Crushed (City of Eldrich Book 2) (8 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

M
eaghan stared at
him. “The . . .
who?
Did you say gods? Actual
gods?
”

“Well, that’s what they call themselves, but they are prone to exaggeration.” Owen Finnerty rubbed his small hand over his handsome face. “It doesn’t make them any less dangerous, though. The fair folk are basically energy suckers who can also shift. And they have hefty inborn magical skills to boot. They’re basically what humans think of as elves.” He sighed. “I assume you know what I’m talking about?”

Meaghan still couldn’t keep the names straight, but magical species tended to fall into four broad categories. The first two—informally called shifters and suckers—were inherently magical, but not necessarily practitioners. Shifters could change shape at will, while suckers drained life energy, either psychic or physical. Some of them could contaminate victims and make more of their kind, but those created in this manner held much lower status, being little more than slaves.

The third group were the species created or sustained by magic, like the Fahrayans had been, who didn’t have any special magical abilities. The fourth group, at the bottom of the status pile, didn’t require magic to exist, but had the inborn skills to use it. And among those bottom dwellers, humans who used magic were considered the lowest of the low.

Humans with no magical skills were considered livestock.

By far, the most dangerous of magical species were sucker-shifter hybrids who could also manipulate magic. Like these fair folk.

Meaghan sighed. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about. So they aren’t deities?”

Owen Finnerty snorted. “No. They just think they are. Anytime in the folklore you find an otherwise sensible god acting like a jerk, they were likely involved. You can find examples all over the world.”

“So, how does that work?” Meaghan asked. “They’re the source of human myth? Gods are really energy-sucking shape-shifters?”

Owen shook his head. “No, no. Not at all. The fair folk don’t create the beliefs or even initially personify them. They merely exploit existing belief systems and co-opt their gods. They don’t have enough imagination to come up with it themselves.”

“Believers create their gods?”

“Yeah, to a certain extent. People striving for the divine, trying to put names and faces on something vast, something they can feel, but can’t articulate.” Owen gave her a wistful smile. “Humans do love their stories.”

“And then the fair folk come in—”

“And run it into the ground,” Owen finished for her. “They suck all the wonder out of it and make it a hollow shell of what it was originally.”

“And this happens in every religion?”

He seesawed his small hand in the air. “To some degree. Genuine yearning for the divine is a delicacy for them, because they get so little of it. Either they consume it quickly or it flees from them. Their primary food sources are dogma and judgment and fanaticism. And it’s not always religion. They’ve found some success diversifying into the entertainment industry. Take promising but troubled young kids and turn them into flaming train wrecks. Some survive it and get their lives back. Most don’t.”

Meaghan grimaced. “And the stupid humans eat it up with a spoon.”

“And the fair folk eat that up with another spoon,” Owen said. “Nothing generates fascinated condemnation like a once-loved entertainment idol running amok.”

Meaghan fumbled in her desk for some ibuprofen to quell her soon-to-be-pounding headache. As if things weren’t weird enough, now she was pissing off wannabe gods.

“You mentioned a truce,” she said. “Let me guess. Humanity started fighting back and the fair folk had to call a truce, but didn’t want to go public about it.”

The leprechaun nodded. “Yeah. Being egotistical jerks, they agreed to a truce only if all references to the war in human folklore and history were magically expunged. They didn’t want word getting out that the monkeys stood up to them.”

“Did Matthew negotiate the truce?”

“Yeah, but not as a neutral mediator. He tried to stay above the fray, but the fair folk never trusted him. They couldn’t bewitch him and he could see their true faces. As vain as they are, they hated him for it.”

“Their true faces?” Meaghan leaned back in her chair. She was starting to warm up to Owen Finnerty. She couldn’t imagine ever trusting him, but he was actually answering her questions without all the cryptic hemming and hawing.

“They aren’t much bigger than me and skinny with pointed teeth and ears. And bad skin. They always use a false face. It’s one reason why there’s so many different manifestations of elves in the folklore. They can use magic to make themselves appear any way they wish. Big, little, beautiful, terrifying, whatever.”

“So what about leprechauns? Are all small magical races really these fair folk?”

Owen’s look darkened. “No. The rest of us are slaves. Or were until we started fighting back. In the case of leprechauns, we were their bagmen. Enforcers. We were small and beaten down, and like many abused groups, when we got a little bit of power, we used it to beat down a group even more pitiful than we were. Humans.” He sighed and stared out the window behind her. “We were little shits. Some of us still are.”

