Pooka in My Pantry

by R. L. Naquin

  I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat and tried to smile. “Thank you.”

  He flicked the invisible beads faster, tracking through my high school, then middle school years. He chuckled at intervals over some stupid thing my pubescent self must have done. His hand stopped abruptly and his brow creased.

  Andrew leaned forward. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing,” Jason said.

  “Then why did you stop?” I asked.

  He moved his hand in the other direction, scanning forward in my life, then he paused and moved back again, this time more slowly. He progressed in smaller and smaller increments, barely moving his fingertips, until he pinpointed an exact spot. “There,” he said, dropping his hand in his lap. “You have a hole.”

  “Pardon me?” Nobody likes to be told they have a hole, whether the hole is in their shoe, their tooth, or wherever. Apparently mine was in my life.

  “It’s missing. There’s a year here, around second grade where there’s nothing—like a chalkboard that’s been erased.” His hand continued past the section he described, jerking and twitching on the way, presumably, toward the day of my birth. “Before that is spotty. Your mother’s face flashes in and out, but chunks are gone.”

  I shrugged. “I was little. I wouldn’t remember that long ago past a few pictures or brief scenes.”

  He folded his hands in his lap. “You don’t have to remember it for me to see it. I read the past, not memories of the past. You have missing pieces—gone like they’d never existed.” He closed his eyes for a moment and relaxed into the chair. When he opened them, his eyes were normal again, the pupils shrunk to the size they should be.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. “I knew I was missing memories. Who do you think could have taken them?”

  He shook his head. “Whoever did it erased all knowledge of their own identity.”

  “Well, they screwed up,” I said, putting down my mug and standing up. “It’s coming back, a little every day. Small things, mostly, but enough to know the memories aren’t gone, just covered up really, really well.”

  Andrew rubbed his arms. “This is seriously giving me the willies. And if whoever did this messed with some cosmic record of your life, is that separate from your memories, since those are coming back?”

  I shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. It’s like they tried to erase that part of me, not just the memory of that time period. If those events no longer exist, why can I remember stuff all of a sudden?”

  Jason and Andrew exchanged a glance I didn’t understand. They both looked pale and a bit queasy.

  “Zoey, whoever did this had some serious power,” Jason said.

  I nodded. “Sure. In essence, they screwed with my reality.”

  Andrew slid his arm around my waist, his face more serious than I’d ever seen it. “Right. And you seem to be beating them without hardly trying.”

  The tiny cookies I’d scarfed down turned to heavy pebbles in my stomach, and my knees threatened to buckle. “I don’t have any power,” I whispered. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Andrew kept his arm around me until I regained my equilibrium. “You’ve got more than you think, my darling.”

  The smell of incense, musty books and candle wax swirled around my head and made it swim. Pleasant a few minutes before, the scents clawed at my nostrils and invaded my space. It was time to go.

  We thanked Jason for his help and gathered up Milo, who was being spoiled with a belly rub from Lola. Jason’s hug goodbye didn’t take me by surprise the way his hello had. I squeezed him, promising to return in a few days to chat about my mom.

  “Clara was absolutely delightful,” he said on our way to the door. “Used to make me laugh so hard. Maybe listening to my stories about her will release a few more memories for you.”

  I grinned and hugged him again. “That would be wonderful.”

  My smile stayed with me when I stepped onto the sidewalk. Sure, nothing had been resolved. I had no new luck to add to my arsenal, and really, Jason hadn’t told me anything new I didn’t know about my past other than to reinforce the idea that my brain—and my reality—had been tampered with. Still, I felt lighter, almost optimistic. I had a new friend, one who’d known my mother, and unlike Aggie, he wasn’t missing his memories of her. Whoever had messed with Aggie and me, they’d forgotten about Jason.

  I skipped to the herb shop. Milo, tucked under my arm, didn’t appreciate the jostling and squirmed for freedom.

