Gods and Swindlers (City of Eldrich Book 3) (36 page)

Crap.
“A dragon makes its own fuel, so no, then.”

“You’re supposed to use a magic sword,” Todd said in a sullen voice. “A special blade. It’s in the prophecy.”

“I—”

“Don’t believe in prophecies,” everyone else said in unison.

“Right,” Meaghan said. “No more babbling about the stupid sword. Besides, the prophecy doesn’t even say sword, it says blade.”

Brian began to laugh.

“What?”

“I know a blade you can use.” He pointed out the window. “A big blade. We’ll have to dig it out first though.”

Meaghan stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The snowplow? The big blade on the front is made of steel.”

“No.” Todd stood up, a horrified look on his face. “You can’t kill a dragon with a snowplow.”

“Why not?” Meaghan asked. “Seems more likely than doing it with a sword.”

“But . . .” Todd looked around the room for support. “It’s the . . . the . . . it’s not . . . mythic or heroic or—”

“Suicidal,” Meaghan snapped at him. “I want to survive this. If that offends your fairytale sensibilities, tough shit.” She looked back at Brian. “Can I drive it? I’ve never driven a big truck and it’s been a while since I drove a stick shift.”

“This one’s automatic transmission,” Brian said. “As easy to drive as a car. The blade controls look like a TV remote. Up, down, right, left. Super easy. But you don’t need to worry because I’ll be driving.”

Meaghan sighed. “No, Brian, you won’t. You can’t. That’s the trusting me part, okay?”

Marnie put her arm around him. “You stay back with me. I’ll be doing big mind stuff and need somebody I can trust next to me to keep me safe.”

Brian gave Meaghan a hard look, then nodded. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but that’s the way it has to be,” Meaghan said. “Okay, I got transportation and a great big blade. Next we need to figure out how to deal with the fire. Any ideas?”

Russ raised his hand. “Maybe we’re looking at this wrong way. If we can’t put out the fire—”

A wailing cry filled the air, followed by a thump and running footsteps.

Marnie jumped to her feet and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

Jeff hung over the bannister, panic on his face. “We need help up here.”

“With the baby?” Steph asked as she headed toward him.

“With the dragon,” Jeff shouted, before running back upstairs.

Chapter Forty-Four

M
EAGHAN RAN UP
the stairs behind Steph, with Marnie and Owen on her heels.

Kady and Natalie were both shouting spells at the top of their lungs, punctuated by a howl of pain from Kady as a contraction hit her.

Steph, Marnie, and Owen hit the ground behind Meaghan.

Meaghan heard someone—it sounded like Buzz—shout, “Get down, Meg!”

Her heart in her throat, Meaghan looked toward the window, expecting to see a giant eye looking back.

A single elf, clad in gray, hovered in front of the window.

Meaghan’s terror morphed into towering rage. She stormed to the window—everyone screaming behind her—threw open the sash, and grabbed the elf by the front of his robe. With a snarl, she pulled the elf as hard as she could into the window frame.

There was a sickening crack as the elf’s nose broke. A gush of blood flowed down his chin.

Meaghan dragged the now unconscious elf through the window and dropped him on the bedroom floor. “Here’s your dragon.” She kicked the small body, her heart pounding. “Asshole.”

The screaming abruptly stopped.

“But . . . it was . . . I saw it,” Natalie spluttered.

Kady cried out. “Oh hell, this hurts.”

“Relax,” Steph said, before breaking into hysterical giggles. “Listen to me. Relax. Like any of us will ever be able to do that again.”

Meaghan felt Marnie’s panic before she heard it. “How did that thing get near the house?” She stared at Meaghan. “I’m so sorry. I thought I had it covered . . . it . . . I’m sorry.”

Shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her body, Meaghan managed to push the window sash back down. “Don’t apologize. It’s new power and you’re still learning how to use it. Can you tell what happened?”

“No,” Marnie said. “I don’t know what . . .” She began to hyperventilate and hunched in a ball on the floor. “I don’t . . .”

Brian shoved through the knot of people at the door and knelt beside her. “Shh. I’m here. You’re safe.”

