Lucky Magic

by Cate Lawley

  Jackson started to say something—but then it hit: wish magic.

  A bright green flash of light and a rippling pulse of magic flooded the room for a split second.

  “What was that?” Jackson asked.

  The lady with the prison costume said, “What?”

  Jackson looked at me with a hint of panic in his eyes. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

  I dipped my chin once, then leaned as close to him as I could with the chain link separating us and whispered, “Just don’t make any wishes. Please.” He didn’t look like he’d heard me, and was backing away with a worried look on his face. “Jackson.”

  He still had that faraway look in his eyes as he turned to leave. I couldn’t tell if the magic had frightened him—understandable, since he shouldn’t have been able to see or feel it, or he’d figured out I was the cause of it and he was scared of me.

  And then he was gone.

  I rested my head against the chain link of the cell. This was bad, so bad. He was running around with three wishes clinging to him, and all three of them were desperate to be made a reality.

  Those wishes were made up of my magic, but I couldn’t control them from a distance. No nudging the magic to avoid a disaster; no counseling Jackson to improve his chances of a decent wish.

  I banged my head against the cell, but I couldn’t even get a satisfying thwack because it was chain link.

  I took a breath and stepped back from the barrier. In my defense, I was really hungover and had been cuddled by a sexy beast of a man. Basically, not in my right mind. No matter how bad this situation got, I did have that to fall back on…except that thought failed to comfort me as visions of wish-magic chaos flew through my mind.

  I flagged down the jailor to request a bathroom break, just as the person I least wanted to see walked into the room.

  “Hi, Dad. So nice to see you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE: In Which Our Heroine Escapes

  As dapper as Cary Grant and as light on his feet as Fred Astaire. Add an Irish lilt that I was sure he could have kicked to the curb years ago, and that was my dad.

  Leprechaun couples were slow in the baby department, averaging around a child every half-century. I figured it was because the world couldn’t safely sustain as many troublemakers as a fecund leprechaun society would create. Dad and I agreed to disagree on that particular issue. His argument was something about making sense from a biological standpoint because we were so long-lived. Put my four brothers in a room together and any sane person observing their behavior would be convinced I had the winning argument.

  I cringed when I saw the twinkle in his eye.

  “My daughter goes and gets herself locked up, and she has the brass to get sarcastic with her dear old dad, here to save her.”

  Saved…but at what cost? If Dad was here, there was mischief afoot.

  One of the girls in the cell said, “Wow! You’re fast. I’m waiting for my mom to figure out how to make the donation online. They’ve got us live-streaming on the website. Fun, right?” Then she pointed up at a camera in the corner of the room and waved. “Hi, Mom!”

  Dad glanced up at the camera. “Ah, I see. Locked up and the act recorded for all of posterity.”

  In low tones, I said, “Not like I planned this, Dad. And who would have thought they’d use real locks?” I wasn’t about to tell him I hadn’t known I was participating in a charity lock-in.

  “Suppose you’ll be needing a charitable contribution to set yourself free?”

  I gave him a hard look and then turned and waved at the jailor for the second time. When he arrived, I said, “Or I can request a bathroom break. Isn’t that right?”

  The man smiled and pulled the key from his pocket, oblivious to the tension between Dad and me. “Absolutely.”

  “What’s the bail-out?” Dad asked my jailor.

  “Minimum of an hour or five hundred dollars.”

  I waited impatiently for the jailor to turn the key in the lock. When the cell gate swung open, I hoofed it to the door. Jackson could be out there on the verge of creating some very real chaos. I didn’t think he’d made a wish yet, but it was hard to say for sure. The further removed he was from the source of the magic—namely, me—the less likely I was to sense it.

  And all it took was a couple of little words—“I wish”—and some nonsensical passing thought could become reality.

  I paused long enough to say over my shoulder, “Pay the man, Dad,” before I bolted through the door.

  Dad would have five bills on him, no question. He hated to be caught without cash…or a little bit of gold for luck. And I hated to welch on a fundraising commitment.

