Gods and Swindlers (City of Eldrich Book 3) Read online

  Copyright © 2015 Laura Kirwan

  Published by Burnt Barn Press, Phoenix, Arizona

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or places is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by James T. Egan of Bookfly Design

  eBook formatting by Maureen Cutajar of Go Published

  Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9913023-4-5

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Acknowledgements

  A Note to Readers

  Chapter One

  London, Anno Domini 1098

  THE CLOAKED MAN strode through the dark town. At this time of night thieves and cutthroats roamed freely, but the man had no fear. Although not a wizard, he was a gifted conjurer, skillful with certain smaller magics. If he couldn’t conjure away a hazardous encounter, odds were good he could talk his way out of it. Failing that, he had his dagger. Even with only average physical gifts, centuries of practice had made him lethal when the occasion demanded it.

  He pulled his cloak closer. Down by the river, the mist grew thick, the dampness sinking into his bones, and he suspected he’d have a long wait. His cousin’s behavior had grown even more erratic of late. He knew, despite wanting to believe otherwise, that their long association was at an end. One last caper, one last magic sword, and then he planned to gather his earnings, retire from swindling, and head south.

  Somewhere warm. The south of France perhaps, or Spain. Maybe Constantinople . . .

  Lost in dreams of sunshine and leisure, the cloaked man was oblivious to the small figure stepping from the shadows.

  “You know—” the figure said.

  The cloaked man, startled from his reverie, groped for his dagger.

  “You should never let a leprechaun sneak up on you.” The small figure threw back his hood. “We’re nefarious little bastards.”

  The cloaked man relaxed. “No, my friend, you’re a nefarious little bastard. Most of your brethren lack the imagination for anything but average wrongdoing. And you’re the only one in the worlds who can sneak up on me.”

  “Good thing I’m on your side.” The leprechaun chuckled, then grew serious. “Where is he?”

  The cloaked man sighed. “Where do you think?”

  Now the leprechaun sighed. “In his cups, telling tales of past glory. If he keeps this up, they’ll burn him for a heretic.”

  “He and my father both,” the cloaked man said. “The age of the northern gods is over. It’s time to move on.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s time to get out of the magic sword and magic ring business and into something more modern. Sacred relics, perhaps.”

  The leprechaun nodded, pondering the cloaked man’s words. “With a convincing story and a little magical dazzle, some people will believe anything. Particularly when a god is involved.”

  “Indeed. Plus, relics are easier to manufacture and transport. Add gullible and greedy buyers . . .”

  “I like it. But what about him? How does he fit into this?”

  The cloaked man sighed. “He doesn’t. His work hasn’t suffered yet, but it will. Provided he doesn’t end up on a pyre.”

  “You don’t mean that,” the leprechaun said. “We can’t abandon him. His leg—”

  “Is an old wound and a convenient excuse. The drink is destroying him and I won’t let it destroy us, too.”

  “Us? Is she—”

  “She’s at her breaking point.”

  “If you both leave, it will kill him.” The leprechaun shook his head. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Not in the least. I hate myself for even considering it. But if he’s intent on drowning himself in mead, should we let him drag us under with him? Should our loyalty to him make our lives forfeit, too?”

  The leprechaun stared at his small feet for a long moment. “No. I suppose not.”

  Neither spoke for several breaths.

  A decision made, the leprechaun broke the silence. “About the relics—did you know it’s not only lone fools? I’ve heard that whole towns are banding together to get them.” The leprechaun chuckled. “They crow about stealing well-known relics from other towns to entice pilgrims and their gold.”

  The cloaked man smiled. “Because a relic somebody would willingly sell is not worth having?”

  The leprechaun nodded, a wide grin on his handsome face. “And not being thieves themselves—”

  “They’re willing to pay well to procure such services.” The cloaked man nodded.

  “So, if we create a convincing relic, goosed with a little magic—”

  “We can—guided only by our piety—reluctantly sell it to one town and get paid to steal it for another.” The cloaked man laughed. “You nefarious little bastard.”

  “And we know a certain woman with lovely golden hair who might have reason to disguise herself—”

  In his excitement, the cloaked man had forgotten his dreams of retirement. “As a saintly woman who has shorn her hair to prove her modesty and humility—”

  The leprechaun nodded. “Giving us several feet of lovely golden hair—”

  “To cut into locks from the Virgin Mother’s head. Pilgrims love holy hair.”

  “Giving us an easy way to earn enough coin to eat well whilst we set up something grander for ourselves.”

  “Much grander,” said the cloaked man. “We could get paid at least three times on one relic if we steal it back from the town we stole it for. Or even more, depending on how many times we can steal it before they grow wise . . .”

