Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

pulled on his borrowed clothes, strapped his sword to his side, and sneaked out of the room.

There were a couple of potential snags in his plan that he’d considered. The first was Morrigan and her tendency to stand guard instead of sleeping at night. But she was nowhere in sight; only Brigid, who had given her room to Dorothy, slumbered deep and peaceful on the couch. For a minute, Abel was disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see Morrigan before he left. Then he remembered what she had asked him to think about. He looked at her bedroom door, picturing her sitting on her bed staring back through it, waiting for him to come in and join her, longing for it. She’d be the one who was disappointed.

Snag #2 came with their escape route. They’d need a vehicle to get back, and that meant getting the keys to Mac’s truck. The problem was that Abel wasn’t sure where he kept those keys.

He eased the door to Mac’s room open and slipped inside. Mac snored away, dressed in his nightshirt and tucked under heavy covers. Abel made a quick and quiet search of the room, but found nothing. He was about to give up when he finally spotted the keys.

They were clutched tight in Mac’s thick fingers.

Abel stiffened, pressed his lips together. No problem. Just got to get them out of his hand without waking him up. Easy peasy.

He reached down and gave the keys a tentative tug. They didn’t budge. He pulled harder. The fingers flexed, but held firm.

Make that hardy pardy.

He fretted for a minute, and then, ever so gently, reached out and tickled the base of Mac’s palm with his index finger. Mac shifted in his sleep. His fingers twitched loose, and Abel used that moment to snatch the keys free.

They jingled as they dangled against each other.

Mac’s chainsaw snore broke tempo with a snort, and Abel froze, fumbling for an explanation for why he had Mac’s keys. Then Mac sniffed and fell back into a regular rhythm of aggravated breathing. Abel let his own breath out and tiptoed from the room, hurrying to his mother’s.

Dorothy had dressed in clothes borrowed from Brigid, and now she was pacing around the room. “Is it time?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Abel, holding up the keys. “Follow me, but quietly.”

They padded across the carpet in the faded fairy light, down the stairs and out the secret door. Abel winced as it creaked open, but no one came barreling after them telling them to stop.

Dorothy looked back as they walked out into the park, and her mouth fell open. “We really were in the tree? But how…?” She walked around Angel Oak, looking up into its twisted branches. “Where…?”

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Abel told her. “We need to get out of here.” He grabbed her arm and hurried her along. He helped her clamber over the chain-link fence that surrounded the park, using a borrowed coat to protect them from the barbed wire.

As he landed on the other side, he heard a flutter and a cawing, and three crows took off into the trees. He thought again of Morrigan waiting for him, and his heart nearly broke. Maybe he should have taken her with him. She could have protected him as best she could. But she probably wouldn’t have let him go, and it was too late to find out now. He was already committed to the path he was on.

That path led him and his mother to Mac’s truck. He bundled her in and started the vehicle, but he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Funny how this all started with me stealing a car to get away from home. Now I’m stealing one to go back.

“Your friends won’t mind you borrowing their truck?” Dorothy asked.

“I’m sure they won’t,” Abel lied as he pulled out onto the road. “Time to get you home.”

It was morning before they made it back to Pepper’s Mill, and the first rays of light played with the fall leaves, lighting them on fire. Abel drove until he could see his house with the big tree out front.

He pointed to the oak. “I have to admit, I’ve missed that tree. Sitting under that, thinking and praying and reading. I studied better under that tree than most kids do in their classrooms.” He parked the truck and unfastened his seatbelt. “Let’s go. No sense in putting this off.”

Before he could open the door, Dorothy grabbed his arm. “Abel, wait!”

“I know it’s scary,” Abel told her, “but we have to face him.”

“It’s not that,” said Dorothy. “There’s something you need to see.”

She pointed to the doorstep, where their daily newspaper lay. As Abel watched, the door opened and a woman stooped to pick up the paper. When she stood, the morning light caught her face, and Abel did a double take. It couldn’t be who it looked like. It was impossible.

But it was.

It was Dorothy Whittaker. His mother. The woman sitting next to him in the truck.

“I really should have killed you so much earlier, but it was worth the wait to see the look on your face.” The mother beside him sneered, and her face twisted and reshaped. Brown hair turned blond, gray eyes turned blue, and two long fangs slid down from her teeth.

“What can I say?” asked the Dearg-Due. “I love playing with my food.”

26

Abel shrank back against the door, fumbling for the handle. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, but it was jammed against the steering wheel and he didn’t have room to draw it. “This can’t be happening. It’s a nightmare. I’ve had dreams like this before, when someone I trust turns into a monster.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but this is real,” said the Dearg-Due. “All it took to fool you was a glamor spell from Cora, an Oscar-worthy performance by me, and a few carefully crafted answers for the sea god’s fancy sword.” She licked her lips. “And now I’m calling in that rain