Chapter 125 - Compromise

Morrigan could have just stayed in bed all morning. She’d gone to sleep fairly early, with only a few uncomfortable dreams breaking an otherwise sound night’s rest.

One dream, though, lingered—it involved the stone-toothed demon from her second day as a reaper. The one she had chased onto a rooftop and into what Noir called negative space.

In the dream, Morrigan shadow-stepped through the city, heading home. She consciously avoided the graveyard, and when she entered the house, it was surprisingly clean. She heard muffled voices drifting from the kitchen. Peeking inside, she found her mom at the table, chatting with a man in a trench coat. They seemed to be enjoying a casual conversation, but when the man smiled, revealing his jagged stone teeth, Morrigan’s stomach dropped. She remembered exactly who he was.

Yet, she didn’t freak out, she just leaned against the doorway, saying something to her mom that she couldn’t quite remember while subtly trying to signal that she should come outside with her. That stone-toothed demon just sat there smiling, looking back and forth between them as Morrigan continued to try to get the idea across to her mom that they needed to leave.

The dream felt…  oddly calm. Too calm, considering the context and how much of a nightmare the real life version of that demon was.

When Morrigan opened her eyes, she was more thrown off by her new environment and the fact Pepper wasn’t looking back at her from across the room.

She glanced at the clock, noting that it was 8:15 am, and nobody was beating down her door. She closed her eyes again, sinking into the plush mattress.

This bed is REALLY comfortable.

She didn’t drift back to sleep but hovered in that blissful space between waking and dreaming, soaking in as much comfort as possible. Even the memory of the demon couldn’t spoil it.

That was a really weird dream, though. Why would I dream about him sitting in my mom’s kitchen? And why would the whole thing just feel so frikken casual? It was like he was a neighbor just stopping by for a morning coffee and to chat for a bit.

A prickle of unease crawled beneath her skin. I wonder if he’s still out there? Noir didn’t kill him—just chased him off. He could still be lurking around somewhere. Or maybe another reaper got him by now. Who knows.

Morrigan decided she would ask Noir or, better yet, Death about it later.

For now, she was just peacefully enjoying the comfort of the bed, which she frankly just couldn’t quite get over.

Maybe thirty minutes later, she heard faint movement through the house. It was subtle and far away. Nothing like her mom’s house, where she could hear the spring in her mom's mattress down the hall, every single footstep groaning against the floorboards, and even the subtle clicks and hisses of the coffee maker would make their way up from the kitchen.

Not here. Here in this house, everything was so quiet. She barely even heard the birds chirping outside until she listened closely.

With a groggy sigh, Morrigan finally sat up and glanced toward the window. The curtains were drawn, but a soft sliver of morning light crept in. She shuffled over and pulled them open. Warm air pressed through the glass—it was shaping up to be a hot day. She cracked the window open, and the muffled stillness outside broke into a sudden flood of sound.

A car rumbled lazily down the street. Somewhere, neighbors called out cheerful good mornings, their voices distant and indistinct. This neighborhood was definitely way different than anything Morrigan was used to. She could see down the cul-de-sac from her vantage point, and just kind of stared for a while.

A sprinkler came to life with a soft hiss and then a steady click-click-click-click; in front of another house, a middle-aged man watched his dog sniff around the yard, patiently waiting for the animal to do its business.

This neighborhood was so much different from what she was used to. Her mom’s house sat alone on a cracked, weather-beaten road, tucked behind the graveyard like it belonged to the dead more than the living. Potholes lined the street—ones her mom would swerve around on autopilot whenever they drove somewhere together.

They didn’t have neighbors. There were only a couple of houses down the street; one of them had all kinds of drooping boxes and junk sitting out on the porch, and Morrigan wasn’t sure if she’d ever actually seen who lived there before. Someone must have been in there, though, as the car that sat in the cracked and grassy driveway would sometimes be there and sometimes not. Plus, the pile of trash kept getting bigger.

This neighborhood, though? This was different. The kind of place Emma lived. A world with fresh lawns and morning routines.

Back when Morrigan used to visit Emma, she’d hop the fence behind her house, slip through the graveyard, and emerge on the main road. From there, it was about a 45-minute walk—unless she decided to take the bus, which cut the trip in half.

Morrigan continued to watch the cul-de-sac with mild curiosity. The man walking his dog stepped down from his porch with a plastic bag in his hand to pick up the poop, then whistled for his dog to follow him inside.

The sudden metallic clank of another front door drew her attention. A family stepped out from a house two doors down—classic suburban fare. Mom in a casual blouse, dad in shorts and a polo, and a little girl in a sundress who practically bounced down the front steps before racing to the car.

Morrigan’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Wonder what they’d think if they knew some goth weirdo moved in a few houses down?

