Crushed (City of Eldrich Book 2)

by Laura Kirwan

  Meaghan, Annie, and Sid yanked her back down.

  “You need to stay here. I’ll go,” Sid said. “So at least he’ll have a voice if he needs it. Plus, I’m the only one here besides Marnie who’s actually slept with him.”

  “You what?” Natalie lunged at Sid as Meaghan and Annie tried to hold her back.

  Before she could reach him, Sid was on his feet. He stuck out his blue tongue at Natalie, then grinned and ran after the mob.

  “I’m going, too,” Natalie snarled as she tried to wriggle out of their grasp. She hissed something at Annie, and Annie was thrown back several feet.

  Meaghan smacked Natalie hard across the face. “Knock it off. You promised me you’d keep it together. Annie, you okay?”

  “Fine,” Annie said with a groan. “Mostly fine.”

  Natalie shook her head, hand on her cheek. “Ow. That hurt. You can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that?”

  “You told me to hit you if you got stupid again. Is your head clear?”

  “I didn’t think you’d really do it. Yes, thank you, my head is clear,” Natalie said petulantly. “Bitch.”

  The wizards were moving across the street and into the square calling to each other.

  Looking for us, Meaghan thought. “We’re not getting in that way.” She shuddered. “Back to Iron Street. We’re taking the tunnel.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Meaghan, followed by Natalie and Annie, crept back up Main Street, hoping none of the wizards saw them.

  When they hit Iron, they ran, trying to stay on grass to muffle their footsteps. The decorative lamp posts on the street, similar to the ones outside city hall, cast a feeble glow that created shadows but no useful illumination.

  The historical society house sat at the end of the second block. With its ornate trim and cheerful yellow paint, in daylight it looked like a lemon frosted wedding cake.

  At night, in the dim shadowy light of the street lamps, the sunny clapboards were bled gray. The ornate structure loomed in the darkness, hulking over the smaller houses that surrounded it, like a child’s nightmare.

  And it’s only gonna get worse, Meaghan thought, with a shiver. Better a haunted mansion than a dark cramped tunnel.

  They stepped onto the shadowy porch.

  “Well, it’s about goddamn time,” a male voice said from the darkness.

  The three women screeched in unison.

  Owen Finnerty stepped into view.

  Hand over her pounding heart, Meaghan said, “You scared the shit out of me, you little bastard. What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you. What took you so long?”

  “You’re supposed to be with Edna.”

  Owen gestured dismissively. “Edna’s fine. Sound asleep, probably having X-rated dreams about Blondie. Where is everybody?”

  Natalie grabbed Meaghan’s arm. “We need to have this conversation inside. Anybody got a key?”

  “It’s open,” Owen said. “I took a look around while I was waiting. Come on.”

  Once inside, with the door locked behind them, Meaghan and Annie slumped to the ground. Natalie stood near the front window, putting up a protection spell and watching the street.

  “I’m too old for this shit,” Meaghan announced, lying on the hallway floor.

  “Me too,” Annie said.

  Owen snorted. “I’m a hundred times older than both of you and you don’t hear me complaining.”

  “That’s because you haven’t done anything yet,” Meaghan said. She pulled herself into a sitting position.

  “Because I’ve been waiting for you. Where the hell is everybody?”

  “Brian, Ruth, and Eliot are on their way to the hospital in Williamsport,” Annie said, “and—”

  “Hospital? What happened?”

  From over by the window, Natalie said, “A wizard blew up. After he crashed a police car into the garage.”

  “But—”

  “Long story,” Meaghan said. “We’ll fill in the details later. Eliot got a chunk of steel through his thigh and Brian and Ruth are civilians so I got them out of here. John and Russ are locked away safely, and Jhoro and Sid ran off into the darkness a few minutes ago to draw the mob away from the square.”

  “And we’re going to get into city hall through the secret entrance in the basement,” Annie added.

  “That’s what I thought,” Owen said. “The Order’s brought in reinforcements. You aren’t getting in the regular way.” He paused, then sighed. “And you’ve seen the mob. That’s got potential to get really bad. They’re building—”

  “A bonfire to burn Marnie on,” Meaghan said. “Yeah, we saw it.”

