Pooka in My Pantry

  Pooka in My Pantry

  By R.L. Naquin

  A Monster Haven Story, book two

  Zoey Donovan—empath, wedding planner, go-to girl for monsters with personal problems—has been marked twice for pickup by Death. On both occasions, Riley the smoking-hot reaper has refused to follow through. For his breach of protocol, Riley is now on probation. For her refusal to die on schedule, Zoey’s right to live is challenged. She will have to undergo a life-or-death trial, but she won’t know when or where it will happen...

  Staying alive might not be so difficult if the Leprechaun Mafia hadn’t strolled into town. Now every business owner with the slightest connection to the supernatural community is being threatened with the most appalling bad luck if they don’t pay up. Mirrors are smashed, bodies are dropping, and Zoey’s still got clients waiting for fabric samples.

  With a little luck, she might be able to save everyone and still have time for a second attempt at a decent first date with her favorite reaper.

  Find out how it began in Monster in My Closet, available now!

  89,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  It’s a known truth among the people who have to nag me to meet the deadline on these letters that I get writer’s block when I sit down to write them. I’m always excited to tell you about what’s in store for the month, but I often get stuck figuring out how to start it off. So these letters are always late (sorry, people in production!). I had particularly bad writer’s block this month, so I was especially impressed when I realized that this March, all of the authors with books releasing at Carina Press have written multiple books, and many of them have long careers in writing. How do these authors do it, writing multiple books a year, for years, creating new worlds, new characters and unique stories? It’s amazing to me, even after ten years in this industry, that there are people with this gift. And I’ll admit it, I’m a little jealous they have that gift. But I’m thrilled to introduce you to the books releasing this month from these incredible authors.

  I know it’s a little past Valentine’s Day, but it’s always time for chocolate and romance, and Christi Barth brings us both in A Fine Romance, the second contemporary romance in her Aisle Bound series. And if you missed the first book, Planning for Love, make sure to grab that as well!

  We have six! other authors joining Christi with sequels. Lynda Aicher heats up the pages with an emotionally gripping, smokin’ hot BDSM romance, Bonds of Need. Dee Carney also offers up lust and love in one package in her erotic paranormal romance sequel, Hunger Awakened.

  Veteran author Vivi Anna brings us The League of Illusion: Prophecy, a steampunk romance with an illusionist, a hunt for a missing brother, an incomplete map and a psychic! Relative newcomer Nicole Luiken follows up her debut fantasy romance, Gate to Kandrith, with the second in this duology and the conclusion to the story, Soul of Kandrith.

  R.L. Naquin offers the sequel to Monster in My Closet, her debut novel. In Pooka in My Pantry, empath Zoey Donovan is marked for pickup by Death. But when she refuses to die on schedule, she has a to-die-for reaper to deal with. And watch the battle of wills between a female gunship pilot and a combat controller hero in romantic suspense Tactical Strike by Kaylea Cross. Kaylea’s first book in this series, Deadly Descent, remains one of Carina Press readers’ favorite romantic suspenses!

  Alyssa Everett follows up her debut offering, Ruined by Rumor, with a new historical romance, though it’s not a sequel. In Lord of Secrets, he’s her new husband...and he’s strangely reluctant to consummate the marriage. What secrets are keeping them apart, and keeping him from her bed? If you like your historical romance with a paranormal twist, returning author Laura Navarre brings us Magick by Moonrise, which combines Tudor England with the Faerie kingdom of Camelot. When the two worlds collide, can a fallen angel’s passion for an innocent Faerie princess save both realms from destruction?

  Carina Press authors W. Soliman and Cindy Spencer Pape both return with installments in their ongoing series. In Lethal Business, W. Soliman brings us back to The Hunter Files with another Charlie Hunter mystery, where Charlie must answer the question: “Why kill the survivors of a sinking ship?” And Cindy Spencer Pape continues her popular steampunk romance series, The Gaslight Chronicles, with Cards & Caravans. Knight of the Round Table Connor MacKay has met his match in fortune-teller Belinda Danvers.

  Last, this month we welcome to Carina Press contemporary romance author Kate Davies with the first in her Girls Most Likely to... trilogy, Most Likely to Succeed. Though Kate is new to Carina, she and I have worked together as author/editor for years, and I’m happy to have her writing for Carina Press. I hope you enjoy Kate’s charming contemporary voice as much as I do.

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  For Jacob and Alyssa.

  You make me happy when skies are gray.

  Acknowledgements

  We write in a vacuum. We publish in a crowd. Without all the people who helped me, encouraged me, and kicked me into action when I came to an angst-ridden stop, I’d still have nothing but a bunch of unfinished stories collecting dust on my hard drive.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you to my editor, Alison Dasho. She dug me out of the slushpile and gave me a chance. And then she asked me for more. Her enthusiasm, skill, and humor make my books so much better than they would be without her help. It takes a special kind of person to rip apart your work and still leave you feeling even more confident afterward.

