Morrigan Jonathan King (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📖

“Not happening.”

“You gonna stop me?”

“If I have to,” said Abel.

For a minute, Morrigan looked as though she were going to laugh. Then she saw he meant it. “Fine.” She slammed the sword back into her sheath. “Let him run off and tell Cora exactly where we are. See how long you live after that.”

“That’s no excuse to murder a guy.” Abel started the car and pulled out of the lot. Eyepatch put his helmet on and backed up his bike. For one panicked minute, Abel thought he was going to follow them, but he pulled off in the other direction. “See? He probably wasn’t even looking for us.”

“Or he knows he’s been spotted and he’s going to report in,” said Morrigan.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not letting you kill him.”

“First, you don’t let me do anything,” said Morrigan. “Second, this is what I do. You don’t get to be a war goddess without killing a few people.”

“This isn’t a war, though!” Abel snapped. “It’s…” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what this is.”

“Of course it’s a war,” said Morrigan. “It’s just more personal than most. Cora started it, and I’m going to finish it.” She glared over at him. “And you’re judging me? You killed six Red Caps last night.”

“Those were monsters,” said Abel.

“So is Cora.”

“But not the biker guy.” Abel paused. “He is human, right?”

“Far as I can tell,” said Morrigan.

“So you can’t kill him.”

“So human life is worth more than non-human life?” Morrigan asked. “Because I’m not human.”

“That’s … different,” Abel floundered.

“But you don’t like killing because there’s a commandment about it, right?” Morrigan went on. “Well, there’s a commandment about not stealing, too. And you stole this car.”

“To keep from getting killed by Cora, yeah,” said Abel.

“So it’s fine to break the rules as long as your life depends on it?” asked Morrigan. “Did your life depend on you disrespecting your father’s rule and running away with me?”

Kind of, Abel thought, but he kept silent.

“See? You can’t even stick to your own rules.” Morrigan crossed her arms. “Don’t pretend to understand mine.”

“This is all your fault,” Abel muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“I was fine until you showed up. Now all of a sudden I’m a car thief and a runaway. This isn’t like me.”

“I know,” said Morrigan. “You’re becoming positively interesting.”

Abel rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

Morrigan reached down to the floor and plucked out a newspaper she’d snagged from the rest area. “You’re in the company of a goddess. Expect things to get weird.”

A smile teased at Abel’s lips. He resisted it. “A goddess reading a newspaper. Kinda old fashioned, don’t you think?”

“Best way to get the ads,” said Morrigan.

“Ever heard of the Internet?”

“Heard of it, yes. But Cora never let me use it. Too easy to reach out for help.” She circled an ad with a pen from the glove compartment. “Got it. Head to that address.”

Abel glanced at it. “A dry cleaner?”

“Just trust me.”

“I have no idea where that is, though. I’ve never been this far from Pepper’s Mill on my own.”

“Oh, right.” Morrigan reached back into the glove compartment and pulled out a map. “I’ll navigate. I at least know how to read a map.”

Abel glanced up at the clouds gathering above. “I hope we get there soon. Looks like we’re in for another storm.”

“You can say that again,” said Morrigan.

9

It drizzled as they pulled up in front of Washingford Coin Laundry. Abel jumped out and fumbled with the Mustang’s convertible top, trying to figure out how it came up.

“Leave it,” said Morrigan. “It’s her car, anyway.”

“Yeah, but we’re the ones who have to ride in it later, and I’m already as soggy as I’d like to be.”

“Whatever.” Morrigan strode into the laundromat. After a moment more struggling with the canvas top, Abel gave up and followed her inside, making a mental note to point out how wet everything was when they sat in those leather seats again.

The decor of Washingford Coin Laundry looked as though it hadn’t been updated since the eighties. The walls were cheap wood panels, except for one wall of steel washing machines stacked two high. Dryers divided the sticky tile floor into aisles. Metal carts and abandoned laundry baskets stood among the dust bunnies and cobwebs. The laundromat’s glass front was lined with plastic seats that looked as though they’d been stolen from a bus station, interspersed with the occasional cracked lawn chair. And it was still as the grave; no one else was in the building, and no air conditioning battled the stifling air. The only sounds were the buzzing, flickering fluorescent lights and the plink of a fly against the windows.

“Looks like we’re the only ones here,” said Abel.

“The sign said closed,” said Morrigan. “Only I know better.”

“Well, at least we’re not freaking anyone out.” Abel wiped the rainwater from his glasses, and then he rounded a corner and shrieked.

In front of him was an impossibly tall woman, thin as a skeleton and just as pale. She had a tattered dress, white hair that floated around her head like a spider web, and a withered face out of which two blood red eyes burned. She cocked her head, and bones cracked.

Morrigan stepped around Abel, flashing an amused half-smile at him. “Nope, no one freaked out here.”

“What is it?” Abel leaned back as far as he could. The thing still hadn’t taken its eyes off him.

“It’s a Sidhe.”

“I can see it’s a she, but what is she?”

“Not a she, a Sidhe. Like a spirit or a fairy. This one’s a Bean-Sidhe, or banshee as you’d know her, and she’s named Moira.”

The banshee curtseyed before Morrigan, and her eyes finally left Abel.

“As you may have noticed,” Morrigan told her, tugging on her bloodstained tank top, “we’re in need of some intense laundering.”

“Banshees wash clothes?” Abel asked. “I thought they just screamed at people who were about to die.” The banshee stared at him again, and he regretted opening his mouth.

“It’s a little more complex than that,” said Morrigan.