by Laura Kirwan
“Really?” Natalie asked in a small voice.
Meaghan sighed in exasperation. “Yes, really. I liked you the first moment I met you. I felt comfortable with you. Now I know why.”
Meaghan sat and Natalie lounged, both silent, listening to Patsy Cline sing about her aching heart.
Meaghan finally broke the silence. “Please say you forgive me or tell me to go to hell. Something. So I know where I stand.”
Natalie sat up. “I never once called him Dad.”
“I know. Russ told me.”
“I was more pissed at Mom than him at first. And then she died and Jamie and I moved back and I had to deal. He was right there and he needed me. But we never . . . he never felt like a father. A mentor, someone I liked and respected, yeah. But never a father.”
“And that didn’t bother you?” Meaghan asked.
“Well, yeah, of course it did. But not in the same way it bothered you to have him leave. I was pissed about the deceit, although I get why they did it, but I never knew him as Daddy. You know?”
Meaghan nodded. “I know. Got another wine glass? I could use some of that.”
Natalie stood up. “You okay with some ice cubes? This cheap crap really needs to be cold to be drinkable and the bottle’s been out of the fridge for a while.”
“Ice is fine. I always used to put ice in white wine back in Phoenix, but stopped when I got here. Russ—”
“He makes that face, right? He does the same thing to me.”
Natalie fetched a glass and some ice and poured them each some wine.
“So,” Meaghan said. “I’ll ask again—am I forgiven?”
Natalie nodded. “Of course you are. I’m sorry I was such a weepy ninny.”
“Please,” Meaghan said. “I yelled at you. I’m glad you didn’t throw something at me.”
Natalie’s mouth twitched into a grin. “I really wanted to for a second there.”
Meaghan smiled back, relieved. “With magic or muscle?”
Natalie laughed. “Both. If there’d been a piano handy, you’d have been toast.”
“Good thing we aren’t out West. Then you could have used a big boulder like Wile E. Coyote.”
“My Acme bitchy-sister-destructo-ray—except the coyote always gets his ass kicked. I think I’d better stick with pianos.”
They laughed until they both started coughing and had to stop to blow their noses.
“So,” Natalie said, wiping her eyes with her arm. “Now what?”
“Shit, I don’t know,” Meaghan said. “I never had a sister before. I’m guessing you didn’t get the impervious gene from Matthew?”
Natalie shook her head. “I’m all Mom. So far, at least. I can get zapped like everybody else if I don’t watch out.” She sipped her wine. “You’re calling him Matthew again, instead of Dad. Don’t be mad at him, okay? He really regretted not having you around all those years and only kept his distance because he didn’t know how to fix things, but mostly because he didn’t want you to get stuck with all this. It’s why it took us so long to do what we did.”
Meaghan nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Natalie and Kady had cast spells on the people around Meaghan to help nudge her into coming to Eldrich. She would have been fired from her job in Arizona eventually, because she hadn’t been able to hide how disgusted she’d become with her boss’s flexible ethics, but the magic hastened it.
“I . . . it surprised me how mad I got at him when you guys told me,” Meaghan said, pushing her tears back down. “I really thought I’d gotten past it.” She finished her wine in a large gulp. “If you ever do get past it.”
“You get past it,” Natalie said, “when you decide to. You got ambushed tonight. You’ll get there. And nothing’s really changed between us. You’re still my boss and I’m still here to help you navigate both jobs. But please don’t tell anybody. The risk if I am carrying the impervious gene—you’d think that and my magical skill would be mutually exclusive—but if they aren’t . . .”
Meaghan nodded. “A lot of bad guys might get interested. Either to get rid of you or exploit you.”
“Don’t think that hasn’t kept me up nights.”
“So people really don’t know?” Meaghan asked.
“As far as Russ and I can tell. Although you’re the first who ever thought we were . . . ewww. You know. How did you ever reach that conclusion?”
Meaghan shrugged. “I could tell you were hiding something. The big magic secrets had already been spilled, so I figured it had to be about sex.”
