Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

Must not have wanted my boy showing everyone up. Let someone else have a turn in the spotlight, right, Abel?” The heavy hand squeezed in what was meant to be fatherly affection.

Abel pushed his glasses up his nose to hide his eyes. “Sure, Dad.”

“Well, you must be a fine young man to make your father this proud,” said Cora. “Again, I’m so sorry. I suppose I’m a little too protective of my Morgan. She’s so impressionable at her age.”

“How old are you?” asked the Reverend.

“I stopped counting after my 6,000th birthday,” Morgan deadpanned.

Abel blinked.

The Reverend chuckled. “Sorry. I should know better than to ask a lady her age.”

A joke. Right. Of course it is. No one’s that old. But Abel couldn’t help noticing Cora digging her fingernails into Morgan’s shoulder.

The Reverend spotted someone across the crowd and waved her over. “Dorothy! Come here a minute! There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Abel’s mother shuffled over, lips pressed tight against her teeth in a smile that reflected Abel’s but without the same skill behind it. Her eyes darted around as though looking for an escape. Cora’s stare widened as she passed, probably at how much younger she was than the Reverend. Abel was used to those looks of shock by now.

“Dorothy,” said the Reverend, taking her elbow and posing her by his side, “this is Cora Hammond and her daughter Morgan. They’re new in town.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Dorothy, her voice an octave higher than natural, the pitch she put on for her husband and his flock; everyone but her darling Abel.

“Likewise,” said Cora. “I was telling your husband that we’ve just moved up here from Columbia and we’re looking for a new congregation to join. As well as your son has turned out under his care, I know Reverend Whittaker’s the man to shepherd my Morgan.”

“Well, I had a little something to do with Abel’s upbringing myself,” said Dorothy.

“Of course you did, honey.” The Reverend wrapped an arm around her and pulled Abel closer. “Our family wouldn’t be half what it is today without you.”

Abel looked from his parents to the Hammonds and got the impression that both families were posing for a Christmas card picture, one that took too long to shoot for Morgan’s taste. He knew the feeling; it itched in his lungs.

“Where did you go to church before, Cora?” the Reverend asked.

Cora’s face twisted as though she were tasting rotten meat. “Oh, we don’t speak of that place. We left because the pastor was involved in the most horrible scandal.”

“What a shame,” said Dorothy, shooting her husband a look that clearly said Change the subject NOW.

Abel took the hint first. “So Morgan, where do you go to school?”

“We homeschool,” Cora answered for her. “You never know what liberal lies are going to be in the curriculum these days.”

“You’re homeschooled? Me too!” said Abel, speaking to Morgan. “Hey, maybe we’ll finally have enough homeschoolers in this tiny town to start a co-op!”

“If Cora lets me out of my cell long enough to see daylight.” Morgan glowered at her not-mother.

Cora’s smile tightened. “You see, Reverend? This is why I have to keep a tight leash on her. That attitude is her fatal flaw.”

“Now Morgan, remember the fifth commandment,” said the Reverend, echoes of his booming pulpit voice creeping in.

“Honor your father and mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you,” Abel said before he could stop himself. Morgan turned her glare on him, and he shrugged. “Sorry. Conditioned response.”

Morgan’s eyes softened, but they lost none of their anger. “Of course. Far be it from me to blame a trained dog.”

Abel’s stomach lurched.

“Morgan!” Cora scolded, but Morgan had already pulled away and was gone.

“I’m so sorry,” the not-mother said to the Whittakers. “She gets this way sometimes.” She hurried off after her daughter.

Dorothy slipped behind her husband and laid a hand on Abel’s arm.

“Don’t worry about it, son,” said the Reverend. “Some kids turn out bad no matter how understanding their parents are.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Abel. “Now get that mud off your pants before someone else sees. I’m astonished that woman still wants to join a church where the pastor’s son goes around in dirty clothes.”

“Yes sir,” Abel said, his voice monotone as he bent to scrub his suit clean. Why did he do that, go along with whatever the Reverend said, never fighting back? Was Morgan right? Was he that well-trained? He’d learned about Pavlov and his experiments years ago, and the comparison hit way too close to home. The Reverend rang his bell, and Abel drooled all over the place. But it had been far too long since he’d gotten a treat.

Did Pavlov ever worry about keeping his dog happy for fear of it biting back?

But Abel had no bite, and he knew it.

He was sure that would be the last time he saw her that day. But as the picnic wound down and Miss Everett from the singles’ Sunday School class cornered him in another longsuffering conversation, he spotted Morgan waving to him from behind a tree. He excused himself as tactfully as he could—two or three times, and then he gave up and left her still talking about the upcoming Fall Festival—and hurried over to the girl.

“I don’t have long,” she whispered. “Cora’s probably already noticed I’m missing. Listen, what I said earlier, the dog thing, was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t wrong,” said Abel.

“Yes, I was,” said Morgan. “It’s just that I hate seeing someone kowtowing like that when they could stand up for themselves. If I could stand up to Cora…”

“Why don’t you?” Abel asked. “It’s not like you like your mother, or whatever she is to you.”

“Nothing to like. She’s a monster.”

“Define monster.”

Morgan eyed him. “I wouldn’t want to give you nightmares.”

Abel leaned in closer and whispered, “There’s no … abuse going on, is there?”

Morgan snorted. “No, she treats me