He cradled Marnie’s shaking body in his arms. “I was afraid of this.” He looked up at Meaghan. “She wants to be better so bad sometimes she pushes too hard.”

Meaghan nodded, feeling the fear rise again. Marnie was her biggest weapon besides Terry.

I’ll get it together,
a tiny voice said in her mind.
I need a minute.

Relief flooded through Meaghan.
You got it. Don’t worry. You can do this.

“Going to the guest room,” Brian said as he carried Marnie out of the room. “She needs a little space.”

Meaghan stared down at the unconscious elf, then kicked it again. “Asshole.”

The elf groaned.

“So are dragons really only elves?” Kady asked from the bed. She leaned against the pillows, her face sweaty but, for the moment, calm.

Please make it that easy. I can fight these scrawny shits all day.
“Dustin said he saw it flame, but it could have been special effects.” Meaghan looked over at Steph. “Are they elves?”

Steph, eyes wide, shook her head. “Don’t know. I’ve never seen one.”

Meaghan looked for Owen and found him sitting on the floor with Natalie, who leaned against him with her eyes closed.

“Well?” Meaghan asked.

Owen shook his head. “No idea.”

“Dad, are you still with us?”

“Not really,” Kady said in a tired voice. “Kind of busy at the moment. Everything’s getting fuzzy in my head. But dragons are real. I saw a skeleton in the archive.” Kady groaned again. “Oh, God, I think this is it. One last thing, Meg. Use the dragon’s fire—”

Kady, really Kady this time, cried out in pain.

“Use it how?” Meaghan asked. “Dad! You can’t leave me now.”

Steph moved to the bed and took a closer look. “The baby’s crowning. Everybody out but Jeff. Take the elf trash with you.” She looked up at the people crowding the room. “Now!”

A sudden wind blew through the room.

“Okay, people, she means it.” Owen jumped to his feet and herded everyone toward the door. “We’re out of here.”

Meaghan shuffled toward the door in shock. Dad was gone.

So was Marnie, at least for the moment.

“Where’s Terry?” Meaghan asked.

“Coming across the street,” somebody said.

Meaghan pushed her way through the crowd in the hall and ran downstairs. She shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed a coat off the pile—she didn’t bother looking for her own coat—and charged out the front door.

Aggie and Hank led the way, clearing a wide trail for Terry. Sam walked behind him, cradling a dagger that looked like a sword in his small hands. Terry had also given Sam a small helmet and what looked like—Meaghan squinted—bolt cutters.

She ran toward them. “The baby’s coming. Now.”

Aggie and Hank stepped aside.

“Now remember what I said.” Terry crouched next to Sam. “You’re immune to magic, but Luka isn’t. Don’t try to fight the elves. Get him out of there as fast as you can and get back here. Meg needs you.”

Sam nodded. “I won’t fail you.”

“Kid, you couldn’t fail me if you tried,” Terry said. “You’re the bravest guy I’ve ever met and I used to hang out with Vikings.”

“You were their god,” Sam said.

Terry nodded. “Something like that.” He looked up at Meaghan. “Where are those damn monks? We need a gateway into the archive. Somewhere the elves won’t be.”

Meaghan heard chuffing breath behind her. Dustin arrived at her side. “The server room’s still good.”

“You sure?” Meaghan asked.

“Yup,” Dustin said, “but when you go into the rest of the castle, they’ll know somebody’s arrived, so move fast. Watch your back.”

“I will,” Sam said.

“The gateway’s in the dining room,” Dustin said. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll clear you a path, son,” Hank rumbled. He gently, very gently, patted Sam’s small back with his giant hand.

They moved away, leaving Terry and Meaghan standing in the middle of Holly Lane.

“Elves and trolls being friends,” Terry said, “Never thought I’d see that.”

“How are you?” Meaghan asked. “Can I count on you?”

Terry sighed. “You always get right to it, don’t you? I’m . . . shit, I don’t know how I am. I have control like I’ve never had before, but I’m craving caffeine like I used to crave mead, which scares me big time, and losing Luka . . .” He shook his head. “I’m a lousy excuse for a thunder god. Always have been.”

