Pooka in My Pantry Read online

  “What is wrong with you?” Sara said. She came to my aid and knelt beside me, gathering up the mess.

  I tried to help, but for every three pens I picked up, I dropped two.

  “I have no idea,” I said, throwing my arms in the air, exasperated. A fuzzy-headed troll pencil with googly eyes went flying. “I know I’m not the most graceful person in the world, but this has been the clumsiest day of my life. You should probably be wearing chainmail if you’re going to be around me.”

  Sara eyed the potentially lethal projectiles in my waving hands. “How about I clean this up and you sit in your chair—carefully—so you don’t hurt yourself. Or me.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion as much as an order. She waited until I was settled and made quick work of tidying up my catastrophic pen explosion. When she was finished, she put the cup at the farthest corner of my desk, well out of reach.

  “Did you see the paper yet today?”

  I scowled. “I’ve been a little busy this morning.”

  “Don’t make that face at me. It’ll stick. Then how will you land a nice mermaid?”

  I stuck my tongue out at her. She ignored me, grabbing the newspaper off her desk and bringing it over to show me. “You know that weird ghostbuster couple who live in a camper down the street?”

  I glanced at the front-page article. “Freebird and Jonah Washburn, yeah. They talk to ghosts, and people pay them to exorcise their homes or something.”

  She nodded. “They’ve been all over the media lately. Anyway, there was an accident last night. Apparently, the brakes on their camper released while they were sleeping, and it rolled right into the bay. Nobody heard a thing. The Washburns drowned. A fisherman spotted the top of the camper this morning, and a crew came to recover it. They said the bodies were still in bed. It was like Freebird and Jonah slept through it all.”

  I shivered. “Well, that’s creepy as hell. The cops don’t think it was murder, do they?”

  “Maybe it was ghosts bent on revenge.” Sara’s face was straight, but her eyes sparkled.

  “I think you’re enjoying that story a little too much.”

  “Okay, fine.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe it was a string of phenomenally bad luck.”

  “That seems a lot more likely.” Then again, what did I know? Who was I to question the existence of vengeful ghosts when I had so many unlikely creatures living in my house?

  I opened the folder with the paperwork I needed for my appointment, and Sara caught my coffee cup before it hit the floor.

  She shook her head and put the cup next to the pen holder where it was safer—not safe, but in less danger than if it were within arm’s reach.

  “So,” she said from her desk and beyond harm’s way. “Where’s your head? He called, didn’t he?”

  The fact that Sara knew me so well, combined with a keen eye for details and putting pieces together, made it impossible to hide anything from her. Almost impossible, anyway. There were a lot of things in my life lately I couldn’t share with her. Sara’s feet were rooted in the world she knew, and my life had taken a turn for the supernatural. I’d been lying to her, and I hated it. Or at least telling her half lies, which was almost worse.

  “He called, yeah. And I saw him this morning.”

  Despite her accurate deductions, Sara’s eyes widened in surprise. She was up and in the hazard zone around my desk before I realized she’d moved.

  “Well? What did he say? Where was he? What was his excuse?”

  I held my breath and thought hard about what and how much to tell her. “He had a family emergency. His mom was sick, and he had to fly out to take care of her.”

  “He couldn’t call? What the hell?”

  “He lost his phone on the plane and didn’t have my number.” Crap, crap, crap. I was a really bad liar, and she was a really good interrogator.

  “We have a website. He could have found us.”

  “No internet connection. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Lame.”

  “Seriously.”

  She relaxed. “Something’s not right, Zoey. You’re too trusting. I know you really like the guy, but I smell bullshit.”

  Of course she smelled bullshit. It was my bullshit. I reeked of it.

  “He’s not off the hook, Sara. I didn’t exactly throw my arms around him and declare my love and forgiveness. He knows he’s in the doghouse.”

  “Uh huh.” She looked unconvinced.

  “Really. It’s going to be all right. Trust me.”

  “Sure. Trust you. You’re cool as a cucumber. That’s why I had to create a safety perimeter around you, with no sharp objects or coffee cups.”

  The next few hours rolled past with no further attempts at unconscious self-sabotage. My client meeting went smoothly, despite my inability to rise from my desk, and the rest was all paperwork and phone calls. Sara left around three for an appointment, but not before admonishing me to be careful.

  “You’ve calmed some since this morning, but I’m still worried about you,” she said. “Take it slow driving home, okay? We’ve got too much work to do without you driving off into a ravine and leaving me to do everything.”

  I smiled. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Don’t be such a spaz. Boys are dumb.”

  It was an old mantra we’d been using since college. I nodded in agreement. “Boys are dumb.”

  She wasn’t gone five minutes before the door blew open and two men strolled into the office.

  We don’t get a lot of walk-in business in our line of work. It’s not like people meander down the street, window shopping, taking in the sights, browsing antique stores and kitschy tourist shops, then veer off into our office to inquire after wedding plans.