She knew how out of place she must look here. She used to be pretty good at just blending in, but now her part-time job made that impossible.

The dad, holding the car door open, called back toward the house, “Come on, let’s go!”

When the person he was hollering to finally appeared, Morrigan’s heart dropped straight through her stomach, and she yanked the curtain closed.

OH, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Morrigan cautiously peeked past the curtain, though in the back of her mind, she knew the chances of being seen from this distance were unlikely. But she had to confirm, and yes. It was Britney, one of the preppy girls at Morrigan’s school who she used to hang out with but never really liked.

She was the type to constantly gossip and make fun of other people while rarely having anything actually interesting to say. No doubt she heard about Morrigan’s disappearance last summer and the resulting public reveal of her home situation with a single mother who worked as a stripper. This was, of course, completely contrary to what Morrigan had implied about her home life, and Britnay was no doubt one of the first to start spreading the story last summer.

Morrigan could just imagine it.

Did you hear about Morrigan?

Omg I know! I always knew there was something off about her.

I can’t believe she would lie to us like that.

Did you hear her mom’s a stripper, lol?

Rofl omg I know.

Like totally like wtf.

Lol Morrigan’s such a loser.

Like omg who even lies like that.

I know right? Lol rofl omg she must be a sociopath.

Morrigan sighed and wandered back to the bed. To be fair, she had been wondering just where she landed on the sociopath spectrum recently. She did have quite a substantial body count at this point, after all.

Shaking the thought away, she reached for her tote bag and carried it over to the dresser. One by one, she emptied her meager belongings into the drawers while fishing out a set of clean clothes for the day. She then cautiously peeked into the hallway and listened. No sign of Evelyn, but this house was so quiet she was probably just downstairs.

Morrigan made her way to the bathroom, momentarily taking in how large and pristine it was, like the rest of the house. She set her clothes by the sink and then opened the closet. Neatly folded towels and a full stock of toiletries waited, just as promised. Even this linen closet was larger than the entire bathroom back home.

At her mom’s place, the bathroom had been cramped, with barely enough room to turn around. The linen closet wasn’t even inside—it was out in the hallway. Probably because there was no space for a door to swing open inside.

The shower itself was—not unexpectedly at this point—as luxurious as the rest of the house. Morrigan had to admit this situation of suddenly being thrown into the life of her estranged grandmother did have a few small perks.

She slipped off her hoodie and set it with the clean clothes, then tossed her dirty clothes into a pile and climbed in.

The changeling made its usual cautious probing of the outside world while she cleaned herself. The stream from the shower was so much stronger than any she had felt before. It felt like it was blasting the soothing warmth of the water directly into her muscles.

When she was done, she found a blow dryer—a luxury she was deprived of in the shelter. After giving herself an initial dry with a towel, she finished her hair with the blow dryer, then got dressed and took a deep breath before leaving the bathroom.

She didn’t really want to interact with Evelyn, but as long as she was living here, it was unavoidable. 

Morrigan descended the stairs, to the soft clink of dishes and the faint aroma of coffee getting stronger.

In the living room, her caught a fireplace with pictures on the mantel and wandered over to it. There were pictures of kids—her aunt and uncle presumably—and then one that gave Morrigan pause because it looked so much like herself but with brown hair.

It was her mom. A picture of her teenage mother.

She didn’t look very happy: eyes half-lidded in annoyance, her whole body language screaming, Hurry up and take the damn picture.

But, she was dressed up nicely in a way she couldn’t imagine her mom dressing willingly. Morrigan thought it was a cute outfit—purple lace shirt, designer jeans,  boots—the kind of thing Morrigan wouldn’t mind wearing herself before her part-time-job forced her to go goth.

She continued scanning the pictures and found another that had the three kids with a younger Evelyn but no grandpa. Considering Evelyn had mentioned her husband last night, it’s not like he died young, so this confirmed they were probably divorced. Morrigan looked over her shoulder, her gaze wandering through the spacious house. This seemed like it would be quite a lonely place to live in all by yourself.

Finally, Morrigan made her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, good morning,” Evelyn greeted, glancing up from the counter where she was cutting up fruit. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” Morrigan muttered, shoving her hands deep into her hoodie pocket. “The bed’s soft.”

“I’m glad.” Evelyn offered a small smile, but Morrigan felt her shoulders tense under the awkwardness. She averted her eyes, letting her gaze drop to the floor.

Evelyn shifted, wiping her hands on a towel. “Do you drink coffee? There’s tea and orange juice, too. I can start on some breakfast if you’d like.”

“Oh. Uh, no thanks. You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh please, I’ll be happy to,” Evelyn insisted as she moved towards the fridge.