  If only my escape resolved the wish issue, but no dice. It was the technicality of having been trapped that created the problem. Or, more accurately, that created three wishes—which, in turn, were a huge problem. I jogged down the hallway toward the exit.

  Stupid leprechaun laws of magic.

  The moment the lock had clicked on my cell door, I’d been “trapped.” And by the arcane rules of leprechaun magic, that meant Jackson now had three wishes firmly attached to his person. He was a walking, talking, ticking time bomb. I picked up my pace.

  Without a little nudge in the right direction… I shuddered. I needed to find him, or my unattended magic and his slip of the tongue might cause serious damage.

  I flung the exterior door open and sunlight blinded me.

  As I waited for my sight to return, one of my brothers’ more memorable wish mishaps came to mind. His magic (and a very attractive brunette who’d locked him in a bathroom) had created colorful orbs of light in the sky above a small Texas town. Dad had fixed it in the end, even helped turn it around to become a tourist attraction—but for a while there, an entire town had been afraid. And that wasn’t even one of the biggest Kelly family bloopers. The big ones… My skin prickled. Ugh. Thinking about those gave me hives.

  As the parking lot came into focus, I took off at a sprint for where I thought Jackson had parked. I didn’t see any sign of him in the parking lot, and as I huffed and puffed my way down one aisle after another, I was starting to lose hope that his car was still here.

  Surely he hadn’t left without me? That wasn’t like Jackson at all.

  About two seconds after that thought, I saw his car…and remembered I’d been more than a little distracted on the way in from the parking lot. I’d hardly been in a state of mind to make note of the row where he’d parked.

  I leaned on the hood and tried to catch my breath. I also contemplated sabotage.

  My most powerful magic was tied to wish fulfillment. But even without much magical juice, I still had a little luck, some nifty tricks of persuasion I’d picked up from the silver-tongued devil who’d fathered me, and the ability to create mischief at the drop of a hat. Mischief-making was usually my least favorite activity—much to my father’s dismay—but today I’d run with it.

  I glanced around the parking lot. No one was close, so I reached up and tugged my right earlobe.

  “For shame.” The voice—my dad’s—scared my pulse into overdrive. He was just on the other side of the car, someplace he’d not been seconds before.

  I resisted the urge to clutch at my chest, and said as calmly as I could, “Who are you to criticize? I’m not popping around like a wayward fairytale creature when there are humans everywhere.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Concealment is hardly a concern. I mastered such minor magicks before you were born. But you?” He shook his head and gave me a mournful look. “You can’t even do magic without a fidget.”

  He’d seen the ear tug. Of course he had. I wasn’t sure if I embarrassed him, or if his parental disapproval stemmed more from disappointment. Either way, he wasn’t happy with my magical life choices. Having a grown child who practiced magic like a toddler probably wasn’t fun. But to get better, I had to occasionally use my magic, and practicing usually meant creating trouble for some poor, undeserving soul.


  And speaking of poor, undeserving souls, I glanced down at Jackson’s tires: four flats. I’d been aiming for two. I bit my lip and decided that I’d find some way to make it up to him.

  “How do you plan on getting yourself home now, daughter dearest?”

  “I don’t suppose you’re offering me a lift?” When he raised an eyebrow, I said, “Not that I’m asking. I need to find Jackson.” I crossed my arms. “Where is he?”

  “How would I know that?” He gave me his most innocent and beguiling smile. He knew and wasn’t saying.

  Which was exactly what I’d expected. Not that my dad wasn’t a pretty decent guy at heart. But he was a leprechaun, and like most, he had a bone-deep love of mischief. I really didn’t know why that particular trait had failed to manifest in me, I just thanked the Goddess it had.

  “If you’re not here to help with this mess, then why are you here?”

  “Well, to see if you’re in any real danger. That’s clearly not the case.”

