Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

dare you disrespect me?!” But this? Abel wasn’t sure how to respond.

Fortunately, Morrigan spoke first. “We’re seeking sanctuary. The people outside want to kill us.”

“Who wants to kill you?” the Reverend asked, hurrying down the aisle, but Morrigan stepped into his path.

“I wouldn’t if I were you. Even from a distance, these people can be dangerous.”

Now that his father was closer, Abel could see that something wasn’t quite right. The man had always been obsessive about his and his family’s appearance, especially in church. But today, his clothes were rumpled and his suit jacket was missing.

“Did you sleep here last night?” Abel asked.

“What if I did?” the Reverend asked, fidgeting like crazy. “A man can sleep where he wants. And you’ve got some nerve questioning me about my habits when you’ve been off who knows where.”

“I just asked—” Abel started, but the Reverend pushed on, gaining confidence with his momentum.

“You vanish without warning, you leave me having to explain your absence to everyone, and don’t even get me started on your poor mother. She’s been falling to pieces with worry, not at all herself. She’s been talking back to me, and even to the women of the church! The apologies I’ve had to make for her.”

“I can imagine,” said Abel. He took comfort in knowing that his mother had gotten stronger, not weaker, without him.

“And now you come traipsing back here with this young woman and some story about people trying to kill you, people you won’t let me see.” The Reverend’s eyes glinted behind smudged glasses. “You don’t fool me for a second. You’ve been off fornicating with this girl, haven’t you?”

“I wish,” Morrigan muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.

Abel felt his face catch fire like a furnace, and he wasn’t sure whose remark embarrassed him more. “People really are trying to kill us, Dad. Well, not people exactly. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what they really were.”

“I’ll bet,” said the Reverend. “If you’ve gotten her pregnant, I swear—”

“You’re not listening!” Abel shouted. “You never listen!”

“Don’t raise your voice to me, son,” said the Reverend, and for some reason he wasn’t using his pulpit voice. In fact, he’d gotten quieter, casting glances back toward his office.

Abel followed his line of sight. “Is someone else here?”

“What? No! Don’t change the subject.”

But it was too late. Abel had already pieced it together. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”

“It’s your mother,” the Reverend said quickly. It was his turn to flush crimson. “I was comforting her because you ran away.”

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. “His mother’s at your house. We just came from there.”

“Oh my god,” said Abel. “You spent the night here with another woman.”

“‘You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God,’” said the Reverend.

“No!” Abel shot back. “You don’t get to claim the moral high ground when you’ve been cheating on my mother.” The name of his father’s crime felt ripped from some deep part of him, some childlike part that still believed his father could do no wrong. “Who is it? Most of the church women are old enough to be my grandmother. Is it Miss Harcourt? Or Mrs. Thompson? You know she’s married, right? To one of your deacons? Or maybe it’s that widow who’s had her eye on you for a while.”

“Miss Windermere? You think she…?” The Reverend caught himself smiling at the idea and shook his head. “This is ridiculous. I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“Yes, you do! After everything you put Mom through, all the shame and the hypocrisy and the pressure to keep up appearances, you owe it to her to be honest for once in your life!”

The Reverend’s face twisted in a rage Abel had never seen from him before. “I didn’t do anything to your mother that night that she didn’t want me to do. We spent seventeen years paying for our mistake, but by God, she wanted me. She respected me once. And now,” he said, jabbing a finger toward the office, “she’s the only one who respects me! And let me tell you, she wanted me.”

“You make me sick,” Abel spat.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” said the Reverend.

“No sir, Dad,” said Abel, and the last word came out like a curse.

The silence stretched tense between them, like a tight-wound guitar string about to break. Father and son stared each other down, while Morrigan looked from one to the other, a goddess terrified of what was about to happen.

At last, the Reverend turned his back. “Get out.” It was barely audible, but the finality in his voice was unmistakable.

“Believe me, I wish I could,” said Abel. “But like I’ve said several times—and maybe you’ll listen now—people are trying to kill us.”

“Enough of that stupid story!” the Reverend shouted. “No one is trying to kill you. I’ll bet there’s no one even out there.” He strode toward the front doors.

“No, don’t!” Abel warned, but too late. The Reverend swung open the door, and the strains of a lilting soprano wafted into the room, tugging at Abel’s soul.

“Táim sínte ar do thuama

Agus gheobhair ann de shíor mé…”

“Dad, don’t listen to her!” Abel shouted, running after him and grabbing his arm. He forced the fog out of his mind, grasped for something else to focus on. “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, faithfulness” … wait, I missed one … love, joy, peace… “Plug your ears or something!”

Instead, the Reverend, swayed by music he didn’t know to resist, shook off his son and drifted like a sleepwalker through the door, down the steps, and into the arms of the woman in red. The Dearg-Due pulled him close and nuzzled his throat, winking at Abel.

“Don’t you dare hurt him,” Abel growled, surprised to find he still cared.

Morrigan pushed past him. “Stay here. I’ll get him back.”

“Are you crazy? That’s two unkillable monsters against one girl.”

Morrigan grinned at him. “I’ve had worse odds.”

“Your sword is still in the truck. At least take mine.”