  No. These guys were out of place the minute they walked in. I wasn’t sure if they were there to sell me a life insurance policy or ask me to join a cult. Both were dressed in expensive black suits, one with a dark green turtleneck and the other a button-down shirt of the same color. Matching gold pins decorated their lapels. A uniform? A dress code specific to their organization?

  Other than the outfits, they didn’t look alike. The one with the turtleneck had close-cropped red hair and a bulbous nose. He didn’t appear to be all there, probably because his jaw hung slack, and he breathed through his mouth. The other seemed to be in charge. His black hair was slicked back, and his sharp nose sat beneath beady, dark eyes that darted around the room like a ferret with its tail on fire.

  Neither of them topped five feet.

  I stood and faced the men, smoothing my skirt and hoping I wouldn’t have to turn around. “May I help you?”

  The one with the dark hair stepped forward. “I think we can help each other.” He reached into his jacket and removed a smartphone. His fingers tapped the display as if he were taking notes. “My organization is here in town to assist folks like you. May we have a seat?” He nodded toward the loveseat situated in front of my desk.

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I have plenty of insurance, and I’m just leaving for the day.”

  I tried to slide from behind my desk to lead them to the door, but the mouth breather blocked my way. He looked straight ahead, rather than in my eyes, which was twice as disconcerting as it would have been with someone more my height. This guy was eye-level with my chest.

  The dark-haired man cleared his throat. “Pardon my associate, ma’am. He takes his job very seriously.” He waved his hand at my chair. “Please. Have a seat.”

  I frowned and glanced up at the clock on the back wall. “I really don’t have time for this.” I sat. Better that I stay close to my desk phone in case I had to call the police to get rid of these guys.

  He scooted into the loveseat. The muscle guy stood behind the seat, arms folded across his ch
est. I shifted in my chair and wondered if I could outrun them to the door.

  “Allow me to introduce myself.” The man in front of me leaned across my desk and offered a delicate hand. “I’m Murphy O’Doyle.” I shook his hand. It would be rude not to, and I still hoped this was nothing more than a weird sales call. He poked a thumb over his shoulder. “My colleague, there, is Fargo. He doesn’t say much.”

  “Zoey Donovan,” I said without thinking. I winced. Don’t encourage them, Zoey. You’ll never get them out of here.

  O’Doyle’s face split into a grin. “Donovan, is it? Wonderful Irish family.” He tapped the information into his phone.

  I shrugged. “I guess.”

  His face darkened. “It’s a proud heritage. You should be pleased to own it.” Disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm, he switched to business mode and sat up straighter. “Well, then. As I said, my organization specializes in assisting people like you.”

  I was tempted to ask what he meant by “people like you,” but bit my tongue. The more I interrupted, the slower this would go. No doubt he’d get to it.

  “As you probably know from centuries of folklore, my people are associated with luck and good fortune.”

  Okay, so I would have to interrupt after all. My people. People like you. He wasn’t making any damn sense, and this was bound to get me stuck in rush-hour traffic if it went on much longer. “Excuse me,” I said. “Your people?”

  He chuckled. It wasn’t a friendly sound. “Leprechauns, Miss Donovan. What did you think we were?”

  I shrugged again. “Amway salesmen?”

  He stared at me, his black eyes like pinpricks of tar. “We are not here to sell you detergent, I assure you.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me why you’re here so we can get on with this? I’d really like to head home.”

  Annoyance flashed across his face. I had the feeling he wasn’t used to being rushed.

  “If you’ll allow me to proceed, then?” I nodded, and he took a breath before speaking. “People like you slip through the cracks. You’re neither Hidden, therefore protected by the Board, nor a regular human, protected by mundane police.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, mirroring Fargo. “Oh, I’m pretty sure if I called the police right now, they’d be willing to protect me.”

  The threat wasn’t lost on O’Doyle and he scowled. “Yes, but we’re Hidden. Mundane police can’t hold us, and they can’t protect you from the Hidden. The Board of Hidden Affairs only prevents us from interfering with regular humans. And you, Miss Donovan, are not a regular human. Which puts you in a dangerous state of limbo.”

  This was news to me. So far, the Board had done nothing but interfere in my life—except when an incubus was killing my friends. They were suspiciously silent while that was going down. I was also tempted to call bullshit on Lucky Charms and his pet Irish wolfhound, since that guy Art had mentioned a Division of Human and Hidden Relations. Or something like that. Too bad I hadn’t been listening more closely.

  “What makes you so sure I’m not a regular human? You didn’t even know my name when you walked in.”

  O’Doyle smiled. “Humans with special gifts or connections to the Hidden shine for us. We watch for that shine. You’re so bright, you sparkle like a Tiffany chandelier in candlelight. We work out of Sacramento, normally, but recently decided to take our services on the road. Your lovely town is our first stop. So many shining people with otherworldly talents, all in one place. We couldn’t pass you by without stopping to help.”

  I sighed and rubbed at the spot between my eyebrows. “So, what is it you think you can do for me?”

  “We’re here to offer you protection, Miss Donovan. I thought I’d made that clear.”

  “No, you really didn’t.”

  “Well, let me make it clear. The supernatural humans of this town are unprotected. Bad things can happen.”

