrigan and her tendency to stand guard instead of sleeping at night. But she was nowhere in sight; only Brigid, who had given her room to Dorothy, slumbered deep and peaceful on the couch. For a minute, Abel was disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see Morrigan before he left. Then he remembered what she had asked him to think about. He looked at her bedroom door, picturing her sitting on her bed staring back through it, waiting for him to come in and join her, longing for it. She’d be the one who was disappointed.

  Snag #2 came with their escape route. They’d need a vehicle to get back, and that meant getting the keys to Mac’s truck. The problem was that Abel wasn’t sure where he kept those keys.

  He eased the door to Mac’s room open and slipped inside. Mac snored away, dressed in his nightshirt and tucked under heavy covers. Abel made a quick and quiet search of the room, but found nothing. He was about to give up when he finally spotted the keys.

  They were clutched tight in Mac’s thick fingers.

  Abel stiffened, pressed his lips together. No problem. Just got to get them out of his hand without waking him up. Easy peasy.

  He reached down and gave the keys a tentative tug. They didn’t budge. He pulled harder. The fingers flexed, but held firm.

  Make that hardy pardy.

  He fretted for a minute, and then, ever so gently, reached out and tickled the base of Mac’s palm with his index finger. Mac shifted in his sleep. His fingers twitched loose, and Abel used that moment to snatch the keys free.

  They jingled as they dangled against each other.

  Mac’s chainsaw snore broke tempo with a snort, and Abel froze, fumbling for an explanation for why he had Mac’s keys. Then Mac sniffed and fell back into a regular rhythm of aggravated breathing. Abel let his own breath out and tiptoed from the room, hurrying to his mother’s.

  Dorothy had dressed in clothes borrowed from Brigid, and now she was pacing around the room. “Is it time?”

  “Yes ma’am,” said Abel, holding up the keys. “Follow me, but quietly.”

  They padded across the carpet in the faded fairy light, down the stairs and out the secret door. Abel winced as it creaked open, but no one came barreling after them telling them to stop.

  Dorothy looked back as they walked out into the park, and her mouth fell open. “We really were in the tree? But how…?” She walked around Angel Oak, looking up into its twisted branches. “Where…?”

  “Don’t think about it too hard,” Abel told her. “We need to get out of here.” He grabbed her arm and hurried her along. He helped her clamber over the chain-link fence that surrounded the park, using a borrowed coat to protect them from the barbed wire.

  As he landed on the other side, he heard a flutter and a cawing, and three crows took off into the trees. He thought again of Morrigan waiting for him, and his heart nearly broke. Maybe he should have taken her with him. She could have protected him as best she could. But she probably wouldn’t have let him go, and it was too late to find out now. He was already committed to the path he was on.

  That path led him and his mother to Mac’s truck. He bundled her in and started the vehicle, but he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Funny how this all started with me stealing a car to get away from home. Now I’m stealing one to go back.

  “Your friends won’t mind you borrowing their truck?” Dorothy asked.

  “I’m sure they won’t,” Abel lied as he pulled out onto the road. “Time to get you home.”

  It was morning before they made it back to Pepper’s Mill, and the first rays of light played with the fall leaves, lighting them on fire. Abel drove until he could see his house with the big tree out front.

  He pointed to the oak. “I have to admit, I’ve missed that tree. Sitting under that, thinking and praying and reading. I studied better under that tree than most kids do in their classrooms.” He parked the truck and unfastened his seatbelt. “Let’s go. No sense in putting this off.”

  Before he could open the door, Dorothy grabbed his arm. “Abel, wait!”

  “I know it’s scary,” Abel told her, “but we have to face him.”

  “It’s not that,” said Dorothy. “There’s something you need to see.”

  She pointed to the doorstep, where their daily newspaper lay. As Abel watched, the door opened and a woman stooped to pick up the paper. When she stood, the morning light caught her face, and Abel did a double take. It couldn’t be who it looked like. It was impossible.

  But it was.

  It was Dorothy Whittaker. His mother. The woman sitting next to him in the truck.

  “I really should have killed you so much earlier, but it was worth the wait to see the look on your face.” The mother beside him sneered, and her face twisted and reshaped. Brown hair turned blond, gray eyes turned blue, and two long fangs slid down from her teeth.

  “What can I say?” asked the Dearg-Due. “I love playing with my food.”

  26

  Abel shrank back against the door, fumbling for the handle. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, but it was jammed against the steering wheel and he didn’t have room to draw it. “This can’t be happening. It’s a nightmare. I’ve had dreams like this before, when someone I trust turns into a monster.”

  “Sorry, sweetie, but this is real,” said the Dearg-Due. “All it took to fool you was a glamor spell from Cora, an Oscar-worthy performance by me, and a few carefully crafted answers for the sea god’s fancy sword.” She licked her lips. “And now I’m calling in that rain check on our dinner date.”

  She lunged, but before she could strike, the tarp in the back of the truck flew up and a sword blade punched through the rear windshield, skewering the vampire’s neck.

  “Get out of there!” Morrigan shouted, leaping over the side of the truck bed.

  “How…?” Abel asked, but then he saw that the sword through the Dearg-Due’s throat had only annoyed her, and he decided not to stick around. He half-fell out the door as the vampire took the blade in her hands and eased it out of her throat.

  The real Dorothy looked up at the commotion. “Abel? Baby, is that you?” She started toward them, but Abel he
ld up his hands.

  “Go back inside, Mom. Now!”

  She looked about to argue, but at that moment, the Dearg-Due let out a shriek that sounded like a soul leaving the body and scraping a chalkboard on the way out. Dorothy screamed and darted back inside.

  “Come on,” said Morrigan, grabbing Abel’s hand and dragging him down the street.

  “We can’t just leave her here with that thing!” said Abel.

  “It’s after us,” Morrigan said. “She’ll be safer on her own, and you’re a hell of a lot safer with me.”

  “I’ll be fine!” Abel lied as he stumbled after the goddess.

  “No you won’t,” Morrigan muttered. “I was afraid I’d scared you off, but I didn’t think propositioning you would make you suicidal.”

  “I had to take care of Mom,” Abel said.

  “Who turned out to be a blood-sucking monster, so not the smartest move,” said Morrigan, leading him down another street. “My gut never stopped screaming at me that she was wrong. It’s a good thing I heard you leaving and followed you in crow form. You’d have gotten killed without me.”

  “Yeah, I’d much rather be killed with you.”

  “Don’t even joke,” Morrigan snapped, grinding to a halt.

  As they stood catching their breath, they heard the roar of a motor behind them.

  “The Dullahan?” Abel asked.

  Morrigan shook her head. “That’s no motorcycle engine. That’s Mac’s truck.”

  Abel turned to see the green beast screeching around a corner. “Aw, I knew I should have taken the keys.”

  “Time to go off road.” Morrigan pulled him off the street, past houses and through toy-littered backyards, into the woods where the trees were too thick for a truck to pass. The Dearg-Due tried to follow anyway but didn’t get past the houses, scraping walls and getting hung up on birdbaths and swing sets.