Pooka in My Pantry Page 11

  Andrew grunted. “Yeah.”

  “So,” I said. “What are you going to do?”

  Andrew took a sip of tea, his eyes far away for a moment. “Not a lot I can do. I don’t think I have any magical talismans in my possession. If I did have one, I’d give it to you to keep you from tripping over a shoelace and falling down a flight of stairs. And five thousand dollars isn’t going to happen. I make enough for Milo and I to get by and pay the mortgage on the houseboat. I don’t have that much in savings.”

  I rubbed Milo’s enormous ears with my thumb and forefinger. He pressed the side of his face against my leg and snuggled in tighter. “I could do it,” I said. “I’m not rolling in money, but if I can help my deadbeat ex-husband, I sure as hell can help you. I have a decent chunk laid by for emergencies. I’d say this qualifies.”

  He shook his head. “I appreciate that, Zo. It’s not just whether I can get the money, but also whether I should. I don’t like bullies, supernatural or otherwise.”

  “So you’re going to refuse.” I wanted to applaud him for his stubborn bravery and refusal to give in. I also wanted to charge into the street with my checkbook to keep bad guys away from my dear friend. Of course, I had no intention of paying the goons off. I didn’t mind risking my own safety—but risking Andrew’s was intolerable. In the end, all I could do was respect his decision. “Just promise me, if you change your mind, you’ll come to me. I can’t stand the idea of you flying through a plate-glass window. Those guys were seriously intimidating.”

  Andrew set his cup down. “Intimidating, sure. But they couldn’t have caused the accident across the street. They weren’t there.”

  I thought about what Emilia had said to me. “You’re right. Nobody was there but her. Do you know who Rupert is?”

  “Sure. Rupert’s her cat. Scrawny Siamese. Milo hates him. Did she say something about him?”

  “Yeah. Something about a furry octopus and Rupert not putting it away. Or something. Andrew, I think maybe she tripped over a cat toy.”

  “So, the leprechauns are blowing smoke up our skirts.”

  “I think so. Felicitous of them, showing up here moments after her accident. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is the salt. She said something about not throwing it, about not being allowed to throw it, but it was all over the place inside. I caught a look through the empty window.”

  “I don’t know what that means. Still, psychics sometimes do odd things to make them look more authentic to the public. No telling what made-up ritual she might have staged for a client.”

  “You don’t think she’s a fake, do you?”

  “I know she isn’t. But her name is really Sheila, and she drives a station wagon. That doesn’t pull in clients the way ‘Madame Emilia,’ a flamboyant outfit, and some theatrics do. People don’t go to get their cards read from a soccer mom.” Andrew glanced through the window at the shattered storefront across the street. “Do you think they really had anything to do with that?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “Maybe. But they strike me more as opportunists, taking advantage of her accident. That does seem more their style.”

  He nodded. “Could be coincidence. I’m willing to take my chances. I don’t have a lot of choice anyway.”

  I looked at the clock on my phone and saw it was getting late. “I should get going.” I set my half-empty cup on the table and attempted to slide out from under the snoring fluff bomb on my lap. Milo sneezed and tried to readjust so I couldn’t get away, but I used evasive maneuvers.

  Andrew gave me a hug and walked me to the door. “Thanks for sticking around.”

  “We didn’t talk about your grandparents’ party.”

  “We got distracted.”

  “Can we go see them Monday, or will you be too busy dodging leprechauns?”

  “Monday will be day three. I suspect keeping the store closed might be a good idea, just to avoid conflict. I’ll call you with a time, if that’s okay.”

  “Yep. And the minute you hear anything from them, you call me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Just call me.”

  Despite our agreeing that Emilia’s accident couldn’t have been caused by the leprechauns, I was haunted by her voice in my head.

  Don’t give in. You can’t let them win.

  Chapter Eight

  When I got home, Silas was there. I didn’t see him, but I tripped over the Egyptian rug in my living room and clocked myself on the corner of the coffee table. The goose egg on my cheekbone rose almost immediately, proof enough that the pooka was somewhere nearby.

  “Son of a bitch.” There was a struggle as I tried to fish the gargoyle snot rock from my pocket with one hand with the other pressed against my throbbing face. Apparently, none of the lucky items in my pocket were, in fact, lucky. My luck-o-meter was still at plus one/minus two, as long as the damn pooka was around. The only thing keeping me from ending my life face down in a toilet after slipping on a single square of toilet paper was the gift from Maurice’s gargoyle brother-in-law.

  I finally got it unstuck from the recesses of my pocket and deposited it on the fireplace mantel.

  “Silas!” I yelled.

  He appeared on the couch, looking comfortable, as if he’d been there, invisible, the whole time.

  “What kind of time do you call this,” he asked. “I could have starved to death while you talked fancy cakes and doilies.”

  “I had other things to do. There’s food in the fridge.”

  “You might have called, girly. I was getting worried.”

  “Worried about what, exactly? You’re hardly going to starve, and you know I have no intention of cooking for you.”