  “Not for her,” Owen said. “I did some eavesdropping. It’s for Red here.”

  “Me?” Natalie stomped over from the window. “Why me?”

  “Because you’ve got the most power. And Meaghan relies on you so much. And because . . . they know about Matthew and your mom.”

  Even in the dim light, Meaghan could see Natalie flinch.

  “What about Matthew? What are you talking about?” Annie looked back and forth at the others. After a moment, understanding dawned on her face. “Oh. So that’s why Russ kept calling you sis. Which, now that I think about it, isn’t really surprising considering how much time Matthew and Vivian spent together. Why should the Order care about that?”

  Meaghan looked at Owen. “It’s the impervious witch thing, isn’t it?”

  “Well, partly,” Owen said. “But it’s more about the prophecy.”

  Natalie sank onto the stairs, her face in her hands, and moaned. “Oh, God, that is what it means. They told me it didn’t mean me, but who else could it be?”

  Meaghan threw up her hands. “What prophecy? Will somebody tell me what the hell this is all about?” She could feel a rant building. Suddenly furious, she didn’t try to suppress it. “Why all the secrets? Everybody keeps telling me how powerful I am and how I’m even better at the job than Matthew and how scared the magical bad guys are, but you’re all still hiding shit from me.”

  Annie, in a meek voice, said, “I’m not hiding anything. I don’t know what they’re talking about either. Unless . . .”

  Meaghan glared at her. “Unless what?”

  Annie wilted. “Nothing. Thinking out loud. Never mind.”

  Meaghan turned on Natalie. Part of her mind registered how terrified Natalie was at the moment, but the fuse had been lit and Meaghan couldn’t hold herself back. “Does Russ know about this? Is he still lying to me? Or is it only you? It’s pretty fucking pathetic that the only one who’s been straight with me is a damn leprechaun.”

  Natalie, eyes wide with fear, backed away, shaking.

  “Leave her alone,” Owen said, anger in his voice. “Your brother doesn’t know about the prophecy. Your sister has had to carry this particular bucket of shit all by herself. And maybe if you hadn’t been off in Arizona all those years feeling sorry for yourself because daddy went away and pissing on Matthew every time he tried to reach out to you, all of this wouldn’t be such a surprise now.”

  Owen’s angry words quenched her fury like a bucket of water thrown on a fire. Meaghan tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The stress of the last few hours—the last few months—hit her like a sledge hammer. The room started to whirl. Her breath hitched in her lungs and her heart pounded in her chest, anger replaced with gut-twisting fear.

  She hadn’t been this scared since Fahraya, since her first encounter with the Power, when all she’d wanted to do was turn and flee. Meaghan wanted, desperately, to be anywhere but here.

  Because Owen was right, everything he’d said was right. She’d pushed her father away and now everyone she loved was going to pay for it.

  Like Jamie had already paid for it.

  His face, the one from her nightmare, battered and bloody, rose up in her mind, his dead lips whispering in reproach. You promised you’d save me, but you let me die. You failed. This is your fault.


  And then a new image appeared in her mind’s eye. Natalie, screaming in agony as flames engulfed her. Meaghan’s heart pounded harder in her chest, and her legs gave way. She dropped onto the staircase behind her, clutched her knees, and curled into a ball.

  They were all going to die. Jamie, Natalie, Russ, John—the people she loved were going to die because she was weak. Because she couldn’t stop crying. Because she had failed.

  “Meg,” she heard Owen say in a gentle voice, as a small hand touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry. That was harsh. What do we—”

  She pulled away from him and shook her head. “You don’t get it. I don’t know . . .” Her voice rose. “I don’t . . .”

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, her calm, rational self tried to regain control, but it was too late. The wave of guilt and self-loathing swept over her, followed by the hated tears.

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. People are getting hurt,” she gasped through her sobs. “People will die and you all keep looking at me like I have the answers. I don’t have any power and I don’t have any answers and I can’t stop crying and everybody’s keeping secrets from me because nobody can tell me what’s really going on because I’m such a fuck-up they don’t dare.”

