02. Just Rewards

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The raving man had his arm cocked back, the rag in the bottleneck dark with accelerant. The stink stung their nostrils along with the smoke filling the square. His face was red with barely contained rage, but not yet out of control. He stared Orna down as he dipped the rag towards the lighter, only to pull back an inch with a smirk when she gasped. Everybody around them kept still, not daring to move or make a sound, even when he sparked the lighter wheel again. And again.

Loreen held her camera up, recording a video without thinking as the crowd pressed together. Orna pushed her back, already shoving Amber the other way with her other hand, sidestepped away from them both and the press of bodies churning around them.

The man, for all the chaos he caused, waited decently enough for her to get clear. She alone was this bottle’s target. He dipped it towards the flame again, almost touching the tiny fire as he stepped in time with Orna, who led his aim away on shaking knees and ragged breaths with tears and sweat stinging at her eyes.

Then someone ran. They didn’t see who, but as soon as one pair of feet began, everyone else followed the example. In the almost quiet panic, a drink spilled down Amber’s back, causing her to scream and pat herself down, rolling before realizing her body wasn’t burning.

The Molotov man’s eyes darted over, a half second distraction as she shook off the tangy spray of beer seeping into her cheap fabric, but that second was all they needed. Jake pushed forward, boots churning turf, shoving past a guy running in the opposite direction. They swore at him, but didn’t slow him down. The man in the hood turned, his shadow jerking against the fire on stage as Jake kicked off the field and sailed through the air, toppling into him and landing straight into his ribs with a hard oomph.

Jake’s fingers closed around the glass neck and pulled it away from the lighter. The man resisted for a split second, enough to make Jake’s teeth grit as he pulled the bottle further away, but it refused to yield and he punched Jake in the head. Whatever he imagined would happen, it only served to break a finger between the younger boy’s hard skull and the lighter in his palm, and he screamed and smashed the lighter into Jake’s nose instead.

Smash. Smash. Smash.

Jake drove a fist into the man’s jaw in return.

Smash. Smash. Smash.

Blood gushed from both their faces and Loreen found herself screaming Jake’s name, catching herself chanting it like a demented cheerleader as at last the bottle came loose and Jake held it up, then stood and kicked in the same movement, roaring in pain or adrenaline and switching to a series of swift kicks, half blinded by his own blood while wailing on the assailant’s face and ribs, until the man folded in on himself, knees and elbows failing to protect his face. Jake continued kicking and screaming until four Gardai pushed their way though the thinned mass of onlookers and pulled them apart.

For a moment, nobody moved. A camera flash blinked in the smoke, then another. Someone exhaled a slow “whoa.”

Jake sagged, bottle still in hand, almost retching from how hard he had to breath. Two veins pulsed fast beneath his temples, one bruised and slightly cut, matching his knuckles and the scuff of his toecap. The Gardai forced him to kneel, but didn’t pull out handcuffs. Everyone just stared as he half breathed, half heaved, and giant blood bubble ballooned from his nose.

The hooded man, on the other hand, was on his side, groaning and hacking up far more blood than Jake. Orna glanced at the bottle Jake had snatched, then back at the man on the ground. Her lips pressed together, quivering.

Near the stage, the scattered band held their instruments while a medic checked Miles Keene’s leg. Security, despite the quiet, kept people moving, evacuating in a calm and orderly manner from the scene, clearing space for the fire marshals to their jobs.

Orna ran back her friends, keeping wide of the man in the hooded coat, even with the Garda between them. Jake’s breathing steadied into hiccups, but his shoulders stayed square, his grip on the bottle firm. When the man tried to sit up, Jake almost shot forward again, but his legs refused to move and the Garda holding his shoulder pressed down harder, keeping him from standing even if he could. The other officer barked a line of gibberish into his hissing radio while the other two waved over a trio of medics carrying a stretcher.

Shaking off the tension, Orna shuffled to his side and tied to nonchalantly shoot him a grin and a finger gun, her eyes falling on the rag-stoppered bottle. As soon as they focused on it, however, her attempt at a smile dropped with them.

