The front door was right across from him as he left the closet. No one was watching. He could walk right out and no one would be the wiser. No one would come looking for him. He could be on a bus headed across the country in a matter of hours.
Instinct kicked in, and his feet carried him to the exit stairs. Then he stopped, staring down. Twelve steps. Just twelve steps down, and he’d be free again.
But he wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Morrigan.
That shouldn’t be enough to stop him, but it was. Abel spun on his heel, walked back to the couch, and plopped down face first with a groan. He was giving up his freedom for a girl. A goddess, sure, but a girl. It was absurd.
It was as natural as his heartbeat.
Besides, he’d seen Cora’s face that night. He’d heard Morrigan’s stories and he’d seen her thugs. This wasn’t the kind of woman who forgave. It was the kind of woman who would chase you across the country just for the pleasure of ripping your heart out of your chest.
Abel lay still and silent … and in the silence, he heard muffled voices. He looked up at Mac’s closed door. The sea god was the only other one here. Who was he talking to?
He tried to resist, but curiosity got the better of him. He crept to the door and gently tried the knob. It was unlocked, and he opened it just wide enough to peek through, praying the hinges wouldn’t creak.
Mac sat at a desk with his back to the door, facing a laptop computer. Abel could just see over the captain’s shoulder, where a golden-haired woman peered out from the screen. She looked middle-aged, but even through the pixilation, Abel could see a youthful glow about her.
“All these years and you can finally bring her home,” the woman said, with an even stronger Irish accent than Brigid or Mac. “Now you want to wait?”
“If only it were that simple,” said Mac. “Cora and her allies are still after us. It’s not safe to move. We have to wait until she cools off.”
“Cora or Morrigan?” the woman asked. “I remember what she’s like. She’ll be bent on vengeance, no mistake.”
Mac sighed. “It may be awhile before I can talk her out of it.”
“You won’t. She’s even more stubborn than you are. You could be there for another two hundred years.”
“If that’s what it takes,” Mac snapped, and then he sagged and massaged his temples. “Oh Fand, you know there’s nowhere I’d rather be than in your arms right now, but if I walk away now, Morrigan and the lad are both dead. I’ve lost too many people. I can’t lose anyone else.”
Fand sighed. “I know. They’re in good hands with you; I know that. But make sure you don’t lose yourself holding onto them. I love Morrigan and want her home, but I love you more.”
Mac smiled, kissed the tips of his fingers, and pressed them to the image of the woman’s lips.
“You know from my point of view you just touched something below the screen, right?”
“Feckin’ humans,” Mac swore. “If I’d invented video chat, you’d be able to interact physically with the people on the other side of the screen.”
“You can tinker with it when you get back,” said Fand.
“The day after I get back,” Mac corrected. “The first day is all about you and the kids. Give my love to Niamh and Áine, but keep the queen’s portion of it for yourself.”
“I always do.” Fand winked, and the screen went blank.
“Goodnight, Fand,” Mac whispered. Then, suddenly aware of another presence, he spun around.
“Sorry,” Abel apologized quickly, stepping into the room with his hands raised. “I shouldn’t have listened. I heard talking, and—”
“You were curious.” Mac shook his head, a tired smile on his lips. “I of all people understand that.” He nodded to the bed, and Abel took a seat.
“So the gods have families, huh?”
“Aye, this one does.” Mac’s eyes turned misty. “One I haven’t seen in the flesh for two hundred years. We kept in touch through letters, then phone calls, then emails, and now video chat. Technology’s a miracle, much as I keep thinking I can improve it.” He turned back to the blank screen. “There’s so few of us left, it’s important not to lose sight of each other.”
“So few gods left?” Abel asked.
Mac nodded. “King Nuada Argetlam, Errimas, Miach, Fethnaid, Diangalach, and so many more all dead and gone. Eriu abandoned us, the Dagda Mor disappeared—”
“I saw his club when we packed up,” said Abel.
