What the hell?
Did a random piece of duct tape appear over my mouth?
I grab my face and… don’t have lips. When I shoot a ‘what the hell?’ look to Sophia, she screams—and her mouth abruptly vanishes.
I glare at the brownies, trying to ask WTF with my eyeballs.
“Loud noises bad. No yelling,” says one.
Sophia wriggles, failing to scream or move much, while I go off on an epic rant. In the span of forty seconds, I use more swear words than in all the hours of my life leading up to this moment combined. The brownies find my mumbling to be quite funny. After I manage—somehow—to calm myself, I stare at them while trying to do Superman’s laser beam eye thing.
Doesn’t work.
“No yelling,” says another brownie.
Fine. Whatever. I give a thumbs-up.
A faint tingle washes over my face. Aha. I’ve got lips again. Fists clenched, I force myself to speak in a calm, even tone. “If the leprechauns have nothing whatsoever to do with the witches, why do you want them destroyed?”
“So we can get the girl,” replies another random brownie, grinning at me.
Easy, Sarah. Hold it together.
“Will one of you please explain the entire situation? I’m having trouble understanding.”
A brownie three rows deep pushes to the front. “Human girl goes into woods. She gets lost. Witches blame brownies for girl being gone. We want witches to stop hurting us.”
I look at him/her. “How does this involve leprechauns at all?” Gah, it’s like they’re deliberately trying to drive me crazy.
“The leprechauns can find girl, but won’t. They laugh at us.”
Okay. Now it makes sense. “I think I’m finally getting it.” I glance at Sophia. “Why would witches suspect brownies of kidnapping a child?”
“We no take children,” yells about two-thirds of the brownies… sounding a bit too innocent.
I lean against my sister. “You don’t? She’s only ten.”
“She bigger than other human,” says a brownie.
A front-row brownie on the left jumps up and down. “She not children. She magic person.”
“Leprechauns maybe take girl,” says another brownie. “Not at first, but now they see witches hurt brownies, and keep her so more hurt happen.”
“They have girl,” yells a brownie in the back.
I’d sigh at the clouds, but the trees are in the way… so I sigh at the trees. “Please let my sister go and I’ll try to help. She doesn’t have enough magic, or the right kind of magic, to blow up leprechauns.”
“We give you girl in trade for other girl,” says one brownie, triggering the whole lot of them to start nodding and saying ‘yes’ repeatedly.
“Whoa. Hold on. Let’s assume I find this other kid. What the heck are you going to do to her if I bring her here?”
“Send her back to village so witches stop. No hurt.”
“Maybe you kill leprechaun?” asks the third brownie on the right in the front row. “You are creature of night.”
I tilt my hand in a so-so gesture. “More a creature of dimness.”
I’m still struggling with the notion of them existing at all, but something tells me slaughtering leprechauns is probably a lot worse than breaking mirrors for bad luck. Of course, if Eighties horror movies are any source of legit information, maybe leprechauns are evil bastards. I really don’t want to think what the leprechaun from the movie would do to a lost child.
“Okay, I have one more question.”
“Just one?” asks Sophia.
Right? Sigh. “You guys seem to be magically powerful. I mean, you managed to get a teenage girl and a tween to stop talking for five minutes.”
“I don’t talk too much,” mumbles Sophia.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Really? When Nicole and Megan are over?”
“We don’t talk too much.”
“Heh. ‘Too much’ is relative.” I pat her on the head. “Relax. It’s normal at your age.”
Sophia frowns. “I’ve heard you and Ash on the phone. You shouldn’t say anyone talks too much.”
Ooh. Little wiseass. I tickle her through the roots, making her squeak. She’d probably scream, but her thick winter coat protects her enough from my fingers. Instead, she squirms, gawking at me with a ‘how could you take advantage of my helplessness’ face.
The brownies exchange glances. Cripes, I think there are even more of them now.
“Anyway, you guys have powerful elder magic. What makes you think you need Sophia for anything?”
“Leprechauns elder magic, too. Girl not. No defenses.” The brownie in the middle of the front row slaps a hand to his/her chest. “She make day to night. Girl have power to smash leprechauns.”
