Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

off with the sign of the cross. Which sounds crazy, even compared to the things I’ve seen these last couple of days, but it worked.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you had gold on you? We could have ended this so much sooner.”

Abel frowned. “It wasn’t the cross?”

“Well, with that thing’s black heart, I’m sure the religious imagery didn’t hurt, but it’s mostly the gold. Dullahans hate the stuff. No one’s bothered to ask why.”

“That might have been a good thing to mention earlier.” Abel straightened his glasses. “You know, ‘Hey Abel! The monster that’s chasing us hates gold. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?’”

“Sorry, I was busy trying to keep you from getting dropped to the pavement during a high-speed chase,” said Morrigan.

Abel dropped his eyes. “You’re right. Thanks for saving my life.”

Morrigan shrugged. “I didn’t do that much. You saved yourself again.”

“By accident.”

“Still counts.” Morrigan glanced at the gods. “I’m gonna check on Brigid. You get Mac.”

“On it.” Abel limped to the truck and patted Mac’s bearded cheek. “Come on, big guy. We need you.”

Mac came to, coughing and gasping for air. “Drowning! I’m…” His eyes focused on Abel’s face, and he calmed down. “Sorry about that, lad.”

Abel clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re still with us.”

“It’ll take more than a dark faerie with a fancy whip to put me down,” said Mac.

“You say that now,” said Morrigan, towing along a staggering Brigid, “but that thing plowed through the three of us gods like we were children. We’ve got to get out of here before it comes back.”

“Couldn’t I just wave my necklace at it some more?” Abel asked.

“Only for so long before it figures out a way to separate you from it,” said Morrigan. She cocked her head at the sound of distant sirens. “Besides, the cops will be here soon, and there’s no way anyone’s going to be able to explain this to them. Plus there’s still the Dearg-Due and whatever else Cora has sent after us. The sooner we get to the safe house, the better.”

18

“See,” said Abel, “when you said safe house, I kinda assumed it wouldn’t be a tourist attraction.”

He and the gods had driven down the coast to John’s Island, hidden the truck in the woods, and walked—Abel on a freshly healed ankle, thanks to Brigid—down a gravel road toward a sign that read ANGEL OAK – OPEN, with the business hours underneath.

“That’s what makes it perfect, dear heart,” said Brigid. “Cora would never think to look for us here.”

“And even if she did, she couldn’t attack us here without exposing herself,” Morrigan added.

Abel nodded to a couple walking ahead of them. “But won’t all the people around defeat the purpose of hiding? Any of them could be working for Cora.”

“Don’t worry, lad,” said Mac, lifting his eyes to the skies. “They won’t be here much longer.”

Before the couple could pass through the chain link double gate, a large man in a polo shirt came out to meet them. “Sorry, folks. We’re closing up. Got a big storm moving in.”

Abel turned to look at Mac, who chuckled in time with a distant roll of thunder. “Blowing in from the sea, lad.” Mac winked at Abel.

“Not bad,” Abel said as tourists trickled through the gate and back to their cars. “But how do we get in now?”

“Watch and learn.” Mac shook out his heavy coat by the lapels, and a cold mist wafted out, first in tendrils, then in clouds that wrapped around them. Abel wasn’t sure what shocked him more, the sudden fog or the fact that no one noticed it forming. Where they’d drawn an odd look or two from passing tourists before, now no one looked their way.

Mac grinned. “I always keep a mist of invisibility in my coat in case I need to hide from an enemy.”

“Or in case you need to sneak to the pub for a night of drinking,” Brigid added.

Mac cleared his throat. “The safe house is this way.” He led them through the tourists toward the park. Abel reached out, tempted to touch someone to see their reaction, but Morrigan grabbed his hand.

“Defeats the purpose of hiding, wouldn’t you say?” she asked.

Abel stuck his hands in his pockets. “Couldn’t resist.”

Angel Oak Park was fenced in with chain link and carpeted with golden brown leaves, and it held a rustic-looking cabin, port-a-potties, picnic tables, and the most sprawling tree Abel had ever seen. Limbs snaked out in every direction, some bending down to the ground, others supported by wooden posts. Abel could feel the weight of it like a living thing, a slumbering ancient monster that was somehow more real and alive than any other tree around it.

“You never could resist an oak tree, could you?” Morrigan asked Brigid.

“They’re a favorite of mine, I’ll not deny it.”

“Waste of a ship’s timbers, if you ask me,” Mac muttered.

Abel raised his hand. “I’m sorry. Are we staying in the tree?”

Brigid winked at him. “Exactly.” Her fingers lightly brushed the bark, and it split away to reveal steps leading up inside the trunk and into the branches. Only, as Abel climbed the stairs, he found himself not in the tangle of limbs he had seen from the outside, but in an oak paneled living room furnished in golden brown shag carpet, a musty brown couch and recliner, a coffee table that seemed to grow out of the floor, and a large flat screen TV. Above them hovered lights that shimmered and ducked like oversized fireflies, buzzing around a ceiling that seemed to undulate like leaves in the wind. Doors led off to a kitchen, a large walk-in closet, and several bedrooms.

Abel gaped at the room that shouldn’t exist. Then he shrugged. “You know what? I’m just gonna roll with it. I’ve seen so many weird things this week, anything that’s not trying to kill me gets a pass.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about any more