  “Really?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “First and foremost, to ensure your safety…but I also couldn’t resist a little look. See what kind of mischief my girl was brewing.” He grinned.

  I groaned. “Dad. You know I’m not that kind of…”

  He grinned even broader. “That kind of daughter?”

  “Sure. We’ll go with that.”

  “Well, I’m here to tell you: you are that kind of daughter, because you’re my daughter.”

  I closed my eyes. No matter how many times I tried to explain to my dad that I didn’t get the same rush from creating havoc in people’s lives that he and my brothers got, he didn’t get it.

  And if I tried to explain that they were messing with people’s lives, causing real harm to people, he’d just explain that the Kelly’s weren’t a bad leprechaun family. He insisted our family was only out for a little fun—not like those shady Shannon leprechauns. Now those were bad apples, per Dad.

  I wouldn’t dare tell him that I couldn’t tell the difference between Kelly and Shannon family mischief. He’d have a coronary. Or be mortally offended that I thought the Kelly family traditions were anything less than noble.

  Dad was a great one for drama.

  “I just want to set this right before we need another massive cover-up. So are you going to help me and tell me where Jackson is?”

  He eyed me with suspicion. “I can tell you’re hiding something. But whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to help you muck up your first real fun in—what? Ten years?”

  “It was eight years ago, Dad. And that was not fun. It was a fiasco. That poor boy dropped out of college for two whole semesters.” I scanned the parking, still looking for some sign of Jackson.

  “Ah, but how’s that boy doing today, you might ask yourself? Fabulous, I’ll tell you. Married to a beautiful woman with three lovely children.” He raised his eyebrows. “Some might say that’s a sight better than single and not even a prospect on the horizon.”

  Good grief. Not only was I getting the nudge to be a better leprechaun, I was getting the guilt trip about grandkids.

  “Stop already with the grandkids. If you want them so badly, harass Michael, Thomas, James, and Stephen.” It was past time for the boys to feel some of the parental pressure I put up with regularly. “And don’t you dare say they have more time. That’s a terrible thing to say to your youngest—coincidentally female—child.” I glared at him.

  “Oh, darling, you wound me with your harsh words. I merely have a father’s concern—”

  “Pshaw. Don’t even. You and the guilt trips are getting old, Dad. When I’m ready—when I’ve met the right guy—I’ll let you know.” But I was talking to the air. My complaining, manipulative, generous, mischief-making, darling father had disappeared as quickly as he’d shown up.

  Someday I’d really have to figure out that popping in and popping out trick. In theory, I should be able to do it, but— I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on my inadequacies.

  Twisting the gold claddagh ring on my finger, I hoped for a fair outcome to today’s shenanigans. I always had a bit of gold on me, for luck. I rubbed the ring, because I had a feeling I was going to need every bit of luck I could scrounge today.

  “Focus, Livy. You need to find Jackson.” Because talking to myself would totally help.

  “Hey, Liv,” Jackson called from behind me.

  CHAPTER SIX: In Which Our Hero Behaves with Dismaying Calm

  Jackson sounded normal enough. I turned around, unsure what to expect. The last time I’d seen him, he’d looked pretty freaked out.

  But he looked just fine. Totally normal. In fact, he was really calm for a guy who’d seen magic for the first time only a few minutes ago.

  Weirdly calm.

  “Hey?” I peered at him, looking for some sign that he’d gone around the bend, had a break with reality, or had medicated himself heavily in the last few minutes.

  I was just coming to the conclusion that I was seeing denial in its strongest form, when his expression changed.

  I took a step back.

  He knew, and he was pissed.

  “I can explain—”

  “What?” He glanced at me, and that was when I realized that pissed-off look wasn’t directed at me but behind me.

  The tires. Oops.

  I’d given his car four flat tires. Was there a reasonable explanation for that type of behavior? I could hardly say, “I did it so you wouldn’t double back while I went to look for you inside and drive off without me because you were in a state of confused shock.”

  Because that was insane.

