Morrigan Jonathan King (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📖

he was going. It was where he’d been going all night, maybe even all his life, without knowing it. He was going to freedom. To her.

Sunday, October 27

7:40 PM

Hey, God. It’s me, Abel.

Why did you have to make him my father? Or if you did, why did you make one of your commandments “Honor your father?”

It’s not easy, you know. It’s bad enough the way he treats me, like I’m never going to measure up to the standard he sets for me, like even the most insignificant shortcomings are major flaws, like I’m some mistake. That at least I could understand. But Mom? Seeing him hurt her over and over again makes me want to take that broom and smash it upside his head. Doesn’t he get it? We’re people too. We deserve the same care and attention he gives his flock. Instead, he acts like we’re just set dressing.

Well, this is one doily-draped chair that’s walking offstage.

Yeah, I’m running away from home now, about ten years after most kids do it. And I can’t help feeling that it’s not biblical, or that I’m breaking some unspoken rule, or that I’m letting Mom down by leaving her alone with him. But I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t. And I have to see what’s going to happen with Morgan. Any change is good change right now. But give me wisdom for this road, because there’s no going back.

Thanks, God. Abel out.

4

Abel hadn’t realized Pepper’s Mill had houses this nice. The Hammond place was a mini-mansion, like one of those old plantation houses of the Old South, complete with tall columns and a white-railed balcony. It stood out against the surrounding fields like a castle. And here he was, Romeo visiting Juliet in her tower, although he hoped the ending to his story would involve less death.

Then he saw her standing on the balcony, framed by the window’s light and more beautiful than ever. She had changed out of her dress into a road-ready white tank top and black jeans.

“Took you long enough.” Morgan tossed him down a key. “Go through the cellar and meet me inside. I need your help with something before we leave.”

Abel caught the falling key and started to ask where the cellar was, but Morgan was already gone. With a shrug, he walked around the building until he spotted a small double door built into the side of the house at an angle and sealed with a padlock. He stuck the key into the padlock and, with some effort, clicked it open. Pulling open the doors, he descended into the damp darkness.

In the light from his phone’s flashlight, Abel saw boxes and old furniture left down here as food for mushrooms. The whole place stank of mildew and rotting meat. He stopped short. Rotting meat? Had something died down here? Probably just a squirrel or possum, but why was he so uneasy? And why did he feel eyes staring at his back? He whipped the light around, but wasn’t sure whether he saw something darting out of sight or the dust he’d kicked up himself. And was that hoarse laughter or settling furniture?

It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, Abel told himself. But something ancient stirred in him, rippled through generations from before science and reason, slithered through dark waters of old magic and unholy terror, threatened to leap from his throat in a primal scream.

The door to the house proper swung open, bathing Abel in rays of artificial light and calming his hysteria.

“Took you long enough,” he said with a grin.

Morgan sighed. “Fair. Come on.”

“What exactly are we doing?” Abel stuck his phone in his pocket and bounded up the stairs to meet her. “If you’re planning some revenge scheme like stealing or vandalism—”

“Revenge comes later.” Morgan shut the cellar door behind him. “Right now, I need to get rid of this.” She pulled up the right leg of her jeans and tapped a thin iron band clasped around her ankle.

Abel peered at the band. It was etched with runes and Celtic knots and symbols so dark he didn’t want to think about their meaning. “Weird choice of accessory.”

“Cora’s choice, not mine,” said Morgan, “and it’s not just a bracelet. Think of it like an unconventional ankle monitor. As long as I’m wearing it, Cora’s got me on house arrest. I can’t go anywhere she doesn’t want me to.”

“She did this to you? That’s sick.”

“You don’t know the half of what she’s done to me,” Morgan said, rage shivering through her voice as her jeans fell back into place. “But I can’t get out and, until tonight, no one else could get in. It took me a few tries to find the one unguarded entrance to the house. If you’d come in any way but the cellar, you’d be dead right now.”

Abel swallowed. “You’re telling me she booby trapped the house?”

The look Morgan gave him told him she wasn’t joking. “Cora is the poster child for paranoia.”

He cast a nervous glance down the hallway. “Please tell me she’s not here right now.”

“She had some ‘errands’ to run. And I’m guessing she didn’t mean a quick trip to the grocery store.” Morgan grabbed his arm and pulled him through the kitchen and up the main stairs.

“Easy,” Abel complained, trying to pull away. Morgan’s fingers clutched him so tight they threatened to crack bone. “I can walk by myself, you know.”

Morgan let go and cleared her throat in embarrassment. “Sorry. I guess I’m just really eager to get out of here.” She stopped outside a bedroom door, uncertain. “This is Cora’s room. The key to my ankle monitor is in there. I’d get it myself, but…” She stretched out her hand. Where her fingertips crossed the threshold, green flames sparked to life and danced around them, charring and blistering where they touched.

“Holy crap!” Abel grabbed her arm and pulled it back, staring at the empty doorway and wondering what chemical reaction could cause