  Bright yellow letters graced the front window of Andrew’s store: Herb Shop.

  I shifted Milo from one arm to the other. “Why doesn’t your shop have a name?”

  Andrew shrugged and pulled out his keys to unlock the door. “Dunno. I never got around to it. I figure ‘Herb Shop’ tells people enough. If you think of something, let me know.” He paused a moment. “On second thought, your business is called ‘Happily Ever After.’ Maybe I’ll pass on your help.”

  I grimaced. “That was Sara’s fault. Try changing her mind about something she’s set on.”

  His massive ring of keys jangled against the metal of the lock. He turned the key and pushed the door open.

  A crash of shattered glass across the street stopped us, and we turned to see what had caused the racket. The entire front window of Madame Emilia’s Fortunes lay scattered across the sidewalk in front of the small storefront in tiny, sparkling shards. A heap of brightly colored fabric slumped heavily on the pavement. Madame Emilia.

  I’m not sure if I dropped Milo or if he sprang from my arms, but in seconds, all three of us were running across the street.

  Andrew snagged Milo before he could dash across the broken glass and cut his paws. Emilia moaned softly, a bloody mess. I knelt over her, trying to assess the damage with the little I knew about first aid.

  Blood flowed freely from her face and hands, making it difficult to discern individual cuts. Her hands fluttered to a damaged eye and I saw a shard still wedged in her wrist. This was bad. Far worse than a little ointment and bandaging from Andrew could solve.

  “Andrew, call 911,” I said. I took her injured arm and laid it carefully across her generous waist, with the glass-imbedded wrist facing up. I found a fairly undamaged spot below her elbow and kept my hand there for reassurance. “Don’t move. We’re going to get you some help.”

  Emilia twitched at the sound of my voice, then rolled her one open eye toward me. “They wouldn’t let me throw the salt,” she said. Her voice gurgled in her throat, and I wondered how much internal damage she’d suffered.

  My protective walls shielded me from the rush of public emotions, but Emilia’s fear pounded against my mental barrier, demanding entrance. I tried to ignore it.

  “They who, sweetheart? Did somebody do this to you?”

  She moaned and shivered. Her skin felt so cold.

  I looked over my shoulder. “Andrew, how’s that phone call coming?”

  “Somebody already called. They should be here any second.”

  Emilia’s body convulsed, and I had to capture her other arm and pin it with the first so she wouldn’t flail around and cut herself further. The seizure lasted a few seconds and her body calmed.

  “Andrew, I think she’s going into shock. They better get here. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  Andrew squatted next to me, unable to put down a knee for balance, his arms filled with squirming fluff. A detached part of my mind worried that he’d fall over and hurt himself from such a precarious position. He peered down at Emilia, assessing the damage, and his voice caught in his throat. “You’re doing fine. Just keep her from hurting herself worse. I can’t put Milo down.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance and the tension in my shoulders relaxed a little.

  Emilia’s hand reached for me. “Don’t give in,” s
he said. “You can’t let them win.”

  “Who, Emilia? Who did this?”

  Her eyes went glassy and lost their focus. “It’s not Rupert’s fault,” she whispered. “He wasn’t done playing with his fuzzy octopus. It’s not his fault I’m clumsy.”

  Her eyes closed. I panicked, thinking we’d lost her, but her fingers were still curled around my hand, and I could feel the pulse in them.

  A hand rested on my elbow and nudged me to stand up. “Zoey, come on. I need you to back up and give us some room.”

  It took me a few beats to realize the voice wasn’t Andrew’s. I shouldn’t have been so surprised to see Riley. The reaper worked as a paramedic when he wasn’t taking souls. The cavalry had arrived, ready to take over.

  I moved out of the way. Riley’s gentle, guiding hand kept me from falling off the curb and into the street. His partner tended to Emilia’s torn body, prepping her to move to the gurney. Riley turned me to face him and brushed the hair from my forehead. His gray eyes were filled with worry. The smell of his aftershave made me want to curl up in his arms and forget everything.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’m fine. We were across the street. She just came flying through the window.” My eyes widened. “Oh God, you’re not here to collect her, are you?”

