face. “Mmm. Yes. So you say. Will you do it? Agree to the terms?”
All four of the men around me shift a little, their faces hard. I glance around me, chewing on my bottom lip. None of them look happy about this, but unless Morrigan can somehow use my blood to mind-control me, I don’t see how the risks outweigh the benefits here. We need this information, and time is running out. If she’s not interested in their money, then that doesn’t leave us a lot to bargain with.
“All right.” I nod firmly, even though my hands shake a little.
Morrigan’s smile widens, and she nods enthusiastically as she beckons me. “Then follow me, my child.”
I shrug at the men and do as I’m told, following her into a back room. Ford grunts as I step out of sight, and the last thing I see is Beckett’s stone-cold face, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Then I’m alone with the death witch.
She takes me down a small hallway into a back room. The place seems to be some kind of laboratory, a room that could be straight out of Frankenstein. Morrigan gestures for me to sit on a chair by a table. She reminds me of a bird, the way she bobs her head a bit and moves with an odd, stilted grace.
Once I’m settled on the chair, she lays my arm out on the table and sets up a syringe with a tube attached to it. It’s basic medical stuff, and my eyebrows pull together a little as I stare at it. I would’ve thought she’d use a golden dagger and slice my palm, then have it drip into a sacred bowl or something. Proper witch stuff.
Not that I necessarily know what “proper witch stuff” is.
Morrigan chuckles at me. “Ha. I can read the look on your face, yes, little angel. Your kind has always been judgmental. Modern medicine and science can make magic stronger. Do not turn your nose up at the things that make our lives more convenient.”
Huh. Good point, I guess. And I’m not going to complain about the fact that she’s not slicing me open with a dagger.
This is my first time voluntarily letting someone take blood from me though. I mean, I lost a lot of blood during my fight with the corrupted when I temporarily closed the portal—but that definitely wasn’t voluntary.
Now, I have to sit here calmly and quietly as blood is drawn out of me. Ugh.
I feel a bit woozy and still rather sick about all of this, so to distract myself, I say, “So, death magic, did you pick that as your major in college, or…?”
Morrigan gives an odd, trilling laugh. “It was the way that my gift turned. There is power in death, little one. More than most people realize. I knew my life would be unusual, but to see an angel come in with the brothers of sin? Ha! That is a new one on me.” She looks at me shrewdly. “You’d best be careful. Oil and water don’t mix. Nor do sin and redemption.”
“What do you mean?” I lick my suddenly dry lips as I glance at her. I feel sick and hollow.
Does she know about my mission? Can she see it in me somehow? Will she tell the men?
Or did she just use the word “redemption” because I’m an angel and that’s what we represent?
Oh, man. I’m so not cut out for this secret mission business.
Morrigan peers at me, her eyes narrowing. “You do not know? Well, then, hmm, yes, their lives are in even greater danger.”
Her face seems to waver in front of me. My tongue is heavy and thick in my mouth. “I… I don’t know what…”
Morrigan clucks her tongue. “Ah. So your innocence is not an act then, is it? You have no idea what you really are to them, do you? Poor little angel. You will find out one day.”
I don’t like how vague and cryptic she’s being. And I don’t like how she says “angel.” It’s not like how Beckett says it. It doesn’t make me feel warm inside, or safe.
Does Beckett make me feel safe? As stoic and hard-edged as he is?
Ugh. Everything is swimming, including my thoughts. My head is so heavy, but my body is light.
What is happening? This doesn’t feel right.
This is… wrong.
Something is wrong.
I try to speak, but my tongue doesn’t work. My jaw drops open and refuses to close. My eyelids can barely stay open.
I’m so…