Meaghan patted his arm. “You’re the only thunder god I’ve got at the moment, so we’ll have to make do.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Oh, God. I’ve had such a weird life, Meg, you have no idea.”

“I’m not completely unfamiliar with the concept myself. I just beat up a dragon, except he was only an elf pretending to be a dragon, so I don’t think that counts.” Meaghan nodded. “Oh, and Dad’s gone. He’s now Kady’s baby again.”

“An elf was pretending to be a dragon?” A hopeful look blossomed on Terry’s face. “Maybe there is no dragon. Maybe this is more elf bullshit.”

“Yeah, I had the same thought, but no, Dad said they’re real. There’s a skeleton in the archive. Or there was before the elves did their historical scrub job.”

“Crap,” Terry said. “Felt some hope for a moment there. You got a plan?”

Meaghan stared at her boots. “Not really. Brian said I could use the snowplow blade. Maybe I can run the dragon over and pin it while you zap it.”

Terry looked skeptical. “That’s your plan?”

“You say you’re a lousy excuse for a thunder god,” Meaghan said, still staring at her feet. “I’m a lousy excuse for a leader.”

“Not this again.” Terry punched her gently on the arm. “You’re a kick-ass leader. You were absolutely right about Luka’s plan and I’m so sorry I didn’t back you up. He can be a major dick himself sometimes.”

“I wish I’d been wrong,” Meaghan said. “He’d have a plan.”

Terry shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t. Stuff like this—big epic battles against monsters—is really hard to plan for. All you can do is gather your tools and take your best shot. I’m one of your tools. So is the snowplow, and it’s way better than a sword. What else you got?”

Use the dragon’s fire
 
.
 
.
 
.
Matthew’s final words echoed through Meaghan’s mind.

“You got any idea how a dragon actually makes fire?” Meaghan looked at him. “The mechanics of it?”

Terry chewed on his lip and stared into space for a long moment. “To get fire, you need heat, fuel, and an oxidizer—usually oxygen. Block one of those three elements and the fire goes out. You thinking about putting its flame out?”

“Maybe. Dad said the dragon’s fuel comes from lipids it produces in a gland at the back of its throat.”

“So, a Class B fire.”

“What?”

“Oil or gas.” He seesawed his hand in the air. “Unless you’re in Europe or Australia, then gas is Class C. And I can see by the look on your face you don’t care.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a blacksmith,” Terry said. “Been working with fire for three thousand years. I’m kind of a fire code geek to be honest.”

“Russ says it’s basically a grease fire, which means we can’t use water to put it out. Not unless we want a huge fireball.”

Terry looked thoughtful again. “You kill a dragon by taking off its head, right?”

“Yeah,” Meaghan said.

“And the fuel is produced in the back of the throat. How is it ignited?”

“Dad said it was magic.”

“Figures. But if the fuel source is in the throat . . .” He stared into space. “You ever seen a fire breather at a carnival?”

“Once,” Meaghan said. “Lawsuit waiting to happen. Why?”

“They get the fire plume by blowing fuel across a heat source into the air. A dragon must operate the same way, but instead of taking a sip of kerosene in its mouth, it creates it in the back of its throat. The magic spark must be in their mouth somewhere.”

“Like a pilot light.”

“Yeah.” Terry nodded. “Your dad didn’t say anything about fumes, did he?”

“Um . . .” Meaghan tried to remember what Matthew had told her. “Yeah, he did. He said the dragon burns off its fuel as soon as it makes it so it doesn’t get sick from the fumes.”

Terry grinned at her. “Or blown up by them. What happens if you turn on the gas when the pilot light is out?”

“Nothing,” Meaghan said. “The gas builds up.” She grinned back, feeling her hope return. “Until somebody lights a match.”

“Or strikes a spark,” Terry said, rubbing his fingers together. “And then—kaboom.”

“If we can put out the pilot light, but keep pissing it off so it makes fuel and the fumes build up—”

“We can blow the bastard’s head off.” Terry pulled her into a hug that lifted her feet from the ground. “Meg, I think we got a plan.”