Pooka in My Pantry

by R. L. Naquin

  I reached into my soggy jeans and yanked the gargoyle gift free to show him. “See? Not doing a lot of good, is it?” I shoved it into my pocket and hauled myself and the skimmer out of the pool. “Tell me again why the hell you’re here?”

  He scratched his hairy face. “Comic relief?” He shrugged. “I’m supposed to be here. And as hilarious as this has been, I don’t understand it in the least. Your chunk of gargoyle mucus should offset my bad luck. Unless you’re just naturally clumsy. Does this sort of thing happen to you normally?”

  I peeled off my sopping sweater and slapped it on the ground next to me. “No, this isn’t normal.” I thought about it. “Maybe the last day or so. It’s been a bad week.”

  Silas scratched again. “This could turn out to be a lot more fun than I thought.”

  Chapter Six

  My week got more difficult the deeper into it I went. Wednesday, Silas decided to make me his pet science project and tag along wherever I went.

  “For observation,” he said. “Don’t worry. Nobody will see or hear me.”

  That might not sound so bad, except that I could see and hear him fine. I had to concentrate on ignoring him so I didn’t sound like a whack job conversing with an imaginary little man.

  Silas didn’t make it easy. He kept a running commentary going about everyone and everything we passed.

  “He was totally checking out your boobs,” he said of an older gentleman with a prosthetic eye.

  “He was not,” I said. “Hush. You were looking at the wrong eye.” Though I was the only one who could hear him, it became hard to remember that people could still hear me.

  The old guy in question creased his brow. I kept moving down the sidewalk.

  The nature of my personal trickster became apparent when he couldn’t resist random acts of sabotage. In the coffee shop, a rash of “accidents” landed two pastries and a mug of tea on the floor. I left hurriedly with my purchase, thinking maybe the regular coffee at the office might be a safer choice for awhile.

  My streak of bad luck and clumsiness persisted. Despite Silas’s insistence that it shouldn’t happen, I still managed a flat tire on the way to work on Thursday. I hit every stoplight. Every one. The heel broke off one of my favorite pink and green plaid pumps, leaving me limping through the rest of the day. I tripped coming into the office. Two days in a row.

  With each occurrence, Silas scratched his bearded face in thought, and shook his head.

  “This can’t be me,” he said. “Have you broken any mirrors? Walked under any ladders?”

  “Don’t be superstitious. That stuff isn’t true.”

  “After all you’ve seen, you still have doubts about that kind of thing? Honey, you’re either delusional or stupid.”

  I nodded. “It’s probably the second one. I think I just locked my keys in the car.”

  Sara, whose eagle eyes missed nothing, suggested I wasn’t getting enough sleep.

  “Maybe you need to take a few days off, Zoey. Not only are you a walking accident, but you’re acting funny, too.”

  Silas agreed. “Also, your partner has a nice ass, despite the stick she keeps shoved up it.”

  I snickered, which didn’t impress Sara. She couldn’t hear Silas, and what she thought was my reaction to her words was inappropriate.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I probably could use a good night’s sleep. I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

  Silas decided at that moment the mandatory-pants rule no longer applied, since we weren’t at home. He sat in Sara’s chair—and she was heading that way.

  “No!” I said.

  Sara swiveled around to face me. “No, what?”

  I had to think fast. “No, come sit with me for a few minutes. I have to ask your advice about something.”

  From Sara’s desk, Silas made an exasperated objection. “Oh, come on.”

  I had no idea what I was going to say to her. I could not, however, in good conscience allow her to sit on the naked lap of a lecherous pooka, even if she never knew about it. Friends don’t let friends get felt up by the supernatural.

  Sara grinned across my desk, waiting to dispense wisdom. The truth was I’d have been relieved to unload everything on her. She had a way of cutting through the emotional goo of a situation and getting to the hard center. Sara wouldn’t let a pooka in her house in the first place. She would’ve hung up on Riley when he finally called. Sara’s pool would already be clean and drained for the winter, and she never locked her keys in the car.