“Well,” Natalie said with a smile. “You were half right, I guess.” She held up the empty bottle. “You want me to open another?”
Before Meaghan could answer, the world exploded.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A thunderous boom and the sound of breaking glass echoed from the direction of Jamie’s house.
Natalie ran to the gate accessing the tiny overgrown alley between the houses. Jamie’s house sat around the corner, his back gate only about twenty feet away.
Meaghan grabbed Natalie and pointed to her bare feet. “Glass. Get some shoes and I’ll meet you there.” Natalie nodded and ran into the house.
Meaghan dashed down the alley to Jamie’s back gate. A high board fence surrounded the backyard. She threw herself at the wooden gate and heard a padlock rattle in its hasp.
The six-foot fence was too high to climb, so Meaghan ran back to Natalie’s house. There she found Natalie comforting Patrice. Natalie caught Meaghan’s eye, her face grim, eyes wide with shock.
“Look at this,” Natalie said, her voice tight. She gently tilted up Patrice’s chin. A fresh bruise covered Patrice’s left eye and cheek. Blood trickled from her split lip. Angry red marks, finger shaped, covered her bare arms.
Feeling a sick knot in her gut, Meaghan, already knowing the answer, asked, “Who did this, Patrice? Where’s Jamie?”
Patrice’s eyes welled up. “He . . . he’s . . .” The remaining shreds of her self-control evaporated. Her face screwed up like a child’s and she dissolved into racking sobs. “He hit me.”
“Where are the kids?” Meaghan asked Natalie.
“Lynette’s. To give them time to be alone,” Natalie said, her face pale and rigid. “You . . . I can’t see him right now. I’ll do something I can’t take back.” Patrice sobbed in her arms. “That bastard,” Natalie continued. “I’m done protecting him.”
“I’ll go,” Meaghan said. “Stay with Patrice.”
“Be careful,” Natalie said. “He blew out the windows when she left.”
The neighbors were already out, trying to see what had happened. She walked past them without a glance, through the gate in the white picket fence and into the yard.
Glass lay everywhere in jagged shards. Someone standing in the yard—or, Meaghan thought with a chill, running from the house—could have been killed.
She stepped through the open front door, grateful she’d changed from flip flops to heavier sandals before driving to Natalie’s.
“Jamie?” Her voice shook, fear and anger fighting for control. Meaghan wasn’t sure she could save him this time. The young man she had known before he’d been taken never would have harmed his wife and never would forgive himself for hurting her now.
Meaghan found him standing in the kitchen. The sigils etched into his back glowed a deep angry red. Below them, like the trunk of a tree, ran long scars along his spine where his Fahrayan wings had been cut away. He gripped a shard of glass in his right hand, blood dripping from his fingers.
“You should have let them kill me,” he said, his voice flat.
“Jamie, put the glass down.” Meaghan crept closer. “Please. Put it down and tell me what happened.”
“I hit my wife,” he said in the same flat voice. His fingers dropped the bloody shard and curled into a ball. “I made a fist and slugged her. Like this.” He hit himself hard on the side of his head. “And like this.” He punched himself in the mouth.
He fe
ll to his knees in the broken glass. “Like this,” he shouted, now enraged, and pummeled his head with both fists. His fury spent, he hugged himself and rocked back and forth, sobbing. “Why didn’t you let them kill me? Why?”
She placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Jamie, I . . .”
He scrambled away, leaving bloody handprints on the floor. “Don’t touch me. I’m wrong. I’m bad.” His tears came in painful gasps that echoed Patrice’s sobs. Still on his knees, he curled into a ball, his arms over his head.
Meaghan pulled her phone from her pocket. Jamie needed help she couldn’t give him. He needed to be in a hospital, in a psych ward. But she had to get him calm before help arrived. No suicide-by-cop scenarios could be allowed to unfold.
“9-1-1 dispatch,” a young female voice answered. “What is your emergency?”
“This is Meaghan Keele—”
“Meaghan? This is Dana—I mean Cassandra—I was at your house today?”
Meaghan felt a stirring of hope. A witch was working dispatch. “Dana, I need to keep this to the clued-in as much as possible.”
