Harry Little, Leprechaun

by Michele Bardsley

“I’ll get a pad and pen.” Eva popped to her feet. “We’ll brainstorm and write down all your favorites.”

  “The shirts are magicked.” Patrick shook his head. “That wily bastard.”

  The abrupt silence caught Lorcan’s attention. The vampires had heard Patrick’s exclamation and were now laser-focused on the twins.

  “Those cheap shirts are forcing these poor creatures to act against their wills?”

  Elizabeth shuddered. “They have to suffer a fashion faux pas and a bossy, insane leprechaun. It’s like an evil two-for-one. It’s fucking awful!”

  “You have a way with words,” said Juniper admiringly.

  “Thank you.”

  “I thought Hellacious Harry needed his precious coin to use magic,” said Jessica.

  “’Tis true he can’t use his own magic,” said Patrick. “That doesn’t mean he can’t borrow someone else’s.”

  “And by borrow, you mean steal.” A muscle ticked in Tez’s jaw. “I think leprechauns might be good cat food.”

  “I doubt it, honey.” Elizabeth rubbed his back. “He probably tastes like burnt asshole.”

  Tez smiled. “You do have a way with words, sweetheart.”

  “We need to tell Brady and Simone about the T-shirts.” Eva rounded the corner of the check-out counter and began digging through the drawers. She paused and looked up.

  “Has anyone heard from Brigid?”

  No one had.

  “She’s probably not in her human form. It’ll be easier to spy on Harry if she’s less visible.” Lorcan held up his hands in a “what-can-you-do” gesture. “That means no cell phone, either.”

  “I don’t think we have to worry just yet,” said Patrick.

  The Kum-Ba-Yah fest resumed, and Lorcan grimaced as a group hug ensued. He

  glanced at his brother. “We should check on Brady and Simone.”

  Patrick nodded. “Hell yeah, we should.”

  Lorcan looked at his wife. She was cute when she was on a mission. “We’re goin’ to the garage, a stóirín. ”

  “Okay, honey,” she answered distractedly.

  “We’ll return in a little while,” Patrick called to Jess.

  Jessica blew him a kiss. “Have fun stormin’ the castle!”

  Oops, I Dead It Again

  BRADY AND SIMONE stood at the drafting table in the garage’s tiny office and studied the crude drawing of the Jaguar.

  “Bashing in the windows didn’t work,” said Brady.

  “Who knew vampire blood was like Superglue? The crackle effect was nice,

  though.”

  Brady chuckled. He tapped the sketch, pinpointing the back end of the Jaguar. “What if we tried to get at them through the trunk? We could punch through the backseats and yank out those horny vamps.”

  “It’s worth a try,” said Simone. “It’s not like the car is salvageable.”

  They high-fived and re-entered the garage.

  Patrick and Lorcan stood on the opposite side, their gazes pinned to the violently swaying Jag.

  “Are they doin’ what I think they’re doin’?” asked Lorcan.

  Brady and Simone nodded.

  As one unit, Lorcan and Patrick backed away from the car.

  “Bite me, baby, one more time!” yelled Vampire Husband.

  “Yes. Oh, yes!” cried Vampire Wife. “I will suck your blood!”

  “Um … babe … how about … er … sucking something else?”

  The quaking car stilled instantly. A deadly hush descended—the same kind of unsettled silence that might follow the swish of a guillotine slicing through a royal neck.

  “Suck something else? Are you serious? Gawd, Kevin!”

  “Oh, I forgot, Gretchen,” said Kevin sarcastically. “It’s not my birthday or our anniversary. Because God forbid I get a blow job on a Tuesday!”

  “You wanna talk about a lack of oral sex? When’s the last time you—”

  “Say another goddamned word and I will torch this car!” yelled Brady.

  Silence descended again, as thick and uncomfortable as a wool blanket.

  “We can’t help ourselves,” admitted Gretchen in a disgruntled voice. “Our passion rules our actions.”

  “Not in this case,” said Lorcan. “Your Edward and Bella moments are courtesy of your enchanted ensemble.”

  “Who the hell are Edward and Bella?” Kevin sounded confused. “Why are they picking on us?”

  “Never mind them,” said Patrick. “You’re bein’ controlled by the leprechaun because you’re wearin’ cursed T-shirts.”

