Read Online Left Hand Magic by Nancy A. Collins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nancy A. Collins
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by the leprechaun’s.
“Oh my God!” one of Jared’s friends wailed. “What did you do to him? Turn him back, you little freak!”
“Never!” the leprechaun snarled defiantly. “And if you ask me, I have improved his appearance immensely.”
“Damn it, Tullamore,” Lafo snapped. “You know I don’t allow spell-slinging in my joint! Last thing I need is the Paranormal Threat Unit breathin’ fire down my neck.”
A couple of frat boys lunged at the leprechaun, but Tullamore was ready for them. He nimbly sidestepped his bigger, clumsier opponents, moving so fast it was impossible to keep track of him. One moment he was thumbing his nose in front of his attackers, the next he was dancing a jig behind them.
The laughter from the Kymerans watching from the sidelines grew louder and nastier each time the disoriented college students tried to rush the toddler-sized Tullamore. Cackling with laughter, the leprechaun jumped onto a nearby table occupied by another group of humans and began frantically step-dancing like a pocket-sized Michael Flatley, sending their drinks flying in every direction.
One of the humans jumped to his feet, cursing loudly as he wiped thick, sticky barley wine off his suede coat. “You’re paying for my dry cleaning, squirt!”
“You’ll have to catch me first, nump!” Tullamore retorted as he flipped him the bird. The leprechaun jumped off the table and landed on the back of the transformed Jared, who squealed in fear and began running in and out between the close-packed tables and booths. Tullamore slapped the pig-boy’s rump with the shillelagh like a jockey going for the winner’s circle as he was chased by Jared’s friends and the man in the ruined jacket.
While the regular patrons of the Two-Headed Calf might have been enjoying the chaos created by Tullamore’s taunting of the humans, Lafo clearly had had all that he could stand. He yanked open the front door and gestured angrily toward the street.
“Take it outside, Tullamore!”
The leprechaun grabbed Jared by his porcine ears and dug his heels into the pig-boy’s haunches, sending his steed squealing out of the bar and into the night, his pursuers chasing after him like an unruly pack of hounds. Most of the Calf’s regulars poured out into the street as well, eager to have a good laugh at the numps’ expense. To my surprise, Hexe got up to follow them. However, unlike his fellow Kymerans, he didn’t seem the least bit amused.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Someone halfway sober has to keep an eye on this before it gets worse,” he explained.
“Wait for me!” I shouted, grabbing my peacoat.
By the time we made it outside, there were at least sixty people, a third of them humans, gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Calf’s bay windows, watching Jared’s friends chase after Tullamore as he rode their buddy up and down the street like a racehorse. Thanks to curious passersby stopping to rubberneck and neighbors pouring out of their nearby homes and businesses to see what all the fuss was about, the crowd outside the Calf grew to well over three hundred in the span of just a few short minutes.
The humans were shouting alternately at the leprechaun to turn their friend back into his true form and at Jared to stop running around, goddamn it. Meanwhile, the Kymeran onlookers continued to laugh and shout encouragement to Tullamore. One of the frat boys lunged at the leprechaun, but Tullamore tugged on Jared’s ears as he would the reins of a horse, wheeling his mount about so he was headed in the general direction of Ferry Street, home to Golgotham’s leprechaun community. Suddenly the man in the suede jacket moved to block his path.
“Ye’ll have to do better than that, boyos, if ye want to catch me!” Tullamore shouted. In the twinkling of an eye, a pair of huge white wings, like those of a swan, unfolded from the pig-boy’s shoulders. The leprechaun dug his shins into his mount’s flanks and
“Oh my God!” one of Jared’s friends wailed. “What did you do to him? Turn him back, you little freak!”
“Never!” the leprechaun snarled defiantly. “And if you ask me, I have improved his appearance immensely.”
“Damn it, Tullamore,” Lafo snapped. “You know I don’t allow spell-slinging in my joint! Last thing I need is the Paranormal Threat Unit breathin’ fire down my neck.”
A couple of frat boys lunged at the leprechaun, but Tullamore was ready for them. He nimbly sidestepped his bigger, clumsier opponents, moving so fast it was impossible to keep track of him. One moment he was thumbing his nose in front of his attackers, the next he was dancing a jig behind them.
The laughter from the Kymerans watching from the sidelines grew louder and nastier each time the disoriented college students tried to rush the toddler-sized Tullamore. Cackling with laughter, the leprechaun jumped onto a nearby table occupied by another group of humans and began frantically step-dancing like a pocket-sized Michael Flatley, sending their drinks flying in every direction.
One of the humans jumped to his feet, cursing loudly as he wiped thick, sticky barley wine off his suede coat. “You’re paying for my dry cleaning, squirt!”
“You’ll have to catch me first, nump!” Tullamore retorted as he flipped him the bird. The leprechaun jumped off the table and landed on the back of the transformed Jared, who squealed in fear and began running in and out between the close-packed tables and booths. Tullamore slapped the pig-boy’s rump with the shillelagh like a jockey going for the winner’s circle as he was chased by Jared’s friends and the man in the ruined jacket.
While the regular patrons of the Two-Headed Calf might have been enjoying the chaos created by Tullamore’s taunting of the humans, Lafo clearly had had all that he could stand. He yanked open the front door and gestured angrily toward the street.
“Take it outside, Tullamore!”
The leprechaun grabbed Jared by his porcine ears and dug his heels into the pig-boy’s haunches, sending his steed squealing out of the bar and into the night, his pursuers chasing after him like an unruly pack of hounds. Most of the Calf’s regulars poured out into the street as well, eager to have a good laugh at the numps’ expense. To my surprise, Hexe got up to follow them. However, unlike his fellow Kymerans, he didn’t seem the least bit amused.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Someone halfway sober has to keep an eye on this before it gets worse,” he explained.
“Wait for me!” I shouted, grabbing my peacoat.
By the time we made it outside, there were at least sixty people, a third of them humans, gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Calf’s bay windows, watching Jared’s friends chase after Tullamore as he rode their buddy up and down the street like a racehorse. Thanks to curious passersby stopping to rubberneck and neighbors pouring out of their nearby homes and businesses to see what all the fuss was about, the crowd outside the Calf grew to well over three hundred in the span of just a few short minutes.
The humans were shouting alternately at the leprechaun to turn their friend back into his true form and at Jared to stop running around, goddamn it. Meanwhile, the Kymeran onlookers continued to laugh and shout encouragement to Tullamore. One of the frat boys lunged at the leprechaun, but Tullamore tugged on Jared’s ears as he would the reins of a horse, wheeling his mount about so he was headed in the general direction of Ferry Street, home to Golgotham’s leprechaun community. Suddenly the man in the suede jacket moved to block his path.
“Ye’ll have to do better than that, boyos, if ye want to catch me!” Tullamore shouted. In the twinkling of an eye, a pair of huge white wings, like those of a swan, unfolded from the pig-boy’s shoulders. The leprechaun dug his shins into his mount’s flanks and
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