Pooka in My Pantry

by R. L. Naquin

  I pushed back my hair and gave her a sour look. “I’m not a fan myself.”

  “She’s one of their Aegises, right? They must have taken her somewhere safe.”

  “You would think so.” I stared into the bottom of my cup at the stray tea leaves, wondering if they spelled out a message of impending doom.

  “So, let’s go see her.” Sara half rose, like she was ready to get her keys and run out the door.

  “No. They lost her.”

  “What do you mean? How do you lose a person?” She slumped back into her chair.

  “I don’t know. He said she went missing a few years ago.”

  “That’s a crock of shit. They know exactly where she is.”

  I had to agree. “I think it’s another diversion to keep me away from her. I’m getting really tired of these nameless, faceless Board people pushing me around.”

  Maurice put down his wooden spoon and mixing bowl of something yummy and sat down at the table. Worry vibrated off him like cello strings. “Zoey, you can’t talk about them like that. They’re really powerful. They run everything.”

  “They don’t run me.”

  His head twitched to the side, as if checking for spies. “Seriously, Zoey. Be careful, please? The Board controls all aspects of the Hidden. They have eyes and ears everywhere.” He looked around again, then ducked his head and whispered, “They make people—both human and Hidden—disappear.”

  I laughed, but it was dry and without humor. “I’ve noticed. I grew up without a mom because of them. If they can make people disappear, they can damn well make them reappear, too.”

  Maurice shook his head. “Please be careful, Zoey. I don’t want them to make you disappear.” He got up and returned to his mixing bowl, his shoulders tense.

  Sara and I exchanged a silent look. She understood that I had to stand up for myself, but she could also see that Maurice was scared. Whatever could scare a closet monster had to be bad. She shrugged, having no answer to the problem.

  “I’m taking a shower,” I said.

  Sara waved her hand as if to dispel my stink. “Thank God.”

  * * *

  Later that night, I sat on my front porch, looking up at the moon. I needed peace to clear the cobwebs. I resisted the urge to call Riley’s phone so I could confront Art again. I finally put it together that, while he may be big on rules and regulations, he was middle management at best. There were only so many answers I could get from of him. No matter how much responsibility he wanted to take for getting my mom moved to another location, he was an ineffective, bitter little slug. It was the Board that had messed with my family. And the Board would answer for it.

  I rubbed at the back of my hand. I still had a couple more days before the curse wore off. In fact, it should be gone Saturday morning, by my calculations. That was a relief, since I had an anniversary party to deal with Saturday afternoon. Catching me so early that first morning we met, Art had actually done me a favor. I was sure he would have waited a little longer, had he known.

  Sara came out in her bathrobe and slippers and slid into the rocking chair next to me without speaking. We sat that way for some time, listening to the crickets and the creak of our chairs, staring up at the moon.

  She finally broke the silence. “You have to talk to me, Zo.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I just want to melt into the night and forget about everything.”

  “You can’t forget about it. You’ve kept all this to yourself for two months. You used to tell me everything.”

  I sighed. “Come on, Sara. I couldn’t tell you. You’d have had me locked up. Please don’t lay this on me now. It’s been a horrible day—a horrible several days, in fact.”

  “Zoey, I don’t mean that. I’m not mad that you didn’t tell me. But I know now. You have to let me in. Talk to me. We always talk.”

  “What’s there to say?”

  “Whatever you need to say.”

  We rocked in silence for a few minutes.

  “I want my mom back,” I said in a small, quiet voice.

  “Then we’ll find her.”

  “I want to keep my little house and my weird life and my new family.”

  “Then don’t let them take that away.”

  I was quiet again, rocking and thinking. The hurt inside me had been flitting around for years, dodging and veering whenever I got close to it. With Sara there beside me, and the night quiet and dark, the pain floated to the surface and looked me in the eye. I had to examine it. I had to accept it as my own.

  “I want to know why she let them take her away.” And that’s when the tears hit. Sara was good at that. Whatever was really bothering me, whatever I was burying deep down and pretending not to notice, she could draw it out of me until the revelation finally surfaced and caused me to break. “I want her to tell me why she didn’t fight to keep us.”

  Sara said nothing. She let me cry until I was finished, then passed me a pile of neatly folded tissues. “Better?”

  I nodded and blew my nose. “Bitch.”

  “Yep.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I owed you.”

  “For what?”

  “Maurice is pretty talkative. Sounds to me like I nearly died not too long ago.”

  I shrugged. “Well, you know, Maurice tends to exaggerate.”

  “Was I really having sex with an incubus?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Andrew and Riley saw me?”

  “I kept you covered up.”

  “You’re a real friend.”

  “Friends don’t let friends flash their hoo-hahs at strangers.”

  “Charming.”

  “Sara?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sorry about your house.”

  “It’s okay. I needed new carpet anyway, and the bedroom walls already needed repainting.”

  It was good to have Sara in the know. I’d missed spending time with her, and keeping secrets from her had been hard. I was a terrible liar, and Sara was far too astute. If nothing else good came of my phenomenal string of bad luck, at least I didn’t have to sneak around behind her back anymore.

