Death is a Girl

Chapter 44 - Morrigan GPS

Morrigan realized she must have fallen asleep against the angel statue, only woken when the rain started to fall harder by midafternoon. Her eyes peered from under the hood, with her gaze falling onto the crypt. The place her body had been stashed after she was killed.

Absentmindedly, she got up and walked towards it, found a fingerhold on the stone door, and was surprised by how heavy it was to move. She cracked it open by less than a foot, then slipped in. She saw a bloodstain still on the floor and noticed for the first time a coffin sitting at the far end atop a dais.

“Sorry about this,” she said to the coffin as she dropped her bag against a wall, then sat down herself. She hugged her knees, staring at the bloodstain, thinking. She felt so tired for some reason. She may have been woken abruptly by a nightmare this morning, but she slept all night and even napped under the angel statue. Yet, her body still just wanted to sleep. Her legs did not want to hold any weight and her eyes just wanted to close.

Listening to the rain patter against the stone outside, she slowly lowered herself until she was lying down, face on the cold, damp stone but not caring. It was soothing, in a way, and as she lay there, her eyes began to close.

“It’s okay,” a soft voice spoke. “Just rest. There’s no reason to go anywhere.”

Morrigan’s eyes winked open, and she saw someone sitting cross-legged right on top of the blood stain. The girl’s red lips smiled, her blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, and her blue eyes gazing into Morrigan’s. Morrigan blinked, because she was staring at… herself. Or rather, a version of herself from before she died.

“You can stop now,” the old Morrigan said. “You’ve tried hard enough. You don’t have to keep moving.”

Am I dreaming again?

She thought that wouldn’t be so bad, if she just stopped moving. If she just laid here and never moved again it could be like these last two weeks never happened. Her body would be back where it belonged and this world could continue spinning without her. At least she helped a few souls along the way, even if she had a number of screw-ups as well.

She thought about the man who had committed suicide. He claimed his nerve damage meant a life of pain that he had finally given up on. At the time, she had judged him, making some impassioned statement about how no matter what, being alive was better than being dead. She had said she couldn’t accept giving up, but that was probably just her trying to fool herself.

Giving up might feel nice.

“That’s right…” the old Morrigan said as she crawled towards her. “It’s a struggle. You can stop all the struggling. Just say here…”

…with me.

You don’t have to move.

You don’t even have to wait because there is nothing to wait for.

You can just stop.

***

Earlier that day, Emma balanced two cups under one arm while carrying two paper plates loaded with waffles, sausages, bacon, and hashbrowns. As she was gathering the food the clerk from the previous night asked if her parents made it in okay, as he hadn’t seen them.

“Oh yeah,” Emma grinned. “They came in through the other door. Dad asked me to grab some food!” Even if he figured it out by now, it wouldn’t matter. She did not necessarily do anything illegal and he’d be the one to get in trouble for breaking protocol anyway.

Back at the room door, balancing everything as she slipped the keycard out of her pocket was a precarious operation. After nudging the door open she set everything down and called, “Hey Morrigan! I got food.”

There was no response, and Emma already knew what happened. She opened the bathroom door, no Morrigan and no bag there either. Then, she saw the note on the nightstand. She picked it up with a frown, then rushed out of the room and down the hall, looking out a window to confirm the truck was gone.

She instantly retrieved her phone from her pocket and called Morrigan, but it went right to voicemail. “Damn it,” she muttered and tried again. This time she left a message.

“Morrigan, please pick up and get back here. I get that you’re having issues but that was seriously not cool! How am I supposed to get home now? Did you even think of that?” She sighed. “Just call me back. Check-out is at 10:30, so I’ll wait until then. I hope you get this…” She paused. “Please don’t run away. I’m really worried about you.”

In reality, getting home wouldn’t be that hard. She would just need to take a bus. She could even walk it if she really needed to, it would only take about two hours.

She went back to the room and ate half of the food she had pilfered from the continental breakfast. She figured the chances of Morrigan coming back were pretty low, and after eating, she picked up her phone and scrolled through until finding Hilda’s number, listed under the name Sarrah, to lessen the chances of her mom figuring out how often she talks to her cousin.