“Quite a powerful artifact,” said Mac. “One end dealt death, the other life. But it’s so badly broken we don’t dare risk using it again. And so our last link to Dagda is a useless chunk of wood, as good as lost.”
“What about the picture in Brigid’s bedroom? Who’s the man?”
“Ruadan, Brigid’s son. Tragic story, but the short of it is he was on the wrong side of a war and got killed by our chief blacksmith. Breej locked herself away for a month after that. Emerged later with a smile on her face saying she’d crossed wailing and singing and inventing keening, and that was that.”
“She seems so happy,” Abel said. “I’d never have guessed she lost a son.”
“Takes one to know one, I guess,” said Mac.
Abel remembered their conversation at the bar. “Lugh? Was he your son?”
Mac nodded and took a deep breath. “Not by birth, but by everything that mattered. Quick as light he was, strong of arm and of mind, and a master of all trades. He took to the poem and the plow as easily as the spear and sling. I gave him some of my best inventions and all the love I could, and he saved us from many a peril. Nothing made me prouder than seeing him slay Balor of the Baleful Eye and stop the entire Fomorian Army in its tracks.”
Abel could see the pride in the glow of Mac’s eyes and every crease on his face, and it warmed something inside him he’d never felt before. Sure, the Reverend was always praising him to other people, but it always felt like a condition on his love, like if Abel ever stopped being the uber-preacher’s kid, the praise and affection would dry up. This, he knew, was Love, the real, unconditional thing.
Mac harrumphed. “And then he died. Drowned in Loch Lugborta by four brothers out for revenge.” He tried to smile, but his twitching face and the tears welling in his eyes made it almost impossible. “Drowned. And me the king of the sea. I should have been there. I should have saved him.”
Drowned. Mac had shouted the word when he woke after the Dullahan’s attack. Now Abel knew what he’d been dreaming of. He opened his mouth to say it wasn’t Mac’s fault, that there was nothing he could have done, but it was too easy an answer. Mac was a god with immense power; maybe he could have saved his son after all.
“So that’s why I’m keeping you and Morrigan so close,” said Mac. “And maybe that’s why Breej and I were the ones who went looking for Morrigan. We’ve both lost one too many people we care about.”
The room fell into silence. Abel didn’t know what to say, but the quiet was so thick and heavy he could feel it smothering his lungs. Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he said the first thing that came to him. “I had an aunt who died. I mean, I didn’t know her that well. She was on my dad’s side of the family, and she didn’t take the whole church rules thing well. She only showed up around Christmas, always smelling of cigarettes. Everyone said she was the black sheep of the family, when they talked about her, which was usually the day after Christmas and then never again until the next year. But she did give me my first potted plant, a little Phalaenopsis orchid with tiny purple flowers. So it did hurt to see her lying in that coffin.” He shook his head. “It’s not the same, I know.”
Thick arms wrapped around him, crushing the air out of him in a massive embrace as whiskers scratched his face. He could feel Mac’s chest shaking, whether from laughter or tears he couldn’t tell.
“You humans,” the sea god managed, letting go at last. “You always know just what to say.”
Abel definitely hadn’t known what to say
, but he was getting used to things randomly going right. “It’s a gift.”
Outside, they heard the creak of wood and then rapid footsteps on the stairs. “We’re home!” Brigid called.
Abel went outside to see Brigid awkwardly toting a case of beer and several sacks of groceries into the kitchen. Morrigan, back in her teenage body, bore a plastic bag and a twinkle in her emerald eyes. She dropped the bag on the couch and started emptying the contents.
“Rap CD,” she said, holding it up for Abel to see before tossing it aside. “DVD of Slasher 4: Slashes in Space—rated R. Pack of cards for playing poker. Temporary tattoo.” She shrugged. “You had a question mark by that one, so since we can’t go out and get you a tattoo or piercing anyway, I thought this would make a good compromise.”
“You risked Cora finding you for a few trinkets?” Mac asked, rubbing his face. “Have you lost your wits, girl?”