  But then, so was, “By the way, I’m a leprechaun. Please don’t destroy the world with your three wishes.”

  “Liv? You don’t look so good. It’ll be fine. I just need to call a tow truck.” He peered at me like I was about to faint. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you home. We can grab a rideshare.” Jackson put his hand on my upper arm. “Really, it’ll be fine.”

  I grimaced. “I can’t believe that you’re comforting me.” I clasped his hand, squeezed it, and then gently removed it from my arm. “You are, seriously, the nicest guy on the face of the planet.”

  He laughed. A deep, booming laugh that I’d never heard from him before. Had the idea of magic tipped him over the edge? When he’d recovered enough to speak, he said, “You have no idea. To say those words, today of all days.”

  “About that…” I tried to drum up some reasonable way to explain what he’d not only seen and felt, but what had apparently wigged him out enough to precipitate some bizarre behavior. A wish fulfilled? Goddess, I hoped not.

  “Hold that thought. Let me call the tow truck, and then we can talk while we wait.” He started tapping away on his phone.

  After he made arrangements to have a service come out and haul off the car, he said, “I can call you a rideshare now, or, if you don’t have any plans and don’t mind waiting, we can head back together.”

  “Oh.” This wasn’t going at all as expected. “Sure, I’m fine to wait. That’s okay. But about your tires—”

  “Oh, I know who did it. I don’t why—but I know who.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just wish—“

  “Aaaah! Stop. No, no. No speaking.” I made a flying leap for him and smacked my hand over his mouth.

  He caught me around the waist and spun me around. Really, it was that or let the both of us hit the pavement. My enthusiasm carried more force than I’d expected. Oops.

  Then rational thought fled as he grasped the hand covering his mouth, hooked it behind his neck, and kissed me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN: In Which Our Heroine is Simply Dismayed

  Jackson tasted like mint…and…and—

  His lips parted and our tongues tangled. Maybe I bit his bottom lip. Possibly he grabbed my ass.

  But I couldn’t swear to it. All I knew for sure was that it was heavenly. Tingly—and heavenly.

  And over
much too soon.

  Jackson lifted me and set me back a few feet. At some point during our lip lock, he’d leaned against the hood of his car and pulled me close to stand between his legs. A smart move, since he was at least a foot taller than me. But also probably when he’d grabbed my ass—yep, that hadn’t been my imagination. But now he looked shocked. Appalled, even.

  He opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to know what to say.

  Was it that bizarre that we’d kissed?

  The look on his face was proof positive: all the zing was on my end. Well, that was just depressing.

  And then I remembered there was more at stake than my feelings: those three pesky wishes. I held up a finger before he could say something terrible, like, “I wish I hadn’t just kissed you.” I needed a second to think.

  “I—”

  I shushed him. “Just give me a second.”

  He looked pretty stressed out, and his blue eyes bored into me with an intensity that wasn’t making any of this easier. But, being the gentleman he was, he didn’t say a word.

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” I said, because he had that guilt-ridden look men had right before they ruined your evening and said something like,“I didn’t mean to do that,” or “I was drunk,” or “We’re still friends, right?” or “I don’t know; I don’t really think of you that way.”

  Whoa. I needed to slow the crazy down. Focus on the wishes.

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Ah.” I held up my finger again. Then I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face. My very flushed face. What to say? “I’m a leprechaun and you have three wishes” didn’t seem quite right. Then how did I say it?

  I removed my hands from my face to find that Jackson’s expression had changed. Now he looked like he wanted to laugh. He had a crinkle at the corners of his eyes that gave him away.

  This was all a disaster. I was basically a joke. Half in love and completely in lust with a guy who was appalled he’d kissed me. Tied to him for the duration of three wishes, even though he didn’t know magic existed. And now I had to break the news to him and forever change the way he looked at me. I kinda wanted to cry.

  It was all too much, and I was so done. I blinked and then I just said it: “I’m a leprechaun, and you have three wishes.”