“I’m aware,” Meaghan said. “But humans do exactly the same thing.”

“Yeah, I suppose they do. God help the poor bastards at the bottom.”

“They brutalize each other. So, do these fair folk have an actual name?”

Owen nodded. “Yeah, but it requires special vocal cords and it’s like thirty syllables long. Magical types may lack imagination, but they’re big on pretension. It translates as something like ‘the glorious wonders who are better than you.’” He rolled his eyes. “You know. Flaming assholes.”

In spite of herself, Meaghan laughed. “I know the type. So why do these particular flaming assholes want to shove us back to the Bronze Age?”

“The fair folk survive on dogma and blind devotion, right? With a side helping of awe and fearful wonder. They use magic to keep the food flowing. Before the Iron Age, humans had very few defenses against magic. But like you, iron is impervious to magic. Once humans started working iron and began to understand its protective properties, the fair folk had to work harder.” Owen flashed a grim smile. “And humans started changing. They got less susceptible.”

“I thought being impervious was really rare.”

“Well, fully impervious like you, yeah. But, there are degrees.”

Meaghan nodded. “Some people will believe anything. Others are harder to persuade.”

“And there’s more of the second type every day. The Enlightenment dealt them a killing blow, but they don’t know it yet because the pickings are still so good in certain parts of the world. Immortals have a hard time adapting to new conditions. They don’t like change.”

“Yeah, I bet they don’t.” Meaghan leaned back in her chair and gazed out one of the narrow windows that circled her office. City hall was the tallest building in Eldrich and she could see the north end of town and the forest that rose up behind it. Isolated patches of yellow and orange already dotted the thick green canopy.
Winter won’t wait until we get our shit together.
He knows we need help with the Fahrayans, but what’s it gonna
cost?

She turned her gaze back to Owen Finnerty. “The war references that got expunged from my father’s journals—were they destroyed?”

Owen smiled. “They were supposed to be.”

“Which means they’re stored somewhere. I don’t suppose you know where?”

“I do. That’s where the negotiation comes in. The keepers don’t trust me. But if
you
make the case . . .”

“And do these keepers mistrust leprechauns in general or have you given them specific cause?”

Owen fidgeted in his chair and looked away. “Both, I suppose. The keepers have long memories. I stole something from them a long time ago, but I gave it back. No harm done. I don’t see what their problem is.”

“You’re a leprechaun.”

Owen scowled. “That’s racial profiling. Which is a violation of my civil rights.”

Meaghan snorted. “Leprechauns are not a protected class under the law.” She had another Eldrich moment.
I’m arguing civil rights law with a thirty-five-hundred-year-old leprechaun
. The moment passed. “Get over it.”

“You know there was a time when no human would dare mouth off to a leprechaun like that. I do have some powerful magical abilities of my own.”

“To which I’m impervious. So, what do you get out of this? What’s in the journals that you need?”

“The same thing you need. Information. You want to know about the war and whether it has anything to do with what’s happening to Jamie Smith. So do I.”

“Why?”

“Either the fair folk are up to something or there’s a new player in town. Either way, I need to know more. That shit that went down in June in Fahraya made no sense to me.” He stared at her, considering his next words. “And I don’t think it made sense to you. Am I right?”

Meaghan shrugged. “I have questions, yeah. So, assuming I can get Matthew’s missing notes, what are you willing to give in exchange?”

“Resources to help the king care for his people.”

“Which you couldn’t offer directly or the king would snap you in half. He really doesn’t like you guys. He said he has history.”

Owen sighed. “Eamon O’Malley—slimy little sod, even by leprechaun standards—tried to horn in on John’s honey business about ten years ago. Eamon and his moron crew were crawling all over John’s place threatening to smash his hives if he didn’t agree to pay them half his net revenues as protection money. Instead they got chased off by the swarm. I don’t know how John does it, but those bees really like him.”

Meaghan smiled. “Yeah, they do.”

“You really like him, too,” Owen said with a sly smile.

Meaghan’s smile evaporated. “Not a topic you and I are going to discuss. What specific resources are you offering?”

Owen opened the leather folio he’d brought with him and pulled out a spiral-bound report, which he placed on her desk. “My proposal. Resources, deliverables, and timetables.”

Meaghan picked up the report, impressed in spite of herself. It might be bullshit, but it looked good. “I have to confess. I wasn’t expecting something this thorough.”