  Meaghan felt arms around her. Natalie, it was Natalie. Meaghan tried to pull away, but Natalie held her tight.

  “I know,” Natalie murmured in her ear. “I feel the same way all the time. You’re not a fuck-up. Not even close.”

  Meaghan resisted for a moment longer, then let go. Aching from injuries old and new, exhausted from weeks of broken sleep, Meaghan clung to her newly discovered sister and let the tears flow.

  After a minute or so, Meaghan felt the storm begin to pass. She realized for the first time that Natalie was crying, too.

  “I think maybe I need to talk to somebody,” Meaghan whispered in Natalie’s ear. “A professional. About Fahraya. About all of this.”

  “Ya think?” Natalie squeezed her tighter. “You’re as messed up as Jamie, only without the special effects.”

  “You’re squishing my ribs,” Meaghan said, “and I need to blow my nose.”

  “I know,” Natalie said, releasing her grip. “I can hear it bubbling.”

  Meaghan gave a weak laugh. “Hang on.” She dug a raggedy tissue out of her pocket. One tentative blow and the tissue disintegrated.

  “Here.” Annie appeared at her elbow with a roll of toilet paper. “I’m making tea back in the break room. We need a time-out.”

  Meaghan and Natalie rose to their feet and pulled Annie into a hug. There was more crying, this time including Annie, but it was punctuated with the occasional giggle.

  “Oh, my God,” Owen said. “Are we done yet? Or are we waiting for Oprah and Dr. Phil to arrive?”

  “Shut up,” Meaghan and Natalie said in unison. This made them laugh again.

  “Humans,” Owen said in withering tone that didn’t match the look of relief on his face. “You live five minutes and waste four of them crying.”

  This time, Meaghan ignored him. She blew her nose again. “Come on. I need that cup of tea.”

  “I found cookies, too,” Annie said. “Those fancy chocolate-covered, foo-foo Pepperidge Farm ones.”

  “Even better,” Meaghan said. “And while we have our tea, Owen’s going to tell me all about this prophecy.” She glared at him. “Right?”

  “The world is about to end, and she wants to have a tea party.” He shook his head. “Humans.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Annie had also found an apple and some cheese, which she’d cut up and placed on a paper plate. She’d even fanned out the apple slices to make them look nice. Meaghan smiled when she saw it. Annie and Russ really were perfect for each other.

  The small room had no windows, so they could actually turn on the lights instead of stumbling around in the dim light from the street.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Owen growled.

  Meaghan, calm again, handed him the plate of cookies. Her eyes and nose were still leaking a bit, but the fear was gone. At least for now. “Shut up. We mortals need to recharge for a few minutes here and there, and you need to tell me more about this prophecy.”

  “I thought you wanted me to shut up.”

  “Don’t be difficult. Have a cookie.”

  Owen sipped the mug of tea Annie had handed him and munched on a mint Milano. “It’s a long story, so understand this is going to be an abridged version, and if I don’t tell you everything, it’s not because I’m lying, but because we have other stuff to do so the world doesn’t end.”

  “I understand,” Meaghan said, nibbling on a slice of cheddar. “Abridged is fine.”

  “I guess the easiest place to start is telling you where the prophecy came from. Have you ever wondered about the irony of this town being called Eldrich?”

  “What irony?” Meaghan asked. “It’s named after the guy who founded it.”

  “Yeah, but the other meaning, the i-t-c-h spelling.”

  Meaghan shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Owen frowned at her. “What sort of stuff do you like to read?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “You read any horror, fantasy, that kind of stuff? Any Lovecraft?”

  Meaghan wrinkled her nose. “Bleh. I had a friend in college into all that crap. He convinced me to read a Lovecraft story, but it was so overwrought and racist I couldn’t finish it.”

  “So, let me guess,” Owen said. “You prefer realism.”

  “I prefer nonfiction. How is this an abridged version?”

  Owen rolled his eyes. “Lovecraft used the word eldritch—i-t-c-h—a lot in his stories.”