  His smile was gentle. “No. She’ll be fine. I’m here to rescue, not to reap. If you’re sure you’re okay, I need to go help Stan.”

  My face flushed with embarrassed heat. He was wasting time with me, when he should be over there with his partner saving Emilia.

  “No, I’m good. Go.”

  He squeezed my arm and joined Stan.

  Click click. Click click.

  I swung around to find Art, his obnoxious clicky pen and notebook in hand, standing in the street behind me. He watched Riley go, then looked me up and down with narrowed eyes. Click click, click click. He shook his head in slow motion, then wrote something down.

  I was beginning to hate that guy.

  I crossed the street and stood next to Andrew, who had Milo in a vice grip. The fennec fox squirmed to get to me, so I took him.

  “What did she say to you?” Andrew asked. We watched the paramedics do their work until two police cars and a fire truck pulled up, blocking our view.

  “I don’t know. It didn’t make sense. Something about salt and a furry squid.”

  With nothing more to see, we moved to walk into the shop, only to find our way blocked by two men. Two fairly small men. I hadn’t heard them come up behind us.

  The Leprechaun Mafia, making its daily rounds. Apparently today was Andrew’s turn to be strong-armed by small men in dark suits.

  Murphy O’Doyle tipped his head at me in greeting. “Miss Donovan,” he said. He glanced at Andrew and took out his phone. “Andrew Shipley?”

  Andrew nodded.

  “Let’s step inside. We’d like to have a word with you.”

  Andrew stammered. “Now—now really isn’t a good time, gentleman. We’ve kind of had a shock. Perhaps another time.”

  O’Doyle gave us a cheerful grin that screamed forced exuberance. “No time like the present,” he said.

  Fargo bobbed his head in agreement. “Time is money!” It was the first time I’d heard him speak.

  Andrew and I exchanged looks, and I tossed a glance over my shoulder, looking for Riley. He caught me looking and waved as he slid into the back of the ambulance with Emilia. Art was nowhere in sight.

  Andrew led the leprechauns inside, and I made a move to follow. O’Doyle put an arm out to stop me. “Sorry, miss. This is a private matter.”

  I brushed his arm away. “Oh, hell no. I’m coming in with him.”

  Milo growled in agreement.

  Andrew’s voice came from inside the darkened shop. “I don’t know who you guys are, but she comes in if she wants to.”

  O’Doyle shrugged and held the door open for me. I flounced past him. “Damn right I come in when I want to.”

  If ever there was a time for me to pry into the emotions of other people, this was it. I threw my barriers aside and left myself wide open.

  Andrew was understandably nervous, and I could feel it on my skin, clingy and wet. He was also seriously pissed off. Andrew’s a pretty easy-going guy, but he’s also built like a bulldog, and I had a feeling if somebody pushed him too far, the laid-back herbalist wouldn’t hesitate to lay that somebody flat. These guys were already pushing buttons I didn’t know Andrew had.

  Fargo paced around the store, poking into jars, shaking boxes, and rattling vases. I was ready to punch him myself.

  In my head, I grabbed at him, trying to find whatever emotion drove him. All I could find was a disinterested hum. I tried O’Doyle and got much the same, a lack of interest in what he was doing, but with a slight tinge of greed.

  Milo shook in my arms. Animal emotions are usually raw and uncomplicated. Milo was pissed and wanted to take a chunk out of the pushy little men. I was tempted to let him.

  O’Doyle surveyed the store and moved to the sitting area, taking a seat in a cozy but worn chair next to the old sofa and coffee table. He crossed his legs and got comfortable, nodding at the couch for us to sit.

  Andrew sat as far away from him as he could. I declined and stood next to my friend, with an iron lock on the still-shaking fennec fox.