“Nice going, hero,” she said, followed by a deep breath. “Hey, he’s not under arrest, is he?”

The officer holding Jake down shook his head. “No, but at the risk of sounding overly dramatic, don’t leave town for a few days. We’ll want to ask you some questions.”

Jake responded with a hiccup.

Up on stage, a breathless woman leaned into the mic and raised his palms in a tense motion to calm the crowd. “It’s okay, folks. It’s alright, relax. Relax! We’re all safe, we’re all good, and we’re not going to let one insecure man ruin our day, are we?”

A few people near the front didn’t look convinced, but a general murder of agreement spread out. She ignored the exchange.

“Everything’s under control. In just a moment, we’ll continue. How about some music?”

The noise shifted as pockets of conversation started back up. The band members checked their instruments quietly. The violinist tuned her violin, almost surprised it still worked despite the splash marks burned into the wood.

Back in the crowd, a man in a leather jacket fist bumped Jake’s arm. “Nice right hook, boyo! Excellent legwork!”

Jake gave him a weak thumb up while Orna crouched down to his level and tapped the bottle with her finger. “Want me to dispose of that?”

“I…yeah. Yeah, please.”

“Wait,” the Garda holding him said, “keep hold of that until we can take it from you. We’ll deal with it. Hey, you, keep away from that fire!”

The crowd was pushing in again, some trying to snap pics of the burning hotdog cart. The stink clung to the air and a faint orange flicker illuminated their faces, even in the midday sun. A security team formed a human barrier around the wooden bunting pole burning halfway up its length, nervously eyeing the strung banners swaying above, still unlit for now.

Then the crowd parted and the leprechaun stepped out, dusting off his sleeves as if the smoke and soot were simply lint that would fall off. Although amazingly, they did. His waistcoat buttons caught the light when he reached up into his hat and pulled out what looked like a comically small bucket.

“Excuse me, my fine sits,” he said to the security guards, “but might I soak the pole before the fire spreads?”

“I doubt that’s gonna be much help,” one said, looking at the towering inferno. “Don’t worry, the fire wardens will be here as soon as they’re done at the stage.”

“Oh, I’m not suggesting it’ll out the fire out,” the leprechaun said, “I just want to make sure it doesn’t reach those flags above your head.”

The security guard hesitated, but one glance at the paper flapping in the heat made him reconsider, and he ushered the leprechaun forward.

“Alright, can’t hurt. Let me smell it first.”

The leprechaun obliged, and when the guard was satisfied it wasn’t another flammable liquid, he let the muscular little man in fishnet stockings throw the miniature pail at the pole. The water that came out of it, however, spread like a grenade had gone off in the sea. Gallons of saltwater doused the flames instantly, and the leprechaun saluted the open mouthed guards before skipping over to the hotdog stand. The onlookers in the front gasped and clapped, and the leprechaun gave them a wink.

He stood in front of the hotdog stand next, which stood seemed to have suffered no damage, save for the roaring fire where only a smoldering barbecue grill should have been. He stood on his tiptoes and drew in a slow breath, almost seeming to inflate. For a second, he looked like he was going to float away, but then he blew across the counter and both his feet planted themselves into the ground. The air shimmered in front of his face, the heat waves bending oddly, as an impossibly Arctic blast left his lungs. When he stepped back and caught his breath, the stand, which had tipped with the wind, landed back on all four wheels, and the tray of sausages and onions steamed, cooked to perfection.

He dusted his hands next and turned to the stage. The fire there burned bright and covered the entire front, but the marshals had it under control. They blasted extinguishers across and around the flames, keeping them from spreading, shrinking them back to a single point. The leprechaun’s eyes narrowed for half a second before he plastered on a grin.

He tipped his hat to them. “That one’s all yours, lads. I’d only be showing off.”

With the smaller fires out, security focused on the stage and the crowd began to shift again, people murmuring and drifting back toward their earlier conversations. A few glanced between the untouched hotdog stand but in moments, the owner was back to dishing out meals.

The leprechaun wandered back toward the middle of the square, rolling the tiny bucket in his hands when a young girl asked, “Can I learn that?”