  Then again, she did have a weeks-long affair with an incubus without knowing it. So, she wasn’t completely flawless.

  I took a deep breath and held it for a moment, searching her eyes for an answer to how much I could tell her before she checked me into a hospital for a mandatory “rest.” No. Her cynical look before I opened my mouth was enough to warn me off.

  “I have a date with Riley on Saturday,” I said.

  Her lip twitched in disapproval. “Do you think that’s wise?”

  From across the room, Silas snorted. “She’s got you pegged.”

  I shrugged. “It could go either way. I think he’s telling me the truth about why he couldn’t call. I’d like to give him a second chance, see what he has to say.”

  “You’re famous for your second chances, Zoey. Don’t let him run over you like everybody else you’ve dated.”

  “She’s bossy,” Silas said. “I like a woman who knows how to handle herself. I bet she’s got a nice set of handcuffs at home. Real ones. Or maybe leather.”

  “I’m thinking of trying something new—one second chance per customer. Think it’ll catch on?”

  “If you can maintain it. What do you see in this guy? He’s cute, I’ll give you that much, but I can’t understand how cute is worth pining for him for a month, then jumping when he calls.”

  “No fuzzy, pink cuffs for her, no sir.” The pooka was getting harder to ignore.

  I refocused on Sara. “I don’t know. I really like him, though. A lot. Maybe a little too much.”

  She nodded. “Too much, yeah.” She folded her hands in her lap and paused, thinking. “Promise me something,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  Behind her, Silas got up and began pawing through Sara’s purse. I tried to keep one eye on him, without letting her know she didn’t have my full attention.

  “If anything goes wrong on Saturday, anything at all, you’ll take it as a sign from the universe and stop seeing this guy.”

  Considering my atrocious luck lately, that was a harsh promise to make. “If something goes wrong and it’s his fault, sure. Second chance expired. Promise.” To show my sincerity, I crossed my heart.

  I could tell she wasn’t happy with my addendum, but she accepted it. “Deal. I’ll be holding you to it.”

  I knew she would, too. If she ever got married and had kids, God help her family. They would get away with nothing.

  I was saved from further forced promises and confessions when a face popped in through our partially-open door.

  “Is it clear in here?” The carrot-orange hair of my friend Andrew was all we could see. The rest of him was still outside.

  “No clients,” I said. “And no appointments all morning. Come on in.”

  He pushed the door wide, and a furry projectile catapulted across the threshold, bounced around Sara’s chair for three beats, then launched into my lap.

  Andrew’s fennec fox, Milo, was my biggest fan. He covered my face in dozens of quick, tiny licks, snuffled under my hair and curled into my lap. His round, brown eyes gazed up at me, full of admiration and expectation. Taking his cues, I dutifully scratched behind his oversized ears.

  “He missed you,” Andrew said. “Sorry about that.”

  I smiled. “Sit. I’
m glad to see you both.”

  Sara rose. “I’ve got to do some location scouting anyway. You two—sorry, three—catch up.” She gave Andrew a peck on the cheek. “She’s having another life crisis. See if you can talk her down.”

  Andrew grinned. “When is she not?”

  “Every second Tuesday of the month.”

  “I’m right here, guys,” I said. “I can hear you.”

  Silas strolled over, hands in his pockets. It seemed he’d had his fill of pantsless fun. “Sucks to be invisible sometimes, doesn’t it?” He eyed the fox in my lap and wrinkled his nose. “What an idiotic pet. It’s worse than a purse dog.”

  Milo’s head jerked toward Silas, and the fox made a sharp yip of objection. At least now I wasn’t the only one in the room who could hear the snarky comments.

  I stroked Milo’s head and crooned. “Let it go, buddy. Don’t give him any attention.”

  Sara had her purse and coat in her arms. “Don’t give who attention?”

  “Nobody,” I said. “Milo hears things, sometimes.”