  “It means eerie, spooky, sinister, that kind of thing,” Natalie said.

  “Okay.” Meaghan nodded. “I get the irony now. But what does that have to do with this prophecy?”

  “I’m getting to that. Using the word eldritch to mean spooky is from the early sixteenth century. Scottish. Some linguists think the derivation comes from ‘elf’ but it doesn’t. It comes from a name.”

  Meaghan’s eyes widened. “Eldrich. Our boy Welland had a spooky ancestor?”

  “He had many. But it was Alastair Eldrich, his great, great—” Owen stopped to count on his fingers. “I don’t know, a lot of greats, grandfather who wrote down the prophecy.”

  “Made it up, you mean,” Meaghan said.

  “No, had brain-pounding, insanity-producing visions that he put down on paper before he set himself on fire in the village square with a jug of whiskey and a lit taper, screaming ‘thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’”

  Meaghan set her mug down with a grimace. “Ouch. How do you know about this?”

  “I was there,” Owen said. “I’m the one who shoved him in a horse trough to put out the flames. Too late, of course. Nobody had the medical knowledge back then to deal with burns like that. And no opiate painkillers. I tried to help him when nobody else would go near him, but after a few hours of listening to his moans, I put a pillow over his face.”

  Natalie gasped. “You killed him?”

  Owen shook his head. “He was as good as dead. All I did was put him out of his misery.”

  Meaghan, her horror overruled by hunger, reached for a chocolate-covered cookie. “Is that the thing you did that got you in trouble?”

  “No.” Owen shook his head. “That was something else. But it was why I was living in Scotland in the late fifteenth century posing as a human dwarf instead of living as a leprechaun.”

  “You got banished,” Meaghan said.

  Owen seesawed his hand in the air. “Sort of.”

  “For stealing something, right?”

  Owen nodded. “Yeah, but I gave it back. So no harm done.”

  Meaghan gave him the sheepdog stare.

  “Fine, not much harm done. I’ll tell you that story another time. When we aren’t fighting a horde of asshole wizards
. I thought you wanted to hear about the prophecy.”

  “I do. Was Alastair crazy before all this happened?” Annie asked.

  “No . . . well, not that crazy. But the Eldrich family all had something odd about them. They knew things, felt things. Alastair, especially.”

  “They were psychic?” Meaghan reached for another cookie.

  “Psychic plus,” Owen said. “The use of their name to describe something spooky started before Alastair, but he’s the one who made it stick. There was occasional grumbling about witchcraft, but, fortunately, they didn’t live in the Highlands. They were a lowlands family with English ties and wealth and land so nobody got burnt. Until Alastair, that is.”

  “They never went after those people,” Natalie said. “Only the poor and friendless. Little old ladies who knew about herbs, that kind of stuff.”

  “Yeah.” Owen nodded. “And who didn’t have any power. Real witches only got burnt if other witches—”

  “Or wizards,” Natalie added, shoving away her mug and half-eaten cookie.

  “Or wizards,” Owen repeated, “were involved.”

  “Like right now,” Natalie said. “Please don’t let them do that to me. If it comes to it, shoot me or something. I . . .” She shuddered. “Not fire.”

  “Nobody’s shooting anybody,” Meaghan said. “And nobody’s burning anybody either. Not in my town. So, what’s this prophecy gotta do with Natalie? Or with me? Or Jamie? Finn mentioned the prophecy in relation to both me and Jamie.”

  “Well, the thing is a big rambling mess, as you can imagine. No tidy Nostradamus-like quatrains for Alastair.”

  “Don’t tell me Nostradamus was for real.” Meaghan snorted. “You can make that vague crap mean anything you want it to.”

  Owen laughed and shook his head. “No. Nostradamus was a total bullshit artist. If he were still alive, he’d be laughing all the way to the bank. Honestly, humans will believe anything.”

  Meaghan raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, not all humans,” Owen said. “I know, you’re a lawyer, you don’t trust anybody, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Tell me what Alastair’s prophecy says,” Meaghan said.