  We sat outside for another hour or so, talking. I’d skimmed over a lot before. This time I told her everything about brownies and dragons, fairy rings and sea serpents. By the time I was done telling her all the excitement she’d missed, she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

  “Zoey, if you can survive all that, whatever’s coming next should be nothing. You’re stronger than you know. And now you have a secret weapon.”

  “What?”

  Her eyes glittered in the low light. “Now your best friend is standing behind you with a machete.”

  Suddenly, my life didn’t seem nearly as difficult.

  Chapter Twenty

  Still alive, with two days left to my death sentence, I was feeling a little cocky. Not too cocky—I kept the snot rock with me when I went to work. Without it, I was prone to dripping coffee down the front of my blouse, having my skirt blow up in a draft, or hitting every red light on the street. I probably should have been more concerned about life-threatening situations, but I’d faced down three sharks and a polar bear at this point and lived to tell the tale.

  I had to accept this Aegis thing was probably true. I was more likely to end this trial by tripping over a curb and landing on my face than dying.

  Sara, assured that her bad-luck whammy had expired, went into the office ahead of me. I headed over to Andrew’s first. I knew Andrew would have the shop open. He couldn’t afford to keep it closed for too long.

  I poked my head through the door. “I come bearing cupcakes,” I said. The store was dark, the only light coming from a small table lamp. “Andrew?�
�

  I let the door close behind me and waited for my eyes to adjust. The shop was silent. I moved toward the light, hoping I wouldn’t find Andrew hurt or worse. All kinds of horrible pictures flashed through my head as I wove through the aisles of pots and boxes and jars. I got all the way to the sitting area in the back, with still no sign of Andrew.

  He wouldn’t have left the shop without locking up first. Something had to be wrong. Sounds of shuffling and whispers drifted through the doorway to the storage room behind the counter, then went silent again. Now I was sure something was wrong. I dropped the box of cupcakes by the cash register. The store’s shelves held nothing but small jars, boxes, and stacks of books. No handy baseball bat leaned against a wall, and Andrew was the last person in the world to hide a gun under the counter. On the way to the storage room, I slipped into the bathroom and grabbed the only weapon-ish thing I could find: a wooden toilet plunger. It had some heft. Beat the hell out of toilet brush.

  A smart girl would’ve called 911. A smart girl would have called her reaper boyfriend for backup. A smart girl wouldn’t barge into the back room of an herbalist shop with nothing but a small purse and a plunger. I was not that smart.

  I blew into the storage room like a force of nature—if the force of nature were a spring shower or a mild wind—my dainty patchwork handbag and suction cup on a stick at the ready. I doubt I looked very formidable.

  The leprechauns had returned. There were five of them this time. I wondered how large the Mafia was, since their numbers kept increasing with their threat level. They had Andrew tied to a chair and flanked by two men. Two more were busy setting up a ladder against the wall, adjusting its angle. Murphy O’Doyle sat across from Andrew with his hands folded between his knees.

  When I rushed in, all six sets of eyes trained on me in surprise.

  “Whose job was it to lock the front door?” O’Doyle asked in a slow, threatening tone.

  One of the guys by the ladder looked nervous. “That was me, boss.”

  “And did you, in fact, lock the door, Donald?”

  Donald dropped his head in shame. “I guess not, boss.”

  “You guess not. I suggest you go and lock it now, hmm?”

  “Yes, boss.” He skulked past me and into the shop.

  O’Doyle turned his attention to me. “Miss Donovan, it’s unfortunate you chose today to come visiting, since Mr. Shipley is obviously consumed with business matters at the moment, but perhaps we can take care of you afterwards, and save ourselves some trouble. Please have a seat.” He nodded to one of the men standing by Andrew. The leprechaun lackey hurried over and grabbed my arm. I waved my plunger in his face, stabbing the air in front of him. He was unimpressed. Within seconds I was disarmed and forced into a folding metal chair near O’Doyle.

  “Hey,” I said, slapping at the brute’s hands, which held me firmly in place by my shoulders. He was muscular and ignored my lame blows. I really needed to consider some martial arts classes. “Andrew, what’s going on?”

  Andrew grunted, and I realized I’d missed the tape over his mouth.

  “Mr. Shipley has refused to pay our reasonable rates, despite our warnings. We regret the injury to his dog—”

  “Fox,” I said, correcting him.

  He looked irritated at my interruption. “What?”

  “Fox. Milo is a fennec fox.”

  “I stand corrected. In any case, we regret the injuries he incurred. However, Mr. Shipley was warned. It’s become necessary to give a further demonstration.”

  He snapped his fingers and the thugs flanking Andrew jerked him to his feet. Andrew’s eyes went wide. He made muffled objections through the tape and shook his head.

  “Stop,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “Please don’t interfere, Miss Donovan. We aren’t hurting him. He’s going to take a quick trip under that ladder, then we’ll be done with him.”

  “It’s bad luck to walk under a ladder.” My jaw snapped shut. I was pointing out the obvious. Bad luck was the Leprechaun Mafia’s bread and butter.

