Impervious (City of Eldrich Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter 20

T
he remainder of
the work week passed in a blur. Under the guise of reaching out and introducing herself, Meaghan got the scoop on the city’s stalled projects and did what she could to push them along. As the city solicitor, she wasn’t supposed to involve herself in policy decisions or administration of city business. Her job was to advise her clients how to do things within the parameters of the law and to defend the city when they failed to do so. But the story of her confrontation with Emily had swept like a tornado through city hall, and everybody was happy to let Meaghan intervene, even those staffers who weren’t aware of the magical details.

Nobody liked Emily, it seemed.

Emily took the rest of the week off. There was no council meeting scheduled and she may have been planning to take the time anyway. But her absence allowed everyone in the solicitor’s office to breathe a little easier.

Jamie took Tuesday off but was back Wednesday. Other than a black eye, he appeared unscathed. Meaghan asked how he was, he said he was fine, and then he briefed her on his cases and a couple of small things being handled by Hallam and Associates, the city’s outside counsel. No mention was made of the events of Monday beyond a quick mention that Buzz Hallam, the firm’s founder, had grown up in Eldrich, was an old friend of Matthew’s, and understood how things worked.

Natalie and Kady didn’t push either. On Tuesday they told her who was “clued in,” Eldrich code for being aware of the supernatural and otherworldly. Most of the support staff were clued in, but many of the higher level officials were not. Mayor Diebler didn’t “have a clue about anything,” Kady added when Natalie mentioned him. Likewise, none of the council members were aware of Eldrich’s paranormal elements. In Meaghan’s experience, the ability to function in a constant state of denial was something many politicians excelled at, so it didn’t surprise her.

Jamie, Natalie, and Kady all told her they’d be happy to answer any questions she had and then left her alone. Focusing on her legal job, Meaghan let the week slip by without a single question or comment about her strange new world. After that first day of weirdness, work was . . . work. It was normal municipal law. Jamie went to court. Natalie and Kady kept things humming along. Meaghan reviewed contracts and attended meetings.

Bob’s hasty departure had created a backlog that kept her busy enough during each work day that she could almost forget the other part of the job. On Tuesday morning, she thought she would spend the day anxious to get home and dive into Matthew’s files. But by the end of the work day, she couldn’t face them. Instead she watched TV with Russ. She told herself she’d return to Matthew’s files on Saturday. One job at a time.

After one of her usual disjointed dreams—Matthew’s file boxes had grown feet and were chasing her up and down the stairs in city hall—she woke Saturday morning to the sound of voices and laughter in the kitchen. It sounded like several people, not only Russ and Matthew. More of Russ’s food people?
John?

Hating herself for the swoop of giddy excitement she felt at the thought, she climbed out of bed. Go and see, she told herself. If it’s him, then deal with it. Instead of throwing a bathrobe over her pajamas, she pulled on her usual jeans and T-shirt, but not wrinkled ones from the foot of the bed or the top of the hamper. These were clean, from the dresser.

“Oh, girl, you got it bad,” she mumbled. She spritzed some water on her sleep-twisted hair, combed it back into place and resisted the urge to put on makeup—what was she, sixteen? She forced herself to take a measured pace down the stairs. If it was John, he’d likely flee as soon as she got there. Besides, it wasn’t like she wanted to impress him, she tried to convince herself, so no need to make a fuss.

It wasn’t John.

Russ and Matthew sat at the kitchen table with three . . . she hadn’t a clue. They were blue, like Smurfs. Only taller, the size of ten-year-olds maybe. With piggy looking faces and small tusks. And wearing a weird mix of trendy children’s clothes. Gender was indeterminate.

Everyone stopped eating and talking and turned to stare at her.

She stared back. And stared some more.

“I’m going back to bed,” she announced, then turned and walked down the hall and back up the stairs.

About ten minutes later, Russ came up with a mug of coffee and a plate of toast.

