She’s probing my memories, and images flash before my eyes. The old warehouse, graffiti-covered walls, broken windows. Donal's old hangout. The memory of stale beer and weed makes my stomach churn.
No, I say. I won't go there.
The Morrigan's influence is strong, too strong to change her course. I dig in, fighting against the pull. "I'm not your puppet."
"Aren't you?" Her voice is soft but resonant. "Your anger, your pain, it feeds me. Feeds us. Embrace it."
She shows me. She makes me remember. Rage bubbles up, hot and familiar. I want to scream, to lash out, to make them all pay. The temptation to give in is overwhelming.
"That's it," the Morrigan coos. "Let go. Let me in."
Please, I whisper,find me. I can't do this alone.
Silence. The connection to my mates is dying. I've never felt so utterly terrifyingly alone.
The Morrigan's voice is triumphant. "You see? No one's coming to save you.“
I feel myself moving.
The stench of piss and burnt rubber hits me first. My feet step over shattered glass glittering in the moonlight, but I feel nothing, no pain. Rainwater drips through where part of the ceiling is collapsed, plinking into puddles that mirror jagged holes where windows once were.
Mike’s braying laugh slices through decaying walls.“Fuckin’score, man! Told you that rich prick would pay double.”
A lighter clicks. Sean’s voice rumbles lower, meaner.“Should’ve asked triple. You seen his fuckin’yacht?”
My palm scrapes rusted metal as I push open the side door. The screech of hinges drowns beneath the pounding blood in my ears. Shadows cling to corners where Donal once pinned me against the wall, his breath reeking of Jameson and contempt. You’re lucky I touch this, he’d sneered, his skinny fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips.
Sean freezes mid-count, cash clutched in sausage hands. Mike squints through cigarette smoke curling around his greasy mustache.“The fuck?”
Recognition hits them slow. Sean’s beady, piggish eyes narrow.“Brigid? Christ, thought you were in some loony bin.” He leers, thumbing his belt buckle.“Miss us?”
Her power thrums under my skin, dark and sweet as poisoned honey. Let me show you true strength.
Mike snorts.“Nah, she’s here to collect.” He mimes jerking off, tongue lolling.“Right, bitch? Changed your mind.”
The warehouse gets darker. Not metaphorically—actual shadows close in. Sean stops laughing when his Zippo gutters out suddenly, despite no wind.
“The woods.” My voice echoes unnaturally.“That evening. You were waiting for me.”
Mike’s cigarette drops.“The hell—”
“Donal said you could share, remember?” Morrigan pushes me closer.“Greedy, disgusting boys. Trying to steal what was never offered to you.”
Sean lunges up, knocking over milk crates stocked with heroin baggies.“Enough creepy shit! You want another go? Huh?” Spittle flies as he grabs his crotch.
She reaches out, trailing a finger along Sean's stubbled jaw. The Morrigan leans in. "Shall I show you what true fear feels like?"
Sean's eyes widen, terror replacing bravado as he notices the shadows moving as if alive, all around us. His skin pales beneath our touch.
Mike scrambles backwards, knocking over beer bottles. "What the fuck are you?"
The Morrigan's laughter rings out, using my voice, but twisted, hollow. "I am vengeance. I am death." She turns my head, fixing Mike with a predator's gaze. "I am the nightmare you deserve."
No, I plead silently. This isn't me. I don't want this.
But a part of me does. The anger I've buried for so long roars to life, demanding retribution.
Darkness pools in my palms. It would be so easy. Morrigan’s laugh vibrates through our shared throat.They’re already dead, little queen. We’re just settling accounts.
