Pooka in My Pantry

by R. L. Naquin

  I tossed a yellow throw pillow at him. “Not funny. I was humiliated. Besides, Brad’s away at school right now. He won’t show up. I promise.”

  “How’d he pull that off? I thought...” His eyes narrowed and it was my turn to scan the ceiling to avoid the question. “Zoey, what did you do?”

  “I didn’t give him the money.”

  “Zoey. What did you do?”

  I sighed. “Fine. Yes, I co-signed for the student loan. I’m a sucker, I know it. And it’ll probably bite me on the ass later, but he saved my reputation last month. Somebody had to keep the wedding running while Sara and I nearly died. I owed him.”

  Riley coughed into his fist, forming a badly disguised word as he did it. “Aegis.”

  I threw another pillow at him. “That is so not funny.”

  “I thought it was funny.”

  “Are reapers known for their sense of humor?”

  “Not particularly. I like to be the exception to most rules.”

  “I guess Art’s the norm, then. Will he be tagging along tonight?”

  “I think I lost him on the freeway. We should have the night to ourselves.”

  “Can we really have a whole evening free of death, curses and magic?”

  “We can try. I’m still on call, though.” He pulled out his phone and showed me. “Sorry. But at least you know what I’m up to this time.”

  That was true. If he had to do his job at some point during our date, at least I wouldn’t think he was letting someone die and then stealing a soul. There was a world of difference in my mind between dating a reaper, who performed his job as a public service, and dating a demon intent on harvesting the souls of people not destined to die.

  This date had to go better than the first one. It would be impossible for it to go any worse.

  The drive into San Francisco was gorgeous. The sky was clear, the traffic wasn’t bad, and Riley smelled so good I wanted to bury my face in his neck. He still wouldn’t tell me where we were going, no matter how many questions I asked.

  “Museum?”

  “Did you want to go to a museum?”

  “I like museums. Not really dressed for it, but I’d still like it.”

  “We’re not going to a museum.”

  “Will there be clowns?”

  “Clowns? Why would they have clowns at a museum?”

  “I thought we weren’t going to the museum.”

  “We’re not.”

  We sat in silence for a moment while I examined my nail polish for smudges.

  “So, there will be clowns,” I said.

  “No. No clowns.”

  I released a heavy breath, feigning relief. “Well, that’s good to hear. Clowns scare the hell out of me.”

  “Clowns die, just like anybody else.”

  “Have you collected many clowns?”

  “I thought we weren’t going to talk about death tonight.”

  We arrived in the parking lot of a pier that sported a huge steamer ship. My question was answered—we were going on a sunset dinner cruise. It was the single most romantic thing anyone had ever planned for me. It made the typical pizza and a movie most guys came up with seem pretty lame by comparison.

  We made it as far as the gangplank before the first thing went wrong.

  Click click. Click click.

  Oh, holy hell. I spun around and there was Art, dressed in a snazzy plaid suit and a bowtie, pen and notebook at the ready.

  “I hope you didn’t think you’d be on your own tonight, Riley,” he said. “The rules of your probation don’t allow it. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to dine with you. The board wouldn’t comp me for a ticket on the top deck. I’ll be on deck two, enjoying the buffet and deejay while you’re upstairs being served and listening to a live band. Don’t get any ideas, though. I’ll be around. Watching.”

  Riley tensed and his face turned red. I could see he wanted to say something, and the anger and humiliation was filtering through my screen in tiny spikes of ice. I looped my arm through his and turned him around toward the ship. “Let it go,” I said in a low voice. “Ignore him.”

  Click click, click click. I wanted to shove that pen up Art’s left nostril. I could hear him behind us, scribbling something in his little book.

  Riley and I followed a crew member up the stairs to the third level, leaving a miffed Art below. The last thing I heard was his loud protest at not having a window seat.

  Good. Seat him at a table between a loud cat lady and a reject from Jersey Shore.

