Pooka in My Pantry

by R. L. Naquin

  * * *

  I slept hard. Physical and emotional fatigue knocked me out for a good fourteen hours. By the time I woke up, early-afternoon sunlight streamed through the window. Fortunately, it was a Saturday and I didn’t have to go into the office. Not so fortunately, I had to attend my business partner’s big annual Halloween costume party later. Staying home from Sara’s party would have been unacceptable. She worked hard to throw the event every year. It was her thing. Not showing up to my best friend’s big shindig would be like forgetting to go to her wedding or bridal shower. Besides, I could hardly tell her I’d been up all night helping a sea serpent give birth.

  I shrugged my shoulders in an effort to reposition the massive gold wings strapped around my shoulders.

  When your house is filled with monsters and mythical creatures, the choice of a Halloween costume can be problematic. I didn’t want to offend anyone. Being laughed at was also a real possibility. To be fair, I purchased the costume months ago—long before I knew about the Hidden, and long before Maurice had called in a tribe of fairies to create a protective ring around my house. I was getting used to the everyday weirdness of dragons, brownies and gargoyles coming and going on my property, needing some sort of help. The problems of monsters are often the same as those of humans, and as Maurice so often reminded me, helping is what I do. But I still knew so little about my visitors that I maintained a constant concern over making a cultural faux pas.

  “This is totally offensive.” I batted at the poofy green skirt around my stripe-clad thighs. “Don’t you think it’s a little over the top?”

  Maurice gave me a once over. “I think the tribe will love it. Quit fussing.” He readjusted my lopsided wings. “How the hell are you going to drive to the party without crushing these?”

  I scowled. “I’m not wearing them outside. I’ll take them off and carry them to the car. Without the wings, it’s just a slutty outfit. I’d rather not get pelted by fairies on my way to the car. They’ll hate me.”

  He flicked at an errant red curl on the side of my head, frowning, then rearranged it to his liking. “You can take them off before you get in, and Sara can fix them when you get there.” His face stretched in a mischievous grin. “But you’re going out there in the whole getup. They’re waiting to see you.”

  Seriously? He was going to make me parade my fully-dressed, faux-fairy self past a tribe of real fairies? I should have thought this whole thing through and slapped together another costume. Hell, I didn’t want to go to the party in the first place.

  It wasn’t like anybody worth seeing would be there.

  “You know,” I said, trying not to make eye contact, “my head kind of hurts. I don’t feel very well.”

  After living with me for two months, Maurice knew me pretty well. I was not getting away with anything. “A party is just what you need, Zo. You need to spend more time in the world with—you know—people. This hermit thing you have going isn’t good for you.” He shoved me through the bedroom door.

  “It’s safer here.” My buckled shoes clomped on the hardwood floors louder than I intended. I winced at the sound.

  He pulled me into the living room and squeezed my hand. “Zoey, you have to go engage in the world. Waiting around for a phone call isn’t good for you. Go have some fun for once.”

  My lower lip stuck out, and I felt it quiver. “I’m not waiting for anything. Who’s waiting?” I stomped through the front door, muttering. “I’m not waiting.”

  You might think fairy laughter would be light and bubbly and tinkling, like tiny bells. In truth, what greeted me on my lawn were raucous snorts, high pitched squealing and a smattering of applause from hands so small it sounded like someone popping bubble wrap two rooms away. Apparently, my purple, green and gold glitter-fairy costume was freakin’ hilarious.

  I’m quite the comedian when I’m not trying.

  I’m sure my size had something to do with their laughter. The fairies first took up residence in my yard to grow a ring of mushrooms around the property meant to protect me from the incubus who was stalking me. Though the incubus had since been dispatched, the fairies stuck around. They were so small, the first time I saw them I mistook them for dragonflies.

  Here I was, dressed in the gaudiest version possible of their delicate wings and flower petal outfits, a gazillion times their size. To them, I must have looked like Godzilla in drag.

  I stepped off the front porch and spread my arms wide, spinning in a clumsy pirouette. The snorts got louder, and one small figure fell off a nearby rock. I curtsied and made my way to the car, stifling a smile.