He squatted down to her height and said “I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s just an oxygen exclusion spell. The pail of water’s just the form I like to condense the gliya in until I cast it into an expanded zone.”

The girl nodded slowly. “Did you learn that in magic school?”

“No, I’m self taught, lass. We just have a really good library back in the Incarna. But if you’re interested in magic, here.”

He took off his hat and showed it to the girl. Inside was a small pool of fog. He poured a pond’s worth of water from the pail into it, dropped the pail itself in, them reached in after it to pull out a perfectly dry tome of yellow pages.

“Simple tricks, but a great place to start,” he said. “Everything from pulling a coin from your ear to making yourself disappear. Like this!”

He placed his hat back on his head and it fell to the floor around him, swallowing him up. Then the hat exploded in a burst of confetti, leaving the clueless girl holding a book half her size.

“Mum, look,” she said. “The leprechaun gave a spell book!”

Her confused mother returned with two hotdogs and handed her one. “Oh. Well done.”

Smoke still curled from the edges of the square, but the immediate danger had receded. A third uniformed officer gripped the firebomber’s arm as he kicked, cursed, and thrashed, and the small crowd followed, jeering and cursing as he was half dragged to a waiting police van. The woman by the stage had jumped back on it, despite the steaming wood underfoot and the protests of the fire marshals and stage hands.

“Come on! This, boys and girls, is Pride. Are you going to let one man ruin your day or are you going to show him what pride means?”

The crowd had a second wind and this time several woops and a loud “Hellz yeah!” cut above the background hubbub.

“Come on, policemen, you aren’t going to keep our hero down, are you?” she said, not even disguising her attempt to use Jake as a focal point for positive attention. “Let’s give a round for our own brave little peacekeeper here!”

The Garda holding Jake flicked an eye to his superior, who shrugged and pointed to the stage. Faced with the onlooking mob, they hoisted Jake to his feet and the two escorted him through the crowd to the woman’s open hand, who helped him up onto the stage. He was still clutching the Molotov.

Her eyes flicked to it. “Looks like you got yourself a souvenir there?”

Jake shook his head. “Uh, I think the Gardai might want it for evidence.”

The Garda below the stage nodded, but he barely registered it as a cheer followed, a wave of applause swelling as woops and whistles joined in, and the brass band decided to add their own contribution with an impromptu burst of For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow. He shifted awkwardly, not looking at anyone in particular, until he caught sight of two oversized leprechaun hats and Orna’s bowed toptail waving between them. He focused on her and waved to another round of applause.

Standing at the drinks table, Loreen stood with a plastic cup in one hand and leaned her weight onto one hip. She knew where Jake’s wave was aimed , even over that distance, and her smile thinned, her eyebrows locking straight.

Orna noticed and raised a lazy wave back to Jake, then leaned into Loreen’s ear. “Listen, I don’t wanna come of as presumptuous or arrogant here, but I’m getting major interest vibes from your friend there. He does know I’m not available, right?”

 Loreen blinked at her. “What? I didn’t even know you’re not available.”

“Aww, then it looks like I’m going to have to break someone’s heart today. Boys are so fragile. He might need someone to step in and show him a kindness or two.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not exactly sure I want to be just a rebound.”

“Can’t be a rebound if he hasn’t landed yet. Come on, let’s work out a plan. Stupid dope’s not gonna figure it out on his own, is he?”

Up on stage, Jake was put on the spot, literally, as several spotlights blinded him, with Miles Keene practically interviewing him like he’d scored a winning touchdown.

“So, Jake, many people say they’re allies, but actions speak louder than words, am I right, folks? Look at this handsome face here, because this is what a hero looks like!”

“Um, thanks?”

“No, thank you! But I have to ask, what made you run in like that? Is there someone special out here you’d like to say a few words to?”

Jake’s face grew red, even from the distance the girl’s stood. “O…Orna?”

Orna and Loreen’s heads snapped up.

“Orna,” she said. “Orna Grealish?”

Jake’s smile faltered. “Um, our, uh, the organizer of the festival today.”

