Morrigan Jonathan King (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📖

in soot, a welding mask over her face. She wasn’t moving.

She’s dead, thought Abel. Cora got here first.

He ran to her side, Morrigan close behind him, and reached down to check her pulse.

“I’m not dead,” the welder said in a lilting voice, and Abel nearly fell over backwards. “I’m lying here waiting for inspiration to strike me.”

“Since when has inspiration struck you and not the other way around?” Morrigan asked.

There was a moment of utter stillness, and then the welder sat bolt upright. Her hand flew up and cast aside the mask, revealing plump freckled cheeks, a shock of red curls done up in a blue kerchief, and green eyes rounded in amazement.

“Bless my soul,” she whispered. “Morrigan!” She leaped to her feet and squeezed the goddess tight, squealing in pure joy. “You’ve no idea how long we’ve been searching for you. We thought we’d never find you!”

“Good to see you again too, Breej,” Morrigan grunted.

“I’m gonna guess you two know each other.” Abel scratched the back of his neck, feeling left out.

Morrigan pulled away. “Abel, this is Brigid. She’s the goddess of inspiration and something of an aunt of mine. Breej, this is Abel Whittaker. He’s the reason I’m here today; he set me free from Cora and took care of her guard monsters and drove me down here to boot.”

Brigid lunged forward and wrapped Abel in a hug that threatened to splinter his rib cage. He wished he could go back to feeling left out.

“Oh, you dear boy,” said Brigid. “Bless you a thousand times over for bringing our darling girl back to us!”

“Anytime,” Abel wheezed. The welder goddess smelled of smoke and molten metal, and, more faintly, of dandelions and fresh-cut grass.

Brigid let go, leaving Abel doubled over and trying to force air back into his lungs. “But how did you find us?” she asked.

Morrigan held up the newspaper and pointed to the circled ad.

“Ah,” said Brigid. “I’d forgotten. We have a standing advertisement in the paper. Even if it didn’t catch your eye and bring you here, the more people we draw here, the more likely we’d find someone who’s seen you. It’s why I created this.” She waved a hand at the hanging menagerie.

“You made a bunch of pieces of scrap metal?” Abel asked.

“Depends on your perspective, now doesn’t it?” Brigid winked at him and grabbed his shoulders from behind, steering him to a spot on the floor and turning his head to face the shards. They fit together perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle or a smashed vase, into an exact 3D likeness of Morrigan’s face.

“Wow,” said Abel. “That’s cool.”

“I know,” said Brigid, barely containing a giggle of pride. “Took a lot of work and more than a few missteps, but I finally got it just right.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to draw a picture, though?” Abel asked. “Or was it just the challenge to see if you could do it?”

“That certainly didn’t make me want to craft this any less,” Brigid admitted. “But it was more strategic than aesthetic. It had to be subtle, in case someone from Cora’s side visited us.”

“Cora doesn’t seem like someone who would have many people on her side,” said Abel.

“She has her share of spies,” Morrigan told him. “Like that biker we passed on the way here.”

“You weren’t followed?” Brigid asked.

“If he’d followed us, he’d be dead,” Morrigan assured her, and went on. “She’s got more than a few monsters in her employ too, not just those Red Caps. And she’s got spells and power to bind a goddess and hold her captive. That’s someone to be wary of.”

“And someone we couldn’t leave you with,” said Brigid. “We’ve been searching for you for centuries, ever since we learned you’d disappeared.”

“You keep saying we,” said Abel.

“Me and my cousin mac Lir,” Brigid explained.

“Manannán’s here too?” Morrigan’s eyes lit up.

As if on cue, the door opened and in walked a sea captain straight out of a seafood commercial, from the cap perched atop his wrinkled face to the navy coat and wool sweater rubbing against his snowy beard, along with a pair of heavy rubber boots.

“Breej, do we know whose car that is out—” he started, and then he saw Morrigan, and his crinkled eyes began to sparkle. He dropped his duffel bag and held his arms wide for her to run to.

“Darling Morrigan!” he cried, hugging her at least as tightly as Brigid had. A tear trickled from the corner of his eye. “I knew you couldn’t stay away forever.”

“Not when I have such a wonderful uncle to come home to,” said Morrigan.

“This is Abel Whittaker.” Brigid nudged Abel forward. “He helped Morrigan escape from that horrible Cora woman.”

“Then we’re in your debt.” The old sailor shook Abel’s hand, squeezing hard. It was a rough hand with nicotine-stained nails. “Manannán mac Lir, Lord of the Seas and Inventor Extraordinaire, at your service.”

“Good to meet you, Man … Manann…” Abel tried, but his tongue tripped all over the syllables.

“Just call me Mac,” the captain said with a good-natured laugh. “It gets me farther around these parts.”

“Have a seat, Morrigan.” Brigid threw a tarp over a soot-covered armchair in the corner. “You have to tell us all about your thrilling escape.”

“And how your young champion lent his aid,” Mac added, clapping Abel on the back.

Morrigan took a seat and launched into her story. The whole affair seemed more dramatic than Abel remembered when she told it, like some medieval epic in which they were the heroes, ancient warriors come again. Her telling was kind to him in particular, cutting out his cluelessness and panic and making his defeat of the Red Caps seem like a brilliant and intentional bit of improvisation. He squirmed as Brigid and Mac looked at him in increasing awe. It was a respect he hadn’t earned and would never be able to live up to, much as he’d like to.

“And then I saw your ad in the paper and found you here,” said Morrigan. “And here we