  “That sucks!” Gretchen sounded pissed-off. “Free swag with every tour package purchase, my ass!”

  “Yikes.” Simone glanced at the car, her irritated expression melding into one of sympathy. “I take it you two are only half-naked?”

  “The stupid tees wouldn’t come off,” complained Kevin. “They itch and smell like pee.”

  “And I hate green,” added Gretchen in a grumpy tone. “It makes me look like a spear of broccoli.”

  Brady rolled his eyes. “You sure the problem is with the T-shirts, Lorcan?”

  “The poltergeist at the gift store ceased pummelin’ me with snow globes when we got rid of her damned shirt.” Lorcan crossed his arms and a sigh billowed out. “O’ course the ghost’s future happiness now lies with the Rename Juniper Crusade.”

  “At least you’re not takin’ home a zombie called Fred.” Patrick’s sigh outdid his twin’s by tenfold. “He was part of Harry’s tour group, too. He was terrorizin’ the diner.

  He knocked out the cook an’ waitress an’ dragged them into the freezer. Then he pelted a group of human donors with blue plate specials.”

  “You mean Tuesday’s all-you-can-eat meatloaf and mashed potatoes?” Brady groaned in disappointment. “That’s my favorite!”

  Simone wrapped her arm around her husband’s waist. “It’s okay, honey. There’s always next Tuesday.”

  Brady didn’t look comforted by the thought of waiting another week to get his favorite meal. He met Patrick’s gaze. “Why didn’t you kill the zombie?”

  “Same reason dead Juniper didn’t get exorcised. Soon as the spell was broken—Fred started cryin’. Jess couldn’t dismember him after that.”

  Gretchen cracked a window and put her lips up to it. “Hey! How do we break the spell?”

  “You’ll need our help,” answered Lorcan. “The shirt cannot be removed by the wearer.”

  Patrick and Lorcan engaged in a hardcore stare-off with Brady and Simone.

  “It’s your garage,” said Patrick. “You have dibs.”

  Brady lifted his hands. “Oh no. Hell no. I’ve been forced to listen to those two have noisy sex for the last two hours. I’m not laying eyes on anybody’s junk.”

  Simone gripped her husband’s arm. “It’s all right, sweetheart.” She leaned forward and tapped on the back passenger window. “Gretchen and Kevin, have you tried taking off each other’s shirts?”

  Grunting, rustling, and thumping supervened.

  “Oh, babe, you have the greatest boobs in the world!”

  Gretchen giggled. “I love your hairy chest, my sweet, sweet impaler.”

  “C’mere, my little blood countess.”

  “Put your penis away, Kevin!” Brady slammed his fist against the Jag’s dented roof.

  “Get. Out. Of. The. Car.”

  “Okay, okay, dude.”

  The back door opened. Gretchen exited first. She was about five feet tall, pale as rice, and sported spiky purple hair.

  Her husband scooted out backwards, his ass looking like a double set of overcooked hams.

  “Fuck.” Brady closed his eyes and a slapped a hand over his face. “I cannot ever un-see that.”

  Kevin was slightly shorter than his wife and could be described as “pleasantly plump.” His chest hair looked like mammoth’s fur and his bald head was shaped like a light bulb. He broadcast a “corporate underling” vibe, but holy hell, he was hung like a champi
on horse.

  Gretchen saw the direction of Simone’s gaze and put her arm possessively around Kevin. Her glare was 100% “back off, bitch.”

  Kevin, apparently used to his wife’s jealous responses, drew her in close and gave her a smacking kiss on the neck. Then he grinned sheepishly. “Could we borrow some pants? Maybe a couple of shirts?”

  EVA DISCOVERED A PEN to go along with the notepad she scrounged from the

  counter’s drawers. “Okay, Juniper!” She showed off the pen and paper. “Let’s find you the best name ever!”

  Juniper clapped her hands. “Squeeeee!”

  She and the others began tossing around suitable monikers. Even Fred tried to join in, though all of his suggestions sounded the same.

  Eva started to move around the counter, but stopped. Something seemed—off. Dread crawled through her and she felt the air thicken into the consistency of pudding.

  A male figure appeared next to her.

  Eva gasped and stumbled back. She recognized him almost instantly as the young man from Harry’s paranormal tour group.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He gently put his hand over her mouth. “That dick leprechaun is making me kidnap you.”