On the unmade bed, Meaghan lay curled in a ball, her pillow wrapped around her head. “Friends of yours?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“Yeah, they are friends. Once you get used to the blue skin and the tusks and their unique fashion sense, they’re a lot of fun. I’d have introduced you if you hadn’t run away.”

Meaghan threw the pillow onto the bed and sat up. “Sorry. I . . . it’s . . . sorry,” she stammered. “They’re blue,” she added.

“Yeah,” Russ answered. “We’ve already established that.” He handed her the coffee and set the plate on the table. “Come eat your toast.”

With a sigh, she took the mug and moved to the table. She had to shove aside a pile of files to sit down.

Russ picked his way through the papers and folders covering the floor, stepped over a box, and sat down on the window seat. He surveyed the mess in silence, letting Meaghan drink her coffee and eat a slice of toast.

This was their mother’s old trick, Meaghan realized. Sit quietly, look sad, and wait for somebody to crack.

Not me, she thought, and held firm in her resolve for a good ten seconds before she folded.

“Fine,” she snapped. “It’s a big mess, I know.”

“That’s not the problem,” Russ said, still gazing at the floor. He looked up at her. “The problem is your utter refusal to deal with this. I’ve been talking to Natalie. And Jamie.”

Meaghan felt her face grow hot. “Checking up on me? Enlisting the employees to spy?”

Russ refused to take the bait. “Nope. They called me. They’re concerned. The world blows up on Monday. And then nothing.”

“What were they expecting?” she shot back. “A big show?”

He still refused to react. “No. Questions. We all expected a lot more questions. Any questions at all, in fact, would be an improvement.”

“I’ve been waiting until today. I do have another job you know.” Her face grew hotter. “The one I thought the city hired me to do, remember?”

“Which,” Russ countered, “you can do with your hands tied behind your back and hopping on one foot. Leaving plenty of time to deal with this.” He waved his hand at the scattered files.

“You don’t understand,” she whined. “It’s —”

Russ cut her off. “I don’t understand? I’ve been dealing with this shit for nearly thirty years.”

“But you don’t have . . . the
Destiny
,” she said. “It’s not all riding on your shoulders.”

“It’s not all riding on yours, either. I may not have the special family mojo, but I’m the one who stuck around, who gave Dad a chance,” Russ said, his voice growing louder with each word. “I’m the one who moved back to Eldrich to help with Jamie. I’m the one who’s down there cooking breakfast. Where the hell have you been? Not here. As usual. Dad knew you’d get like this. That you’d pull the all-by-myself martyr routine.”

“Oh, nice,” she shot back. “Nice to know what you both really think of me.”

“Here we go. Poor little Meaghan, all by herself ‘cause Daddy doesn’t love her.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll go tell everybody her Highness can’t deal so the whole universe will have to piss off.”

He tried to storm out of the room while picking his way with care through the strewn files. His feet, not sensing the contradiction, tried to do both at the same time. Russ tripped, did a graceful spin, and then sat down hard on the floor.

The tension broke. Meaghan hopped out of her chair and knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. So much for my grand exit.” He didn’t try to get up. “Seriously, Meg. I shouldn’t have dumped on you like that, but you gotta get your shit together. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

“I know,” she said as she stood up. “And I know that you’ve been doing way more than your share when it comes to Dad.” She held out a hand to him but couldn’t meet his eyes as she helped pull him to his feet. “Are the blue guys still downstairs?”

“Yeah, I’m sure they are,” Russ said. “They’re rotten little gossips, so I can’t imagine they’d want to miss a good fight.”

Meaghan rolled her eyes. “Oh. Wonderful. So everybody’s going to be buzzing about this?”

Russ smiled. “Oh, yeah. Which is why you need to get down there and give them a better story.”

“Is this the hospitality stuff Matthew mentioned in his letter?”

Russ nodded. “The Troon are important. You want them to like you.”

“So the gossip is positive?”

“Yeah. They also serve as translators. Between the worlds. You need them.”

Meaghan pondered this a moment. “Translators? Isn’t there some magical thingy that takes care of it?”

Russ snorted. “Like the Tardis? The babel fish? Space aliens and magical creatures who conveniently speak English?”

