Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

that, or where the motion detectors and flame nozzles were, or if there even was such a rational explanation for this.

Morgan rubbed her blackened fingers, drawing Abel’s attention. “Are you okay? Those burns look pretty bad. Is there any aloe in the house?”

“Yeah, but you don’t want to go in the bathroom,” said Morgan. “Snakes in the toilet. I’ll be fine; I’ve had worse.” She cast a worried look at the doorway. “But I just realized I don’t know whether that’s only a reaction to my ankle monitor to keep me out, or whether anyone other than Cora who tries to get through…” Her voice trailed off.

“Gets barbecued,” Abel finished.

Morgan offered a half-hopeful smile. “She likes the occasional gentleman caller in her bed, though. She wouldn’t have shielded it from everyone. You’ll probably be fine.”

“You’re a real comfort in these dark times.” Abel held his breath, closed his eyes, and stretched out his hand, slowly, waiting for the searing pain of green fire.

It never came. He opened his eyes to find his arm halfway into the room. Not even a wisp of smoke rose from his sweater.

“I’m okay!” He laughed nervously. “I’m not on fire.”

“Great!” said Morgan. “Now go!” She pushed him hard, and he stumbled through the door.

“Thanks.” He straightened up to look around the room. He wished he hadn’t.

Cora’s sick-green blouse had clearly been the tip of the obsession iceberg; the color was everywhere from the carpet to the bedspread to the curtains pulled across the windows. Abel stood there, locked in battle with his rebellious gag reflex. Finally, he got it under control and peered deeper into the shadowy room.

“Bingo,” he whispered, spotting a key rack on the wall. “Which key am I looking for?”

“Is there more than one?” Morgan asked.

Abel pawed through house keys, car keys, safe keys, and keys that went to who knew what. “Lots, yeah.”

“Then you want one that’s old fashioned, and iron, like the ankle monitor.”

“These all look pretty modern to me.”

“She wouldn’t hang it on a key rack, though,” said Morgan. “This is the key to me we’re talking about. She’ll have a special place for it.”

Abel’s gaze moved to the dresser, to the antique full-length mirror, and then to a nightstand topped with a lamp, a bottle of eye drops, a romance novel … and a jeweled box with a picture of Cora and Morgan framed on the lid. Cora had her arms around Morgan and a grin on her face. Morgan looked like she was holding back from stabbing Cora in the face.

“The key to me…” He sucked in his breath as he took the box in his hands. “Please don’t be a trap,” he pleaded, and threw back the lid.

No poison darts, no electric current, no green fire. He was still alive. And lying in the velvet interior was an iron key.

He snatched up the key, closed the box, and ran back to Morgan, holding his prize aloft. “Found it!”

“Quick, get it off!” Morgan lifted her leg.

Abel pushed the jeans back from her ankle, felt around the iron band until he found the keyhole, and slipped the key into place. The band snapped open with a burst of heat and thudded to the floor, and Morgan drank in a breath as though it had been clasped around her throat.

“You have no idea how good that feels,” she said with a sigh of pleasure that made Abel’s skin tingle. He dropped her leg, self-conscious about how long he’d been holding it.

“Thirsty…”

“Yeah, I could totally go for a drink,” said Morgan. “Soon as we get clear of Pepper’s Mill, I’m buying us a round.”

But Abel’s skin goose-pimpled again, not from pleasure but from the same ancient fear in the cellar. “I didn’t say that.”

“Thirsty…”

The two peered down the stairs to see someone—no, something—clambering up towards them. At first it looked like a little old man with a pointed red cap and a long white beard. But even the oldest men weren’t that short and bone thin. And their eyes didn’t burn red. And their fingers didn’t end in iron claws like eagle talons. And their caps didn’t drip drying blood down their wrinkled faces.

“Thirsty!” the thing hissed, and another two appeared at the bottom of the stairs, climbing after it.

5

“Holy…” Terror left Abel unable to finish his thought or even run away. Morgan pulled him back into Cora’s room and slammed the door.

“You realize you just cornered us in here with those things,” said Abel. The urge to scream again pushed his voice up an octave.

“What’s the matter?” Morgan asked with a smirk. “They scare you?”

Abel stared at her wide-eyed. Is she serious right now? “They’re gnomes with sharp talons and a thirst for human blood, so yes, they scare me! What the heck are they, anyway?”

“I’ve seen them once before.” Morgan peeked under the bed, shoved the dresser aside. “Spent a few years in Scotland. Red Caps, the locals called them. I’ve seen them rip a grown man apart in less time than it takes to blink.”

“Really not helping,” Abel muttered, faint from fear and nauseated from the green room. The Red Caps outside hissed and scratched and threw themselves against the door.

“I should have known Cora wouldn’t leave any entrance unprotected.” Morgan moved the mirror aside and checked the back. “Smart of her to use guard dogs I’m less familiar with.”

“Those guard dogs are going to break through the door any minute,” said Abel.

The knob twisted, and the door swung open.

“Or they could just open it, since no one bothered to lock it.”

“Thirsty!” sang the rough chorus of Red Caps, now six strong.

Abel backed away, tripped over his own feet, and landed hard on the carpet. He scampered to the wall and pressed his back against it. The Red Caps were only as tall as his knees, but they didn’t need size with claws like that. He could already feel those iron talons ripping into his flesh. All he could think was God, please don’t let me