  “That hurts.” He did look a little pouty. “What with your current...affliction, did it ever occur to you I might like to know you aren’t lying in a ditch somewhere?”

  I tried to stifle a smile. “No, Silas, that did not occur to me. I apologize for my thoughtlessness.”

  He snorted to convey his satisfaction at my contrite attitude. “Your face looks like shit.”

  “Gosh, thanks. I should look really hot for my date tomorrow night.”

  “You’re really going out with that reaper?”

  “Yes. You have a problem with him?”

  “He’s a reaper.”

  “So?”

  Silas shifted on the cushions and refused to meet my eyes. “Nothing.”

  “Dammit, what the hell is with everybody clamming up when I talk about Riley?”

  “Did you ever hear the song, ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper?’”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you ever think that song wouldn’t have been written if people didn’t already fear them? Nobody’s written a song called ‘Don’t Fear the Kittens,’ have they? Of course not. Nobody’s afraid of kittens. That would be stupid. Everybody in their right mind is afraid of reapers.”

  Exasperated, I shot back, “But why? They don’t kill people. They just help if someone gets stuck after death. It’s the stupidest fear I’ve ever heard.”

  Silas got quiet for a minute, which made me very nervous. He was never quiet. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  I sighed. “No. I really don’t know.”

  “They don’t have to wait for you to die. They can take your soul anytime they like. Some of them collect souls as a hobby. Reapers can take your soul with a single touch.” His hand curled into a fist and slammed the couch in emphasis. “You do not piss off a reaper, and a normal person in their right mind does not hang out with one socially, let alone date one.”

  I sat on the other end of the sofa, still holding my cheek with one hand. “Riley’s not like that. He gets a text and he goes where he’s needed to help people. He wouldn
’t just kill somebody, especially for fun.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, doll. Maybe it’ll help you sleep tonight.” He hopped off the sofa and walked into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and grabbed a bag of frozen waffle fries. “Put that on your face to keep it from swelling too much. I’d hate for your date to find you unattractive tomorrow night. He might decide your soul is more tempting than your face.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Silas wasn’t around when I got out of bed. God only knows what he got up to when I couldn’t see him. I grabbed my gargoyle stone off the mantle and walked down to the beach.

  As usual, my skunk-ape bodyguard accompanied me, though never quite in my line of sight. He kept pace with me, silent but for an occasional twig snap. I caught sight of him from the corner of my eye a few times, but he was never quite there when I looked directly for him. I suspected it was a game Iris liked to play. It wasn’t like he had to remain hidden around me, not according to any Hidden rules or laws I knew of. I saw Iris plenty of times. But whenever he tailed me, he always did it in stealth mode.

  Once I was safely barefoot and sitting on my favorite rock to meditate, he popped out from the tree line, gave me a double thumbs up and a toothy grin, then stepped into the shadows. I shook my head.

  My life is so weird.

  My goal was to address a problem I’d finally realized I had. It hadn’t been that long since I’d realized I was an empath and Andrew had taught me how to block the overwhelming flow of emotions that bombarded me daily. That blocking skill was useful, and I’d learned it fairly quickly. My protective walls sort of functioned as an on/off switch.

  But there were times when I needed to let a little of the emotion around me in. Times when I needed that little bit of information to help me understand what was going on. Unfortunately, opening a small mental window, like I had at Sara’s party, didn’t control the flow at all. I had no way to filter what came in once I opened up.

  Maybe what I needed was a screen over the window. I had the on/off switch down. I needed to master the next basic control—volume.

  I sat there for two hours, meditating, clearing away the mental muck, and trying to imagine and construct something strong enough to keep the bad stuff away, but light enough to filter in the general feelings around me.

  I knew the entire exercise in visualization was only for focus. The form I created in my head wasn’t real. But I couldn’t force my empathic gift to do what I wanted if I didn’t have some sort of symbolic object to imagine it into being.

  At first, I pictured the mesh on a screen door or a window. The holes were far too big to be of use. In the end, it was the pitcher of water in my refrigerator that did it for me. I thought about how I poured the water in, it ran through the filters, then drained into the bottom, free of most of whatever it was in tap water that made me gag. I imagined wrapping myself in a big water filter, demanding that 90% of what came at me stuck to the outside, while the remaining 10% flowed through, controlled, clean, and at a nice slow drip that wouldn’t feel like the emotions were pelting me. I’d have to imagine changing the filter every day, but for now, this would do. Someday I’d work on doing this stuff automatically without having to dredge up images of household items, but for now, I was content.

  A small cough drew me from my faraway, inside place.

  “Excuse me,” someone said.

  The voice came from somewhere close to the sand. I looked down, spotted a figure standing in a Charlie Brown hunch and sighed. Molly’s husband perched on a small rock, a tiny hat in his hands.

  “You,” I said. “I’m kind of busy.”

  “I know. I apologize. It’s hard to catch you at home. I was wondering, if it’s not too inconvenient, if I could have a word with you.”

  I’d only met Walter a time or two, but he was usually drunk, and always hostile. His polite attitude was a new one on me. I was curious enough to listen, though ready to swat him if necessary. I was not a fan.