She clamped a hand on Jake’s shoulder and beamed out at the crowd. “Wow. Folks, he’s absolutely right. None of this would have been possible without the team behind the events, and I am so glad someone here appreciates our efforts, I really am. Orna, Cazz, where are you hiding?”

Orna raised a sheepish hand, while cross the crowd, a ukulele strummed and rose.

“A big hand for the organizers, folks! Yes, that includes me. And please, let’s show the hateful what Pride is all about! Give a big hand for our hero here, and from all of us, a little gift of appreciation. You deserve it!”

A stage hand passed up a gift basket and she beamed for the picture Jake wasn’t prepared for as it was handed to one of his hands, while the other was shaken vigorously.

On the far side of the crowd , Loreen huffed to herself. “Who is that?”

Orna tilted her head toward the stage. “Nessa. She’s one of our organizers. Looks like she’s managed to divert everyone’s attentions back to the festivities.”

“Poor Jake. Hey, Jake! Stop trying to talk! “You’re just supposed to stand there and look pretty.”

Jake must have heard her because he turned their way, and as soon as the pictures were done, he quickly thanked Nessa and bolted around the crowd. When he got back to them, Orna was brushing ash from her sleeve and doing her best to make herself less appealing.

“Go on,” she said to Loreen, “Ramp up the interest. Seriously, playing hard to get doesn’t work.”

“Seriously?”

Jake melded back into their circle. “Seriously what?”

Loreen froze.

Amber ruffled his hair like he was a naughty puppy. Seriously, are you stupid? You just jumped on the guy. I mean, who does that?”

Jake shrugged, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks. “I dunno. Someone who doesn’t like people getting set on fire.”

Orna laughed, a soft, amused sound that made Jake’s grin widen. “Aww, he’s so modest, too.”

He grinned at that and leaned in, brushing his shoulder against hers. “You know, I’ve got a few more moves where that came from.”

Her smile stayed polite as she tried to signal Loreen to intervene through a quick series of side eye rolls. Jake took it as a full-on invitation, straightening up and puffing out his chest a little, flashing what he hoped was a roguish wink. From the corner of his eye, Loreen stepped closer, deliberately adjusting her jacket, hands on her hips, pretending not to eavesdrop.

She tried to step between them and said “Wow, a real life hero,” but he took Orna’s step back as further invitation to follow her around the burnt out bunting pole. Loreen froze, mid-stride, and sighed.

“Wow.” Amber said, sidling up to her. “He’s actually that stupid. Weren’t you supposed to be laying the groundwork when you were alone in the car? What were you even doing in there?”

“Sitting in awkward silence and panicking!” Loreen said through clenched teeth. “I swear I am this close to just giving up on him completely. One more chance. If he blows it…”

“You won’t blow him. Maybe you should just open with that?”

Jake caught her gaze and gave a casual, half-hearted wave, Ike he’d suddenly remembered Orna had friends he should try to include.

“Why doesn’t she just tell him she has a boyfriend?” Loreen said. “Y’know, a big strong guy who’s really jealous.”

“She has got a big, strong boyfriend,” Amber said. “Well, might be a boy. She didn’t actually say, but apparently he’s strong enough to pick her up like a pillow.”

“Well, let’s just casually mention how jealous he might get seeing her talking to him.”

“I don’t think a guy who just tackled a flaming terrorist is going to find some jealous boyfriend a threat.”

“He’s respectful and polite. He’ll back off because he has manners.”

Amber rolled her eyes and dragged Loreen to the bumbling Jake, and the Orna who was trying hard not to abandon her feigned interest in staying polite herself. Amber decided to insert herself between them by inserting her open hand into the space between their faces.

“Sorry, guys,” she said. “Orna, Cazz and Nessa need to talk to you about festival stuff and I think your sponsor’s in need of a friend. Sorry, Jake, I know you’re the hero of the moment, but one bottle did get through and hit him in the leg. He got burned.”

Jake’s smile dropped instantly. “Oh. Oh, right, I actually forgot. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault, hun.” Orna said, then flicking Amber on the nose. “You, have some tact! Yeah, I’ll go check up on him and make sure he’s not hurt too badly. Knowing the company, they’ll probably spin it into PR gold.”