The phone rang and clicked as it was received, and Emma’s ear was instantly assaulted by heavy rock music coming distorted through the phone line.

“Emma! How’s it going?” Hilda answered.

“Hey Hilda, I’m in a bit of a situation here. Are you busy?”

“Uh, I just got to work,” she said, just as a high-pitched whine from a drill confirmed her story. “You alright?”

“I’m fine but…” Emma sighed. “It’s a long story and it's actually a friend I’m worried about. It’s alright if you’re busy, I’ll figure things out.”

“Wait, hang on a second!” Hilda said, and all the sounds became muffled as Hilda must have covered the bottom of the phone. Yet Emma could still hear her shout over the music. “Ey, Mickey! I need to take the morning off!”

Emma couldn’t understand the voice yelling back to her over the music.

“Family stuff!” Hilda yelled back. Then her voice became clear again as the rock music faded further into the background. “Alright, Emma. Where are you?”

Emma hesitated, not wanting to impose on Hilda, especially since she had to leave work. “I’m at the Motel 3. But Hilda, you really don’t have to—”

“The hell are you doing at some random hotel? Which one? The one on Boulevard?”

“Yeah, and like I said, it’s a long story, but you don’t have to leave work for me.”

“Hey, family helps family, and I can hear in your voice you’re in trouble. Don’t worry about work; they aren’t too busy.”

Emma sighed with relief. “Thanks, Hilda.”

“No prob. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

After ending the call, Emma went outside to wait, and twenty minutes later, as promised, Hilda rolled up, driving her orange jeep, which had seen its fair share of adventure. The jeep had various bumper stickers of rock bands that also acted as a cover for the many witch runes scattered throughout. Emma climbed into the passenger seat, and instantly, the smell of motor oil thinly masked by insense hit her nostrils. The back was cluttered with tools and car parts.

Hilda herself had her sleeves rolled up, revealing the runes tattooed on her arms. At family gatherings, she often kept her sleeves down to conceal them. Emma once asked what they were for, and Hilda said the only ones she tattooed on her body were protective runes.

“Alright, spill it,” Hilda said, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

“It’s a lot to explain…” Emma sighed, folding her arms. “Long story short, I have a friend who ran away. She stole a truck and made it all the way to Wyoming. I talked her into coming back, and then we spent the day together, but this morning, she ran away again and won’t pick up her phone.”

“Damn, sounds like an adventure.”

“Hilda!” Emma shot her a glare.

“Sorry, sorry. Yeah, important conversation. Uuuh, any idea where she might have gone?”

“I don’t know, I just know she’s in trouble.” Emma’s eyes cast down. “I’m scared.”

Hilda took a moment to think about this, then asked. “You stayed in this hotel last night. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you still get in your room?”

“I can.”

“Alright. Take me up there.”

***

Once back in the room, Hilda asked which bed Morrigan had slept in, and Emma pointed it out. Hilda then ran her fingers softly over the pillow before lifting up a thin strand of white hair. She raised an eyebrow. “What color was her hair?”

“Um…” Emma scratched the side of her nose. “White.”

“White? How old is this friend again?”

“Sixteen…”

Hilda seemed more perplexed as she looked closer at the strand of hair. “She dye’s it. Right?”

Emma shook her head. “She’s… not exactly…” she exhaled. “So, this is a lot to drop all at once, but if you want you can ask Arrietta to confirm the story. My friend Morrigan… she’s a reaper.”

Hilda’s gaze suddenly shot to her, the focus on the strand of hair completely forgotten. “A reaper?”

“Yeah.”

“Uuhh… Emma, I don’t know how to say this, but…”

“If you don’t believe me, like I said, call Arietta and ask. She met her. Morrigan was a classmate, something happened, she died, and ended up becoming a reaper.”

Hilda’s gaze shifted back to the strand of hair draped between her fingers. Then, ever so subtly, a smirk cracked on the corner of her lip. “Daaamn, not only did you visit the shop without me you brought a reaper with you?” She looked at Emma, her smile fully blooming. “Do you have any idea how rare it is to even get a glimpse at a reaper!? Seriously, you basically just told me you have a pet dragon! Or you found a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow!”

Emma folded her arms. “Morrigan said most people will come in contact with a reaper at least once in their life. That is, not counting when they actually die.”