“They’re not trinkets, Mac,” Brigid said from the kitchen. “Or have you forgotten already?”
Abel didn’t need a reminder. He knew what they were for. Every item on the Freedom List had its corresponding item on that couch. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
“It was the least I could do,” said Morrigan. “I’m the reason you’re trapped here. I owe it to you to make it bearable.”
“I thought you thought all this stuff was stupid,” said Abel.
“But you don’t,” Morrigan said with a smile.
Realization dawned on Mac’s face. “Oh, was all this from that list of yours? I suppose I ought to do my part in making your stay here a little more like freedom.” He cracked his knuckles. “Well, I could be cajoled into a game of poker. I know a few tricks you might find useful, lad.”
“I’ll take all the help I can get,” said Abel. He snatched up the cards and gave Morrigan one more grateful smile.
20
Two hours later, Abel had mentally crossed off most of the items on his Freedom List. He and the gods had played poker for peanuts, and he’d won four out of five games.
“Beginners luck,” Mac had assured him, shuffling the cards like a professional dealer. Considering he was still trying to master the difference between a straight flush and a full house, Abel thought it might be something more along the lines of throwing the game, but there was no way he could prove it.
The rap music was kinda shocking at first with how blunt and sweary and kind of angry it was, but after a while, Abel stopped listening to the lyrics, and the rhythm was so catchy he started bobbing his head along with the music. Morrigan laughed at his antics. Yesterday, he might have thought she was making fun of him. Today, he knew she was having fun with him.
Now Brigid and Mac had retired for the night, leaving Morrigan and Abel on the couch watching Slasher 4. Abel had mixed feelings about the movie, and most of the good ones were coming from the girl leaning against his side.
“You know,” Morrigan murmured as the killer offed yet another sexy astronaut, “blood isn’t nearly that dark. And it doesn’t spurt like a geyser when you’re stabbed in the stomach. Although I’ve never killed anyone in a zero-gravity environment, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t look like that.”
“We don’t have to keep watching it if you’re not enjoying it,” said Abel.
“Who says I’m not enjoying it?” Morrigan asked, nestling deeper into his shoulder.
“Oh.” Abel swallowed. “Well, to be honest, I’m not. In fact, I’m nauseated.”
Morrigan chuckled. “Not much for blood then?”
“I used to be okay with it,” said Abel. “Then I got splattered in blood on Sunday and had way too much blood sucked out of me yesterday. I’ve had enough blood-related trauma for a lifetime.”
Morrigan nodded, grabbed the remote, and switched off the TV. “That’s fine. I can’t blame you. We’ll know for next time.”
“How many of these movie runs do you plan on making?” Abel asked.
“Quite a few, if we really do have to stay here for years.” Morrigan counted through the List on her fingers. “The tattoo was next, right?” She ran to the kitchen and wet a cloth, and then came back and peeled apart the tattoo’s wax paper. “Take off your shirt.”
Abel nodded, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Morrigan’s eyes flicked over him the way they had back in the laundromat, and his stomach started turning flips for an entirely different reason.
“Lie back,” she said. Abel obeyed, and Morrigan leaned over him, pressing the Celtic knot design to his shoulder and dabbing it with the wet cloth. Abel peered up at her through half-closed lashes, savoring the firefly-light dancing in her raven hair and the feel of her weight on top of him. It was a perfect moment, almost divine.
But something was troubling her. He saw it in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Morrigan’s hands stilled. “I owe you an apology.”
“If it’s about getting me into this mess, you didn’t make me. I chose—”
“Not that, although I feel guilty enough for getting you—almost getting you killed.” Morrigan shook her head. “No, back at the pub, when you first told us about your list, I made you feel less because you wanted simple things. You’d surprised me before, not only freed me but killed a pack of Red Caps with a few words. You risked your life more than once to save me. I had this image of you as the hero warriors I loved in my youth, daring and bold and worldly.”
