The light is falling on them, like a spotlight in a theatre. Dad falls to his knees.
‘He couldn’t forgive himself and he took his own life. He left me.’
I put down the notepad and kneel beside my dad.
‘And then I left you.’ He reaches for me again and I put my hand by his.
‘I love you, Dad.’
He opens his mouth but no words come out.
‘No!’ I grasp at him, but he’s starting to fade.
‘Dad!’
He disappears in front of me, dissolving into the shadows.
I’m alone in the middle of Acre Street.
‘Will you tell the story?’ says the Morrigan. Meg’s skin is even paler than before, her broken hand swelling. The dark veins have thinned, the feathers are gone. The talons too. She looks so much like my Meg it aches.
‘Where’s my dad?’
‘Will the story be told?’
I shift my weight, raise my chin. ‘Tell me about my dad.’
She curls her lips. ‘He wakes.’
‘And my nan?’
‘Restored.’
I sit on the kerb and I feel so, so tired. They’re going to be OK.
‘Their powers have been removed. They do not deserve them. Now, answer me: the story – will you tell it?’
I’m not finished. ‘What about Meg?’
She raises her chin. ‘The child is mine. She gave me her body of her own volition. Will you keep your word, file báis?’
I pull myself to my feet. ‘I will, but I want to speak to Meg.’
The Morrigan nods and her features soften to Meg’s. She shivers and cradles her swollen hand. ‘You should go, Michael.’
‘Not without you. Let me help you.’
She steps back. ‘She won’t let me. I’m just here to say goodbye.’
‘Why’re you doing this? She just wants your body, Meg. And what changes do you think she’ll make to this place then? Have you seen what it’s like out there? She is war and death.’
Meg’s features begin to harden as the thrum of the Morrigan’s power radiates over me. ‘She’s more than that. You don’t know anything about her. She has a purpose.’
‘She broke your fucking hand, Meg!’
She winces and her shivering gets worse. I take off my jacket and drape it round her, mindful of her hand.
Her voice is barely audible as she mumbles a thanks.