  He wrapped his other arm around Eva.

  She managed to telepathically shout: Lorcan!

  They disappeared.

  EVA’S SCREAM ECHOED in his mind. Lorcan left the garage abruptly and stumbled outside. He looked around, even though he knew it was useless. He could sense that his wife was no longer in the immediate vicinity. Panic clutched at him like poisoned claws.

  Eva? Where are you, a stóirín ? He listened with his ears nearly as hard as he did his psychic ability. Lorcan clenched his fists and tried again: Eva!

  “Nice evenin’.”

  Lorcan whirled and advanced on the leprechaun standing so casually on the sidewalk. Harry looked like he hadn’t a care in the world—as though he’d only been out for a night stroll. He smoked his pipe, blowing out long streams of stinky smoke. The acrid smell was like a punch to the stomach.

  “Ye seem beside yerself, boyo. Lookin’ for ye pretty wife?"

  “Where is she?” Lorcan grabbed the leprechaun by his cheap shirt and slammed him against the concrete-block wall. The pipe fell to the sidewalk and broke in half. “If you hurt her, Harry, I will spend my days making yours miserable. You’ll wish you stayed in that bloody coffin.”

  “Don’t fockin’ threaten me! I want me coin. I’ll be at ye bookshop in half an hour an’ I’ll bring ye darlin’ Eva.” Harry wagged his finger in Lorcan’s face. “No tricks. I get the coin. You get her. Bring anyone else to our little rendezvous, and she’ll be fockin’ ash before you can say deamhan fola.”

  “Fine.” Lorcan dropped Harry.

  The leprechaun spryly landed on his feet. He brushed off his pants and picked up the pieces of his broken pipe.

  “Lorcan?” Patrick stepped outside and looked around. The minute his gaze landed on Harry, his expression hardened.

  “Don’t get ye fockin’ knickers in a twist. Me an’ Lorcan are concludin’ some fockin’ business.” He offered a nasty smile. “I hope ye poor, dear grandmother is okay. Whatever do ye t’ink happened to her?”

  Lorcan and Patrick shared a worried look.

  Harry whistled. A lycanthrope rounded the corner of the building at a full run. As it passed by the leprechaun, he hopped on, and they rode away.

  “Prick.” Patrick grasped his brother’s shoulder. “What did he do now?”

  “He’s taken Eva. He’ll exchange her for the coin.” Lorcan turned. “I can handle him. You and the others go look for Grandmother.”

  “It’s a trick, Lorcan. He’s wants revenge. Givin’ him the coin will cost us all dearly.”

  “I know. But I would give him the world on a gold platter so long as I got Eva back safe and sound.”

  “I understand.” Patrick squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll go with you. You can’t face him alone.”

  “If I bring anyone else with me, Harry will kill my wife. I’ll be okay. Get the others and find Grandmother. Given Harry’s smarmy arrogance, he did something to her.”

  Before Patrick could offer any further help or protests, Lorcan disappeared in a shower of gold magic.

  I Wasn’t a Teenage Werewolf

  THE IRONY OF the meeting location was that Lorcan had already transported the coin to the bookstore.

  Except the coin wasn’t exactly a coin anymore.

  His grandmother had melted the magical object into gold ink—ink that he used to pen a book about Irish creatures.

  Harry had merited his own chapter.

  Lorcan appeared in the small room that had been designated for the rare books section. The wall safe was hidden from human and paranormal eyes. It held other treasures, too—some more dangerous than others.

  He unlocked the spells and then went through the complicated technological defenses. The safe opened, and Lorcan carefully removed the book. The original title was in Gaelic and basically translated to The Known and Unknown Creatures of Ireland.

  Lorcan tucked the book under his arm and removed a small, nearly empty bottle of gold ink and his favorite quill pen. He placed everything onto a nearby table and claimed one more item: a small white marble box. A seashell was carved onto the lid.

  Working quickly, he opened the box and withdrew the tiny scroll. He opened the book and used the last of the coin-ink to copy the parchment’s words onto a blank page.

  After, he left the book open so the ink would dry, returned all the other objects to the safe, and re-engaged its protections.

  All Lorcan could do now was wait.

  EVA’S TELEPATHIC CONNECTION with her husband had been obstructed. Harry had managed to think of every angle in his revenge quest. She had a nasty feeling that even if he got his magic back—he would do everything in his power to destroy Broken Heart and its citizens.