If these critters think Sophia’s going to go on a murder spree, they’re clearly hash brownies. I face the throng and put on my most trustworthy smile. “Please let Sophia go, and I promise I’ll help you with your witch problem.”
Center Brownie peers up at me. “Creature of darkness—”
“Dimness,” says the brownie next to them.
“Darkness.” repeats Brownie One.
Brownie Two shakes their head. “Dimness.”
“Darkness!”
Brownie Two gestures at me emphatically. “Dimness.”
“Sare, will you smack me in the forehead?” asks Sophia—as the two brownies keep shouting back and forth ‘darkness-dimness-darkness-dimness’.
“Why?”
“Because I’m tied to a tree and can’t facepalm.”
I rest my head against the trunk beside hers and whisper, “What’s stopping me from kicking all their tiny asses and getting you out of here?”
“Don’t!” whispers Sophia. “They’re small, but super powerful.”
“Creature of dim darkness!” yells Brownie One. “You go. Get human child from leprechauns. Bring here. We give this one to you as reward.”
Grr. I whirl to glare at the little bugger. “You can’t steal her from me and then call it a reward to let her go home.”
“Just do it,” says Sophia.
“What?” I spin to face her again. “I can’t leave you stuck here.”
She squirms. “Trust me, I’m not loving being tied to a tree either, but you’ll never win an argument against brownies. As soon as you start winning, they stop making sense. Before you know it, the sun will be up and you’ll…”
“I don’t like this. You can’t even move. How were they expecting you to help them like that?”
Sophia rolls her eyes. “Didn’t you hear? I’m so magically powerful, I can blow up all the leprechauns from here.”
“Right… I’m tempted to try the barbarian approach.”
“No. They teleported me from London to Ireland. Their magic is serious.”
“But apparently too weak to blow up leprechauns,” I mutter.
“Don’t tick them off! Please. Just… find the other kid, or grab a leprechaun.” Sophia huffs. “I’ll just hang here.”
“Leprechauns.” I shake my head.
“Yeah. Hurry before the sun comes up.”
I look back at the brownies. “My sister doesn’t have magic like you think she does, but since you won’t simply let her go… I will help make the witches stop bothering you.”
All the brownies nod, one so rapidly the little bugger falls over.
Another wearing a slightly more ornate outfit—the preschooler who got to play the ‘flower’ instead of merely a tree at the end-of-year play—approaches me. “I Kezbit. In charge. If witches stop, you will have human child as reward. If you bring other human child so we can give to witches, we trade you this human child. If you destroy leprechauns all so we can find human child, and give to witches, we give you this human child as reward.”
“Right. I fix your witch problem, you let Sophia go.”
“Agree.” She or he extends a tiny hand.
Ugh. When did my life get this weird?
/> I shake. “Back soon.”
30
Deeper and Deeper She Goes
Dear diary,
I’m hunting leprechauns. No, seriously. I don’t need a drug test. Wait, what’s with the men in white coats? Hey! Stop! Let go of me.
Something tells me I’m not dreaming. My first night as a vampire, everything seemed far too outlandish to possibly be real. Back then, waking up in a morgue cooler naked had been ‘extremely bizarre.’ Oh, the innocence of my youth. Compared to taking a mercenary contract from brownies to exterminate the leprechaun nation, vampires sound completely sane.
So much for the denial excuse of ‘I gotta be dreaming.’
You know how western movies sometimes do the ‘this town ain’t big enough for the two of us’ thing? The brownie-leprechaun conflict sounds much the same. Only, it’s ‘this forest isn’t big enough.’ Before leaving my little sister rooted to a tree surrounded by a pack of weird little magical beasties, I at least managed to get a straight answer out of one regarding where to find the leprechauns. Klepto stayed with Sophia to keep her company—and deal with random nose itches.
Same forest, mile or two northwest.
Guess when you’re two feet tall, a long-distance conflict is relative.
