Pooka in My Pantry

by R. L. Naquin

I yanked her down the hallway to my room and closed the door.

  “What the hell was that?” I asked.

  “What?” Her eyes were wide.

  I stared at her in silence.

  “Oh, stop.” She gave me a mock punch in the shoulder. “You can’t possibly...Don’t be ridiculous. Was there something else, or did you just bring me in here to besmirch my reputation?”

  Maybe I’d imagined it. Maybe Sara wasn’t flirting in the most obvious manner with my closet monster. I was tired and stressed. I was reading too much into it.

  “Yeah. There’s something else. But you have to promise not to let Maurice know so he won’t try to stop us. You up for a little adventure?”

  She grinned. “We egging Art’s house?”

  “He’s staying with Riley. Probably not cool.” I laughed, picturing Riley’s dismay at having shaving cream all over his balcony. “No, something more daring. Something probably illegal.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Finally I get to play, too. I’m in. What have you got in mind?”

  * * *

  Two in the morning is a crappy time to be hiking on the shoulder of Highway 101, dressed in black, dodging headlights to avoid being seen. Then again, noon probably wouldn’t have been much better.

  There was no shoulder where we were going, so we had to park the car a few miles from our destination and make it down a steep embankment on foot in near darkness. I walked ahead of Sara so she could keep an eye on me. I knocked myself in the shin with my shovel four times, and I tripped twice. It was a miracle I didn’t slip climbing down the hill and roll into oncoming traffic.

  We stopped a few feet from the road and examined the rainbows in front of us.

  Sara dropped the point of her shovel into the dirt and leaned against the handle. “What if this doesn’t work?”

  I shrugged. “Then we’ll be no worse off than we were before. But it makes a twisted, fairy-tale kind of sense.”

  “I guess. But nothing about these leprechauns has followed folklore so far. They’re short, but not tiny. They don’t all have red hair or carry around walking sticks. Hell, they don’t even have Irish accents. I have serious doubts about this pot-of-gold thing.”

  “We have to try. It’s the only thing I can think of. Got any other ideas?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Let’s do it.”

  The Waldo tunnel was a huge landmark in Marin County. It separated Marin from the Golden Gate Bridge, and the San Francisco side of both tunnels was decorated with bright, painted rainbows.

  When I was a kid, I called it the Rainbow Dragon tunnel. All the kids did. We believed a dragon inhabited a dark corner of the tunnel. Unless at least one person in the car held her breath, the dragon would swallow the entire car. Wishes were also involved, somehow. I wasn’t sure how it worked, but I remembered Mom’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She always reminded me to make a wish as we crossed out of the sunlight and into the dimly lit tunnel. I don’t know if Mom believed in the magic or if it was a childhood tradition she’d passed on, but I never forgot it. No matter how old I was, I always held my breath and made a wish.

  The Rainbow Tunnel was serious business. If the leprechauns had a pot of gold buried at the end of a rainbow anywhere in Marin County, this would be the place.

  I took a step forward, tripped on my shoelace, and fell flat on my face.

  Sara managed to grab my shovel before it fell on top of me. “Nice. You’re not going over there so close to the road. Stay here.”

  I pulled my black, knitted cap down over my ears and scowled. “Be careful. I’ve seen two cop cars go by already. If they spot you, I doubt they’ll offer to help dig.”

  Sara turned to go, then turned back, her brow creased in thought. “Where should I start? Between the two tunnels, I’ve got four ends of the rainbow to choose from.”

  I pointed to the one farthest from us. “I’m feeling that one, unfortunately.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Then which one?”

  I pointed at each one in the order I thought we should search, ending with the one a few feet away from us. “Probably not this one. I just have a feeling about the far one.”

  “Good,” she said. “Thank you.” She strode over to the one nearest us, despite my belief that it was least likely to be the right spot.

  “No,” I yelled. “Not that one.”