“What company’s he with?” Jake said, from under Amber’s hand.

“Peachy Keene,” she said, not removing it. “The tech guys that made your phone.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“You do now. It’s sitting in your basket.”

Jake plucked her hand away from his eyes to find Orna gone and both twins staring down at his goods. His eyes followed theirs and found a small black box with a rainbow ribbon tied across it, sitting on treats and drinks below. Amber took the box without asking and opened it for him. Inside was an older style phone seemingly embedded in another box.

“Whoa, check out the chunk! I thought phones were meant to get smaller? Oh, look it opens up!” Amber said, pulling it apart to reveal the world’s smallest laptop. “Hey, a color screen! Hey, it’s a digital camera as well! Hey, it’s—”

“Mine, Loreen,” Jake said. “You don’t need to get that excited over it.”

Amber clapped it shut and slipped it back in its box, then slipped the box back into his basket. She stared him in the eye and jabbed her sister in the boob.

“Ow!”

“She’s Loreen. I’m Amber. I’m the cute one. She’s the fugly one. Got it?”

“But you’re identical.”

“You calling me fugly?”

“What? No! No. Well, maybe when you glare like that.”

“Oh, so you like a face that doesn’t glare? You think Loreen’s prettier than me just because she’s not upset with you? You, hear that, Loreen? He thinks you’re beautiful. Well, maybe you should tell her that instead of using me as your workaround. In fact, you do just that while I go do the job we’re supposed to be getting paid for. Excuse me, sir, do you need directions or a scantily clad leprechaun in your photo album?”

Amber strode off with another confused man, leaving a rigid Jake blinking along with her grousing sister.

Eventually, Loreen broke the silence and pointed to free bench. “Here, let’s sit down a sec.” Sorry about her. It’s a bit we sometimes do. Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you? You were pretty brave. I’m impressed.”

Jake gave a lazy shrug. “I think we’ve established I’m more foolish than brave.”

“At least you did something. I just froze. Even Orna separated herself from the crowd when she thought she was a target. I just stood there.”

“And that’s fine Sudden movement makes you a target. When some arse goes around threatening everyone, not getting his attention is definitely the smart option.”

“Huh. Then I failed even that. I started shooting everything on my camera. I should probably turn that in to the Gardai.”

“Speaking of which…” Jake pulled aside the junk in his basket. The Molotov sat cradled in multicolored faux straw, nestled between a small bottle of champagne and a bottle of peach flavored cola. “I need to hand this in. I got stage fright and vamoosed before speaking to the officers with me.”

“Well, how about we go to the station later, drop them off before the bar opens?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Males me feel less like I’m the one going to trial. Hey, wait a minute, why didn’t he come get it from me himself?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth all four of the Gardai who’d arrived at the scene first went past, the man swearing and screaming, spitting and struggling as they carried him between them, each hoisting a separate limb.

“I’ll get out again!” the man said. “You can’t hold me. Justice will prevail.”

“Oh,” Jake said. “That’s why.”

The officers dragged him back to the police van, avoiding kicks and snarling threats while Loreen took more pics. Jake just followed him with his eyes, then checked his nose.

“Crap. Was I bleeding the entire time I was on stage?”

“Yeah,” Loreen said. “You didn’t know?”

“No! Got any tissues or something?”

“They put a pack in your basket. There.”

He fishes through the paper straw and found two small packs. Rolling two to stem the flow, he plugged his nostrils and proceeded to wipe down the rest of his face.

“When that woman up on stage said this is what a hero looks like, I thought I looked more, well, dashing than this.”

Loreen smirked. “She was just using you to get attention off that guy. Seriously, your face is very attractive right now. I mean, as in it attracts attention. Not that you’re unattractive. But now you’re rememberable. I’d definitely remember you. Don’t make a habit of this, alright?”

“Uh, thanks? You think I’m attractive?”

Loreen’s face flushed. “Well, yeah. Haven’t you been reading all the signs?”

“Yeah? Signs? So she was flirting back?”

“What? Who?”

“Orna.”

Loreen took her hat off and hit him with it. Then hit him again. “You’re impossible, Jake Galbraith!”

