Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

“You know, you preach a way better sermon than my father ever did.”

Brigid shrugged. “I wield the fire of inspiration as well as the fire of the forge. It’s all in my wheelhouse.”

Abel reached for the sword, but Brigid pulled it back. “I’d better hang onto it. Wouldn’t do you much good. Hasn’t been sharpened yet.”

“Neither have I,” Abel said.

Brigid grinned. “Now you’re getting it. Go rest. We’ll need to be ready for anything tomorrow.”

As Abel came back up the stairs, he noticed a figure crouching by the window, the streetlights outside reflecting on raven hair. “Morrigan?” he asked.

She glanced back at him, and in the dim light, he thought he saw a smile. “Abel, hi. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Funny, I thought the same thing about you.”

“I’m not the one suffering from massive blood loss,” said Morrigan. She frowned. “Tried to sleep. Couldn’t.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve gone days at a time without sleep with no ill effects. I’ll be fine.”

Abel looked past her out the window. “Anything out there?”

“Somewhere,” said Morrigan. “But not close enough to do us any harm. And I’ll be the first to know if that changes.”

“Because you’d dream about it, right?” Abel asked.

Morrigan looked at him for a while, then put a hand on his arm. “Hey, everything’s gonna be okay. I’d never let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

“Well, yeah,” said Abel. “You okay?”

Morrigan smiled at him. “Yeah, it’s just been a long day. You almost died.”

“But I didn’t,” Abel grinned. “Thanks to you.”

“Anytime.” She shoved against his chest. “Now go to bed. Early start tomorrow, remember?”

“I remember,” Abel said, backing toward the back room and the couch bed they’d made up for him. “Goodnight, Morrigan.”

“Goodnight,” she said, watching him until he was safely in his room.

You’ll see who she is, Brigid had said, and she was right. As he looked at her sitting in the dark like a gargoyle watching over a cathedral, her true nature shined through the snark and the bloodlust and the bravado. She was a protector, and tonight, she protected him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well.

17

“That’s the last of it.” Mac bundled one last propane tank into the back of the truck and fastened it under a tarp. “Though I wish you’d have let me bring my fishing net that always comes up full.”

“You’re the one who said only take necessities,” said Brigid.

“Aye, but when I said that, I meant not taking your Cary Grant sculpture.”

“Then you should have been more specific,” Brigid said with a wink.

It was the next morning, and even though the sun was barely up, the gods packed to leave.

“You sure we won’t need any food?” Morrigan asked as she strode out of the shop.

Abel came out close behind her, dressed in Mac’s borrowed shirt once more. It was just as baggy as the nightshirt, but at least he had a belt to keep it tucked into his pants—which were thankfully his own. He carried a cardboard box Mac had insisted they bring along. It was labeled in Sharpie DAGDA MOR’S CLUB—HANDLE WITH CARE, although he’d peeked inside to see that the club, a thick blackthorn staff the size of a walking stick, already had a crack running down the side. Guess someone didn’t read the label, he thought as he slid it into the truck bed and closed the tailgate.

“The safe house is well stocked,” said Brigid. “Food, water, clothes, and a good bit of entertainment to keep us busy until it’s safe to move again. Even a few weapons to protect ourselves.” She tossed Abel his new sword, and he fumbled to grab it, scared he was going to cut himself on the blade until he realized it was sheathed.

“It’s about an hour’s drive,” said Mac, “so I’ve picked out some special songs for the road.” He grinned at Abel. “You’ll like this. I’ve rigged up the sound so that the music resonates from the body of the truck itself. No speakers required! Even the people in the bed can enjoy the music.”

“And the entire city of Charleston can be assaulted by sea shanties,” Brigid added, rolling her eyes.

“There are worse kinds of noise pollution,” Abel said. He cocked his head as a distant rumble caught his ear. “For example…”

A motorcycle tore around the corner and swerved to a stop. The figure astride it was big and burly and, except for the helmet hiding its head, very familiar.

“Oh, great,” said Abel. “Eyepatch is back.”

“Do you think he brought Cora here?” Brigid asked.

“He looks alone to me,” said Morrigan. She picked up a chunk of concrete from the side of the road. “Hey, dickwad!” she shouted at the biker. “Didn’t you get enough yesterday?” She hurled the concrete at his head, and it struck dead center.

The helmet tumbled into the air and clattered to the ground.

Abel’s eyes went wide. “Uh, Morrigan…”

“I know,” she said, as still as he was.

The biker had no head.

“If that’s Eyepatch,” said Abel, “he’s changed since yesterday.”

“It’s not Eyepatch,” said Morrigan.

The biker revved his engine. Clouds of smoke drifted out behind the bike as though carried by an otherworldly wind.

“Get in the truck!” Morrigan shouted. “Now!” She clambered into the back, followed by Abel and Brigid, while Mac leaped into the cab and peeled off as the motorcycle sped after them.

“What is that thing?” Abel gripped the side of the truck as it took a tight turn that threatened to throw them all out. “And why doesn’t it have a head?”

“It’s a Dullahan,” Morrigan explained. “Think the Headless Horseman from Sleepy Hollow. Only this one traded in his horse for our friend’s faster transport.”

“Why couldn’t Eyepatch have hung on to his bike?” Abel asked himself.

“Guess my dream came true,” said Morrigan.

“Poor guy,” Abel muttered.

“Don’t feel too sorry about him.” Brigid eyed their pursuer. “You could be joining him soon.”

“He won’t be,” Morrigan said, though she didn’t sound as sure as Abel would have liked.

Abel looked back to see