  She laughed. “No offense, sweetie, but your luck is shit. I’m doing the opposite of what you’d do so we can speed this up.”

  The area was inches from the road. Despite being the wee hours of the morning, Sara still had to jump out of the way of headlights every two shovelfuls. It was a small spot though, maybe two square feet at the most. It didn’t take long before the sound of her cackling reached my ears.

  “Got it!” She ran to where I stood, carrying a small box in her hands.

  I took it from her and brushed off the dirt. “This isn’t a pot of gold,” I said. The box wasn’t special or decorated in any way—smaller than a shoebox, and made of unstained wood. “If this is some kid’s dead hamster, I’m throwing it at you.” I flipped the catch and peeked inside.

  Gold shamrock lapel pins. Dozens of them.

  “Gotcha, you little asshats,” I said.

  I ran my fingers through the puddle of pins, wondering if wearing one would fix my luck until the gnome ink wore off. Sara pulled my hand out and shut the box.

  “Probably better not to mess with mojo we don’t understand,” she said. “Let’s get you home before you kill yourself.”

  * * *

  I didn’t feel the gnome-ink sigil when Art stuck it on my hand, so it surprised me when I felt it expire. I was unloading boxes in The Raintree parking lot when it went off. A flash and a piercing cold shot through the back of my hand.

  I slapped at it, as if it were a fire and I could put it out.

  “What the hell was that?” Sara balanced a box against one leg and juggled two plastic bags in her arms.

  “I think my prison sentence just expired.” I looked at my watch. Nearly ten. “Yep. Time’s up.”

  “Good timing. Grab this box before I drop it. Now I don’t have to worry about trusting you not to fall.”

  I rescued the slipping carton of breakables before it crashed to the pavement. We loaded up our arms and headed toward the entrance.

  A car pulled in, blocking our way. I should have expected Art to show up, but I had been trying my best to forget about him since the zoo. He drove Riley’s car, and Riley sat in the passenger seat, clutching the dashboard with white knuckles. The windows were up, so I couldn’t hear them, but judging by the crimson of Riley’s face, the discussion was heated.

  Art’s door came open first, and he charged out. I noted with interest that he hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt. I guess safety isn’t an issue when you’re a reaper. I still wasn’t clear on how that worked, exactly. Odd, especially since he was so big on rules and regulations—that, and Riley was wearing his.

  “Well, Miss Donovan,” Art said, swaggering up to me. “I suppose you’re quite pleased with yourself.”

  I scowled at him and shifted the weight I was holding. “Breathing does make me pretty happy. Also, not tripping over my own feet or dropping everything I pick up will be kind of a thrill.”

  He didn’t look amused. “Congratulations on your survival. You are a lucky woman with a shocking amount of friends, considering how distastefully you behave. I suppose there’s no rule saying an Aegis has to have good manners.”

  “Gee, thanks, Art. And hey, now that it’s all over, feel free to call me Miss Donovan.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Let’s be clear. I don’t find your flip attitude funny in the least.”

  Sara stepped closer and nudged me with her elbow. “Tough room.”

  I
gave her a wide-eyed, comical look. “I know, right? I have them rolling in the aisles in Vegas.”

  “Sausalito’s a more sophisticated crowd,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe you need fresher material.”

  Art was fuming. “Ladies, this is hardly appropriate.”

  Riley stepped out of the car and stood beside Art. “Leave her alone, Art. Let her take care of the party before you harass her.”

  Art puffed his chest. Probably so he’d look more intimidating and official. “I may not be convinced she’s an Aegis, but the rules are clear. The trial is officially over. Miss Donovan, I’ll need you to come with me now.”

  My smile diminished. It was no longer amusing. “I’m not going anywhere with you right now. I have a job to do.”

  “Yes, you have a job to do. And it’s time you took the responsibility seriously. If you’ll step into the car, we need to get to the airport.”

  “Art, please,” Riley said.