Meaghan smiled. “Well, yeah.”

“So, how would that work out for you, Miss Impervious -to-Magic?”

“I didn’t think of that,” she answered. “So, what’s the deal with the . . . what are they called again?”

“Troon.”

“There’s a fancy-pants golf resort in Scottsdale called Troon North,” Meaghan said. “They don’t golf, do they?”

Russ stared at her a moment. Meaghan knew that look. It was the save-me-from-idiots look. “No,” he answered. “They don’t golf.” He thought a moment. “At least as far as I know.”

“So, how did they get the translator job? Some magical ability?”

Russ shook his head. “No. You know how Fahrayans have an extra set of vocal cords?”

Meaghan nodded.

“Well the Troon have like three extra sets. Their language is crazy complex. Everything else is easy for them to learn.” Russ smiled. “And they’re nosy little shits. Like to know everything that’s going on.”

“Nosy?” Meaghan asked. “There are nosy aliens?”

Russ made a face. “Don’t call any of these folks aliens. Major faux pas.”

“So, what do I call them?”

“Call them Troon. That’s what they are. And sure, other species can be nosy. People are people, you know? Even when they’re not.”

Meaghan laughed. “Russ you should have been a litigator. Or a politician. ‘People are people even when they’re not,’” she intoned, trying to imitate his voice.

They laughed for a moment, then Russ got serious.

“Meg, what I said to you, I —”

She cut him off. “Don’t. It’s fine. We’re good.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. As usual you were right.”

Neither spoke for a long moment. Then Meaghan said, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. “What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not good enough?”

Russ put his arms around her and gave her a tight hug, kissed her on the forehead, and stepped away. “You’re good enough. You may even be better than Dad was. But you won’t know unless you try. If you don’t at least try, then failure’s a sure thing.”

Meaghan nodded, her eyes full of tears. She sniffled. “Well, I’m certainly better than Matthew at crying all the time.”

Russ shook his head, smiling. “So, you have to stop kicking ass once in a while to blow your nose. Big deal. I’ll go down to the kitchen first and tell them you’re on your way. Fix yourself up and then make a grand entrance. Throw around some charm and the Troon will love you.”

Chapter 21

R
uss was right.
With a big smile and some self-deprecating comments about not being a morning person, Meaghan rehabilitated her image. After a cup of coffee and some more breakfast, the Troon—Wally, Sid, and Melanie—were her new best friends. Based on their names, the Troon had distinct genders, but Meaghan was damned if she could see the difference between them.

Russ was also right about them being a lot of fun. The three Troon specialized in human languages, particularly English, and Wally and Sid, at least, were enamored with American pop culture. The third, Melanie, was very quiet through breakfast, following the conversation but not participating in it.

Wally and Sid had flawless American accents. And they were wickedly funny, with a biting, catty sense of humor. In spite of herself, Meaghan was in stitches. If she’d been led into the room blindfolded, she would have sworn she was sitting at a table with a pair of bitchy drag queens channeling Joan Rivers.

Matthew had wandered off for a nap. He seemed to be sleeping a lot more lately, but, according to Russ, he was calmer and happier than he’d been in quite a while. As much as Meaghan wanted to talk to him, she wanted to talk to a version of him that hadn’t existed in several years.

The Troons’ pop culture talk lasted about half an hour until Wally, the older one, got down to business.

“So, Meg, darling,” Wally oozed, “we hear Witchiepoo Procter’s been a very bad girl. Taking amulets that don’t belong to her. Using borrowed magic.”

Meaghan frowned. “Borrowed magic? Natalie did say Emily was a lot stronger than usual.”

Sid—who liked his coffee black with a lot of sugar—jumped in. “She was juiced big time. But we don’t know where she got it from. Yet.” He threw back the rest of his coffee. He had a wild over-caffeinated gleam in his small orange eyes. “Jamie’s such a sweetie. Why would she want to do that to him? But on the plus side, we hear you got an eyeful.” He let out a wicked cackle. “And there was a lot to see.”

