Persie Merlin and the Witch Hunters - Bella Forrest Page 0,24
raised two fingers at me—a rude gesture here in the British Isles.
“You’ll notice they’re quite… lively.” I laughed stiffly. “You might think that gesture means peace or victory, but that is not the case here. If my history is correct, this two-finger swear originated from the English longbowmen of yore, as a sign of defiance to the French that they still had their shooting fingers intact.”
Genie grinned. “It makes a nice difference from the bird. Swearing variety being the spice of life and all.”
The third leprechaun hurled himself at the glass and pounded on it with a shillelagh, though I couldn’t say where he’d hidden the weapon. The fourth just stood in the center of the orb and glared, one hand tucked into the lapel of his dark green waistcoat.
“Yes, I think leprechauns would agree with you on that,” I said, wishing I had something more profound or cerebral to say, instead of telling her about the history of rude gestures.
Genie crouched down and smiled at the foursome. “Oh, I know these feisty bastards all too well. At the SDC, one of them is pretty much the director—or he likes to think so.” She laughed and relief washed over me. “I once called him O’Halloran’s talking parrot, and he almost brained me with one of those.” She pointed to the shillelagh.
“Really?” It never failed to surprise me when I heard tales of Purge beasts living relatively free and integrated existences. The SDC had always been somewhat ahead of its time, and it gave me hope that the phenomenon might become widespread in the future. The SDC had been the first to welcome Atlanteans, and they had the accolades of taking down two global enemies—Katherine Shipton and Davin Doncaster—and they were in possession of the Bestiary. Perhaps the proximity to monsters made them more open to the idea of these creatures as sentient beings, deserving of freedom. Although that logic didn’t entirely hold up, considering that the Institute had the same proximity to beasts but existed to create hunters. Besides, Atlantis had never balked at the idea of using monsters for fuel.
Genie nodded. “He’s called Diarmuid. Eight inches of pure terror. The friendship he and O’Halloran have is kind of sweet, though. They’re like an old, messed-up married couple who loathe each other as much as they love each other.”
I chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind meeting them one day.”
“I’ve never understood the pot of gold thing, though.” She turned to look up at me. “Isn’t that just stealing? Like, these leprechauns have clearly put in some serious work to get their dough, and then someone just comes along and demands it. Doesn’t seem right to me.”
The leprechaun with his back to the glass whipped around and started nodding aggressively. His mouth moved a mile a minute, his hand gestures bordering on obscene. Unfortunately, I’d had to put a muting hex on their orb—otherwise none of the other Repository residents would have gotten any peace—so I didn’t know exactly what he was saying. I supposed I could’ve removed the hex to hear his argument, but I felt a duty to protect Genie’s ears from the cascade of expletives that would certainly follow.
“It’s more of a historical thing,” I explained. “There hasn’t been a report of a person claiming a pot of gold in hundreds of years.”
She furrowed her brow. “But what happens when their pot does get stolen? Do they get another one, or do they have to start from scratch?”
“Hmm. Excellent question.” Finally, the conversation was flowing more naturally. “There are multiple theories, though nobody has ever been able to gain a leprechaun’s trust enough to ask directly. They aren’t typically… friendly. By the sounds of it, even this Diarmuid isn’t particularly warm and fuzzy.”
“Next time I go back to the SDC, I’ll ask him for you. Maybe you’ll get yourself a Nobel Prize for Monstering or something.” She grinned, watching the livid leprechaun, her eyes curious. “You can write a paper and be world famous for figuring out, once and for all, what happens to a pot of gold after it’s taken by a human. I want to be in the acknowledgements, though.”
I grinned. “Noted.”
“What are those things?” Much to the chagrin of the silently clamoring leprechaun, Genie’s attention shifted to another large enclosure. He snatched the shillelagh out of his cohort’s hand and banged it with all his might against the glass, but the sound was too muffled for Genie to notice.
Excited that her interest appeared genuine, I led her