Excerpt Pooka in My Pantry
Chapter 1
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.”
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