  The leprechaun noted my mini-rebellion and cleared his throat. “Mr. Shipley, it’s come to the attention of my organization that you are an aura reader.”

  Andrew nodded his head once, acknowledging this fact.

  “As we’ve explained to Miss Donovan, this town is unsafe for those with special abilities or ties to the supernatural. Were you aware of this?”

  Andrew swallowed and shook his head. I thought about the psychic across the street and held my tongue, though I was already growing suspicious. Andrew was sweating.

  “This is your lucky day, Mr. Shipley. We leprechauns specialize in luck, you know. And we’re prepared to share that luck with you, as a member of the supernatural community.”

  O’Doyle paused and examined his nails. I knew what was coming. I’d already heard this speech and the slight tinge of greed now radiated from the guy in suffocating waves.

  “We’re here to offer you certain protections to keep you,” he nodded at me, or maybe Milo, I couldn’t tell, “and those you love, safe. For a price, of course.”

  I risked taking one clenched arm from Milo and placed my hand on Andrew’s shoulder, squeezing. His fear and anger grew stronger, but the physical touch bolstered him, and I could feel anger overtaking fear.

  “What is it exactly that you want?” The words came out stilted from between his clenched teeth.

  Behind us, Fargo appeared. “Nothing here that I could find, boss.”

  O’Doyle. “Well, that’s unfortunate. I was hoping we could take care of this quickly.” He rose and stood over Andrew. Short as he was, he was probably intimidating from that angle. Lucky for me, I was still standing, and I towered over him. Not today, bucko. Take your little-man complex elsewhere. This girl is nearly a foot taller than you in heels. Feel free to look up my nostrils, and I’ll inspect the top of your head for a bald spot.

  He glanced up at me, as if he’d heard my thoughts. I imagined punching him in his hairy little face and hoped he heard that, too.

  “We’ll give you three days, Mr. Shipley. We understand our services, though necessary, can be costly, and we wouldn’t want to burden you with a time crunch. Three days should be more than sufficient.”

  They’d offered me a week to think about it. I opened my mouth to point that out, but closed it again, realizing that I didn’t want to make the situation any worse.

  Andrew, tired of being the one looking up a set of nostrils, stood up to gain a more favo
rable psychological advantage. The leprechaun took a step back, though his expression didn’t change.

  “And just what is the cost of your protection?” he asked.

  “We take payment in magical objects, or of course, cash. Find us something with enough magical energy in it, we’ll waive the financial debt. Otherwise, five thousand dollars.”

  Andrew swallowed. Five thousand dollars was a lot of money to a small business owner with a dilapidated vehicle and a small mouth to feed. “And what if I can’t pay?”

  The little man waved his hand at the scene outside the window, the ambulance pulling away from the curb amidst cop cars and bystanders.

  “She refused to pay,” he said.

  The leprechauns left without another word.

  Andrew and I stood there, side by side, as the door shut behind them. Milo yanked us from our collective trance when he squirmed free from my loosened grip and ran to the window, yipping at the suited figures disappearing down the street. The little fox had his chest puffed out and his tail fluffed to extreme dimensions. I understood how he felt. A large part of me wanted to chase them down and lay them flat.

  “Milo,” Andrew said, snapping his fingers. “Enough. Come on, dingbat. They’re gone.” His shoulders sank, and he waved me over to the sofa. “I’ll make us some tea, and you can catch me up. With everything else going on, I think you forgot to mention leprechauns.”

  A few minutes later, I was curled up on the couch with a steaming mug of something calming, a sleeping fennec fox in my lap, and a nervous Andrew sitting next to me in the chair that had been previously occupied by a leprechaun.

  “I didn’t give those two a second thought after they left my office,” I said, blowing on my tea. “They were annoying, but not that aggressive. They gave me a week to think about it, and I promptly forgot them. I figured, they’re leprechauns running a two-bit, traveling protection racket. What could they possibly do to me?”