  O’Doyle nodded. “Indeed. But that’s the price when one refuses to cooperate.”

  They dragged Andrew to the ladder, lining up in a row. The first thug went under, pausing to touch the gold shamrock on his lapel. He gripped Andrew’s arm, forcing him to follow. But Andrew was built like a bulldog, and not too shabby in the muscular department himself. He dug in his heels, refusing to go under.

  “Wait,” I said in a panic.

  “Yes?” O’Doyle turned his head toward me. He was smiling, enjoying the scene. He was a sadistic bastard, and I wanted to punch his smile clear through the back of his head.

  “What if I pay the fee for him?”

  Andrew made a noise of protest and shook his head.

  O’Doyle paused to take in Andrew’s discomfort, savoring it, then turned to me. “That would be a sufficient solution. The price, mind you, has gone up with time. Are you prepared to give us the twenty-five thousand dollars we require, or do you have something else to offer?”

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars? Are you insane? Nobody has that kind of money to throw around on this street.”

  “I suppose he should have given the original five grand, then. Our time is precious. We can’t keep coming here without proper remuneration.”

  I could have helped Andrew with a check for five grand. It would have bitten into my savings a bit, but I’d have made it up. Twenty-five thousand dollars was far out of my price range.

  “I might be able to get you the money in a few days,” I said. I wondered how fast I could get a loan against my house. I owned the house outright. I could do this, but I needed a little time. I was not going to let Andrew die.

  O’Doyle shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t do. We’ve already given him enough time. Write me a check now, or Mr. Shipley takes a stroll under the ladder.”

  I was quiet too long, thinking. O’Doyle nodded at his men, and the one standing under the ladder yanked at Andrew’s arm.

  “Wait!” I stuck my hand down into my bra and removed the gargoyle snot rock. “I have this.”

  O’Doyle took the rock from me and examined it closely. He turned it over in his hands, sniffed it, held it up to the light. For a moment, I was afraid he would lick it. He signaled to the thugs, and they eased up on Andrew. They led him back over to his seat without forcing him under the ladder.

  “A gargoyle stone,” he said, still admiring it. “Yes, this will do nicely. Quite rare.” He winked at me, as if we shared a secret. “Now I see how you’ve managed to survive that mark on your hand.”

  “So, we’re even?”

  “No, Miss Donovan. Mr. Shipley is even. You, however, have yet to pay. Shall I assume you don’t have one-hundred-thousand dollars to hand me right now?”

  I snorted. “Now you’re just pulling dollar amounts out of your ass.”

  “Perhaps.” He pocketed the rock. “Do you have another item to offer?”

  I thought about it. Sometimes the Hidden who came through my house left a gift behind—like the gargoyle rock from Maurice’s brother-in-law, Phil. My nifty, bottomless purse had come from Molly. There were a few other things, but they were simple, like strawberries or pretty feathers. The only other magical item I had in my possession was an amulet that Bruce the dragon had given me. The necklace was pretty useful at the time. It turned icy against my skin whenever the incubus had been around—sort of an early warning system. But a lot of energy had poured through me in order to defeat the demon, and it had also poured through the amulet. When I got home after that long, long day, I’d found all the gems had combusted, leaving charred holes behind. I’d managed to burn out whatever magic it had held. Now it was a gaudy chunk of metal tangled up in a box with cheap, costume jewelry. No help there.

  “I h
ave a magic purse,” I said. With a heavy heart, I held it out to him for inspection.

  He made a face and refused to touch it. “Please. Don’t insult me. We’re businessmen, not runway models. You must have something else to offer.”

  “No. That was all I had.” I tucked my purse under my arm, relieved that it was still mine.

  “Well, then. Our business here with you is done, as well. Obviously, as long as you’re cursed, walking you under a ladder won’t do anything. But I can see the sigil is nearly worn off. Consider this a reprieve. We’ll find you when you’re not otherwise engaged.”

  I didn’t answer him, and he didn’t expect me to. He and his men cleared out and left us alone, taking their Happy-Fun-Time Ladder of Doom with them.

  I cringed when I ripped the tape from Andrew’s mouth.

  “Zoey, I’m going to kill you,” Andrew said.

  “You’re welcome.” I went to work on the knotted ropes.

  “You gave them your good luck charm.”

  “It was cheaper than refinancing my house.”

  “But you still have two more days until the Board’s test is over. I was handling it. I would have been fine.”

  I let the ropes drop to the floor, and he rubbed his wrists.

  “You weren’t fine,” I said. My voice was gentle. “We almost lost Milo, and that was just a warning. I couldn’t take the chance I’d lose you.”

  He put his arms around me and hugged me. “That was a stupid thing to do,” he whispered.

  “I do stupid things all the time.”

  He laughed and let me go. “I guess that’s what makes being around you so entertaining.”

  We made our way through the shop and locked the door. “I need to open up in a bit, but I really need a breather first,” Andrew said.

  I nodded and sat on the sofa to pull myself together.

  “Zoey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did I hear you say you had cupcakes?”

  * * *