Chapter 12
THE MORRíGAN
I’m in my humanshape. That much is apparent from the moment I gain consciousness. I feel stiff and sore and…
Closing my eyes, I wince. Healing is no easy task, and it’s been so long since I’ve had to heal myself. There will definitely be a scar.
There’s a metallic taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of, and I want to wash it out. But Ciara is staring at me with something akin to wonder, and I have to deal with this first. I don’t want awe and wonderment in her eyes. I don’t want anything to change.
“It’s no miracle,” I say, trying to sound lighthearted, but each word sounds as if it’s been ripped from my very soul. I really need some water. “Might I have a drink?”
“Of course.” Ciara returns fast with a glass, and a tube that she puts into my mouth. “Suck,” she says, and I do so, momentarily wondering what it would be like to hear her try such orders ordinarily.
She might be better at it than I expect.
Slowly, she helps me sit up, and then flushes as the blanket she’s covered me with, falls to reveal my breasts. They’re nothing special, but she averts her eyes and I can sense something changing between us.
“Red—” she cuts off. “It seems ridiculous to call you that, now that I’ve seen your raven-colored hair.”
I smile at that, and consider shifting into my ravenshape so she can compare the color of my hair to my feathers, and realize what a mistake that would be. I creak. It is embarrassing.
“What’s your name?” she asks, and I ponder the pros and cons of telling her the truth. It would definitely change things between us even further, and I don’t know if I want that. Already I’m not sure where I’ll sleep tonight—possibly atop the uncomfortable thing she calls a couch. I look at it askance; I’m far too tall to cram myself into such a small space.
Ciara clears her throat and I look back at her, startled. There’s a touch of annoyance in her voice. “What’s your name?”
“I’m The Morrígan.”
Nothing. I can’t tell whether that’s because my name means nothing to her, or because she’s in shock.
“The Morrígan.”
“Yes.”
“As in?—”
“The Dark Goddess.”
She’s in shock. I offer the water to her, and she takes it and sips, unblinking.
“So, when you were a wolf?—”
“In my wolfshape, yes.”
“Don’t interrupt me,” she says firmly, and I hide a smile. I like this side of her. “So, when you were in your wolfshape, you could also still be… this?”
“Yes.”
Ciara frowns. “So, you just swanned into my cottage and pretend like you were a wolf. Made me cook for you, sleep in the same bed as you…” Her voice is getting higher and higher and I realize that I have gravely erred.
“I… this is the first time I have spoken in my humanshape in millennia. We immortals, we have not been back in this world for long—a few of your mortal months, at most. I have spent that time as crow or raven or wolf.”
“So, you’ve never shifted to human?”
I begin to reassure her of just that, but then stop, remembering that morning.
“Only once, whilst you were bathing. It felt too… odd to be in the same space as you whilst you were so vulnerable, and you not know. I shifted and went to leave, but I did not wish to leave the door unlocked and unbarred. I thought that might be worse.” Considering what happened when Robert returned, I did not regret my decision.
“I see.” She seems closed off, and for the first time I cannot read on Ciara’s face what she is feeling. It is unsettling and I do not like it.
“Ciara, I?—”
“Please don’t,” she says. “I am very glad you are not dead, and somewhat grateful for the fact that I no longer have to deal with Robert, but this is very… unsettling.”
She feels just as I do, and neither of us truly understand how to parse such emotion; me, because it has been centuries since I felt it; and she because she has shut down her feelings for so long that I do not know if she knows how to feel anything other than fear.
“I am not scared of you.” Ciara sounds thoughtful. “But I also don’t know how much I can trust you.”
I am silent, ready to accept whatever judgement she passes. Badb and Macha and Nemain jostle at the back of my mind, urging me to be bold, and I hush them. My Ciara has been through much, and I will not take her power from her.
“Would you like to stay?”
“Stay here?” I try not to sound eager, and fail miserably.
“Yes. We can make up some bed for you somewhere. I don’t know how long it will take you to recover, but I am sure that it will not be quick.”
“It will be quicker than you might think,” I admit, almost cursing myself for telling the truth and not taking advantage of her ignorance. “But certainly, quicker than your ex-husband.”
Her eyes flicker to me, and then away again. “You ripped his throat out, Morrígan.”
I hadn’t intended on doing so; I had not yet made up my mind what I was going to do. It must have been instinctive, after he injured me.
And yet, somehow, I am more disturbed by the way she says my name, than the fact that I have murdered someone.
“You can still call me Red,” I say. “My wolfcoat is of that hue.”
“You wouldn’t rather I refer to you by your title?”
No. Anything but that.
“No, please. Red.”
“Okay then, Red.” Ciara gets up from the floor, wincing as the sodden carpet squelches beneath her feet. “You saved me from my ex, so you can recover here, but afterwards, you can go.”
My heart sinks, but I nod. It is no less than I deserve.