  I have to give major props to my son, Jake. While I was plotting, he uttered the magic words “Leprechaun Mafia.” I thought he was kidding. I thought it couldn’t possibly work. And then I realized it was the piece I was missing. It’s always the quiet ones.

  Without my daughter, Ali, I might have gone entire days without remembering to eat. She cleaned. She cooked. She threatened. She may well have kept me alive.

  Not only was Kate Brown one of my first readers, she and Scott Aldrich went above and beyond whenever I needed geographical assistance. Every question I asked was answered with a road trip and a photo montage, no matter how bizarre or inaccessible the location.

  Big thanks to Murffy Stevens for being my final reader before my books go off to the publisher. I can always count on her to read ridiculously fast and still find the weird stuff nobody else caught. She’s a tough cookie, and naming a leprechaun after her just doesn’t seem to be enough.

  The Lawrence Writers group and the Confabulator Café have my deepest gratitude. The first book wouldn’t have made it past chapter four without those folks dragging me through National Novel Writing Month. And after the smoke cleared and I had a finished product, several of them became my critique partners, beta readers, and writing partners. Thanks, guys.

  And finally, there’s my husband, Kevin. His patience, encouragement, and belief carry me through each day and through each leg of this publishing journey. “Thank you” doesn’t begin to convey how grateful I am.<
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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  You help one monster in need, and everybody hears about it.

  The recent appearance of various monsters and mythical creatures in my life took some adjustment. But no amount of flexibility prepared me to assist in the live birth of a sea serpent in my own backyard. That’s a lot to ask of anybody.

  My swimming pool looked like a major crime scene, and I was pretty sure bits of mucus mixed with dried blood flecked my hair. I’d probably have to take out a personal loan to cover the water bill once I took a three-hour shower, then drained and refilled the pool.

  When the sea serpent appeared in my pool a month before, I had no clue what to do about it. Fortunately, Maurice, my resident closet monster, was quick on his feet. While I stood slack-jawed at the kitchen window, he ran to get Molly to be our translator. Fluent in all sorts of crazy creature languages ranging from house pets to gargoyles, Molly, the brownie, lived in a mushroom house in my backyard with her kids.

  As it happened, she was unable to decipher a word of sea-serpentese.

  Fortunately, a pygmy dragon with a nasty cold had recently spent his convalescence in my garage. Molly spoke dragonish, and Bruce, the dragon, spoke serpentese. Problem solved.

  Except it took over three weeks to find Bruce, leaving us with no idea why a listless, snorting sea serpent had moved into my swimming pool. Communicating in pantomime with a creature that had no hands was futile, absurd and probably hilarious to watch.

  When Bruce (via Molly) explained the situation, I did my best not to panic. The sea serpent was pregnant, but she could tell something was wrong. Naturally, she came ashore to my house for help, since everyone in the supernatural community seemed to think I had the answer to every problem.

  I had no experience delivering healthy babies of any species. All I had to go on were basic anatomy and zoology classes in college, and a wealth of medical procedural shows on television. And yet, something inside me clicked when Frannie went into labor and the baby stopped moving. I jumped into the water without a thought for my spangled, dry-clean-only shirt, or for the discomfort of wet jeans and high tops. In hindsight, I should’ve at least kicked off my shoes.

  I’m not sure how to describe the supreme ick factor of having both arms shoved up to the elbow inside a sea serpent’s body. The baby was turned wrong, kind of folded in half and pointed to emerge center-first, rather than in a straight line with its head or tail facing the exit.

  “Don’t push, Frannie,” I said. “I have to unfold the baby or it’ll stay stuck.”

  Molly made a series of grunting snorts, which Bruce translated into a series of clicks and yowls. I felt the serpent relax around my squashed arms and wrestled the slippery baby into a better position. Another contraction hit and I stopped, waiting until I had more room to work.

  The mournful cry from Frannie needed no translation.

  When the contraction was over, I made another grab with one hand to hold the baby steady and pulled the head with the other. I’m not a dainty woman, but I’m not big enough to palm a basketball, either. That’s what it felt like I was trying to do in there, only the basketball in question had eyes I needed to avoid poking, and it was covered in what felt like tapioca pudding.

  I got a good grip on a dorsal fin at what I hoped was the back of its neck as the next contraction hit.

  “Push!”

  Clacks and snarls followed down the translation line, and Frannie pushed while I pulled. My other hand shoved, guiding the rest of the baby straight. Once the head slipped into place, nature took over, and out everything slid. Right into my pool and all over me.