  They basked for a moment in the glow of their scheme. Then the cloaked man thought of his cousin, the kinsman he had decided to leave behind, and felt a stab of guilt. But there
was no alternative. For his own sake, for her sake, and for his cousin’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the drunken lout turned his frustrations upon his wife, only a matter of time before he lost what meager control he had over his magical gift and it destroyed them both.

  “Do we wait for him any longer?” the leprechaun asked.

  The cloaked man shook his head. “No. She’s waiting with the cart. At the church near the bridge. The one place she knows he won’t be.”

  The leprechaun’s eyes widened. “You’re already packed? You’re really serious about this.”

  The cloaked man nodded. “I am.”

  “But what about tonight? We have a sword to deliver.”

  The cloaked man gestured around them. “Do you see a sword? The drunken fool still has it. I don’t relish walking in there empty-handed. This buyer won’t hesitate to cut us down with one of his many less-than-magical swords if he thinks we’re trying to cheat him.”

  “I guess we can’t sell a sword we don’t have. Not to this buyer.” The leprechaun shuddered. “Better we disappear. But I have a few things to do before I can leave.”

  “We were thinking about heading south.” The cloaked man sighed. “To be truthful, I was thinking about heading south. She wants to go north.”

  The leprechaun nodded. “Which means you’re going north. Norwich?

  The cloaked man nodded.

  “I’ll find you,” the leprechaun said.

  “You always do.” With a final smile, the cloaked man turned and disappeared into the fog.

  Chapter Two

  “HOW CAN YOU ask me that?” Meaghan held out the thick blue-rimmed glass as Elena poured. “Of course, I want another margarita. What a ridiculous question.”

  Elena flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “Silly me. But you still haven’t answered my other question. Why are you here?”

  Meaghan watched the setting sun paint the western sky red. It wouldn’t last long—sunsets in Arizona never did—but for the moment, the view from Elena’s deck was spectacular.

  “I wanted to see you,” Meaghan said. “It’s been a while.”

  Elena nodded. “Yes. It has. I’m thrilled you’re here, but I come back from Portland—”

  “I’m sorry about you and Dennis,” Meaghan said.

  “Thank you. We have a very successful divorce, much more successful than our marriage, and you’re trying to change the subject.” Elena scrutinized Meaghan over the edge of her margarita glass. “I come back and hear you’ve lost your job, sold your house, and blown town without telling anybody.”

  “I told people,” Meaghan said.

  “You mean besides your real estate agent?”

  “I told plenty of people.”

  “You didn’t tell me. Or my mom.”

  Meaghan fidgeted in her chair, fighting back the tears that had grown even more frequent since Labor Day. It had gotten so bad, she could barely get out of bed some mornings. February in Arizona and February in northern Pennsylvania were not remotely similar. The moment her plane had touched down at Sky Harbor, she’d felt better. Actually, she’d felt better the moment the puddle jumper from Williamsport to Philly had broken through the ever-present cloud cover to reveal sunshine and blue sky.

  Elena waited patiently for Meaghan to respond. Elena had been Meaghan’s best friend since Meaghan had arrived in Phoenix as a child. Meaghan knew that Elena would slowly, but inexorably, push, like lava flowing across the land, until Meaghan told her what was going on.

  But how much could she tell her? Really tell her? About Eldrich, about her new life . . .

  “It all happened so fast,” Meaghan said. “I barely had time to register what was going on before I was there starting the new job.”

  “And they have no phones in this town? Is that why you show up on my doorstep without a word in advance?”

  “I . . . yes.” And now the tears did flow, because Meaghan desperately wanted to talk to Elena about everything, especially the paranormal and magical crap, but knew she couldn’t.

  Elena nodded and patted her hand. “I’ll get the tissues. Drink your tequila like a good girl until I get back.”

  Meaghan snorted a giggle through her tears. Elena knew her so well. She dug a rumpled tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose, then a fresh wave of tears swept over her.

  She’s my best friend and I can’t tell her what’s going on.

  But Meaghan knew that was bullshit the moment she thought it. The magic is only part of it, her calm, rational voice told her. The magic isn’t what made you run away from John. The magic isn’t what’s causing the nightmares.

  Elena returned with a box of tissues and a full dinner plate.

  “What’s that?” Meaghan asked, sniffling.

  “Cheese enchiladas.”

  Meaghan’s stomach rumbled, her tears forgotten for the moment. “Tía Nancy’s?”

  “Yup. Frozen into single-serve packets for emergencies.”

  Meaghan raised an eyebrow.

  “I got divorced,” Elena said. “It’s a good divorce, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy.” She dropped the tissue box into Meaghan’s lap and held out the plate. “Here.”