  My lips formed a tight line, and I spoke between my teeth. “Now is not a convenient time. I would very much like to go with you to meet this Board of yours, because I have a few choice things to say to them. But I have a very nice older couple waiting for me inside, and they’re expecting to have a wonderful afternoon filled with daisies. I happen to like daisies, Art. Do you like daisies? Because I have a lot of decorating with daisies ahead of me, and I could use some help. You can pitch in, or you can get your ass out of my way.”

  I turned on my heel and walked away. I could hear furious clicking. I ignored him and his damn pen.

  Sara trailed behind me, stifling a chuckle. “Nice. Now, you might want to get the scowl off your face before we meet the clients.”

  She was right. I could feel my face pinched up and my eyebrows drawn low over my eyes. I took a few deep breaths and changed to my smiling game face.

  “Better?” I faced her to let her check.

  “A little scary, actually, how fast you can do that.”

  “Thanks. I’m nothing if not professional.”

  By the time we got to the door, Riley had already jogged past us and had it open.

  “Thanks, handsome,” Sara said. “Mind grabbing a few of these bags?”

  He took a little from each of us and followed.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I tried to get him to stay away at least until you were done here.”

  I shrugged. “I’m surprised after all the things I’ve said to him that he still thinks I give a damn about his rules and his Board of Whatchamacallits. He just doesn’t give up, does he?”

  “I don’t think it’s in his nature.”

  “No, I don’t think it is.”

  It took a lot of trips, even with three of us, but we got most of the stuff inside. The staff was helpful in showing us where to we’d be setting everything up, but they had too much to do with the regular day-to-day workings of the place to spend much time with us. With every trip, I saw Art, clicking his pen and watching me.

  I kept my eyes open for gremlins, but if they were around, their camouflage held steady. No blurry spots in the corners where colors didn’t match. No eyes shining from the shrubbery.

  Once we had everything inside, Andrew finally showed up.

  “Dude,” I said. “You missed all the unpacking.” I hugged him and kissed his cheek. “How’s Milo?”

  “Sorry about that. I was at the hospital with him. He’s moving around a lot more. Still not sure about that leg, though. It’s going to take some time.”

  The catering staff came out shortly after that and set up the extra tables and chairs, so we were able to start decorating. There were so many daisies. We put them everywhere. If Andrew’s gran liked daisies, by God, she was going to get a room full of them. The table decorations we’d made the night before were perfect once we set flowers in the spaces we’d left between the greenery. We scattered petals. We hung them from the arches. By the time we were finished, the dining room of the retirement home looked like an enchanted garden. Yellow ribbons streamed down the backs of the chairs and wove through the arrangements.

  The jazz quartet showed up an hour early—Sara must have been more persuasive than I realized—and we gave them all flowers to wear in their lapels and hatbands while they set up.

  It was nice not having a huge wedding to deal with. This was a party, not a carefully orchestrated show. It was fun. It made me remember why I became a wedding planner in the first place.

  Before the guests and the happy couple arrived, we all stopped for a moment to admire our handiwork.

  Sara folded her arms across her chest, scrutinizing the room. “Yep,” she said. “Simple is good. Fancy is nice, but sometimes, simple has its own charm.”

  Andrew put an arm around my shoulders. “This is perfect. They’re going to love it. Thank you so much, Zoey.”

  I smiled up at him. “Thank Sara. She did most of it. I spent most of my week dodging accidents and leprechauns or under house arrest for my own safety.”

  He put his other arm around Sara and gave her a squeeze. “Thank you, Sara. It really means a lot.”

  Guests started milling in, on their own feet, in wheelchairs under their own steam or pushed by others, with canes or walkers. One or two shuffled in dragging an IV or oxygen. Every one of them was dressed in their best, and every one of them was smiling. It was a happy day.

  We ushered the guests into a small chapel off to the side of the reception area, and they settled in to wait. A round-faced, grinning man named Abe took his place up at the podium.