“I’m a businessman, Ms. Keele. I haven’t been a criminal in quite a while. I make more money legitimately than all my thuggish brethren combined.”

“So, why aren’t they in business with you?”

Owen flashed his perfect smile. “Fear, Ms. Keele. They don’t like change any better than their former masters do. Look through my proposal and I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” He held out his small hand across the desk.

This time Meaghan shook it. “I’m not promising anything here. We have not reached an agreement and no deal has been made.”

He raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “Nice disclaimer. You’ve done your homework. No, I know better than to try to lure an impervious attorney into a leprechaun’s deal. Until we put something in writing, you don’t owe me anything. I can find my way out. Thanks for your time.”

Once he was gone, Meaghan breathed a sigh of relief. Despite her flippant comments to Owen Finnerty, leprechauns scared her. They were sometimes helpful, sometimes malicious—but always unpredictable and often dangerous. Owen Finnerty couldn’t hurt her with magic, but he could hurt everyone around her. The trick of dealing with leprechauns was figuring out which version you were getting and why.

It’s probably some kind of con
, she thought as she opened the report.
Don’t get your hopes up.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

M
oments after Owen
Finnerty’s exit, Kady knocked softly on Meaghan’s office door. “Hey, boss, got a minute?”

Meaghan looked up from the leprechaun’s report. “What’s up?”

Kady walked in and sat down. “That leprechaun guy, he just left—did everything go okay?”

“As far as I can tell. He’s offering help with the Fahrayans.” She gestured at the report. “It might be bullshit. I need to do more research.”

“Speaking of Fahrayans, do you know where Marnie and Jhoro are?”

“What do you mean? Are they missing?”

“Yeah, they seem to be.” Kady looked grim. “Did they stay at your house last night?”

“You know about them?”

Kady rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t? Marnie’s flaunting it all over town.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “What a
slut
.”

Meaghan frowned. Kady wasn’t a gossip and, as far as Meaghan knew, she got along well with Marnie.

Kady seemed surprised as well. She shook her head, as if to clear it. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from. Must be baby hormones or something. Marnie blew off her nursing home clients this morning. She didn’t even call. She loves setting those old ladies’ hair. I can’t imagine her bailing on them without a word unless something was really wrong. When did you see them last?”

Meaghan thought about it for a moment. “Dinner. The last time I saw them was dinner. They left right after in her car. Jhoro’s like a dog. He likes to hang his head out the window while you drive.”

“Did they come back last night?”

Meaghan thought some more. “You know, I have no idea. With all the shit going on with Jamie, I didn’t even notice. Have you talked to Russ?”

Kady nodded. “He was at the hospital all night. They weren’t there when he left to go to Jamie’s or when he got back this morning.”

“What about her place?”

“Not there either. Lynette swung by and checked for me a little while ago. And she’s not answering her cell. Could they have left before you woke up?”

Meaghan thought about it. Had Jhoro’s door been shut when she got home last night? She had been in such a daze she hadn’t even noticed. “I got about ten minutes sleep last night worrying about Jamie. I never really did more than nap. If they were there, they must have been awfully quiet. I assumed he was at her place.”

“If you remember anything, let me know. I’m going to call around some more and see if anybody’s seen them.” Kady got up to leave.

“Don’t worry,” Meaghan said. “I’m sure they’re fine. Marnie’s just a little . . . distracted right now.”

Kady’s eyes narrowed again. “Distracted? Trampy is more like it.”

Before Meaghan could comment, Kady was gone.
What’s got her so pissy?
Maybe it was baby hormones. It certainly wasn’t her normal behavior. Meaghan had never heard Kady say a negative thing about any witch but Emily Procter.

Meaghan yawned deeply. Coffee. She wouldn’t make it through Owen Finnerty’s report without more coffee and nobody had made any this morning. Rather than try to figure out Natalie’s high-end Italian coffeemaker, Meaghan decided to walk over to Eldrich Brew. Her safe little office suddenly felt very lonely without Jamie next door.

With Owen Finnerty’s report tucked under her arm, Meaghan made her way out of city hall and across the town square. The coffee shop was on Washington Street, which ran along the north end of the square, next to the food co-op. Natalie’s coffee-making notwithstanding, Eldrich Brew was usually full of city employees. Without city hall, Sally and Nate, the Brew’s young, tattooed proprietors, would be out of business. Meaghan liked to pop in a few times a week to see everybody and be seen. It was too easy, especially lately, to hide up on the third floor all day.

