The Annex
“And then the limo pulled away,” Cassandra said, “taking the leprechaun with it.”
“Oh dear,” Jenkins said, troubled by the news from Chicago. The Librarians and their Guardian had returned to the Annex to report the ominous turn of events. “I fear we must assume that Mister O’Gradaigh has indeed fallen into the hands of the Serpent Brotherhood, which puts them one step closer to obtaining his pot of gold, if they have not already done so.”
“But what’s the big deal about this one particular pot?” Stone asked. He paced restlessly about the Annex, understandably frustrated at losing the leprechaun to their foes. “What makes it so important?”
“That remains a puzzlement,” Jenkins said. Stacks of tomes and scrolls from the Library’s Hibernian Collection were now piled on his desk. “Although I am continuing to investigate the matter.”
“At least the stakeout wasn’t a total loss,” Baird said. “We know for sure now that Grady is O’Gradaigh, who is presumably the same leprechaun who ran afoul of the Serpents way back in Saint Patrick’s time.”
“And we also learned that the banshee seems way more interested in Grady than in Bridget,” Ezekiel pointed out. He fiddled with his phone in the way of most folks these days. “It forgot all about her to go chasing after Grady once he blew his cover.”
Both Bridget and Brigid had chosen to remain back at the pub to cope with the holiday rush, which not even the banshee’s reappearance had put a dent in; if anything, curious crowds had been drawn to the Pot O’ Gold by spreading talk of actual leprechaun and banshee sightings. Despite the tumult, Bridget was looking to have her most profitable Saint Patrick’s Day ever, while the existence of the Magic Door ensured that the Librarians were only a phone call away from rushing back to Chicago should the need arise, although Jenkins rather suspected that the Brotherhood would leave Bridget alone now that they’d acquired O’Gradaigh himself. They had what they were really after, at least in part.
And as for the banshee …
“From what you say,” Jenkins said, “it does sound as though the banshee’s primary target is the elusive Mister O’Gradaigh.”
“I’m guessing somebody sicced that banshee on Grady long ago,” Stone said. “Cursing him because of something to do with that pot the Brotherhood is after.”
Ezekiel snickered. “Sorry. Just realized how funny that sounds if you take it the wrong way.”
“Would that the Brotherhood were merely in pursuit of recreational herbs,” Jenkins said. “But they would not be so intent on obtaining their prize if it didn’t further some larger, undoubtedly malevolent purpose.”
“Maybe the gold in that pot is special somehow, with unique magic powers?” Baird speculated. “Or points toward some more powerful magic object hidden somewhere in the world?”
“Both are plausible scenarios,” Jenkins said, “although we should be careful not to be led astray by red herrings and false trails.”
“So where does that leave us?” Cassandra asked anxiously. “The Brotherhood has Grady, which means they probably have his pot, too. Do we have to start preparing for some kind of Irish apocalypse or something?”
“Maybe,” Baird said, “but we don’t know for certain that they have the Pot already. Perhaps Grady can stall or resist them long enough for us to get to the Pot first? That’s what we do, right? Find magical objects before the bad guys do?”
Jenkins admired her gumption and never-say-die attitude. We could have used her in Camelot back in the day, he thought. Things might have turned out differently with a Colonel Baird to keep the Round Table in line.
“Traditionally, there are only two ways to claim a leprechaun’s pot of gold: capture the leprechaun or find the pot at the end of the rainbow. Given that the competition has already beaten us to the former, that leaves us with the latter.”
“But rainbows don’t actually have an end,” Cassandra protested. “They’re simply sunlight refracted through water droplets in the sky. It’s an optical phenomenon that occurs when the sun shines through a departing weather pattern at just the right angle. As it happens, Ireland gets more rainbows than most other countries because it gets lots of intermittent showers due to low-pressure systems in the North Atlantic, and because its distance from the equator means that it gets more sunlight coming in from no more than fifty-three degrees above the horizon, significantly increasing the chance of the rainbows. But rainbows don’t really touch down on the ground anywhere. There’s no such thing as the end of the rainbow.”
She paused as a contemplative look came over her face. “Unless…”
Jenkins could practically see the wheels spinning in her remarkable brain. “Yes, Miss Cillian?”
“Just a crazy idea,” she said, “which might be worth trying once we have a better idea of where and how to find the right rainbow.”
Curious, Jenkins was about to press her on the matter, when Stone cut to the chase instead.
“So it’s a race,” he said gruffly. “We need to find Grady’s pot before Max does, if the Brotherhood hasn’t already gotten their hands on it—which, of course, they’ve only been looking for since the fifth century.”
Ezekiel snickered again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, collapsing into giggles. “I can’t help it!”