The woods are somewhat less dense in ‘leprechaun territory.’ It’s anyone’s guess if this is due to centuries of humans tromping around trying to catch one or if the brownies have used magic to overgrow their part of the forest as a defense. Brownies, I’d never heard of until tonight. Leprechauns are a little more well known, but it would be foolish of me to believe any folklore as truth until I see one in person. These guys could be amicable little dudes with beards and jolly green suits every bit as easily as some eldritch horrors from the deepest, darkest pits of awfulness.
For a while, I glide around in the treetops, trying to be as silent as possible since the only source of information available to me about these creatures is legend. Folklore says people constantly hunt leprechauns for treasure. If true, they’d likely have evolved to be wary and have good hearing.
Evolved. Pff. Yeah, way to go, Sarah. Apply science to magical creatures.
I sigh, hard… and cough up a little rock. Something metal clicks into my teeth. Ack. I spit it out into my hand. A deformed, tiny bullet. Oh, right. Jacob shot me in the back. I flick it aside and keep prowling. Every so often, I grab onto a branch and hover among the leaves, listening to the night.
Finally, I hear singing.
Not merely any singing… this sounds like an old man crooning an Irish shanty song played at double speed. I know I’m going to regret seeing the source of the singing, but Sophia needs me. Silent as a cat stalking up on an oblivious squirrel, I glide after the miniature minstrel, keeping myself about twenty feet off the ground. With any luck, Dalton was right about there not being many vampires in Ireland. If true, leprechauns wouldn’t be used to ‘predation’ by silent flying humans. Owls are pretty damn quiet, too—but would they attack tiny people?
If anything, hearing a little man singing makes it more likely the sight waiting for me a short distance ahead in the trees is closer to the stereotypical depiction of a leprechaun and not some twisted horror.
Score one for vampire night vision.
This forest is pitch dark owing to the thick canopy and overcast night—but it’s as clear as daylight to me, merely drab. Motion draws my attention to a small, humanoid figure strolling along brazen as anything. Not counting the hat, he’s about the same height as the brownies, but has a normally proportioned head. I’d been expecting a bright green suit, pocket watch, derby… the whole nine. He is wearing a suit, but he doesn’t look like the Notre Dame mascot. Considering the darkness, I’m mostly guessing at color, but I want to say it’s tan or brown. He looks like someone hit a working class Victorian guy with a shrink ray. Pretty sure his hair and beard are ginger, though.
Wow. Leprechauns are real.
Maybe I am dreaming after all. Or, wait. No. Can’t be. I made the mistake of drinking the blood of two mystics. Who knows what their bizarre essences are doing to me? Dammit. Not once has anything I tried to deny being real turned out to truly be a figment of my imagination. I’m not so lucky. Sophia’s really been abducted by freakin’ brownies, and I’m really following a leprechaun.
Chances are good he’s going to run, turn invisible, or teleport away if he senses me coming. At least, the stories always make it sound impossible to catch them. I suppose considering human society regards them as myths, there might be some truth to the difficulty involved. Maybe they use magic to make people forget? Doing so sure works for me.
Is vampire telepathy ‘magic’ or something else?
Whatever.
I surge forward, swooping down at him from behind. The fabric of my top flutters, a faint sound, but enough for him to spin, raising his walking stick. He doesn’t see me at first since he’s expecting attack from the ground level. The little man looks up a split second before I grab him under the armpits as if collecting a runaway toddler, lifting him into the air as I land.
He screams in fright, then explodes in a furious shouting rant while walloping me about the head and shoulders with his walking stick. Gordon Freeman has nothing on a leprechaun. Fastest crowbar in the west has been dethroned. I can’t say it hurts per se, but it’s far from comfortable—kind of like being forced to listen to the U2 album they gave away on iTunes and automatically downloaded.
Were I human, I’d likely be dizzy, bleeding, and throwing him aside to make the walloping stop.
“Hey!” I shout. “Stop whacking me with your stick.”
He doesn’t, but switches to English. “Damn giant elf! What’re ya doin’ swoopin oot de air at me like dat? Oonhand me!”
“Stop whacking me with your stick!”