“Hey, ow! So…stop that! Is that a yes? What did I do?”

She screamed a “Gyargh!” through her teeth and stood, facing him. Then turned on her heel and stomped off, leaving him sat there with tissues up his nose. The square had settled back to steady calm, a brittle one compared to before, but few people had left and the stalls had slashed their prices in half to keep the rest. A few curls of smoke drifted in thin, lazy lines toward the edge of the festival, a soft wind clearing them and rippling through the tents. Jake looked up at the clock tower above the university doors and sighed. Twelve-thirty. Barely a half hour into the afternoon and he already wanted a nap.

The Garda had the bomber at the door of their van, but he was hamming up a performance, enjoying the cameras on him as he waxed lyrical about injustice and philosophy and why victims like him shouldn’t allow themselves to be silenced. He seemed to think he was in reality TV and screamed until his voice cracked, knowing his message would be uploaded and broadcast to niche audiences around the world in hours. He screamed directly into one oversized analog video camera mounted on a film student’s shoulder and addressed it while he bucked and twisted, forcing the Gardai to adjust their grip and curse until one finally broke and hit him.

“Police brutality!” the man cried, as the officer used the opportunity to cuff him. “Police brutality! You all saw him!”

“Ah, here’s the man of the hour!” Jake heard behind him. Orna ruffled his head and stepped into view, followed the man from the stage. “Hey, loving the walrus look. We should make that our mascot.”

The man from the stage had changed into a fresh pair of trousers. He smiled and hobbled over with a slight limp and a wince as he held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Miles. You must be Jake.”

“Yup, this is Jake,” Orna said warmly. “He’s the one who stopped the attack. And that’s Loreen. Or Amber.”

Jake oiled back to where she was pointing and saw Amber or Loreen without boots or hat, checking herself in a mirror set up under a red velvet tent. She checked her freckles and said something about needing laser treatment, then bent down put her boots back on. When she switched to covering one foot with a mismatching red sock, however, her reflection stood and folded its arms, glaring down as she slowly looked up, eyes wide like a rabbit caught in headlights.

Jake, Orna and Miles watched on as a crowd circled around them and took pictures, as the reflection stepped out of the mirror, fought Amber and flung her through the archway, before skipping off with an evil laugh around the back of the tent. Amber screamed silently from the wrong side of the mirror before melodramatically falling to her knees and sobbing into the grass as a pair of curtains closed in front of her. The audience clapped and both girls skipped out to let children rummage through their crocks for handfuls of sweets.

“Now that’s an interesting concept,” another voice said next Jake. He turned to find the leprechaun stopped, mid-stroll and scratching his beard, which wouldn’t have been strange if his beard wasn’t hanging around his chest as a large, loose necktie. “I might have to steal that.”

The leprechaun walked on and the twins finished entertaining the crowd, heading back to the bench with smiles on their faces, that only soured slightly on Loreen’s when she caught Orna and Jake sitting next to each other.

“Miles, this Amber and Loreen, two of our stewards. Gals, this is—”

“Miles Keene of Peachy Keene,” Amber said, throwing herself into a handshake. “Your family used to live here and contributed to the town’s growth over four hundred years of its history, starting as a waypoint between other towns where travelers could leave messages, before transitioning into a courier and mail service that helped introduce peaches to the British Isles, but accidentally labeled them as apples…”

Miles Keene nodded politely. When Amber didn’t stop listing his family’s four centuries worth of business, Loreen tried to interrupt, but Orna, enjoying the look on his face, stopped her from stopping her twin.

“…nineteen forty-eight in Pasadena, California, when your then new umbrella corporation bought up KXLA and made Jim Hawthorne the voice of the company, stealing his slogan to rebrand after that disaster with that thousand pound of peaches getting sent the wrong direction around the world, I mean that’s a major mistake that some claim is why your family is responsible for Christianity believing the forbidden fruit was an apple instead of the peach every other religion uses…”

Orna nodded at Loreen. “He’s had enough.”