“Got it. Are you at Jamie’s?”
“Yeah,” Meaghan said, surprised. “How did you know?”
“The calls are rolling in. I’ve got a couple of clued-in cops—”
“City cops? Not county?”
“Yeah. And paramedics. It’s handled.”
“Dana—or is it Cassandra?”
“Dana,” she said firmly. “Cassandra was Circe’s idea.”
“Whatever your name, you’re a lifesaver,” Meaghan said, feeling a wave of relief.
“If there’s anything else you need, call me,” Dana said. “I know how bad this stuff is. My dad, a long time ago . . . let me know if I can help, okay?”
The increasingly familiar maternal instinct stirring within her, Meaghan said, “You got it, kiddo. I owe you on this one. Thanks. How soon until they get here?”
“Cops are about two minutes. The EMTs are going over to Natalie’s first to take a quick look at Patrice, so expect them in about five. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Meaghan said, looking at Jamie huddled on the floor. “He’s cut up, but it looks superficial.”
“I’ll try to keep the spectators away. Susan’s working on it with me. Official story’s a gas leak.”
“Thanks again for this.”
“You’re welcome. Keep us posted, okay?”
Meaghan hung up. Jamie still hunched on the floor, his sobs replaced with quiet weeping. She crouched near him and stroked his back. She avoided the angry red sigil, feeling a deep aversion in her gut at the thought of it pulsing under her fingers.
He didn’t pull away this time, which she took as a good sign. “Jamie,” she said. “Let me help you.”
He sat up and finally met her gaze. She tried not to gasp. Circles like bruises stood under each eye. His once bright blue eyes were dull and bloodshot. Hopelessness etched his face, his skin so pale it was nearly gray.
“You can’t help me,” he said, his voice thick with tears. “No one can help me. They marked me. I tried to cut it out, but it won’t go.”
He patted his chest. Horrified, Meaghan realized he’d been using the glass shard to try to carve away the sigil located above his heart. The tattered flesh oozed blood, but the sigil remained, like an island rising above a thick red sea.
“Jamie,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “Oh, Jamie.”
“I can hear them,” he said, “whispering in my head, telling me to do bad things. I try to fight, but it blows out of me and hurts someone else. They won’t even let me kill myself. I tried and I can’t. They stop me.”
“Who are they, honey? Do you know?” she asked. “Is it that thing from Fahraya? That thing in your uncle?”
He shook his head. “Worse,” he whispered. “So much worse. They come in my dreams. I try not to sleep, but then I do and they come and they . . .”
He turned away from Meaghan. She felt his body shudder and knew he was weeping again.
“They tell me to hurt her and . . . Oh, God, I did. I hit her and now they want me to kill her and the kids.” He turned and clutched at Meaghan. “Put me down. Blow my head off. Before I hurt them again. Please.”
“No,” Meaghan said. “We can figure this out. We’ll keep them safe. Patrice is with Natalie, and the kids are with Lynette.”
He calmed slightly. “Natalie?”
Meaghan nodded. “And Lynette. And you’re no match for either one. Your family is safe. I promise you I will keep them safe.”
He stared in her eyes for a long moment, then nodded.
“The police are coming,” she said. “Don’t resist in any way. We’ll figure this out.”
He nodded again. Meaghan kissed him on the forehead. He clung to her a moment, like a small child, his body shaking.
“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll handle this.”
Meaghan walked into the living room, raised her hands, and waited. Two police officers entered, guns drawn. In a loud commanding voice, the first cop, middle-aged and stocky, said, “Who else is in the house?”
Meaghan knew she needed to stay relaxed and not add any energy to the situation. “Jamie’s in the kitchen. He’s not violent or resisting. He needs medical attention and a psych evaluation, but he’s calm.”
“Who are you?” The cop still had his gun raised.
“Meaghan Keele, family friend. I was nearby when it happened.”
The officer lowered his gun. He motioned to his companion. “She’s Matthew’s daughter.”