  As an empath, I try never to leave the house without my protective walls up. The emotions of other people tend to overwhelm and drain me. But I was at home, and I was exhausted. I’d been so focused on the birth that I hadn’t built any barriers, so there was nothing between me and the small group around me to barricade my psyche against what wasn’t mine. I stood in the frigid water, unconcerned by my shaking body or the gore that covered me.

  The emotional inrush saturated me in love and happiness.

  Frannie nuzzled her new offspring, and a quiet joy settled over me, warming my freezing flesh. From Molly’s direction, relief lay across my shoulders like a heated blanket, and Bruce’s delight prickled my skin in electric jolts. My eyelids burned. I closed them to relieve the sensation. My back bumped against the side of the pool, and I let my knees bend so I could float.

  Worry.

  Panic.

  They shot through the other emotions like tiny arrows. My eyelids cracked open, but only for a few seconds. Nothing was wrong. All was right. My job was done, so what would it hurt to take a little rest?

  Thin fingers dug into the flesh in my arms, hauling me from the pool. I made a weak attempt to slap at the intruder.

  “Zoey, come on, wake up.” Maurice was there, dragging me away from the water and piling towels on my wet skin.

  My eyes snapped open. Well, crap. I lay flat on the pavement, still shivering, despite the previous illusion of warmth. Bodily fluids coated my skin, and Maurice had covered me with my good towels.

  The closet monster’s big yellow eyes hovered inches from my face. His worry was so intense, it blocked all the warm fuzzy stuff happening behind him. He coaxed me to my feet, fussing at the towels to keep them from sliding off, and leading me into the house.

  “Seriously, Zoey. I don’t know how you stayed alive before I got here. If you didn’t drown, hypothermia would’ve had you.”

  He berated me all the way into the bathroom and, not for the first time, I had to shove him out the door before he started grabbing my clothes to get me in the shower. For some strange reason, Maurice thought I couldn’t take care of myself and it was his job to do so.

  He was probably right.

  I spent a good fifteen minutes under the hot water before my teeth stopped chattering—I didn’t bother taking my clothes off until then. They were so covered in grossness, I figured they could use a good rinse before going into the hamper.

  My shirt was probably ruined. Gunk caked in Tigger’s sparkly button eyes, and the stains along the ruffled edges might never come out. Maybe Maurice could do something about it. I made a face. My pink and yellow sneakers lay abandoned on the bathroom floor. The splatter paint I’d taken so much time to apply last year had lifted off the canvas in chunks and stuck in my bath mat.

  I washed my hair until it felt clean, which meant three full rounds of shampooing. After a half hour or so, the hot water started to give up, but by then, so did my legs. I’d been helping Frannie for hours, in and out of the freezing water under stressful circumstances. Exhaustion threatened to smother me like a gallon of maple syrup on a short-stack of buttermilk pancakes.

  I rested my forehead against the wet tiles and watched the soapy water swirl down the drain. I couldn’t do this anymore. All my life people
had come to me with their problems—apparently one of the perks of being an empath. Now that the supernatural community knew about me, my problem-solving abilities and I were in even higher demand.

  And the problems were so much more difficult to solve.

  I shut off the tepid water and dried myself with a fresh towel. Maurice had left my fluffy pink and green robe on the door hook. I wrapped up and padded down the hall to my room.

  When Maurice came to check on me, mug of hot tea in his pale, mottled hands, he found me sitting on the bed, staring at the floor.

  He sat and placed the cup in my fingers. I held it without drinking, gazing into the cup as if it hid all the answers to the universe. If my tea knew anything important, it wasn’t willing to share.

  “I can’t do this,” I said, breaking the silence.

  “Do what? It’s over. You did it. Yay, you.” Maurice squeezed my knee and peered at my face.

  I’d grown accustomed to the look of him since he’d arrived. His enormous, yellow eyes, pointy ears, and nearly hairless head no longer startled me or caused my heart to race. He was simply Maurice. My friend.

  “No, not that. Well, yeah. That. And everything else.” I sighed and scrubbed at my face with my palm. “I’m not qualified for any of this. I’m not a vet or an OB. I could have killed them both. I’m not a psychologist, so I have no right to counsel Molly on her abusive husband. We’re lucky I didn’t make things worse for Bruce when I treated his cold. I have no idea how the hell my mom dealt with all of this, but I’m not equipped.”

  Maurice shrugged his bony shoulders. “So quit. Tell people ‘no.’ Send them away.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “And there’s your answer. You help people because it’s what you do, Zo. That’s what makes you qualified.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s the most circular logic I’ve ever heard.”

  He smiled and took my cup, placing it on the nightstand. “Circular or not, you know I’m right. Your instincts are good, and you’re not alone. That should be enough.”