  My uncharitable thoughts were squelched at the sight of our cozy table for two next to an enormous window. Even docked, we had a magnificent view of the Bay.

  Best of all, I was seated across from Riley. Those smoky gray eyes were all for me, ignoring everyone around us. When he looked at me like that, the entire world disappeared, and my breath was fleeting and hard to catch.

  Riley laced his fingers through mine, and we watched as the ship nudged away from the dock. My face hurt from all the smiling.

  Dinner was an elaborate five-course affair that would have made Maurice look like an amateur in the kitchen. There were pan-seared scallops with roasted bell pepper hummus for the appetizer, followed by a beautiful salad with crisp, tart apples, toasted pine nuts and gorgonzola cheese.

  We talked and laughed, and for a while, I thought we were safe from anything else going wrong. Never say that. Never think it. That’s usually when the screaming starts.

  The main course was herb-seared halibut, champagne beurre blanc, crispy Brussels sprout bacon salad, and potato pancake with caviar crème frâiche butter. It lay on my plate in all its glorious intricacy, begging to be admired. I picked up my fork, speared a bite and promptly elbowed my server in the groin as he walked by.

  My elbow caused a chain reaction more suited to a cheap, community dinner theater than an elegant steam wheeler at sunset.

  The server jerked in pain and sent a tray of Kona chocolate mousse with fried bananas and caramel sauce flying off into the distance. Miraculously, it crashed to the floor and not over a guest’s head. But it didn’t stay put. All that lovely, rich chocolate splooched outward from glittering crystal cups and oozed across the dance floor—fried bananas dashed off in every direction, lying in wait.

  Because dinner was still being served, there weren’t many people dancing. Otherwise, things might have gone worse.

  A small child—yes, even in the most romantic settings, some fools brought a toddler with them—dove from his booster chair and made a beeline for a stray banana across the aisle. His mother dashed after him, her stacked heel sliding on a puddle of mousse. She kept her footing long enough to scoop up her little one before his fingers connected with the now lint-covered fruit. Mom swung around with the kid and caught her foot on the silver platter the server had dropped.

  As a kid, she must have spent at least some of her free time either skiing in Vail or riding a half-pipe in a skate park, because the platter skidded onto the dance floor, hit a thin film of chocolate, and kept going without her falling off. She held the kid tight and made it all the way across the dance floor before losing momentum.

  People actually applauded when she came to a stop.

  She stepped off, took a little bow, and made her way to her seat. By this time, the toddler was crying, of course, but from what I could tell, it had more to do with banana denial than the precarious ride he’d taken.

  I was startled by a voice close to my ear. “Well, that was stunning.”

  “No,” I said, twisting around.

  Silas stood behind me, a dish of mousse in one hand, a spoon in the other. “Hiya, doll.” He grinned, a repulsive mouthful of chocolate coating his teeth.

  “Shit.” I reached down the front of my dress and felt around.
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br />   Riley looked alarmed. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be in a minute.” I drew the rock from my bra and placed it in his hand. “I need you to hold this for me until I ask for it back. It’s really important.”

  He examined the object, then tucked it in the pocket of his jacket. “Thanks?”

  “Now,” I said between my teeth, hoping Silas could hear, “get out of here. You will not ruin this for me.”

  From behind me, Silas snickered.

  Riley frowned. “Zoey? What’s going on?”

  I leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. I didn’t want the other guests to think I was crazy. “I have a pooka infestation.”

  Silas scraped his spoon against the side of his bowl. “Infestation. That’s harsh.” He belched.

  Riley’s eyes squinted as he looked over my shoulder. “He’s here now?”

  “In all his disgusting glory.”

  “Hey,” Silas said in protest. “I’m wearing pants.”

  “We haven’t had time to discuss everything that’s gone wrong lately, but I can tell you, between your boss’s gift and a bad-luck houseguest only I can see, things have been pretty messy.”

  Riley lifted his hands and stroked the gem in his reaper ring. His eyes grew wide, and I knew he could see the pooka behind me.