“I’m not really a breakfast person.”

“Well, tell you what. I’ll go ahead and cook because I’m hungry, and I’ll make you a plate in case you change your mind. We need to get some meat on those bones.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Gee, thanks.”

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Morrigan sighed, turning further away so her face was hidden under her hood. Alright, I’m thin—I get it. I literally can’t help that though.

The kitchen filled with the quiet sounds of Evelyn gathering pans and ingredients. The subtle clink of a spatula against the counter, a faint sizzle as something hit the pan. Morrigan stood there, hands deep in her pockets, feeling like an intruder.

The silence sat heavy until Morrigan finally blurted out, “We don’t have to go shopping.” She shifted her weight. “Actually, I was thinking I’d just go take the bus to my friend's house. I haven’t been able to see her much while I was at the shelter.”

The soft tap-tap of Evelyn’s knife against the cutting board stopped.

Morrigan glanced sideways from beneath her hood, gauging her reaction.

“Well,” Evelyn spoke carefully, wiping her hands, “maybe later. But I’d like to insist on us going shopping first. You’ll need some essentials, and I’m pretty sure that tote bag isn’t holding everything you’ll want.” Her voice was gentle, but the firmness underneath it was unmistakable. “And I’ll be honest—I’m not comfortable with you taking the bus. I’d be happy to drive you anywhere you want to go.”

“I can get around fine on my own. I’ve been doing it for years.”

Evelyn’s voice took a firmer edge. “I’m sure you can. But you’re under my care now, and I’d rather know where you are and how you’re getting there.”

Morrigan’s shoulders stiffened. “So what? I’m grounded already? I’ve been here for like—twelve hours.”

Evelyn set down the knife with a soft clatter. “Sorry, but I’m responsible for you, and you just got here. I’d like to take some time to get to know you, and you will need some things, so I want to provide that for you.”

Morrigan narrowed her eyes, her voice cooling. “I don’t need anything. I can take care of myself.”

Evelyn’s expression was gentle but with an understated resolve. “Well, you have me now. I understand you’re used to doing things your way, but I won’t be one of those guardians who just lets you come and go as you please without knowing anything. There are boundaries in this house.”

A surge of irritation bubbled up in Morrigan’s chest. What made her angrier was how Evelyn wasn’t even yelling—just calmly laying down the rules. That was somehow worse.

She couldn’t help the chill in her voice as she said, “Well, I have boundaries of my own.”

Evelyn turned fully towards her now, still holding that stern expression that made a few of the wrinkles on her face disappear. “Well, it sounds to me like we’re going to have to compromise.”

“Compromise? You mean, I do what you want.”

Evelyn’s tone didn’t rise, but it didn’t soften either. “No. I mean we meet in the middle. I get that you’re used to being left to your own devices, but this isn’t the shelter, and I’m not some stranger you’ll never see again. I have a responsibility to keep you safe.”

Morrigan’s arms folded tight over her chest, her voice cool and defiant. “I am safe. I don’t need a babysitter. Trust me.”

Evelyn met her stare without blinking. “Good. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make reasonable concessions, now does it?”

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. Evelyn was firm, but not in a way that seemed like she was trying to make her feel small. Not like Cheyenne, Sarrah, Safron, Detective Grant, or even Noir. No threats, no ultimatums, no “do this or else.”

Morrigan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Whatever… What’s your ‘compromise?’”

“We do the shopping trip—get you what you need, no fuss. After that, you can visit your friend. And in the future, if you want to go somewhere, you just let me know and I’ll drive you if I can. If I can’t, I’d prefer you stay home or at least let me know who is picking you up and when you’ll be back.”

Morrigan hated how this lady was putting this all out there so matter-of-factly. She hated that she did it with a tone that sounded so reasonable. She hated—

Well, she hated that this was probably the closest thing to a normal conversation with a parent she’d ever had…

“So,” Evelyn continued, “I’ll take you to your friend’s house after we shop. Deal?”

Morrigan couldn’t quite bring herself to argue. She’d feel like she as the one being unnecessarily confrontational at that point. After all, what is the “demand?” I’ll take you shopping and get you anything you want, and after that, I’ll drive you wherever you want to go. Just no taking the bus?

How could she reasonably argue with that without just sounding like a brat?

“…Deal,” Morrigan muttered reluctantly.

Evelyn’s expression softened just a bit. “Good. And I’ll still make you a plate. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, but it’ll be there. Now please, have a seat.”

Morrigan didn’t answer. She just trudged to the table and slumped into a chair, arms folded, mood sour. Her eyes tracked Evelyn’s movements as she returned to the cutting board and the rhythmic chop-chop-chop of the knife filled the room once again.

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Chapter 126 - Proper Young Lady