Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

her voice, the finality of the grave. “But you can stop it, right? You know how it’s going to happen. You dream that part. All we have to do is avoid it, right?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell myself, but I’ve tried before,” said Morrigan. “So many times. So many people I cared about. But they’re all dead. I couldn’t save them, no matter what I did. If I dream someone’s death, it comes true. Always.”

Abel nodded. “How do I die?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“No, but tell me anyway.”

Morrigan’s gaze dropped to the ground. “You get stabbed in the back. I can’t see who does the stabbing, but that’s how it happens.”

Brigid turned away to hide her tears.

“How much—” Abel’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “How much time do I have left?”

“I don’t know,” said Morrigan. “Sometimes it happens that day, sometimes a week or a month later. If we keep you locked up here, we could put it off long enough for you to live out a natural lifespan.” She smiled. “I guess Mac was right after all.”

“Was I?” Mac asked, wandering into the kitchen. “Oh good. What about?” He sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

Abel looked back at his pan to see the eggs turning black. “Oh crap!” He hurled the pan into the sink and doused them with water.

“I’m sorry,” said Morrigan.

“It’s fine,” said Abel. “I guess burning food runs in the family.”

“I wasn’t talking about the eggs.”

Abel gripped the edge of the sink. “I just … I need a minute.”

He hurried out of the kitchen. Behind him, Mac asked, “What did I miss?”

Abel didn’t hear the explanation over the buzzing in his own head. He was going to die. It was inevitable. A goddess had told him so, and one he trusted to be right. What was he supposed to do with that? I mean, sure, he knew where he’d go when he died, but that didn’t mean he was eager to get there right now. He was young; he had so much left to do, so much life left unlived. Until now, it had mostly been survival. Now it was too late to live.

But she did say it could be put off, maybe for years. Maybe if I just stay here…

But that was still only survival, another form of prison. Maybe death was the only freedom he could look forward to.

Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Something broke through the white noise in his brain. It was singing, again. But this wasn’t the Dearg-Due’s flytrap voice with honey-sweet melody. This was a hymn, sung badly off-key:

“Pass me not O gentle Savior

Hear my humble cry

While on others Thou art calling

Do not pass me by.”

And the voice was familiar and somehow foreign at the same time. In fact, it sounded like…

Abel raced down the stairs and opened the secret door. A woman had been leaning against the Angel Oak and now toppled backward into the entrance. A bottle in her hand clattered to the wood floor, spilling tequila all over. The woman’s eyes gazed upside down at Abel through a matted mess of brown hair, slowly focusing, and then they widened.

“Abel?” The woman said. “Honey, is that you?”

“Mom?”

23

“Abel,” Dorothy Whittaker said, trying to push herself to her feet. “My sweet—oof—sweet boy.”

“Mom, what are you doing here?” Abel grabbed her arm, pulled her upright, and steadied her, closing the door behind her.

“You ran away. Why shouldn’t I?” Dorothy asked, sounding like a petulant teen even to Abel. “I couldn’t stand being alone with that man one second longer.”

“Abel?” Morrigan called down the stairs. “Who is that?”

“It’s my mom,” Abel said, helping her stumble up the stairs to the living room where the gods waited. “She needs help.”

“I see where you get your skill at holding your liquor,” said Mac.

“Oh, hello, lovely people,” said Dorothy. “Morgan, wasn’t it? We met. I was in much better condition then.” She started giggling.

“What’s she doing here?” Morrigan asked. It was more accusation than question.

“She was outside,” Abel explained. “I think she finally left my father.”

“And just happened to bump into us when she’s got a whole massive country to move around in? That’s some coincidence.”

“Maybe someone told her where I was,” Abel suggested.

“That’s what worries me,” said Morrigan. “You let her into our safe house without checking to see if anyone was nearby, didn’t you?”

“I was a little distracted,” said Abel. “It’s my mom, after all.”

“Which makes her the perfect bait.”

“I’ll watch the door,” Brigid said, slipping past Abel and Dorothy down the steps.

Morrigan grabbed Dorothy and patted her down, more roughly than Abel thought necessary. “No tracking charms, no weapons. Doesn’t mean she’s clean, though.”

“I know how we can be sure,” said Mac, bustling to his room.

“Abel, what are they doing?” Dorothy wailed.

“Will you guys stop?” Abel asked. “This is my mother.”

“No, it’s your life,” said Morrigan, “and we’re trying to protect it.”

Mac reemerged with Fragarach in hand, slipping it neatly under Dorothy’s chin.

“Whoa, whoa!” Abel shouted. “No one’s holding my mother at sword point. Put that away or so help me—Hey! Let me go!”

Morrigan had wrapped her arms around him, pinning his hands to his sides. “Not until we know for sure.”

Fragarach began to buzz, and Dorothy squirmed.

“Who sent you here?” Mac asked.

“No one sent me…” said Dorothy. “Came of my own free will … I don’t feel good…”

“How did you know your son was here?”

“I didn’t … looking for somewhere safe … Abel, sweetie, make him stop!”

“I’m telling you, she doesn’t know anything!” Abel cried. “Let her go!”

Mac looked at Morrigan. “She has to be telling the truth.”

“We can’t be too careful,” said Morrigan. “Ask again.”

“The sword doesn’t draw out lies.”

“I’m telling you,” said Abel, “If you don’t let us go, I’m going to—”

Dorothy vomited all over the sword and the floor.

Mac grimaced and shook the puke from Fragarach. “Ugh! My sword!” He glowered at Morrigan. “Happy?”

Morrigan sighed and let Abel go. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t take a chance.”

Brigid came back up the