Chapter Eighteen #2
We’re in the middle of the cul de sac. I can already see the outlines of people around me. I step away from the wall as more appear.
‘What can you see?’
There are two men in their early twenties, one with dark hair, one red. And then—
I gasp. ‘Oh my God.’
‘What is it?’
She’s older than last time, but it’s definitely her. The girl from the photo. She’s about my age, wearing blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt. Her hair is wavy, slightly wet-looking. The men are talking to her and she’s listening intently.
‘It’s the girl.’
‘No way! Give me the camera.’
‘Be careful of the photo I took of Dad!’ I say as I pass it over.
She takes it and starts rustling in the bag. ‘What’s she doing?’
‘Talking to some men.’
‘Who are they? Ah crap, where’s the envelope for the exposed paper?’
‘Front pouch.’
The girl is leaning in. Nodding along to whatever the men are saying. Even if I was there, I wouldn’t be able to hear. It’s a whispered conversation.
‘Got it! What’s happening?’
‘They’re just talking. She looks angry.’
‘Still?’
The girl’s face is set in grim determination.
‘Yeah, it’s like she’s… Wait. There’s something else.’
‘What? What is it? I’ve nearly got the paper changed.’
There’s something in the air beside her. Something dark. Like a shadow or… ‘I think… I think I can see the Morrigan.’
There’s a click as the camera snaps shut and then Meg pushes it into my hands. ‘Go, go, take the photo.’
I point it in the direction of the group. The men have left the girl and are walking towards us. She jumps up on the wall and sits where I did just a moment ago. The blackness is still there. It hovers above her own shadow.
The girl picks at the wall, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Her chin trembles.
The darkness pulses, surrounding the girl.
Her eyes spring open. Whatever fear might have been there is gone. She stretches her hands before curling them into fists and thumps the wall.
The vision dissolves. The lights go down on the girl.
Who are you?
The familiar scent of peppermint fills Meg’s room as we develop the two new photos.
The one of Dad has been damaged, despite Meg’s best efforts to change the paper.
The top half of the soldier has been over exposed.
His crouched legs are just visible, the rest lost in a curtain of white light.
Dad has his back to the camera. I wish I could see his face.
Beside him and barely exposed is the outline of a woman in a black dress.
She mirrors Dad. Head raised, facing the soldier. Long, dark hair flows down her back.
She’s fully visible in the second photo: the teenage girl on the wall with a goddess of death beside her. The Morrigan leans in towards the girl, talking in her ear, like a friend sharing a secret. Her face is pale, but vibrant like snow. Her dark lips are parted.
‘So you can see her in person now?’
I think back. ‘No, more like a sense of her. It was like a shadow.’
‘Are the visions getting stronger?’
‘Yeah, it’s like I’m there. But with the shadows, maybe it’s just that I know to look for something now. Maybe she was always there.’
‘I think if she wanted you to see her, you would.’
‘Maybe she isn’t able to.’
Meg blinks. ‘She’s literally a goddess. She can do anything!’
‘No, think about it. I can only see her in photos and dreams.’
‘And as crows.’
I shudder. ‘Yeah, and possibly as crows. But even if those birds were the Morrigan, they’re still only birds.
I think they want to communicate with me, but they’re limited.
Nanny Bet…’ A swell of hurt silences me for a moment, but I push it aside.
‘She was surprised that I’ve seen them at all.
It never happened to her. And there’s no way Dad could see the goddess here.
’ I point at the image of him as a child, then at the one of the teenage girl.
‘And same here. Whoever this girl is, she can’t see the Morrigan either. ’
Meg nods. ‘She can hear her though.’
It’s true. I remember the moment of fear I saw in the girl just before the shadow – the Morrigan – pulsed and enveloped her. ‘Maybe not consciously. You said they did that, right? That they got people angry.’
Her eyes light up. ‘Yes! She spoke to warriors before a battle.’
‘The battle furies.’
‘Huh?’
‘That’s what my nan called them. One of their names.’
‘So this is a warrior,’ says Meg.
The young woman’s shoulders are back, chin raised, her hands in tight fists. She’s ready to fight.
‘Who is she?’ I ask.
A crow calls out from somewhere outside.
Meg turns her head. ‘That’s super clear, thank you.’
I groan. ‘Please don’t actually speak to the crows.’
‘Did you recognise those men?’ Meg asks, taking down the photo.
I think back. I’d been more focused on the girl. ‘They were early twenties. Much older than her.’
Meg grimaces. ‘Like, actual men men? Were they…?’
‘What?’ She raises an eyebrow and my cheeks burn. ‘No! They were being really serious, whispering. I didn’t recognise them.’
‘We need to know who they are,’ says Meg. ‘Could we ask anyone else? What about your mum? She grew up here too, right? Maybe she knows something.’ She pauses as I frown. ‘I’m not saying your mum is keeping anything from you, but maybe she knew this girl?’
I’d hoped I could get the answers from Nanny Bet, but maybe Mum could help. Except… ‘I don’t know how I’d bring it up. You saw how she bolted from the house when we mentioned Dad the other day. She won’t talk about him.’
Meg chews her lip. ‘It must be hard.’
I’m not sure if she means for Mum or for me. ‘It is, yeah.’
We sit in silence for a bit. It’s not an awkward one, kind of the opposite. Like we’re comfortable enough not to have to speak.
‘So, I have an idea.’ Meg plays with her hair.
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ve been doing some research and I think I found a way to talk to her. To the Morrigan.’
I wince as the dark smile from my dream fills my mind. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’
‘Look, you said yourself, the filí báis would talk to her. Like, that’s their whole duty.’
I tilt my head. ‘Actually, we’re here to listen to her. Watch her visions and tell her stories. Not call her for a chat.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Just hear me out. I’ve been reading up about a ritual for talking to a god, to the Tuatha Dé Danann. It’s called the Imbas Forosnai. Followers would use it to connect to their god, and the god would tell them the message they wanted them to spread.’
I point at the photos. ‘But I don’t need to do that, do I? They’re connecting with me every five minutes!’
‘You said you want to know what they want. Look, it’s all here.’ She opens her notebook. ‘You have to chew on raw meat and leave some for her.’
I stare at her and laugh, waiting for her to join in. She doesn’t.
‘Meg. Chewing raw meat? What the fuck are you talking about? How has this got anything to do with the visions?’
She ignores my questions. ‘Then you do an incantation, a simple one. Say it over and over until you’re in this trance and then—’
There’s a soft rapping on the door. ‘Megan?’
I jolt.
‘We’ve to get ready to visit your granny,’ says Meg’s mum from the other side.
Meg jumps up. ‘I nearly forgot!’ She takes down the photo of Dad and the soldier. ‘Sorry, I need to go. There’s immigration protests planned down the road tonight so we want to get back early in case it kicks off. We’ll talk about the ritual later.’
‘Maybe.’ I start putting my things away. ‘Thanks for today.’
Meg switches off the red light and opens the curtains. ‘Pleasure. I just want to help.’
‘I know.’ I give her a hug. ‘See you tomorrow?’
She nods and I murmur a polite goodbye to her mum as I rush for the front door.
As I walk home for dinner, there’s a text from Ben.
Whats up?
I leave him on read and text Paul to ask if he still wants to meet up. I hold my breath as I see him typing. And then it lands.
Free now?
My hands are definitely sweating.
Got dinner with my family, but
after. What you want to do?
Its agony as I watch the little dots showing me that he’s typing.
It’s a surprise. Come to mine.