  Sara shook her head. “Neurotic dog. Great.”

  “Fox,” I said.

  “Sure. Forward calls to me if you leave early. Get some rest.”

  She gave us a half wave and marched out the door.

  Andrew scooted forward on the plush loveseat. “What’s going on? You look weird.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Weird how? Spazzy hair weird, or dark miasma of a forbidden curse weird?”

  I’d been unfair whining about my inability to tell Sara about my supernatural problems. It sucked not being able to tell my best friend, but I wasn’t isolated. Andrew was no ordinary herbalist—he could see and read auras. He owned the shop up the street, which came in handy when I needed help nursing a sick dragon or a family of brownies back to health.

  Andrew was just as involved with the Hidden as I was.

  “Weird like you ate a dead frog weird,” he said.

  Silas flapped a hand in front of Milo’s face, trying to get his attention. Milo’s nostrils flared like he was picking up a scent, but his eyes didn’t focus on the pooka standing next to us.

  “Frog legs are a delicacy,” I said. I swiveled my chair to the left, trying to put my back to Silas. He crossed to the other side of me and continued tormenting Milo.

  “Not if you scrape them off the side of the road and eat them raw,” Andrew said.

  Silas added his own opinion. “Road kill is delicious. Isn’t that right, mutt face?”

  Milo tensed and responded with a shrill whine.

  I clenched my teeth and snapped at Silas. “Would you leave him alone already?”

  Andrew watched with interest, examining the empty air next to me. “So. What am I missing here? Or is it a who?”

  “A huge pain in the ass,” I said. I glared at Silas. “Don’t you have someone else to screw with for awhile?”

  He shrugged. “Not particularly. Definitely not if you’re going to be talking about me while I’m gone.”

  Andrew folded his arms across his chest. “You know, if you were anybody else, I’d be escorting you to the hospital right about now. Who’s our invisible guest?”

  “A pooka.”

  “Pooka? You mean, like Harvey with Jimmy Stewart?”

  “No! Not like Harvey!” Silas flung his arm to the side and knocked over my pen holder. Pens scattered across the carpet. “Why does everybody compare me to that idiotic movie? Is that really the only pooka reference you people can think of?”

  Milo yipped as if he’d been struck, his huge ears flattening against his head. He bolted from my lap and zipped across the office to hide under Sara’s desk.

  Andrew’s eyes grew wide at the sight of spilled writing utensils. “I take it he didn’t like the film?”

  “He’s not a fan, no.” I slid from my chair and crawled across the floor, picking up what I could find. I leaned on my hand, and my palm pressed into something hard on the carpet. I yelped, jerked and slammed my head into the underside of my desk. “Dammit!” Blood leaked from my palm, and I imagined cartoon stars circling my head.

  “What the hell did you do?” Andrew was standing over me, reaching for my wounded hand.

  “I sliced it on the letter opener,” I said, rubbing the growing knot under my hair.

  “Who cuts themself on a letter opener? Those aren’t even sharp. And what happened to your shoe?”

  “Sharp enough, apparently. My heel broke off on the way to work.” I blew a loose strand of hair out of my eyes and looked up at him, tears pricking at my eyelids. Pull it together, Zoey. We’ve been through way worse. You’re not going to cry. “I’m having a very bad week, Andrew.”

  “Sara wasn’t kidding. You’re a wreck, love.”

  Getting up one-handed without killing myself would be a trick. I reached for my rolling chair, but putting weight on it was a mistake. The wheels spun, slamming the chair against the wall and leaving a dent. Andrew, his face a mixture of amusement and concern, finally hauled me upright.

  He held the chair still so I could ease into it without killing myself. I tried not to touch anything that might cause further damage to myself or anything around me. Andrew snagged the first aid kit from my bottom desk drawer. He grumbled while he bandaged my sliced palm. As an herbalist, he wasn’t too fond of the generic antibacterial ointment that came in the box.

  “Before you go home today, stop by my shop. I made a fresh batch of ointment that’ll keep this from scarring.”

