Morrigan Jonathan King (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📖

this car, and I’m not going back to murder anybody. I’m putting as much distance between us and Cora and the Reverend as possible. If you’ve got a problem with that, you can get out and walk back.”

Morrigan’s lips twitched upwards and her eyebrows arched in amusement. “I’m not going back now. I’ve got time. And if you’re driving, I’m picking the music.” She dug through the glove compartment, pulled out an AC/DC cassette tape, and put it in the player. “Highway to Hell” blasted through the speakers.

Abel cringed as he pulled back onto the highway. This is gonna be a long ride. But even though the lyrics made him squirm, he couldn’t help smiling as Morrigan sang along off-key, hands in the air. Now that was a picture of how it felt to be free.

Cora stood at the door of her bedroom and stared at the blood-soaked shambles. Her own bedroom, violated. Her own daughter, kidnapped. Never had she felt more lost than at this moment. Everything in her wanted to fall sobbing to the floor.

But I gave up tears a long time ago. I’m a force of nature. I don’t give in when people press on me; I press back, and I flatten their world and burn it to the ground.

But Morgan…

She’d been alone for so many centuries before she found the goddess, powerful and bloodthirsty and so much like Cora in her youth. She watched her for months, through brawls and skirmishes, caring for the dying and the dead. She’d seen the anger and the hatred in Morrigan’s eyes, and she knew she’d found someone who would understand, who would see her and know her and love her as she deserved to be loved.

So she’d laid a trap: wounded a poor soul near to death and waited by his bedside disguised as a beggar woman cleaning the floors. Morrigan hadn’t even looked at her as she moved toward the man, ready to usher him into the next life—until Cora lunged at her and snapped the enchanted iron band around her ankle. The man passed into the next life unescorted, doomed to wander that room until someone found his soul again, while Cora dragged Morrigan off to her lair.

They’d been together ever since, through poverty, near starvation and immigrating to America. They’d lost the Irish accents to avoid discrimination, and, after a few discreet business investments and conveniently arranged inheritances, they’d built some comfortable wealth. They kept a low profile to avoid any gods that might come looking for Morrigan, renamed Morgan to better blend in. And over the years, Morgan’s begging and pleading and wailing had hardened into loathing and resigned frustration. Not ideal, but easier for Cora to respect. Another few decades, perhaps, and it might even have mellowed into love.

Then someone had stolen her away in the night, right when Cora was on the verge of removing the last barrier between them. And she knew exactly who it was. She had stared into his eyes as he almost ran her down in her own car.

The preacher’s boy.

Well, Cora Hammond didn’t take things lying down. She had her resources, and more power than most people ever dreamed of. And she’d been busy these last couple of centuries, building an American spy network to rival her Irish connections.

She pulled her cellphone out of her purse and dialed the first in a series of numbers to her eyes on the highways. If Morgan and her boyfriend were anywhere in the southeastern United States, they’d be found soon enough.

In the meantime, she’d focus on her big project. She’d found the cemetery, and Samhain was only a few days away. She had the cow’s skull downstairs, ready to strip of flesh and organs. If she gathered all the other preparations in time, Morgan would come home to a world without the constant pressure of responsibility, with no distractions from her loving mother. They could finally be together forever.

And as for that boy … Cora would take great pleasure in ripping his corpse apart and burning the remains to ashes.

No one takes my baby.

Monday, October 28

2:29 AM

Hey, God. It’s me, Abel.

So gods are a thing. Like, what?

Yeah, Morgan—sorry, Morrigan—is a goddess with supernatural powers, and she fights monsters, and she really is thousands of years old. I don’t know why I’m telling you when you already know that. Maybe because I wish you’d given me a little heads up.

I don’t know why I’m still talking to you. Magic is real. Gods, plural, are real. None of that is in the Bible. How can all that exist and you be real too?

Maybe I’m avoiding that question because you’re the only thing keeping my whole universe from flipping upside down. Everything around me is changing, but if I hold onto the belief that you’re the same yesterday, today, and forever, then maybe I won’t go crazy.

Part of me wishes I’d never left home, stayed ignorant of all this stuff, and lived a boring, trapped, normal life. At least then I wouldn’t have to rethink my concept of reality. But it’s more important to know the truth, right? Even if it makes my brain hurt to think about it.

Besides, if I hadn’t, Morrigan would still be under Cora’s thumb, and she makes the Reverend look like Parent of the Year. For all his faults, at least he isn’t homicidal.

But when I think of Mom alone with him…

Please look after her, God. Because I don’t think I’ll be able to go back for a long time. Bonus points if you can get her out of there. Maybe now that I’m gone, she’ll have no reason to stay. That’d be awesome.

Thanks, God. Abel out.

8

“As someone who’s been around since before the druids started worshipping trees, someone who has tasted the food of gods and kings,” said Morrigan, chewing thoughtfully, “I have to say that bacon cheeseburgers are the greatest miracle of culinary history.”

“Let’s see if you still think that when you need another rest