  The remorseful boy, who’d abducted her, took her to a place that smelled like moldy hay and manure. Broken Heart had more than one barn, so Eva had no idea which one he’d stashed her in. Then again, she could be in Idaho or India for all she knew.

  He’d imprisoned her with vampire-proof silver chains and hung her from the ceiling like a side of beef—her toes nowhere close to the floor. If her arms had circulation, they’d be completely numb by now.

  “Hey.”

  Eva yelped at the sudden appearance of her abductor. “Let me out of this,” she begged. “Please. I can help you.”

  “I wish you could.” He unhooked her from the ceiling and swung her up into his arms. “We have to go meet his royal assness.”

  THEY ARRIVED IN the back part of the bookshop. The overhead light flickered, providing inconsistent illumination. The boy carefully put her on her feet and steadied her until her legs could hold her weight again. He held tightly to the chains binding her, and yet, his Arctic gaze was alight with sincere remorse.

  She heard footsteps. Lorcan and Harry emerged from the darker recesses of the store.

  “Eva!” Lorcan strode toward her, but the leprechaun stayed his progress with a firm grip on Lorcan’s forearm.

  “Now, now, don’t get too fockin’ eager, boyo.” Harry released Lorcan and stood in front of him, blocking the access to his wife. “We have a deal t’ complete.”

  “Here’s your coin.” Lorcan held out the antediluvian tome. “Now let Eva go!”

  Harry examined the book with disdain. “Are ye bloody daft? What the fock is that?”

  “Your precious coin has been transformed,” Lorcan spit out. Eva still couldn’t use her telepathy, but she didn’t need it to discern her husband’s fury and fear. “We melted it into ink and I used it to write the damned book. All you have to do is read the words on the first page and the ink will return to its true form.”

  “Is that so?” The leprechaun grabbed the book and thumbed through the pages.

  “Lorcan!” Eva yanked on her chains, but her captor held fast.
“Don’t give him the coin! The miscreant is dangerous without his magic—think about what he’ll be like with it.”

  “Hush, woman!” Harry flipped to the inside cover and silently read the page. He slanted a suspicious gaze at Lorcan. “Fockin’ Greek, eh? For a releasin’ spell?” He spun on his heel and showed the page to his reluctant accomplice. “Ye fockin’ read it.”

  Lorcan laughed bitterly. “Yeah. Read it. ‘Cause whoever says the spell gets the coin—forever.”

  “Don’t ye fockin’ dare lock on eyes it!” Harry snapped the book close and held it close to his chest.

  “Lorcan, please,” pleaded Eva. “Take the book and run. I’ll be okay.”

  “No, ye fockin’ won’t.” He made a shooing motion. “Take her upstairs an’ keep her fockin’ quiet until I’m done.”

  “Yes, my high and mighty lord of the green.” The boy put his arms around Eva and they popped out of the room.

  “Me Greek’s a bit rusty. But I t’ink I can fockin’ manage this gobshite.” Harry started reading the words out loud.

  IN THE DUSTY upstairs hallway, Eva cried, “Let me take your shirt off!”

  “Uh … you’re married.” He lifted up his hands in a “stop” gesture. “I have a firm rule against adultery.” He blinked. “I’m Strife, by the way. Everyone calls me Stri.”

  “I don’t want to have sex with you, Stri,” she hissed. “Your shirt is magicked.”

  “I know. I’ve tried to take it off a thousand times.”

  “The wearer can’t remove the shirt, but someone else can,” she explained urgently.

  “Let me out of these manacles, and I’ll help you.”

  Stri accepted her at her word. He pointed at the silver cuffs and they snapped open, clanging to the wood floor. Eva scrambled to her feet and grabbed the middle of the ugly green shirt. She tore at it. The shredded material flew in all directions.

  Stri patted his lean, muscular stomach and flexed his arms. Muscles bunched, showing off the tattoos that curled around his biceps. He grinned. “I’m free. I owe you big.”

  “No, you owe Harry,” Eva replied darkly, “a big, fat punch in the face.”

  “Which I’ll happily deliver.” He looked at Eva, his pale blue eyes shining with icy retribution. “He made me turn into a lycanthrope. Man, I don’t like representing myself as another species.”