  “Will it smell like feet?”

  “All my best stuff does.” He finished wrapping the bandage and secured it with tape. “I’ll write down instructions so Maurice can change it when you get home.”

  My face fell. “Maurice is gone. Trying to get his wife to reconsider a divorce.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” He squeezed my good hand. “Seriously bad week you’re having. Accidents, Maurice gone, a moody pooka following you around. Who did you piss off?”

  I laughed, and it sounded bitter. “Oh, I pissed somebody off, all right. I haven’t gotten to the part where Riley is back and I’m in a shitload of trouble with the Board.”

  “Tell me.” Andrew settled in his chair.

  “It started out pretty good. I mean, I’m glad Riley’s back, at least.” I gave him the rundown on our coffee date and the looming threat of Art’s big test. “The thing is, he said the test was beginning right then, but I haven’t seen him since.”

  Andrew’s forehead creased in concern. “Sit back. I think I should check you.”

  I shifted in my seat while his eyes glazed over, staring beyond me to my aura. I fidgeted for a minute, then settled with my hands folded in my lap. When looking at me this way, he could tell if I wasn’t blocking outside emotions well enough, or if I was overly drained of energy. When the incubus had attached itself to my aura in order to track me, Andrew spotted the connection and I cut the tether. Andrew couldn’t change stuff, usually, but at least he could see and diagnose.

  “I need you to stand up,” he said. His gaze was still unfocused, but aimed in my direction. “Try not to hurt yourself.”

  “Ha.” I stood near the wall, carefully rotating so he could see all of me.

  “There it is,” he said. His voice was soft, intentionally calm, as if he were telling me there was a snake by my foot, but not to be alarmed.

  My skin went cold. “What? There what is?”

  “The back of your left hand. You can’t see it? It’s practically glowing.”

  I looked, but I saw nothing. “What are you seeing?”

  “It’s like, I don’t know, hieroglyphics or something. A mark.”

  Silas, forgotten and rummaging around in Sara’s desk, perked up. “What’s it look like?” He tro
tted over and grabbed my hand, squinting. “I don’t see anything.”

  I looked from herbalist to pooka and back again. “What do you think it is?”

  Andrew shrugged. “It’s written in kind of a metallic paint.”

  Silas ran his big, sloppy tongue over me from fingers to wrist. I jerked. “That’s disgusting.” I wiped it on my shirt.

  The pooka looked thoughtful, smacking his lips. “Gnome ink,” he said. “What shape is the mark?”

  “Andrew can you draw what you’re seeing?” I gave him a pencil and a notepad, laying my palm flat on the desk so he could get a closer look.

  He spent considerable time on it, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth. Several times, he stopped to erase and redraw a line, perfecting its size or position. When he was done, the picture was an elaborate mix of decorative curls and foreign-looking symbols.

  I examined the paper, my nose inches from the page. I sat up straight and shook my head. “I have no clue what that is.”

  “Give it to me.” Silas yanked the drawing off the desk and held it up.

  Andrew’s eyes grew wide. To him, the notepad appeared to soar through the air and float.

  Silas made no headway with the mark either, until he flipped it over to get another view. Then the pad dropped to the floor, and the pooka doubled over, a dreadful wheezing sound coming from his throat.

  “What? What is it?”

  “What’s he doing?” Andrew asked.

  “I think he’s...Silas, are you laughing? Come on, share the joke.”

  He took his time, wheezing himself silly before standing upright to address me. “The reapers put the whammy on you good, girly. You have bad luck branded on you like a bull on a cattle ranch.”

  For a brief second, everything made sense. The accidents, the near misses, the bad timing of Maurice’s divorce shoe. Even the leprechauns. But just as quickly, sense fled.

  “You’re already bad luck, Silas. Doesn’t that give me a double dose with the mark on my hand? No wonder I’m such a mess.”

  The pooka shook his head. “Two types of bad luck together cancel each other out.”