“Worldly? Me? The preacher’s kid?”
Morrigan shrugged. “I know. Thousands of years and I can still get swept up in a romantic notion. Then that notion got shaken by your modesty at the laundromat, and the Freedom List shattered it completely.” She gave him a sad smile. “But that was my fault. I never should have put those expectations on you in the first place. It’s not who you are. I should know better; Cora did the same thing to me.”
Abel chuckled. “I wasn’t exactly blameless then either. I let that vampire seduce me—”
“I told you, that wasn’t your fault.”
“I still should have known better,” said Abel. “And I definitely should have let you explain yourself instead of assuming I understood you.” He gestured to the TV and to the cards on the table. “I mean, you were clearly paying attention. You actually cared.”
“I’ve always cared,” said Morrigan.
“Which I would have known if I were listening,” said Abel. “Well, I’m listening now.”
Morrigan leaned back, peeling the paper with her. “What do you want to know?”
There were so many questions, but one sprang to mind more readily than all the rest. “Why is it so important to you to get revenge on Cora? I get that she’ll never stop coming after us and we may have to kill or be killed, but it goes beyond that for you. You’ve wanted her dead from the very beginning. Why?”
Morrigan bit her lip and examined his tattoo. “It turned out nice.”
“No backing out now,” said Abel. “You promised you’d help me understand you.”
“Did I say promise?”
Abel sat up and raised an eyebrow at her, and she sighed and fixed her eyes on the floor.
“Remember when I said part of my job as a goddess was escorting people to the afterlife? That’s a huge responsibility, to give comfort and companionship in those last terrifying minutes. To let them know that, whatever comes next, they’re not alone.” Morrigan took a deep breath. “I couldn’t do that when Cora held me captive. The iron shackle dimmed my powers and bound me to this life. I couldn’t slip between the planes like I used to. That was two hundred years of seeing everyone around me die and not being able to help them. How many wars were fought in that time? How many people from the country I love died alone and afraid, with no one to guide them home?” Her hands gripped each other, fingers entwining and pulling apart. “I should have gone back to the job now, but I can’t. I can’t face them, not after all these years.” She closed her eyes, squeezing out tears. “The Morrigan is supposed to be the promise that never fails.
But I did fail. I failed them all. Because of her.”
Abel’s eyes burned. He felt her pain as his own. He opened his mouth, but no magic words came this time. So instead, he placed a hand on her cheek and wiped away her tears with his thumb. The warmth of her skin against his stirred his insides in ways he’d never thought possible, and then she turned to him, emerald eyes wide and bright with sorrow, and she looked so vulnerable and beautiful and human.
And then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back.
Every inch of him came alive as Morrigan pressed against him, wrapping her arms around him and smudging his tattoo. Her warm breath caressed his face, his hands clutched her hair, her body crushed close to his. The air in his lungs became her scent, like a thousand green fields dotted with wildflowers, and he couldn’t draw in enough of it. Thought became muddled, and instinct took over.
“We should…” he managed.
“Yes, we should,” said Morrigan, fumbling for the hem of her tank top and dragging it up her body.
“I meant,” Abel interrupted, pulling her shirt back down and pushing her away, “we should take a step back here.”
Silence fell over the pair as they sat panting, trying to figure out what had just happened. Morrigan looked every bit as confused as Abel felt, maybe more so. Then she dropped her face into her hands. “Oh my god. I’m sorry.”
“No, I shouldn’t have—” Abel started.
“No, it’s me. I misread that,” said Morrigan, who was blushing bright red beneath her fingers. “I keep forgetting you’re not … like that.”
“I mean, it’s not that I’m against the idea ever,” said Abel.
“You don’t have to explain,” Morrigan stopped him. “You’ve still got your rules. I respect that. It’s just that…” She looked around the room, at everything but Abel. “I should, um, I should go to bed.” She stood and hurried to her bedroom, rubbing absently at the ink stain on her fingers.
Morrigan Page 12