They hooked an arm under each of Amber’s and dragged her away, still talking and shouting over the distance. “…but switching to funding the development of electronic mail after your success with telegraphs and Alexander Graham Bell’s early telephone was a great move, even if your were a century early…”

“Is she always like that?” Miles said, still smiling and nodding as Amber was dumped back at the tent.

Jake shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t actually know them that well. They’re my cousin’s neighbors. Kinda intense.”

Orna and Loreen returned, having duct taped Amber’s legs together. Loreen sat next to Jake and fanned herself with a hand.

“Sorry about her,” she said. “Most people I know fawn over celebrities.”

“No, it’s perfectly fine,” Miles said. “I always wanted to know what that felt like. It’s good. Probably tiring if I had to go through it every day, but I’m glad of the experience. Sorry, I came over for a purpose before it got hijacked by my only fan there. Listen, Jake, what you did today was excellent and we have a bunch of reporters waiting to interview you if you’re up for that.”

“I am not up for that. Being put on the spot while looking like Redbeard isn’t really the attention I was aiming for today.”

“Yeah, I figured, so I got you these instead,” Miles said, pulling out two tickets from his breast pocket. “You can take someone up in a balloon, it’s all on me, and hopefully get the kind of attention you want.”

“Wait, really? Nice! Hey, Loreen should totally get a couple as well. She recorded everything for the Gardai to use against that guy.

Miles gave her a nod of respect. “No kidding? I’ll go get you a pair right now.”

As he left, Amber hopped back, tape still trailing from her exposed red sock. “Seriously? I got to hang out with Miles Keene and you strap me to a tent pole? Are those balloon tickets? Miles Keene gave you balloon tickets?”

“Yes,” Loreen said quickly, throwing Amber a sidelong smirk. “Both of us.”

Amber gasped, clutching her chest in exaggerated heartbreak. “He’s giving the balloon ride to her? What about me?”

“You didn’t help thwart a terrorist,” Loreen said.

“And what did you do?” Amber wailed, earning several confused looks from bystanders.

Loreen held up her camera. “Filmed it. That’s right, I was useful, I get rewarded. No flying for you!”

Amber muttered something about being the unlucky twin while Orna, still smiling, wrapped an arm around her.

“They did good, they get rewarded.”

Jake grinned at Loreen. “Guess we’re going up.”

Loreen gave him a half-smile. “Guess so. Ooh, imagine the pictures I could get from the air.”

“Well I’m still going,” Amber said. “I didn’t steal dad’s hard earned money for nothing.”

Orna rolled her eyes. “And you do bad. That’s why there’s no reward for you.”

“Hey, Loreen’s was my partner in that particular crime.”

“And I redeemed myself,” Loreen said. “Now I ascend to a higher plane. Ooh, I wonder if we’ll be higher than planes?”

Another crash brought their eyes back to the police van, where the bomber had kicked the camera out of the student’s grip. It sparked and died on the edge of the paving and he used the distraction to wrench himself free of the Garda and break into a staggering sprint, still cuffed, screaming about freedom. He cut a zigzagging path between stalls, scattering people with a string of inventive curses.

“Uh-oh,” Amber said, leaning forward as if she had front-row tickets.

Jake tensed and jumped to a half stand, but before he could move, the damn leprechaun stepped sideways, almost lazily, from behind a booth and extended a rainbow flag like a matador’s cape. The bomber hit it at full speed, tangling so completely that he crashed into the half burned pole. His momentum carried him forward and he spun in the air, faceplanting hard the ground in a knot of limbs and polyester stripes.

The crowd applauded.

Amber clapped the loudest. “Ten out of ten. Stuck the landing.”

The Gardai grabbed their conveniently wrapped parcel and carried him overhead, only his head free to move while the rest of him looked like a giant rainbow hued worm. This time, they threw him into the back of the van and two got in to strap him onto a bench.

“And that’s how you make an exit,” the leprechaun said. The crowd laughed.

Jake looked from them to Orna, who was already walking away to get Loreen’s tickets from Miles. She turned back to wave at him, but he glanced at Loreen first, who waved back.

He looked down at the tickets in his hands a figured whatever was going on here, at least he was walking away with a win.