  Meaghan blew her nose, then took the plate. Nobody made enchiladas like Elena’s aunt Nancy, not even Meaghan’s brother, the chef, because Tía Nancy used the cheapest flour tortillas she could find, canned enchilada sauce, and Velveeta cheese.

  Tía Nancy’s enchiladas were the Mexican food equivalent of SpaghettiOs and the supreme comfort food of Meaghan’s youth. She loved them with all her heart. Russ, on the other hand, considered them a culinary travesty.

  Between bites, Meaghan said, “My brother would have a stroke if he saw me eating these. He thinks Velveeta should be banned by treaty, like nerve gas. His enchiladas take at least three days to make.”

  Elena smiled. “Russ is the gayest straight man I’ve ever known.”

  Meaghan laughed, inhaled a bite of food, and started coughing. When she got her breath back, she said, “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Yeah, it didn’t surprise me to hear that love spell made him gay for a day.”

  Meaghan sprayed her sip of tequila as she began choking again. Elena knew? Elena, her best friend from Phoenix, sensible down-to-earth Elena was clued in?

  “Before you start wigging out, I know, I’ve always known, and I’m so relieved that now you do, too.” Elena drained her margarita.

  “How?” Meaghan managed to gasp. “How do you know?”

  “My mom’s a witch,” Elena said. “She and Tía Nancy both.”

  “What about you?”

  Elena shook her head. “Nope. I’m a little psychic, but that’s it. And it’s not like Mom and Nancy are Eldrich-type witches. They have to go up to Sedona to get that kind of power and you know how much Mom loves Sedona.” She rolled her eyes. “If it weren’t for the vortices, she’d never go near the place. That New Age stuff annoys the crap out of her.”

  “So, you know about me?”

  “Yeah, sweetie. Always have.” Elena reached forward and grabbed Meaghan’s hand before she could pull away. “And if you start in with the ‘everybody lied to me’ whine, I’m gonna brain you with that dinner plate.”

  Meaghan bristled. “I wasn’t going to—”

  “Yeah, Meg,” Elena said. “You were. Psychic, remember? You think your father left you guys unprotected? It wasn’t a coincidence that we moved in next door right after you got here.”

  “You—”

  “No, I was your friend because I wanted to be your friend, not because Mom asked me to get to know you. I didn’t befriend you because it was a job or because I knew you had some big-time destiny.”

  “Stop doing that,” Meaghan said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Reading my mind.”

  “Oh, please. I don’t need to be psychic to know how your mind works. Russ gave me a heads-up. He figured you’d show up here when he got your note. And bef
ore you start with the ‘everybody’s conspiring behind my back’ crap, we only do it because we love you and know how much shit has been thrown at you in the last year.”

  “You know about Eldrich?” Meaghan asked in a small voice.

  “Yeah, all of it,” Elena said. “Russ—what do you guys call it?—clued me in. So, what’s going on? What’s really going on? Why did you run?”

  There hadn’t been one defining moment, no epiphany or precipitating event. Meaghan had simply woken up that morning, looked at the heavy gray sky, smelled more snow in the air, and decided she was done with it. Done with Eldrich, done with magic, done with her destiny. She was going home.

  “Bullshit,” Elena said. “It was that guy, John, after you rejected him again.” She paused a beat. “Okay, I did read your mind that time. He’s crazy about you. What’s the problem?”

  “You’re the one reading my mind,” Meaghan said, her voice sullen. “You tell me.”

  “I’m only a little psychic, remember? Talk already.”

  “He’s an alcoholic.”

  “In AA, right?”

  “That’s no guarantee he won’t drink again.”

  “This again?” Elena rolled her eyes. “Meg, life doesn’t come with a guarantee. Just because you won’t let yourself make mistakes, doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t human.” She shrugged. “Mostly human . . . humanoid . . . you know what I mean.”

  “I make plenty of mistakes,” Meaghan said.

  “Yeah, and then never forgive yourself for them. Did it ever occur to you that hiding from life so you don’t screw it up is the biggest mistake anyone can make? So, tell me, if you let him in, and he starts drinking, what will happen? What’s the worst that will happen?’

  “I . . . he’ll . . .” She glared at Elena. “He’ll leave. Or I’ll have to leave.”

  Elena shook her head and sighed. “Well, sweetie, then the worst has happened already. You’ve left. And he hasn’t touched a drop.” She leaned back in her chair. “Don’t shake your head at me. He wasn’t drinking when I talked to him before you got here. He’s worried and he’s hurt, but he’s sober.”

  “You talked to him?”

  “Mmhm, I did. He has quite an interesting accent to go along with that sexy voice. He knows something’s wrong. This isn’t only about his past. There’s something else you’re not telling anybody.”