Wally sat back and surveyed the laughing Troon. “Sid, what did I tell you about the coffee? Shut up and let me tell the story.”

Sid snorted with laughter and gestured dramatically towards Wally. “Fine, your Naginess. Sorry to steal your thunder. Proceed.” Sid leaned back in his chair and winked at Meaghan.

“Yes, borrowed magic,” Wally continued. “She had some help. Natalie says—”

Sid jumped in again. “Ooh, I love Natalie. She’s a firecracker.”

Wally glared at him. “As I was saying, Natalie told me she could feel something big. Bad. Evil.” Wally rolled the word “evil” across his tongue like a fine Bordeaux. “New player. Nat swears on it.”

“New player?” Meaghan asked.

Wally nodded. “Partly at least. She also smelled . . .” He paused for dramatic effect. “The Order.”

Now it was Russ’s turn to frown. “The Order? Who the hell are they?”

Sid answered him before Wally could speak. “Russell, honey, you don’t know about the Order? You’ve been around almost as long as they have.”

Russ shrugged. “I’m only the caterer, remember? If I don’t feed them, I don’t know them.”

“Well,” Sid said. “Then you are never gonna know those freaks. They don’t eat.”

Wally sighed. “They do so eat.”

Sid snorted. “Bugs. Sticks. Mud. Nothing good. Not like Russy makes.”

Wally sighed again, louder this time. “Would you shut up already and let me tell Meaghan the story? Without interruption?”

Sid threw his hands up, sat back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest. “Fine, Mr. Thinks He’s in Charge but Isn’t Really.”

Wally ignored him and continued. “The Order are wizards for hire. They have this crazy code they live by. Big time ascetic types. No possessions, barely any food, constant magical training. Gung. Ho.” Wally leaned forward and lowered his voice as if sharing a shameful secret. “And, they don’t believe women should do magic.”

Russ winced like he’d been slapped. “
What?
Women have always done magic. Where do these whack jobs come from?”

“From here, if you can believe it.” Wally shook his head in disbelief. “They’re human.”

“So,” Meaghan said. “What’s their deal? If they don’t believe women should do magic, why did they help Emily?”

“Good question. Must have been for a job. The mystery evildoer Natalie sensed.”

“How long have they been around?”

“Not more than twenty or thirty years,” Wally said. “That’s like being a newborn by magical standards.”

“Has Matthew dealt with them?” Meaghan asked.

Wally shrugged. “No idea.”

“Wait,” Russ said. “They aren’t those half-starved guys in the gray robes, are they?”

Wally nodded. “That’s them.”

Russ groaned. “Oh, not them. They’re complete assholes. Dad had to deal with them once about ten years ago.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “They have actual power? Dad thought they were just wannabes.”

The third Troon, Melanie, who had been silent throughout the meal, joined the conversation. “Emily Proctor isn’t the only one operating on borrowed magic. The Order have found a patron, it seems.” Unlike the So-Cal teenage inflections adopted by Sid and Wally, Melanie spoke with an upper crust British accent. She didn’t appear any more female, or male for that matter, than the other two.

“The big bad thing Natalie sensed?” Meaghan asked.

“Yes. It appears so.” Melanie shook her small blue head. “The Order are zealots. Without much power, they were merely tiresome. But with real magical ability . . .” She stared into space for a long moment, then shivered.

Meaghan broke into her silence. “Zealots about what? Besides not eating. And let me guess. They aren’t fond of women.”

Melanie sighed. “Purity. They’re zealots about magical purity. Or so they claim. And while they aren’t fond of anyone, they have a special lack of regard for women. Misogyny, I believe, is the technical term.”

Russ broke in. “But how can they do magic and hate women? Magic requires a strong flow of feminine energy to work right. To do it safely, you have to draw yin power from the earth. At least that’s what Natalie always says.”

“What power?” Meaghan asked.

“Yin and yang, you know, the Chinese concept?”

Meaghan gave him a blank look.