High above America
The silver handcuffs chafed Grady’s wrists as the private jet whisked him away from Chicago and liberty. His short legs dangled over the floor as he sat across from Max and Coral in the aircraft’s luxurious passenger cabin. The sleek interior of the cabin, which was all polished steel and plush black leather seats, was a far cry from the cozy ambience of Bridget’s pub.
“Be a dear,” he entreated Coral, holding out his cuffed hands, “and loosen me bonds a wee bit, for mercy’s sake.”
The woman, who struck Grady as having a slightly gentler nature than her cohorts, put down the energy drink she’d been sipping. She looked to her leader for his blessing. “Max?”
“Not for a moment,” he said firmly as he meticulously buffed his nails with a file. “We’ve searched for the Pot for too long to take any unnecessary chances now.”
Grady scowled at the villain. “And where would I go, soaring high above the world as we are? Is it wings you expect me to sprout, so that I can flap me way to freedom? I’m a leprechaun, not a member of the heavenly host!”
“That may well be,” Max conceded, “but your kind is notorious for its slippery ways. You’ll remain bound until you’ve led us to the Pot, period.”
“And then?” Grady asked.
“Well, that depends on how cooperative you are, I suppose,” Max said. “But I’ve had enough experience with your trickery to want to keep you on a tight leash, as I’m certain you can understand.”
Coral offered him a pained smile. “I’m sorry, Mister O’Gradaigh, but Max is right. There’s too much at stake.”
“And don’t I know it,” Grady said bleakly. “More’s the pity.”
“Déjà vu” was not an Irish expression, but Grady was feeling it now. His gaze fell upon a bleached skull resting upon a padded divan near the front of the cabin. Many mortal lifetimes had passed, and her lustrous black hair and ivory skin were long gone, but Grady recognized the late Lady Sibella from the viperish fangs that added bite to the skull’s sinister grin. He shuddered as he remembered how close those fangs had come to slaying a certain Librarian ever so long ago. It seemed that even immigrating to the New World, along with so many others of his kin and countrymen, had not been enough to keep his past from catching up with him at last. History was repeating itself.
“A word of advice,” he said to Max. “Ye might be wise to reconsider the path ye’re taking.” He nodded at the grisly relic. “Sure it is that this quest did not end well for she who went before youse.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Max said smugly. “The Serpent Brotherhood has not endured for millennia by giving up after a setback or two, even if it takes over fifteen centuries to finish what we started long ago.”
Grady glowered at his captor. “Ye’re just as reckless and arrogant as she was, no rest to her blackened soul.”
Coral flinched at his harsh words and tone, but Max merely smirked.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, “while you had best hope that you are not wasting my valuable time with this transatlantic excursion.” Ice entered his voice as his true colors showed through his polished manners. “It will not go well with you if this proves to be a wild-goose chase.”
“’Tis nothing of the sort,” Grady said. “I’m bound, in more ways than one, to take ye to me treasure for as long as you hold me captive. The Pot is back in blessed Eire, hidden away from the likes of youse … or so I had hoped it would remain.”
He was not lying. When he’d finally departed Ireland back in 1850, taking only a decent store of gold to save for a rainy day, he’d left the Pot behind, safely stowed away, where none had ever found it in all the years since that fateful night on Patrick’s mountain. He had hoped that it would remain there, undisturbed, until the crack of doom.
“But why leave such a treasure behind?” Coral asked. “I still don’t understand.”
“Why?” Grady echoed. “Because I wanted nothing to do with that cursed Pot, which has brought me naught but woe since your Lady Sibella forced me to steal it for her centuries ago. Better that it remained locked away from mortal and immortal alike than risk transporting it across the seas along with the rest of me meager possessions.”
Max filed his nails. “If it’s truly such a burden to you, we’ll be delighted to take it off your hands.”
“Ye’d like that, wouldn’t ye, ye preening bashtoon?”
“But can’t you just magically whisk it here?” Coral persisted. “Or transport us all to Ireland with a wish?”
“Across the vast ocean and halfway around the world?” Grady chuckled bitterly. “Ye flatter me, miss, if ye think me that powerful. I’m a humble fiddler, not one of the high-and-mighty Tuatha Dé Danann. And would I have endured that long sea voyage in steerage to reach America’s welcoming shores all those years ago if I could just magic my way across the globe in the wink of an eye?” He shook his head. “If youse want that wretched Pot, ye’ll have to go to where this long, doleful tale began: the green hills and valleys of Erin.”
“Apt enough,” Max conceded, “if deucedly inconvenient as well. Still, I suppose a touch of jet lag is a small price to pay for claiming the Pot after all this time.” He sighed in resignation as he settled back into his seat in anticipation of the long flight ahead. “Congratulations, little man. Seems as though you’re going home at last.”
Grady wished that prospect brought him more joy than dread.