  By the time I reached my little blue VW Bug, my wings were already pinching. Taking them off would be a welcome break. It was going to be a long party.

  A movement by the tree at the end of my driveway caught my attention. My skunk-ape bodyguard, Iris, stood with his big, hairy arms folded across his chest, regarding me with critical eyes. He grunted a low chuffing sound that traveled up the length of his body before blowing through his toothy mouth.

  I’d never seen that expression on Iris’s face before. Mostly, I didn’t see him at all. He preferred the woods surrounding my property to the house, where he would be enclosed and smothered by walls. Whenever he emerged from the forest, he gave me a thumbs up and a cheerful grin. Not this time. Apparently, Iris did not approve of my costume. I was dumbfounded.

  “I don’t think he likes the cleavage,” Maurice said.

  I jumped. “Gah. I thought you were still in the house.” I tugged at my purple leather corset, wondering for the millionth time whether I should throw a sheet over myself and go as a ghost.

  “And that’s why I have so many people watching your back. You have zero awareness of what’s going on around you. I swear, Zoey.” He peeled the elastic down my arms, freeing my wings. “I don’t know how you’ve stayed alive this long.”

  * * *

  A bad joke in need of a punch line flexed in front of me. A wolfman, a pirate and Spongebob walk into a bar... All three yammered away, vying for a chance to buy me a drink. The fairy wings dug into my back, making my shoulder blades itch. I twitched in a subtle effort to scratch. It didn’t work.

  Spongebob had no personal-space boundaries. I took a step back and bumped into the bar. I couldn’t fathom why he thought dressing as a big yellow loofah in shorty pajama bottoms would get him a hookup outside of the desperate housewives at a children’s party. I thought Spongebob in cartoon form was, at best, dumb. Standing in front of me, breathing my air, he was far more irritating, like a thigh rash from crooked pantyhose.

  “So, he says to me, he says, ‘Stu, man, the resell value on a Toyota is way better than a Ford.’ I looked at him like he was crazy. My Mustang purrs like a kitten. The custom paintjob alone hikes up the resell.” Spongebob looked at me as if a response were required.

  I nodded, feeling numb. “Absolutely.”

  He opened his mouth to add something to his fascinating tale of carburetors and hubcaps when the wolfman stepped in to save me.

  “She doesn’t want to hear about your spoilers, dude.” He tilted his head at my drink. “What are you drinking, sweetheart?”

  Relieved by the momentary distraction, I looked at my glass, as if I couldn’t remember. “Malibu and Coke. But I’m still drinking it. I’m good. Thanks.”

  The pirate, not to be outdone, closed the gap between us, completing the circle of suffocation. “Where’s your halo, Angel?” He tugged at one of my wings, causing the whole getup to feel off-center.

  I blinked, and glitter fell into my glass. I stared at the shimmering flakes mingling with ice and wondered if it would be toxic enough to send me to the hospital. I took a hopeful sip. “I’m a fairy.”

  “A fairy?” Pirate smiled and twirled his pasted-on moustache. “Do you grant wishes?” He was leering. I hate when they leer.r />
  “Sorry. Left my magic wand at home. I’m off duty.”

  “That’s a shame,” Spongebob said, inching closer. “What do you do when you’re not granting wishes?”

  I was trapped against the bar with no escape. Pirate and Spongebob flanked me, with Wolfman in the center blocking any getaway route.

  Wolfman signaled the bartender behind me. He leaned closer to talk over my shoulder. “Malibu and Coke,” he said, holding up a finger.

  If I didn’t extricate myself soon, I’d have a panic attack. I knew coming to the party had been a bad idea. I was off my game, and I had no idea how to handle situations like this anymore.

  Two months ago, I’d have laughed it off, pushed these three clowns aside, and had them trailing me like obedient puppies all night. Back then, I didn’t know I was an empath with a wide-open connection to people’s emotions. All my social interactions had been unconsciously informed by full knowledge of what everyone else was feeling. It made me the life of the party. Snappy banter was easy when there was constant emotional feedback from the other person letting me know just what to say and how to act.