  He cleared his throat. “This is not a safe place for you, pooka.” His voice was deeper than usual. It had a hollow quality that gave me shivers of dread. “Leave now, and I’ll let you live.”

  I heard the crystal bowl drop on the floor behind me. By the time I turned around, Silas was gone.

  Click click. Click click. Art was at the top of the stairs, watching. He jotted down some notes, scowled at us, then disappeared down the stairs.

  “I’m impressed,” I said. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a reaper thing.” His voice was normal again.

  “I’m beginning to understand why everybody’s afraid of you. Any more tricks I don’t know about?”

  “Don’t know. I knew I’d be able to see him if I tried. You can’t hide from Death. The voice thing was new to me, though. I’ve been doing this for less than a decade, you know.”

  “It was impressive.”

  “Thanks. Could be a new phase in my singing career.”

  “You sing?”

  “Only in the car. But maybe I’ll advance to karaoke.”

  I cringed. “No karaoke. Please. Think of the children.”

  We ate in silence while the servers moved around us, cleaning up chocolate and bananas.

  The final course, the infamous Kona chocolate mousse, was worth the wait. I managed two luxurious bites before bells started clanging and the captain’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Ladies and gentleman, could I please ask everyone to proceed to the top deck in an orderly fashion. There’s no need for panic. We appear to have a small problem and need to evacuate. Again, do not be alarmed. There is no immediate danger...”

  He said more, but his voice was muffled by the people around us. To give them credit, they were more confused than panicked, but they were all talking rather than listening to the instructions.

  From below, people poured up the stairs, through to the next staircase to the open top deck. There were too many people, pushing and bullying their way through, for us to attempt it right away. Seeing an opening, Riley grabbed my hand and dove into the stream. As we passed the staircase to the lower decks, a thin haze of smoke drifted up. It smelled like burning rubber.

  Riley and I exchanged looks and nodded to each other. No need to say it out loud. People were already tense.

  Not everyone was so sensible. “Everybody move! The ship is on fire!” A large, greasy-haired man in a bowtie and plaid suit came barreling up the stairs. He tunneled through the crowd and up the next set of stairs. It didn’t surprise me, somehow, that it was Art who caused the ensuing stampede. I really hated that guy.

  Every kid knows that yelling “fire” in a crowded theater is illegal. Or maybe it’s not, but as kids, we’re told it is. Yelling “fire” when there really is a fire isn’t illegal, but it’s inadvisable, at least when there’s a big crowd already trying to evacuate, and the big crowd is on a ship.

  People bolted like a rental horse heading for the barn. We were pushed and shoved from behind, and ultimately, when we reached the top deck and the open air, we were separated.

  I tried to find Riley. I was desperate to find him. I hopped up and down looking for the top of his head among hundreds of other heads. He was sucked in and dragged away, and I was still being moved in the other direction.

  I regretted the nosebleed heels, especially when somebody’s foot caught one of them and I lost a shoe. Walking in one high heel was impossible, so I kicked off the other. I was sad to see them go. I loved those shoes.

  The press of bodies kept me moving until I hit the railing. If I could keep my bare toes from being stepped on, I’d be in good shape. At least I was in a dead end, so the crowd couldn’t push me any farther.

  I was mistaken.

  A sweaty man in a tuxedo was trying his best to calm the man next to him.

  “We’ll find your glasses, Ted. Just take a deep breath.”

  “I can’t see anything! They have to be here somewhere! Brian, help me!”

  Ted and Brian didn’t have any more room to maneuver than I did. Somebody’s foot must’ve connected with Ted’s glasses, because they whipped from amidst the sea of legs and hit me in the shin.

  “I see them!”

  Brian and Ted both dove for them, cracking their heads together. Ted’s head came up and nailed me in the stomach, knocking me back. Brian turned as he stood, and somehow his shoulder skimmed up my body, dragging my dress with it. I grabbed at the dress, trying to preserve my modesty.