“Yeah, I get that! But Emma, reapers take care to hide themselves. Their glamor is strong, and they literally never admit what they are to anyone!”

Emma smirked, feeling a slight bubble of pride at having some knowledge to show off to Hilda for a change. “They don’t call it glamor. They call it perception blocking.”

“Really? What other kind of magic do they use?”

“Morrigan is new, so she’s not very good yet. She was human just two weeks ago.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s a long story…” Emma then felt a pull of guilt, batting down the prideful bubble in her chest. “Can you help me find her? However cool you might think it is, I’m really scared for her. Being a reaper hasn’t exactly been easy on her… and…” Emma didn’t want to vocalize her worst fear.

Hilda’s expression likewise got much more serious. “Alright, I get it. Reaper or no, she's in a bad spot, huh?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, I just feel like something bad might happen if I don’t find her soon.”

“Alright, I’ll teach you a spell,” Hilda said, pinching the white hair and rolling her fingers together to get it to ball up. Then she held it out to Emma. “Cup your hands.” Emma did as asked and Hilda dropped the hair inside. “

Emma watched, fascinated as Hilda began to instruct her. “Now, concentrate on Morrigan. Put not just an image in your mind but the sound of her voice, her demeanor, body language… as complete a picture as you can make of her.”

Emma closed her eyes, focusing on her memories of Morrigan—her sarcasm, her expressions, the way she carried herself. She felt the hair in her hands start to tingle her palms like a low electric current.

Hilda reached through the neck of her shirt and removed a small golden amulet on a chain. She unhooked it from her neck and then held it above Emma’s hands as she chanted softly. “Mi’alsca mei’falali ducat. Es’cathari Morrigan, ershalda laev'er.”

A warm sensation spread through Emma’s hands, and she opened her eyes to see the amulet shifting subtly in place like there was a magnet pulling it downward and not allowing it to swing naturally on the chain that held it.

“Keep focusing, Emma,” Hilda said. “Keep Morrigan clear in your mind.”

Emma closed her eyes and tried to refocus on the picture of Morrigan in her mind. Emma always found her to be a facinating person, even before all this reaper business. She never knew what secrets Morrigan was hiding, but could always tell there was something underneath the girl she presented herself as. Emma would observe how Morrigan navigated the world with a strange sort of control. Like she could manipulate the flow of events around her without anyone noticing. Emma remembered the slight smirk Morrigan would have when things went her way—a look of satisfaction and knowing. It was its own sort of magic. Yet, Morrigan never did anything to harm anyone. With her ability, she could have easily used it for evil. But she never did. As far as Emma could tell, all Morrigan ever wanted was to just fit in.

“Open your eyes,” Hilda said. Emma did as asked and saw the amulet’s glow subsided but was being pulled steadfastly in one direction. Hilda pulled a small leather bag with a drawstring out of her back pocket and dropped the amulet in. “Here, drop her hair in the bag too.”

Emma carefully obeyed, then Hilda drew the drawstring closed and gave Emma the bag. “This will continue to guide you for a while, but it’ll eventually wear off. Of course, you can always just use the spell again if you have a bit of her hair. I’ll teach you the chant sometime.”

Emma held the bag up, partly fascinated and partly confused.

Hilda smirked. “Hold it by the string.”

Emma did as asked, and while dangling from the string, the bag pulled very clearly in one direction. “Wow, no way! So I basically got a Morrigan GPS now, don’t I?”

“For the next few days anyway.” Hilda grinned as she walked over to the bed. She opened her pocketbook revealing it had an assortment of glass vials held in by elastic straps. She slipped out an empty one and started picking strands of hair off the bed. “I’m keeping some of her hair for myself, though.”

“How come?”

Hilda grinned like a kid in a candy shop as she carefully guided some of the white hair into the vial. “For casting spells, of course. I don’t know what kind yet, but I’m sure with a little experimenting I can find something fun.”

“Could be dangerous,” Emma said. “Reapers power is all about ending life, you know.”

“Yup, bet I could come up with an interesting curse or two.” Hilda winked, returning the vial to her pocketbook. “Just think of it as my payment. Anyway, let's go find your friend.”