The Girl in the Bog by Keith Donohue

Author:Keith Donohue
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER

16

The Triple Jump

THE MEMORY LINGERED long after the white horses had disappeared like phantoms in the night. The witches rummaged through the abandoned chariot, astonished by its clever design and deadly cargo. Capped with pointed iron, the ends of each axle were menacingly sharp. Two long spears stood pinned to the cart’s flanks, and stashed along the dashboard were a pair of broadswords and six smaller weapons, ranging from a dirk to a razor blade that could be hidden behind one finger. The arsenal was protected on both sides by two shields, one with a screaming eagle etched on the surface, the other depicting an iron fist brandishing a scian with a rounded pommel. Where a cupholder would be, a crane bag hung, filled with chessmen and amulets. The sweet smell of apples tussled with the aroma of iron and old leather. From the chariot floor, they unfurled a thick animal hide, the coat of an Irish elk the likes of which had not been seen for centuries. The fur was big enough for the three of them to crawl under and wage war against sleep. At the cemetery gate, Fedelm stuck her thumb in her mouth and tasted the air. By this reckoning, she supposed there would be three hours or so till sunrise. She let them rest.

Emcee knew exactly what time it was. Ten after three. While her friends drowsed, she kept a watchful eye on the dead girl, who paced among the tombstones talking to herself about her next move. There would be hell to pay in the morning. Her mother had pinged her at eleven and again at midnight, and Emcee would have to lie that the messages never came through. She could hear her own excuses: My phone was off. I fell asleep talking. The plain truth was out of the question. Her mother would roll her eyes, smell for liquor on her breath, and ask when she was going to give up this witchy nonsense. Pops was her only possible ally, and she thought of texting him or even giving him a call, but she did not want to waken him at such an ungodly hour. He never doubted her, unlike her parents, who rarely believed her, even when she was being honest. Emcee stirred the pot of her grievances, hoping resentment would keep her awake. She fought off a half dozen yawns, but sleep is often contagious, and she drifted off, snug against her ginger sisters.

Once the girls were safely in slumberland, Fedelm could test her plan. She had seen herself in the tiny mirror. The leather of her skin, her golden hair reddened by the peat, the scars that would never heal. Bog girl. Wraith. Monster. And there they were, young, beautiful, each one with a promising future. She had no way of knowing if the switch would work, having never tried in two thousand years, but an intriguing possibility existed. She could leap into one of those girls and leave her old body behind.

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