  Flashing my panties in an emergency situation would have been a minor social embarrassment. In fact, it was highly unlikely that anyone would have seen in all the collective panic. A smarter move would have been to hold onto the railing. But I didn’t make the smarter move.

  Brian’s shoulder came up, the boat shifted, and over I went.

  It should be noted that, as I made my exit, I probably flashed my underwear anyway.

  My last thought before I hit the water was that all my good luck was still in Riley’s pocket.

  Chapter Ten

  The water was so cold the shock forced me to inhale before I went under. That was probably a good thing. I was under far longer than was comfortable. By the time I bobbed to the surface, my lungs ached.

  I kept calm. I knew how to swim. Somebody would see me in a minute and send me a life preserver. All I needed to do was tread water for a few minutes.

  I wiped the wet hair away from my eyes, paddled my feet, and looked around. I’d already drifted a good distance from the ship. The tide shoved me farther every second.

  And I was so cold.

  The closest shore I could see was on the Marin side of the Bay. It seemed miles away. The ship, far enough now to fit between my thumb and forefinger, listed to one side. Tiny people poured into lifeboats, and the coastguard had arrived to help. Two helicopters hovered over the top deck, pointing search lights at the surrounding water. Their beams weren’t coming anywhere close to where I bobbed.

  I hoped Riley was okay. Then again, Riley had loads of luck in his pocket. He should be fine.

  I pointed my numb body toward the rescue teams and started swimming. It was a long way. For several minutes, I swam hard, desperate to reach safety before hypothermia set in and I sank like a rock.

  I paused again to catch my breath and pushed sopping hair from my eyes. My fingers grazed my temple and stinging pain shot across my forehead. I held my hand up in the dying light of the setting sun.
Blood from an unnoticed cut on my head dripped down my wrist before a wave slopped over me and washed my hand clean.

  Then something brushed my leg.

  My heart lurched, but I kept swimming.

  I will not think about sharks. I will not think about sharks. Seaweed. It was just seaweed.

  The ship grew no closer. I was working against the tide, and the ship was stationary. I was getting tired.

  I felt another nudge, this time against my hip. A two-foot tall dorsal fin appeared to my right.

  I may have peed myself, but it’s hard to say in the vastness of the ocean.

  The fin disappeared.

  Maybe it went away. Maybe it already ate recently. Maybe that isn’t blood still dripping down my face.

  I could feel it circling me as I swam. I tried to make my strokes smooth. I’d read somewhere that splashing makes you more tasty. Or something. The shark’s fin broke the surface of the water and it continued to circle, spiraling around me in a lazy pattern.

  Water splashed off to my left, and I turned in time to see two smaller sharks leap half out of the bay, snapping at a seagull. They missed. The seagull flew off, its cry sounding as if it were mocking me as much as it was the predators it left behind.

  Two smaller dorsal fins joined the big one, slicing through the water around me.

  I was starring in a horror movie. I kept swimming until the circle tightened around me, giving me no place to go.

  So help me, sharks, I will punch you if you try anything.

  The sun was going down fast. It wouldn’t be long before I’d have to add total darkness to the list of my problems. The cold seeped through my skin and sank deep inside to my core. I tasted salt from the bay, and the tang of my own blood. My forehead still hadn’t stopped bleeding. The ship bobbed farther out of my reach each second.

  And I was surrounded by sharks.

  The large dorsal fin rose higher, and a black, soulless eye, far larger than Jason’s tiny sunflower-seed cookies, regarded me before diving below the surface.

  In desperation, I tore down my shields. Maybe I could influence the sharks in some way, or even learn some good news—that they weren’t hungry, only curious. But I felt nothing. That single black eye had already told me all there was to know. Sharks have nothing inside of them, no emotions to read, nothing to influence. I suspect if I could read thoughts as well as emotion, I’d still get nothing. Eat, move, eat, procreate. A shark was empty except for its basic needs and instinctual knowledge of its own superior power.