turned to the goblin. "What town are we in, Harry?"
"New York," said the goblin.
"Right," said the leprechaun. "No kissing in the clinches, and no reading New York Times editorials over a fallen foe for more than an hour." He looked Felina in the eye. "Is that acceptable to you?"
She grinned and nodded.
"It is?" said the leprechaun. "I mean, once you've been humiliated and battered into senselessness, I don't want it said that the fight wasn't according to Hoyle."
Felina replied with an eager purr.
The leprechaun turned to Mallory. "Just to make it official: we have an agreement, right?"
"Right," said Mallory.
"You're sure, now? No backing down."
"I'm sure."
"Okay," said the leprechaun, stepping back a few feet. "Take her, Harry."
"Me?" said the goblin, surprised.
"Well, I negotiated the rules," said the leprechaun. "I knew you'd want to do something."
"I kind of thought I'd pull out a bible and read over the corpse," said Harry.
"What makes you think she's religious?" asked the leprechaun.
"What makes you think I'd be reading over her?" Harry shot back.
"This is ridiculous!" said the leprechaun. "I function best in an advisory capacity. Now stop arguing and go tear her limb from limb."
"Yeah, go get her, Harry," said the troll. "We'll cheer you on to victory!"
"And if you lose we'll always honor your memory," added the elf.
"Gee, guys," said Harry, staring almost hypnotically at Felina's claws, "I'd love to, really I would, but my lumbago's been acting up lately."
"You don't have lumbago," said the leprechaun.
"It's adult onset," said Harry defensively. "It began about twenty seconds ago. One of you will have to step in and take my place."
"Can't be me," said the elf. "My rheumatiz just flared up not half a minute ago."
"My arthritis is bothering me," said the troll. "You wouldn't want to fight me if I wasn't at my best."
"I guess it's you, then," said Mallory to the leprechaun.
"What the hell," said the leprechaun. "If no one else will kill her, I'll do it myself." Suddenly he began looking around in panic. "Omygod!" he cried. "I forgot about my prostate problem! Where's the john?"
He raced out into the hall.
"The poor guy's going to have an accident," said Harry, running toward the exit. "I'd better go after him and help clean up."
"He might have two accidents!" shouted the elf, joining Harry.
"Or three!" cried the troll, racing off after them.
"I never get to have any fun!" complained Felina, her claws vanishing back into her fingers.
"Come on," said Mallory, walking toward the office door. "When we're done here I'll buy you a hot dog."
"They're no fun to play with after they're dead," said Felina unhappily.
Mallory reached out for the doorknob, but the door opened before he could touch it, and he stepped into an office that was decorated with football trophies, crystal balls, a blackboard filled with X's and O's and another filled with magic spells scribbled in a foreign tongue and strange symbols. Sitting at a desk was a small, wiry man with a very sparse white beard and shaggy white eyebrows. He wore a robe of spun gold and a triangular hat with signs of the zodiac on it.
"Marvin the Mystic?" said Mallory.
"Of course."
"My name is—"
"John Justin Mallory, I know," said Marvin. "The great Marvin sees all and knows all."
"Not bad," admitted Mallory.
"Besides, Nadine called me on her cell phone and told me you were coming over, so I prepared a little greeting for you."
"I've seen better security forces," said Mallory.
"Good help is hard to find these days," complained Marvin. "Still, all they were required to do was delay you for a minute so I could prepare my defenses."
"And are they all prepared now?" asked Mallory.
"Absolutely," said Marvin. "You could pull a gun out and shoot me at point-blank range and the bullet would never reach me."
"Really?" asked Mallory.
"Uh . . . just a minute," said Marvin nervously. "Don't pull a gun and test it out. The spell works in theory, but I've never actually put it into practice. I mean, it should work. But I also created a spell for blackjack. I play with my computer, and I win every single hand . . . but for some reason the spell doesn't work in Vegas or Jersey, or even at Creepy Conrad's over on 34th Street." He frowned as he considered the problem, then shrugged. "All right, Mallory. What can I do for you?"
"You know Micro and Macro, right?"
"The giant and the midget, right."
"The former giant and the former midget," said Mallory. "These days they look just like you and me."