But the Brew was empty. Meaghan looked at her watch. It was only one thirty. The place was normally winding down the lunch rush by now. Granted, it was the Friday before Labor Day, but she’d never seen it this deserted.

“Finally,” Sally said as Meaghan approached the counter. “I expected it to be slow today, but you’re the first person to walk through the door. Did everybody stay home from work?”

“I guess,” Meaghan said.

“You want lunch? I’ve got plenty of food.”

“Surprise me,” Meaghan said, realizing she was hungry. She held up the report. “And a cup of dark roast before I slip into a coma.”

Sally laughed. “Have a seat and I’ll get your coffee. Nate,” she called through the window back into the tiny kitchen. “Salad special.” She looked back at Meaghan. “Chicken salad, okay?”

“Perfect.” Meaghan sat down at the counter.

Sally set a steaming cup of black coffee and a small pitcher of cream in front of Meaghan. “Hey, I don’t want to pry, but I heard about the thing at Jamie’s house last night? They okay?”

Sally wasn’t magical, but she and Nate were both clued in and knew about Fahraya. Meaghan gave her an abbreviated version, leaving out the domestic violence and glossing over the uglier details of Jamie’s mental state.

“What a shame. I heard a little about the poltergeist stuff. Not surprising considering what he went through over there. So . . . how are the Fahrayans doing?” Sally glanced toward the kitchen, then leaned forward, smiled, and whispered, “How’s Jhoro doing?”

“Um, okay, I guess,” Meaghan said, surprised by the question. Sally had only met him once or twice as far as Meaghan knew. Maybe Marnie had brought him in.

“Speaking of which,” Meaghan continued, “have you seen him or Marnie today?”

Sally scowled. “She’s pathetic the way she follows him around. Like a dog in heat.”

“You don’t like him?”

Sally looked shocked. “Of course I like him. He’s . . . I mean.” Her face grew red. “He’s . . .
him
.”

Meaghan had never seen Sally flustered before. And what was the deal with Jhoro? Sally and Nate were self-described soul mates and clearly in love with each other. And she and Marnie were good friends.
First Kady, now Sally? Has every woman in town lost her mind?
“Sally, have you seen Marnie? No one seems to know where she is.”

Sally stared at the counter, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was. I haven’t seen her since the day before last. What’s the problem?”

“Kady said she blew off her nursing home clients.”

Sally looked up, startled. “She what? She didn’t call or anything?”

Meaghan shook her head.

“She loves those old ladies,” Sally said. “Has anybody tried her cell?”

“Yeah,” Meaghan said. “No answer.”

Nate appeared at Sally’s elbow with a large plate covered in salad greens. “Chicken salad special.” He set the plate down in front of Meaghan and glared at her and Sally. “What are you talking about?”

“Have you seen Marnie today?” Meaghan asked.

“No,” Nate said, his voice sullen. He walked back into the kitchen.

Her voice low, Meaghan asked Sally, “What the hell is going on? What’s up with Mr. Smiley?”

Normally, Nate was as bubbly and effusive as Sally. He exuded goodwill and optimism from every tattooed pore. Meaghan had never seen him unhappy.

Sally rolled her eyes. “I don’t know.” She raised her voice so he could hear her. “Some bug up his ass. Like I care.” She leaned forward, a concerned frown on her face. “Is Jhoro missing too? Please tell me he’s okay.”

“Haven’t seen Mr. Frickin’ Perfect either, thanks for asking,” Nate growled from the kitchen.

Okay, something weird—Eldrich weird—was going on. Trying to sound casual, Meaghan said, “Sally, I’m such a dope. I forgot I have to be somewhere in about ten minutes. Can you wrap this up to go?”

“Sure,” Sally said, a dazed look on her face. “I . . . I’m sorry. It’s been a weird day.”

“There’s a lot of that going on. Sounds like you and Nate could use some time off.”

“Yeah,” Sally said. “I don’t know . . .” She trailed off. Her eyes looked unfocused for a second and then she came back. “Tell you what.” She pulled a piece of plastic wrap off a roll sitting on the prep counter behind her. “I’ll put some plastic over this. Pay me later. And bring the plate back whenever.” She poured Meaghan a fresh to-go cup of coffee. “I think we’re closing up early today.”

“Good idea,” Meaghan said. “Call me if you see Marnie or Jhoro, okay?”

Sally nodded and locked the door behind Meaghan.