She turns the phone towards me. There’s an image of a woman in a green dress, mouth twisted in fury as she screams and leaps from the tip of a spear. Below is a line of text that makes my heart do a death drop.
Badb (pronounced Bive) is often associated with the legend of the banshee.
‘So, itisabout death? Someone in my family’s going to die?’
Mum, Nanny Bet and Cormac flash through my head.
‘I don’t think so. Also, all your visions are of the past, right? Not prophecies of the future. She must want you to see something. To know something.’
‘But what?’
Meg shrugs. ‘A message. A secret. A warning. The point is, she’s trying to get your attention. She wants to talk to you and she’s using the past to do it.’
The crow caws again and I see it now, sitting on a branch at the top of the nearest tree. I’ve always loved those birds for their intelligence, the hidden colours in their inky black feathers. The way they watch us.
The way they watch me?
It lets out three calls, its head pulsing forward and beak open, before it flies off, over our heads and the roof of Meg’s house.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Assuming your theory is correct, the goddess of death and war has given me a power to see the past to find something out.’
‘Yes, it makes the most sense.’
I exhale. ‘I think we need to work out why me, right? I’m not…’ My cheeks burn. ‘I’m not special. I’m not even from here.’ Meg sighs and tilts her head to the side. I try to put a stop to her display of pity. ‘This isn’t a low self-esteem thing. I mean, I’m literally notfromhere. I’m not properly Irish. You said so yourself.’
Meg rolls her eyes. ‘Well, that’s not true. Firstly, I was being a bit bitchy, but you were born here. You’re an Irish person that moved to a different country. That’s kind of our thing. You are therefore, in fact,incrediblyIrish.’
I laugh. ‘Still though, why me? Why would the Morrigan choose me and my dad?’
‘Because she wants you to know something. Just think of what you’ve seen.’
It makes a twisted sort of sense in this new world I seem to be living in. Old me is still wanting to roll his eyes at all this talk of goddesses, but I can’t deny what’s been going on. I might notfeelspecial, but what is happening to me is not, to the best of my knowledge, something that most nearly seventeen-year-oldsexperience. Unless it’s some quirk of puberty Dad left out of our excruciating conversation about becoming a man.
‘If my dad had this power too, maybe they want me to find him. Maybe they’re helping me do that?’
Meg frowns. ‘I mean, they aren’t known for their humanitarian work, what with the inciting wars and so on. Though she does influence heroes on their journey. Your family must be important to them in some way.’ She pauses and her eyes narrow. ‘What are you, Michael Kenny?’
Goosebumps prickle my arms.
I think back to the picture of the woman – the Morrigan. I guess I’d better get used to calling her that. I think of her enraged in the Blitz photo, her sadness over the baby and her anger beside the girl on the street.
‘I hear what you’re saying about it not being a signal of someone dying, but what if it’s a warning? What if my dad’s in danger?’ I push away a sudden mental picture of him calling out in pain. ‘If this leads to him in some way, then we have to try and work out what she wants with me.’
Meg stands. ‘Ready to go check out the photos?’
Meg’s room is back to normal now that the red light is out and the curtains are open. She’s downstairs making a tea with her mum, who just got home from work. I checked she wouldn’t mind us being up here alone and Meg just laughed.
I’m staring at a collage Meg has made from blood red wildflowers when I get a text from an unknown number.
Hey, what’s up?
Sorry who’s this?
Paul – sorry lol
I nearly drop the phone.
Oh hi, yeah good, you?
