Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

A heart or a liver might have been a more effective ingredient, but this was a child, and Cora was a mother.

She set the baby back down in his crib, leaving a light kiss on his forehead. Then she shifted back into snake form and slithered under the door and out of the house.

Cemetery located, she thought, marking it off her mental to-do list. Child’s hair gathered. Cow’s skull stripped of flesh and organs and ready to use. Finger bones—well, the cemetery will give me a good supply of those. And holy man’s blood?

There was a buzz from her pocket as she turned back to human. She checked her phone to see a midnight message.

I know it’s late, but I need to talk, and you’re the only one I can talk to, it said.

Cora grinned. The blood wouldn’t be a problem. The Reverend Whittaker was in her back pocket. All that was left was to get revenge on that bastard son of his and then go to the cemetery on Samhain night and work the spell. After that, she and Morgan could be a mother and daughter at last, and no one would ever come between them again. Because they’d all be dead.

Cora wasn’t a snake anymore, but there was still a slither in her step as she headed home for the night.

22

“Sleep well?”

Brigid’s voice jarred Abel from sleep to find he was still on the couch, dressed from the waist down, his shirt on the floor where he’d left it the night before.

“Not really,” Abel said, rubbing his cheek where the couch’s rough fabric had left crisscross patterns. Strange dreams danced half-remembered through his head as he slipped back into his shirt and followed her into the kitchen.

“To tell you the truth,” said Brigid, “I’d rather expected to find Morrigan out here with you.”

“She went to bed hours ago,” said Abel.

“Without you?”

Abel felt his face grow hot. “Uh, yeah. That’s generally how that works.”

“Not with two people who look at each other the way you two do.” Brigid threw sausages into a frying pan, then turned on her blowtorch and held it under the pan.

“Right. That’s not happening.”

“Why not?” She nodded to a carton of eggs on the counter. “Make yourself useful and fry those up, would you?”

“Plenty of reasons.” Abel searched the cabinets for another pan and started cracking eggs into it. “For one thing, she’s a goddess and I’m a teenage human.”

“All the gods are basically human,” said Brigid, turning the sausages, “with a few extras thrown in. And besides, unions between gods and mortals are as old as … well, as the gods. Most kings of Ireland got their start being bedded by sovereignty goddesses a dozen times their age. There’s nothing shameful about her desire for you. Or your desire for her, either. Quite the opposite, really.”

Abel switched on the stove burner. “I’m no king.”

Brigid winked at him. “Not yet, dearie.”

Abel rolled his eyes and went back into the cabinets. It took him a little while, but he finally found the herbs he was looking for. He sprinkled them onto the eggs. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not happening now, anyway.”

“Because of your upbringing? I know people of your faith tend to be strict about sex.”

Abel cleared his throat. This was getting more awkward by the minute. “That’s part of it, yeah. But there’s more to it than that.”

Before he could explain, or even decide if he wanted to explain, Morrigan’s bedroom door opened and the war goddess emerged, rubbing hands across her tired eyes and tangled hair.

“Oh, dear heart,” said Brigid, shutting off her torch. “As rough as the two of you look, it’s a shame you didn’t sleep together. All of the payment, none of the pleasure.”

Abel squeezed his eyes shut. “Can we please not talk about this anymore?”

“Like I said, dear, nothing to be ashamed of,” said Brigid.

“No, it’s okay,” Morrigan said quickly. “If you don’t want to talk about last night, Abel, we won’t talk about it. Okay?”

Abel frowned. There was something weird about the way she was looking at him, like she was afraid he’d drop dead any minute. “I mean, if it would help—”

“Whatever you want,” said Morrigan. She glanced at the pan. “I can take over the eggs if you’d like.”

“It’s okay,” said Abel. “I’ve got it covered.”

“What would you like to go with them?” Morrigan asked. “Toast? Waffles? Pancakes? Hash browns?”

“Do you know how to cook any of that?” Brigid asked.

“How hard can it be?” Morrigan turned back to Abel. “Are you a coffee or tea drinker?”

“Coffee,” Abel said, and then stopped himself. “Look, this is nice and all, but you don’t have to do it. You didn’t do anything wrong last night. You have nothing to make up for.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that,” Morrigan said, putting a filter in the coffee maker.

“If it’s bothering you—” Abel started.

“It’s not.”

“Then what is it?” Abel asked. “You’re fussing over me like I’m dying or something.”

The jar of coffee overturned in Morrigan’s hand, and she swore as she hurried to clean up the spill.

“Wait, am I dying?”

Brigid gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Morrigan, no!”

Morrigan closed her eyes and nodded, leaning back against the stove. “Last night, I saw you die, Abel.”

“In one of your dreams?” Abel asked. “Like with the biker?”

“Exactly. And it’s not the first time, either. The night before, at Brigid’s, when I couldn’t sleep? That’s why.”

That must be why she’s been extra protective of me lately, Abel thought. “Well, maybe it was just an ordinary dream. Last night, I dreamed you turned into a crow and literally bit my head off, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

“It doesn’t work that way with me,” said Morrigan. “I don’t get dreams; I get visions. Every time I dream of someone, they’re dying. And every time I dream of death, it happens.”

Abel tried to hold on to his doubt, but he could hear the certainty in