  “Fifty years ago,” he said, “I was a young pup, fresh out of seminary. Martin and I grew up together. He was like a brother to me. When he brought home Sophie, why, my heart swelled with happiness for him. Theirs was the first wedding I ever officiated, and it was my great honor to join together before God these two wonderful human beings.”

  He took out a crisp, white handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. “I’ve been privileged to be a part of their lives, the lives of their children, and even their grandchildren.” His clear blue eyes focused on Andrew. “Today, I am filled with gladness on this, their fiftieth anniversary, at the opportunity to join them in the renewing of their vows where they will again declare before God, family and friends the strength and promise of their great love for each other.”

  They must have practiced that part, because as he finished the last word, Martin and Sophie appeared at the door, her arm looped through his, and they made their way down the aisle, joyful smiles lighting up their faces. They took their places in front of the podium, and everyone bowed their heads as Abe led them in prayer.

  I closed my eyes, lowered my head, and was promptly yanked backward through the chapel door.

  My abduction was quick, so the muffled sound of surprise I made didn’t cause a disruption. It was timed well. Someone dragged me halfway down the hall before I managed to figure out what was going on. A leprechaun thug on each side of me held my arms in a viselike grip.

  “Oh, hell no,” I said. I shook them loose and planted my feet, glaring past them at Murphy O’Doyle.

  “Miss Donovan,” he said, smiling, “I believe we have some business to attend to.” He snapped his fingers. “Boys, let’s have some privacy. Bring the lady this way.” He turned on his heel and led us into a meeting room down the hall. Before I had a chance to object, my escorts shoved me into the room and forced me to sit in a chair at the end of the table.

  “Fine,” I said. “I have things to do. Let’s make this quick, shall we?”

  O’Doyle shrugged. “Does this mean you aren’t prepared to hand over either another magical item or two hundred fifty thousand dollars cash?”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It sputtered out of me like I was a pricked balloon. “How much?”

  “I believe you heard me.”

  �
�I think at this point, you might as well just whammy me or whatever. Your fees are high enough that I don’t think you expect payment so much as a reason to curse me.”

  He didn’t have the grace to deny it. He tipped his head forward in acknowledgement. “As you say.”

  “So, what’s it going to be? Black cats? Spilled salt? Broken mirrors?”

  He scratched his chin, as if thinking it through. “I rather enjoyed punishing your friend rather than you, yourself, I must admit. And you’ve been a thorn in my side since we arrived.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’m here now, free of the Board’s curse. There’s no need to bring anyone else into it.”

  “Oh, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s already done.”

  My two escorts weren’t ready for me to leap out of my chair so fast. I was across the room and had O’Doyle by the lapels of his expensive suit before they registered that I’d moved. “What the hell did you do?”

  The gold shamrock on his jacket winked at me in the light. I may have had his box of reserve magic, but I was guessing that as long as he and his goons still had their pins, they still had their mojo. Unfortunately, I didn’t think they’d hold still long enough for me to swipe them.

  “I did nothing, Miss Donovan. I merely sent a small gift to aid in the festivities. Yellow and blue is a lovely color scheme, by the way. It took some doing to find the right accessories. But don’t worry. It should all be set up now.”

  My eyes grew wide and I shook him. “What did you send?”

  “Why not see for yourself? I took the liberty of having the staff set it all up on your orders.”

  I let go of him, and he smoothed the wrinkles in his jacket. His goons were about to grab me again, but he waved them off. I took off through the door and down the hall, my heels echoing on the tiles.

  When I reached the dining area, I froze. The flowers and table settings were unchanged. All around the room, however, were brightly colored yellow and blue parasols. They hung artfully from the ceiling, the light fixtures, nestled among the potted plants—and they were all open. I was horrified. There had to be twenty or thirty open umbrellas inside the building, each of them oozing bad luck. I did a quick count. Twenty-seven. Of course it would be an odd number so their bad luck wouldn’t cancel each other out.