  I nodded my head for him to proceed and braced myself.

  “First off, I want to apologize for tying your shoes together last time we met.”

  That had been a nasty, childish trick, but nothing had been bruised when I fell except my ego. “I guess.”

  “As you pointed out at the time, I’d been drinking. I wasn’t myself.” He stopped and looked down at his hands, which worried the brim of his hat. “I haven’t been myself for awhile. And that’s something I’m doing my best to remedy.”

  With my shiny new filter up, I could feel his regret seeping through to me like tiny pinfeathers, soft, but also prickly. I knew he was telling me the truth. The anger he had for himself made the prickles feel uncomfortably warm.

  “What does Molly have to say about this?” I asked. Six weeks before, Molly and her children had shown up at my door, battered, bruised and without hope. I couldn’t forgive or forget that, no matter how sorry he felt now.

  “Molly,” he said, and sighed. “Molly is the most wonderful woman who ever set foot on this earth. It tears me up that I ever laid a hand on her in anger. She’s talking to me, which I know is more than I deserve. I’m trying to make things right.”

  I hated that she was talking to him, but I understood. She loved him—or at least she loved the man he’d been before he started drinking.

  “What brings you here talking to me about it?”

  He swallowed and crushed his hat tighter. I feared for the hat. It wasn’t ever going to return to its original shape.

  “I’m trying to make things right with you, too. You mean a lot to my Molly, and to my kids. I behaved badly with you, and I owe you a debt, saving them from the monster I’d become.”

  “I wouldn’t throw the word monster around so lightly in this area. You could offend someone.” I smiled so he’d know I was joking. I didn’t feel lighthearted, but the tension coming off of him was making it hard to breathe, despite my new filter. As angry as I was with him, I could see he was trying to make amends. I wasn’t one to be cruel.

  He relaxed a little. “I could hardly say that I’d become too human. I’m trying to make amends, not insult you.”

  This time my smile was genuine. “Fair enough. So, what’s your plan, Walter?”

  With the mood a little lighter, he relaxed a bit and sat on his rock. “Well, first of all, I’m not drinking anymore. I know that’s not a solution in and of itself. I’m taking it slow with Molly and the kids. I betrayed a great trust in my weakness. I don’t expect them to come running into my arms.”

  “That’s a good start. If you sat there and told me you stopped drinking and thought after a month and a half you’d be welcomed back, I wouldn’t believe your sincerity in the slightest.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your continuing to care for my family.”

  “I love them all very much. They’re my family now, too.”

  He turned his head to watch the surf, but not before I caught the shine of tears in his eyes. “The rumors are true about you,” he said.

  People kept talking about me. People I didn’t know existed until recently. I found it slightly alarming. “What rumors?”

  “That you’re an Aegis. I wasn’t sure until I talked to you sober, but you really are, aren’t you?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not an Aegis, whatever that is. Seriously, people have to stop making stuff up about me. I’m just me, Walter. Really.”

  He shook his head. “No, I think you’re wrong. You’re here to help us. You do it instinctively and with no thought of repayment.”

  “That’s being a decent person. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I think you grossly overestimate what other people are like.” He jammed his misshapen hat on his head and hopped off the rock. “I owe you a great debt, Aegis. If you ever
need anything, call on me.”

  I blinked and he was gone. These Hidden had one thing in common—they were all so fast.

  I brushed off the sand from my ass and headed for home, grumbling to myself.

  “I’m not the Aegis. I just want to stay alive for another week and a half, then get on with my normal life.”

  Iris grunted as I stomped past him.

  “I’m not an Aegis!” I shouted.

  A weird chuffing sound followed me the rest of the way home. My bodyguard was laughing at me.

  Chapter Nine

  I had been nervous as hell for my first first date with Riley, and that had been a spectacular disaster. For this second first date, the do-over date, I was damn near catatonic with fear. And I didn’t have Maurice there to check me over and make sure my hair wasn’t poking up all over and my skirt wasn’t tucked into my hose.

  Silas, on threat of a painful, slow death, kept away from the house. I had the gargoyle rock nestled in my bra, a slinky black dress so tight I was self-conscious and a teetering pair of heels so high I’d look like a Giant Redwood to a passing leprechaun. The nasty bruise on my cheek covered pretty well with makeup. I was as ready as I was going to get. Riley wouldn’t tell me where we were going, which only added to my nerves.

  He picked me up ten minutes early, and stood there in the doorway looking like the wind had been knocked out of him. My nerves vanished.

  “Are you coming in?” I asked, amused at his frozen expression.

  “What?”

  “Staying or going?”

  “Oh. Staying. Yeah.”

  Let’s hear it for the girl who froze Death.

  He tore his eyes from me and managed to get inside to station himself on the couch. I sat across from him, trying hard not to yank at the short hem of my dress in any obvious way.

  “So,” I said. “Now can you tell me where we’re going?”

  He looked away and up at the ceiling, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know if I should say. I wouldn’t want your ex-husband to get wind of it and show up.”