Russ rolled his eyes. “You know, the black-and-white circle thingy? The duality of the universe? Hot and cold? Light and dark? Earth and sky?”

“Yeah, Russ, I’m not an idiot,” Meaghan said. “I’m familiar with the concept in a general way, but I don’t understand how it applies here. A week ago, I didn’t even know magic existed. Give me the dummies version.”

Russ sighed. “A lot of people think yin and yang are opposites. But they aren’t. They’re complementary halves required to make a whole. Yin is considered feminine, dark, cool, rising from the earth to the sky. Yang is the masculine, bright, hot, flowing from the sky down to the earth.”

“So, wait,” Meaghan said. “The Chinese invented magic?”

Russ shook his head. “No, no. Well, some of the ways to use it, yeah. But nobody invented magic, it’s just there. The yin and yang concept just works really well to explain it.”

Melanie joined in. “Think sprouting seeds and sunshine. The earth is warmed by the sun, which causes the seeds to sprout. The shoots push up through the earth and convert sunshine into energy for more growth. Seeds without sun lie dormant. Sun without seeds results in barren desert.”

“So then how does magic get by only with yin?” Meaghan asked, confused.

“It doesn’t,” Russ said. “It uses both. But without the yin grounding, the magic gets too heavy on the yang side. Too hot. A lot of power but no control. Think lightning. Awe inducing but deadly, unless it’s properly grounded.”

“So magic is like electricity?”

Russ thought about it a moment. “Yeah, it kind of is. And electricity can give you light and cook your food or it can kill you.”

Meaghan nodded. “So, you need the yin, but without the yang, magic has to be kind of weak, right?”

“Not weak,” Melanie said. “Think lightning bolt versus household current. Both are flows of electricity. Both powerful, but in very different ways. Yin magic is more subtle and slow to work, but much easier to control. And remember yin and yang qualities exist in everything in varying degrees. Complementary, rather than contradictory. Yang magic tends to come more naturally to men. They can do yin magic, but generally require training. Conversely, most women must be taught yang magic, but they’re naturals at the yin.”

Russ jumped in. “And, unfortunately for men, the yin is the side you need to master first so you don’t blow yourself up.”

“Huh. Natalie said it was because boys with talent are scared off by their mother’s crazy friends and decide to go out for sports instead,” Meaghan said. “How does that work?”

“Mom puts a grounding spell on him until he’s past the worst of puberty and the raw power fades and she only trains her daughter,” Russ replied. “Or somebody else’s daughter. Which means more women than men end up being practitioners because the yin side doesn’t need yang as much as the yang side needs yin.” He shook his head. “Saying that made me kind of dizzy. Did it make any sense?”

Melanie smiled at him for a long moment, then reached out and squeezed his hand. “Yes, it did. And that’s what frightens men drawn to groups like the Order.”

“Great,” Meaghan said. “So the Order’s like the Taliban of magic?”

Sid, unable to stay silent a moment longer, piped in with “The Taliwho?”

Wally gave Sid another look, shook his head, and hopped down off his chair to refill his coffee cup.

“Taliban. Human politics,” Melanie said, in a soothing voice. “On the other side of this world.”

Sid nodded, without comment. He deferred to Melanie, Meaghan noticed, in a way he didn’t defer to Wally. Was it a gender thing? Women were the boss among the Troon?

Melanie returned to her conversation with Meaghan. “The Order shares the Taliban’s zealotry and intolerance. Different ideology but the same fear.”

Meaghan nodded. “It’s hardly a new phenomenon, men fearing women to the point of hate.”

Wally worked his way around the table refilling everyone’s coffee cup, except for Sid’s. “They don’t like Troon, either,” he added.

“Only female Troon or all of you?” Meaghan asked.

Everyone but Meaghan burst out laughing. “Did I say something wrong?”

Melanie smiled at her. “We’re simply Troon. We’re neither male nor female. Or more accurately, we’re both.”

Sid cackled again. “Imagine what the Order thinks of
us
 . . .”

“I’d better read Matthew’s journals,” Meaghan said.