  Honestly, I thought everybody functioned that way. I had no idea I was the only one who could sense emotions and that the buildup of those emotions within me was what caused my migraines. Ultimately, my gift nearly got me killed by an incubus.

  Since then, I’d been more careful. I kept myself shut up so tight that nothing could get in. And therein lay the problem. I had zero social skills without the emotional prompts I’d relied on in the past. I had no idea what I was doing.

  “Drink up,” Wolfman said, tapping my glass with a fresh one.

  I drained it and reached for the full glass. I didn’t want to, but I felt awkward having him hover over me waiting to hand off a refill. I took a swallow and forced a polite smile.

  Spongebob was talking about his Mustang again. I had no idea rims could cost that much. For that matter, I wasn’t entirely sure what rims were for. The words flowed over me in a meaningless hum. I had to do something.

  The old Zoey, before life had thrown monsters and self-awareness my direction, wouldn’t be paralyzed by uncertainty and insecurity. Old Zoey would be plugged in and using the feedback to manipulate the situation. But the thought of opening myself up now, knowingly using my advantage, bothered me. Being an emotional Peeping Tom seemed less than ethical and left me feeling sleazy.

  Pirate was staring at my cleavage and, I believe, trying to sell real estate to my boobs. He whipped out a business card from somewhere under his bright-red sash and dangled it between two fingers. Judging by to the cocky look on his face, his phone number was a rare, special gift to be treasured. The fake moustache dangling from one corner of his mouth sort of ruined the effect.

  Of the three, I thought Wolfman was the least irritating, until I noticed he had another drink in his hand, all queued up for the “Let’s Get the Fairy Drunk” marathon.

  I’d had enough of these guys. Zoey Donovan did not stand in a bar getting pushed around by cartoon characters and fake monsters. I had real monsters for that and didn’t allow this level of bumptiousness from them.

  Well fine. Personal feelings of sleaziness be damned. I was at a party being measured for bedsheets by the Skank Brothers. I had an advantage and damned if I’d feel ashamed of using it.

  I inhaled, long and slow, and went inside myself. The buzz of voices moved around me as background noise. Inside my head, it was peaceful, and the outside chatter flowed together in a tuneless symphony. I caught words here and there—dual exhaust, condominium, light saber—but they were sounds with no meaning or context. I examined my mental wall. It was strong and thick. I still had a lot to learn about this empath thing, but building a wall of protection was the first thing I’d learned. I was very good at it.

  I visualized a window in my wall of crystal bricks, closed up tight. Tossing away any hint of caution, I imagined myself unlatching the window and throwing it wide open.

  Caution would have been smarter.

  The influx of emotions from the crowded bar of partiers crushed me. I gasped and closed my eyes against the rolling tide of feelings rushing in.

  Lust. Insecurity. Boredom. Excitement. Irritation. Loneliness. Resentment. Happiness. Anger. Jealousy. Exultation.

  Everything. In a gathering of that many people, it should have been no surprise to have a veritable rainbow of emotions represented. If I hadn’t been blocking myself when I first arrived, the wave of emotions wouldn’t have hit me so hard. With a crowd that size, I still would have had a whopper of a migraine by the end of the night, but I wouldn’t have been so overwhelmed. It was the difference between easing into a cold lake and diving headfirst. Either way, the water is cold, but the shock of doing it all at once takes the breath away.

  I shoved my back against the bar, crushing my wings. No doubt the surface was littered with glittery fairy crap scraped off in the press. I breathed through the initial onslaught, feeling the emotions around me sting my arms and legs like air pellets. After a few breaths, the tide broke and everything settled, a pond with mild ripples instead of the ocean’s crashing surf.

  I opened my eyes to find all three of my would-be suitors staring.

  Wolfman had the grace to look embarrassed. “I probably should have asked how many you already had,” he said. He glanced at the full glass in his hand, still at the ready. “I guess you’ve had enough.” He reached around me and slid the drink onto the bar.