She stepped closer and in a low voice said, “Something bad—magically bad—is happening and he’s scared. The sooner he’s sedated and out of here, the better.”
Both cops nodded and holstered their guns. The first cop pulled a hex bag from inside his shirt, gave it a squeeze, and muttered something.
Meaghan led them into the kitchen. The officers saw the sigils carved into Jamie’s back and winced. Approaching slowly, they spoke in low soothing voices.
The second cop, nearer Jamie’s age, approached Meaghan, eyes wide with shock. He had a receding hairline and a round, plain face. “I went to high school with him. What the hell happened? Is this from the Fahraya thing?”
Meaghan nodded. “Partly. Plus—”
“Some kind of spell, right?”
Meaghan shook her head slightly, taken aback.
Noting her reaction, the cop said, “I’m Brian Cressley. Kady’s my baby sister.”
Meaghan smiled for a moment. “Kady’s a good kid. Yeah, a spell, but nobody can decipher the symbols.”
Brian looked at the shattered windows. “Poltergeist, right?”
Meaghan nodded. “Did Kady tell you what’s going on?”
“No, but I’ve seen it before on domestic calls. Where’s his family?”
“His wife’s around the corner at a friend’s house and the kids are staying somewhere else.” Meaghan noticed Brian’s eyes flicker.
“The friend around the corner,” he said. “Is that Natalie Segretti?”
“Yeah. You know her?”
Brian looked away, blushing. “Big crush on her in high school.” He took a deep breath and got back to business, pulling a small notebook from his shirt pocket. “Wife is Patrice, right? A nurse at the clinic?”
Meaghan nodded.
“Her condition?”
Meaghan hesitated.
“We won’t recommend charges unless she wants us to,” Brian said. “Those things on him are heavy black magic. I can’t even begin to explain that to the district attorney. We’ll look out for Jamie. Don’t worry.”
Meaghan sighed. Normally, cops covering for batterers infuriated her, but this was different. It always was when magic was involved. “She has a black eye and a cut lip, but no serious injuries. Natalie will take care of her. The kids are with another witch, Lynette Coffey. You know her?”
“Yeah, I do,” Brian said with a smile. “She and my mom were best friends. We can
leave social services out of it.”
They heard someone enter the house and a paramedic walked into the kitchen. “Wife’s okay. We checked her out first.” He looked around the room. “What happened?”
“DV with poltergeist,” Brian said. “Bad shit.”
“Magic?” the paramedic asked.
“Yeah.”
The paramedic shook his head in disgust. “Always with the magic.” He spoke into his radio. “Hector, grab the hex bags off the truck.” He clipped the radio onto his belt. “Which one’s the dabbler?”
“Neither,” Brian said. “It’s Jamie Smith. That shit back in June.”
The paramedic grimaced. “I heard about that.”
While the paramedics worked, Brian Cressley tried to control the growing crowd. A friend from the fire department inspected the house and declared, in a loud voice, that it looked like a gas leak. The spectators quickly backed away.
Russ showed up right after the fire inspector. “Go help Natalie,” he said in Meaghan’s ear. “I’ll go with Jamie and make sure we get the right doctors.”
Meaghan nodded, gripped him in tight hug, then walked back to Natalie’s house.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By the next morning, everyone agreed that until they could figure out what was happening to Jamie—given his claims that something was ordering him to kill his family—Patrice and the children needed to be somewhere else.
Patrice, it turned out, wasn’t as rootless as Meaghan had thought. Raised in the foster care system down in Harrisburg, Patrice had stayed in touch with her last set of foster parents. By the time she’d gotten to them, in high school, she was far too cautious to let them take the place of parents in her heart, and wisely they hadn’t forced it. But Patrice looked to them as friends and mentors, and she and the kids were headed down to Tyrone to stay with them until things settled down.
Her eye swollen shut, standing in front of her shattered house beside her packed-up minivan, Patrice looked even smaller than she was and—for the first time since Meaghan had met her—vulnerable.
“Don’t argue with me,” Meaghan said as she handed Patrice a check. “Neither of you can work right now. You don’t need to be worrying about money on top of everything else.”