  “Bad things?” I saw where this was going and I didn’t like it one bit.

  “Very bad things. My organization is willing to keep those bad things from happening.”

  “Uh huh. And I suppose there’s a price.”

  “Of course there is. Nothing is free. But isn’t your safety worth it?”

  “I think I’ve heard enough.” I stood up. Fargo growled at me, and I growled back. “I’m not paying you protection money. Your sales pitch is over.”

  O’Doyle stood and straightened his coat. The gold shamrock on his lapel caught the light when he turned. “As you like. But please, think about our offer.”

  I grunted. “Sure.”

  “We’ll give you the week to consider it. I’m confident by then you’ll see it our way.”

  I opened the door and held it for them. “Is that a threat?”

  He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all. But I would advise you to have five thousand dollars ready on our return. It’s in your best interest.”

  I slammed the door shut and locked it the minute they were both outside. My hands shook and my breath hitched in my chest.

  A minute later, anger had passed as the absurdity of the situation hit me.

  I giggled. “The Leprechaun Mafia has a protection racket, and I’m a mark.” The words echoed back at me in my empty office.

  It was ten minutes before I could stop laughing long enough to drive home.

  Chapter Four

  Since Maurice had moved in with me, I had the nightly pleasure of dinner on the table, or close to being ready, when I got home. The smells often wafted as far as the driveway and pulled me inside. But there were no smells to guide me to the door as I parked my VW Bug. When I walked in, I could see from the entryway that nothing was on the table. It didn’t smell like anything was cooking, either.

  My gut told me something was very wrong.

  The lack of dinner didn’t bother me. Honestly, I was still a little uncomfortable with the idea that someone was doing my cooking and cleaning for me. Maurice insisted, and claimed it was something he liked to do. Saying no to Maurice was not an easy thing, and in fairness, I sucked at housekeeping.

  But the change in routine alarmed me. My closet-monster roommate wouldn’t slack off without a good reason.

  I didn’t see Maurice at first, though he was right there in front of me. A small movement near the edge of the living room caught my attention. Maurice sat on the floor, a slow, rocking lump by the cold fireplace. He had what looked like a men’s loafer grasped in his bony fingers, and he was staring at it with a mournful expression.

  I dropped my purse on the couch and crouched next to him.

  “Hey,” I said. My voice was soft, and I put my hand over his, loosening his grip on the shoe. “What’s going on?”

  His great, yellow eyes looked up at me. The sadness that filled them clutched at me in a solid grip. His lips moved, a gurgling, incoherent sound escaping in a rush. He handed me the loafer as if a shoe explained everything.

  I took it, of course. It obviously meant something tragic. I examined the lacings and stitches, turned it over and looked at the scuffed soul. Whatever dire significance the footwear held, I couldn’t decipher it from the cracked, brown leather.

  “Are you missing the other one?” I couldn’t think of anything else that might be so upsetting.

  “She wants a divorce.” His voice cracked, and an enormous tear plopped on the rug.

  “This is from Pansy? Did she put a note in the shoe?”

  “No, no. It’s our wedding shoe. I gave it to her during the ceremony. She gave me a flip flop with a yellow daisy on top.”

  As a wedding planner, I saw a lot of unexpected, odd traditions worked into the ceremonies. The exchange of unmatched footwear during the vows was a new one on me.

  My barriers had been up all day to shield me from the emotional detritus of t
he outside world. But I was home now, and Maurice was my friend. I could feel his devastation puddled around me on the floor. I help people. I fix what’s broken. There was nothing I could do about this.

  I gave him the loafer and put my hand on his skinny leg. “So, now what?”

  “I don’t know. I knew it would happen eventually.” He wiped the back of his hand over his wet cheeks. “I guess I kept hoping if I stayed away long enough, she might want me back.”

  I squeezed his bony knee. “Honey, she cheated on you.”

  “I know. But I would have taken her back if she was sorry.”

  I held my tongue on that one. Sara wouldn’t have, but I know when to shut up and let somebody work something out for himself. Or make his own mistakes.

  He cradled the shoe in the crook of his arm, as if it were a tiny child. “Maybe it’s because I haven’t been around. Maybe if I go see her, she’ll remember how much she loves me.”

  That was the worst idea I’d ever heard. But closure doesn’t come easily to any of us, so maybe the best thing I could do was be a shoulder to cry on after Pansy crushed him like a walnut under a steamroller. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  His lips curled into a shadow of his normal wide grin. “Bringing a human woman with me probably wouldn’t be a good idea.” He unfolded himself and headed for his room, but hesitated in the hallway. “I wish...”

  I trailed behind and touched his shoulder. “What?”

  “I wish you could come with me. Maybe I should stay a little longer, make sure you’ve got enough food in the fridge. Do a load of laundry.” He stared at the doorway to his room. “Who’s going to take care of you if I go?”

  Sorrow squeezed my heart, and it seem like it might never let go. “I survived before you came here, you know.” I offered a weak smile and smoothed the tiny, bobbing hairs on his head. “I’ll be okay.”