  With my barriers down, I could feel his embarrassment, as well as fine prickles of guilt. Underlying it all, reluctance. I tried to piece it together—apparently, he felt responsible for my odd behavior, thinking he got me drunk. That part was easy to figure, even before I had access to his emotions. The reluctance was a bit more puzzling. The best I could guess was he really wasn’t that interested in me, but felt obligated to try, for whatever reason.

  That idea was a small jab to my ego, but it made him relatively safer than the other two.

  In contrast, Pirate and Spongebob felt as slimy as they looked. Lust and general horniness came off them in waves. Underneath, as might be expected, they felt like insecure little boys. I also got a good whiff of competition. In fact, the horniness each was projecting felt slightly different, but the competition was so similar, it twined around them both, joining together before drifting in my direction like smoke from burning incense.

  One side of my mouth quirked in an involuntary smile. No freakin’ way.

  I returned my attention to Wolfman and found the same feeling of competition rising off of him, though to a much lesser degree.

  All evidence pointed at a bet to see who could get me in bed. I should have been offended. I should have railed against the objectification of women, thrown my drink in their faces and flounced off, whacking them with my fairy wings in the wake of my righteous indignation. I should have. Instead, I found the entire thing so hilarious, I had to take a second to compose myself. To be clear, what happened next is something I will never be proud of. And though it’s a weak defense, I’d had quite a bit to drink at that point.

  Okay, boys. Let’s play.

  Pirate’s business card still dangled between his fingers, his hold slack since his target had lost the plot for a few moments. I reached my hand out and snatched it from him, squinting in the low light to examine the letters.

  I squealed my appreciation and looked up at him with doe eyes. “Gary?” He nodded and grinned. “Ooh, I like your card, Gary. It’s very pretty. Do you sell a lot of houses?”

  Before my eyes, Gary the Pirate expanded three sizes as he puffed himself up like a bullfrog. “I do pretty well.” He leaned forward, leering again. “You in the market?”

  I tucked his card down the front of my corset, a move he followed carefully with his eyes. “You never know.”

  I winked. He sta
rted to say something else, but I’d already turned to Spongebob, the palm of my hand flat against his spongy yellow chest. “Stu, right?” I gave him a dazzling smile and felt him tense beneath the costume. Fear replaced all emotions previously emanating from him. The poor boy was terrified. Apparently, Stu didn’t expect to get very far with me. He was unprepared for my full-on attention.

  I drew closer to him, my voice low and secretive. “Stu, will you hate me if I tell you I drive a VW Bug?”

  He swallowed, and shook his head. “Why would I hate you for that?”

  I tilted my head to the side and shrugged. “Well, it’s no Mustang. I wouldn’t know how to drive a car with that kind of power.”

  His muscles relaxed under my palm. “Um, I have put a lot of work into her,” he said. “Maybe we could drive down the coast sometime...” His voice trailed off when he realized my gaze had moved on to Wolfman.

  I touched his arm and trailed a light finger over the fake fur stuck to his skin. “Do you have a name, too, or should I just call you Wolf?”

  I knew this one was going to be a little more work. As it was, I could feel the other two watching me, waiting to get my attention again. Wolfie, on the other hand, wasn’t as into the game as they were. I had no idea what the stakes were, but he didn’t feel as eager to take home the prize. Whether that meant me or some fifty-dollar bet, I wasn’t sure. Maybe they were betting ‘49ers tickets and he wasn’t into football. Regardless, he required more finesse to break.

  “Jamie,” he said, sticking an awkward hand at me.

  I shook it, careful to give him a firm squeeze, and not the limp, “feminine” shake I would have given the other two had they offered. “I’m Zoey,” I said. None of them had asked, but he actually looked like he expected it. “Jamie, what do you do?”

  He shrugged. “I teach fourth grade. Nothing exciting.”

  I stared up at him. “How is that not exciting? I would imagine all sorts of crazy things happen to you throughout the day. I remember fourth grade. It was a zoo.”