Morrigan Jonathan King (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📖

Abel tossed her his sword, and she caught it, spinning it through the air to test the balance.

“Thanks. Stay in the church. You’ll be safe there.” She turned … and froze.

The Dullahan stood at the bottom of the steps, holding its yellow head high in its hand. Morrigan spun and shouted some warning, but all Abel heard was the creature’s voice, like the shriek of a rusty coffin lid and the cracking of an ancient tree, as the jaws creaked open.

“Abel Whittaker!” it croaked.

Something ripped apart Abel’s back, cutting deep and sending waves of piercing agony rebounding off every nerve down to his fingers and toes. It dug in, twisting, carving him up inside. Then it squished free, and an arm wrapped around his neck, dragging him back inside the sanctuary. Morrigan shrieked and rushed toward him, but the door swung shut on its own, trapping her outside.

Abel panted for breath. His lungs were on fire, heavy and seeming smaller with each gasp. Through the fog of pain, he peered up at his attacker.

It was Cora. Her hair, usually stiff and styled, was mussed as though she’d just gotten out of bed, and she wore nothing but a terrycloth robe of that noxious green she adored, now stained with his blood. Abel felt vomit rise in his throat, and not because of the color of her robe. She was the one his father had slept with.

Cora smiled down at him. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, Abel. I’m a grown woman; I can make my own decisions. Your father isn’t the first man I’ve corrupted, and certainly not the first pastor.”

“You can’t be here,” Abel mumbled. It was getting harder to control his movements. Everything was growing cold and numb.

“Because of the holy ground thing? Honey, that may stop those two out there, but they don’t have my power or my charm. I’ve been in plenty of churches in my day, and they all welcomed me with open arms.” She picked him up and dropped him onto the altar, knocking over the flowers and the offering plates.

“What are you?” Abel slurred.

“I’m a mother.” Cora leaned over him until their chests practically touched and whispered in his ear. “And you’re the son of a bitch who took my daughter from me.”

“Not your daughter.” Abel coughed, and blood dribbled from his lips. “Never yours.”

Cora’s sickly sweet face twisted into a snarl, and she raised her knife high over his chest.

The stained-glass window of Jesus’ resurrection smashed apart as Morrigan burst through it. She rolled to absorb her fall and then leaped again, ramming her shoulder into Cora and knocking her to the ground.

Through fading eyes, Abel could see Morrigan reach to cradle his head, but he couldn’t feel it anymore. “Abel,” she said, and her voice seemed so far away. “I’m here. I’m getting you out of here. Just stay with me, okay?”

Abel placed a clumsy hand on her arm. “’S a dream come true,” he joked, but he couldn’t manage laughter. Even the shallowest of breaths came harder now.

“No it’s not!” Morrigan said. “So I dreamed you were going to die. So what? Prove me wrong! Live, damn it!”

She kept talking, but it was all so foggy, and Abel was so tired. He couldn’t keep going. All the pain would go away if he just stopped.

So he did.

But even the silence of death couldn’t drown out the Morrigan’s scream.

27

Morrigan held Abel’s body close, smearing herself with his blood, feeling his waning warmth and unnatural stillness. They were familiar sensations by now, but they never stopped feeling wrong, now more than ever. He couldn’t be gone. Not him.

“I’ll never understand why you were so attached to that boy,” Cora said, strolling up behind her. “He was only a mortal, and a pain in the ass to boot, bless his heart.”

With a cry, Morrigan was on top of her, clawing at her eyes. “You killed him, you witch!”

“Morgan, baby, I need you to calm down.” Cora gave her a shove that sent her into the chandeliers and crashing back down to the pews. “Come with me. I promise I won’t be mad.”

“You’re insane,” Morrigan spat, coughing and holding her ribs.

“That’s no way to talk to your mother,” said Cora, rising to her feet.

“You’re not my mother!”

“Children don’t get to choose their mothers.” Cora climbed to the pulpit and leaned back against it like an empress surveying peasants. “And honey, you got the mother of them all. Every shadow that haunts this world came more or less directly from my womb. I nurtured and raised them all, made them into dark gods feared by the masses.” She walked to Morrigan and brushed the hair from her face. “I birthed them all, but I chose you. You should feel honored.”

Morrigan was hardly ever terrified, but now a chill ran down her back in rivulets. Ancient memories stirred in her mind, memories of a horrific monster even the gods dared not cross, the mother of all things evil. Caorthannach.

“You haven’t been as obedient as I’d hoped,” said Cora. “But I blame myself for that. It’s my first time adopting, you know. I haven’t gotten it all right. But you’re still my daughter. That’s all there is to it. And I hope, in the coming centuries, we can put it all behind us. No judgment, no bitterness, no comparison. Just the two of us and the world at our feet. What do you say?”

Morrigan doubled over and fought the urge to vomit. Everything about her captivity was that much more twisted now that she knew the truth. Being made the foster sister to a legion of horrors, Cora’s possessiveness, and all that on top of killing Abel and thinking it wouldn’t affect Morrigan.

There were no words. All she could do was scream.

“Morgan,” Cora began, taking a step back.

“Stop calling me that! That’s not my name.” Morrigan stood tall. “I am the Morrigan, goddess of war, queen of phantoms, keeper of the dead. Not your prisoner, not your