The leprechaun pauses his attack. “Is naht a steck. Eht’s a shillelagh!” He bonks me over the head.
“Looks like a stick to me,” I grumble.
Bonk. “Shillelagh!”
“Stick.”
Bonk. “Shillelagh!”
“I’m not going back and forth with you.”
Bonk. “Ya massive gowl. Call eht a steck oon mahr time’ an’ I’ll lamp ya fierce.” Bonk.
I shake him hard enough to make his hat fall off while shouting, “I don’t want your damn gold. Just listen to me!”
His eyes widen in shock. “Ya dahn’t want me gold?”
“No! Will you please stop hitting me with your stick?”
He frowns. Bonk. “Shillelagh!”
I furrow my brows. “Fine. Shillelagh.”
Bonk.
“What was that for?” I yell, cringing.
“Ya dahn’t mean et. Ya say ‘shillelagh,’ but yer thinkin’ steck. There a bet o’ difference between a steck and a shillelagh.”
I open my mouth to say ‘fine,’ but he points the stick at me.
“Better mean et.”
Whatever. A stick carried by a leprechaun is a shillelagh.
“Please stop hitting me with your shillelagh. I’m not after your gold.”
He adjusts his suit vest. “Well, dat’s a surprise. I donna think ’umans be fast anuff to catch me. Bot ya ded manage et… and you dahn’t want me gold? Well, I owe you a favor den. Gotta ask ya though. What sort o’ flute snags a leprechaun and dahn’t want de gold?”
“Flute?”
“A right selly sahrt’a person.” He points the shillelagh at me again. “But ya say ya dahn’t want de gold already. Nae backtrackin’, er ae’ll right banjax ya wit’ a curse da likes o’ which ya never imagine.”
“No, I didn’t catch you for gold. Brownies have kidnapped my little sister.”
“Oh, surely.” He rolls his eyes. “Snaggin’ a leprechaun is a right natural thing ta do when dat ’appens.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m listenin’. Ya kin go ’ead an put me down now. We ’avin’ a rapport.”
I look him over. No obvious expres
sions to give away a lie, but he is a leprechaun. They’ll do anything to protect their gold. He probably doesn’t believe I’m not after it… or he wouldn’t have threatened to ‘banjax’ me—whatever it means. “No offense, but I think you’re trying to trick me. Hear me out first, then I’ll put you down.”
He folds his arms. Regards me for a moment, then bonks me over the head.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Ya stell thinkin’ o’ me shillelagh as a steck.”
Good grief. Is every magical creature under three feet tall annoying as hell?
“So, complicated. The brownies thought my sister could blow up your village. She can’t. The only thing I want is to get my sister back from the brownies, alive and healthy. They won’t let her go until I either kill all the leprechauns, which I am totally not interested in doing, or find this little girl who went missing in the forest.” I proceed to explain the entire messy situation while holding him like a disgruntled Teddy Ruxpin who’s got a shillelagh and isn’t afraid to use it.
“Ahh. De child yer lookin’ farh ’as been taken by de dark dryads.” He nods once.
“Say what?”
“Tree spirits.”
“There’s only three of them?”
Bonk. “Na, ya mog. Na say tree lek ‘on, ta, tree, fahr’. Tree lek tree.” He points the shillelagh at a tree. “Wood spirits. Dere be dark ones an’ light ones. De dark ones ’ave the wee sprog.”
I groan. “The brownies think you guys have her. The witches think the brownies have her. The brownies are attacking you guys to make the witches stop attacking them, and now you’re telling me that some other creature entirely has this kid?”
“Aye.” He folds his arms.
“I’m guessing it’s not good for the dark dryads to have her. Is she—I mean, is it too late?”
“Maybe naht. See, dryads are all wimmin fahlk. Dey need ’uman men to ’ave babies o deir own. De light dryads dahn’t ’ave a problem wit’ et.” He wags his eyebrows. “Dem dark ones, though. Dey’ll drahp a man dead as a stahn frahm lookin’ at ’em. Fierce oogly dings.”
Vampire Innocent (Book 9): An Introduction To Paranormal Diplomacy Page 26