Free Genie Knows Best by Judi Fennell

Samantha hoped it was a large toothpick and not someone’s femur. The object landed on a leprechaun—the bald one counting his coins.
    “ Loscadh is dó ort , Festwick. Can’t ye see I’m countin’ me gold?”
    “What I see is that you’re looking a little plumper than when I last saw ya, Seamus.” The wyvern’s tongue snaked around his beak in direct counterpoint to the swish of his tail, and neither looked good for the frazzled Seamus.
    The leprechaun bounded to his feet, his gold scattering. “Yer not Festwick.”
    “At least your eyesight’s not gone, though your brains are. Perfect for a dunghill, I’m betting. Oh, wait. That’s your area of expertise, isn’t it?” The wyvern flicked a coin with his talon and it landed in the middle of the fight.
    “Here we go,” Kal groaned.
    “What do you mean?” Samantha slid a little closer.
    “If there’s one thing that gets leprechauns’ attention faster than a good fight, it’s a piece of gold they don’t have to work for.” Kal guided her back behind the car. “Watch.”
    Sure enough, the leprechauns who’d been holding back a band of gnomes turned tail and leapt into the fray, bodysurfing over that rabbit thing with the horns and the dozens of hairy whatevers. The fight escalated, Gaelic being hurled even louder than Orkney and company’s grunts, and more hats, shoes, a shillelagh or two, and someone’s belt buckle went sailing onto the sand.
    And then Maille rose to her back legs, her gaze locked onto the wyvern like a heat-seeking missile. “You!”
    Kal cursed, then waved his hand. A shield appeared in it. “Duck!”
    He pulled Samantha down with him, but she needed no urging. A roar roiled through the air, the dragon’s fire sucking every bit of oxygen from it, and the shield lit up like a beacon.
    Gnomes and leprechauns scattered everywhere, most of them, it seemed, determined to get under the shield with her and Kal.
    A loud crack was followed by a thwack , and glass shattered somewhere.
    “Nice, Maille,” sneered the wyvern. “Bad enough you can’t keep our dwelling clean, but now you go clutter up the town. Such as it is.”
    “Don’t get all high and mighty with me, you sniveling wyvern. What are you doing here, Bart? Last I checked, I had a restraining order against you.”
    “Which expired as of three a.m. Greenwich today, so here I am. We’ve got lots to discuss, so why don’t you come give us a kiss, sweets.”
    “Over my dead body.”
    “That can be arranged.”
    Kal handed the shield to Samantha. “Hold this. And don’t come out until I say it’s safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
    Hung up on that last part, Samantha needed a few seconds before she could respond. But what was the right response to that statement anyhow? Okay, but don’t get burned by dragon fire ? Don’t let it crush you in its beak ? Watch out for the talons ?
    Thanks for caring about me?
    Samantha shook her head. She shouldn’t read anything into what was a normal comment; no sane person wanted to get caught in dragon crossfire.
    Except, apparently, Kal.
    He marched between the two dragons, who had squared off like gunfighters at the O.K. Corral, as if he were fireproof.
    Samantha hoped, for his sake, that he was, but she wasn’t especially looking forward to finding out.
    “Enough, Maille. Bart,” Kal said.
    “Get out of here, djinni. You’ve done enough damage, and this is none of your business.”
    “When it puts my master in danger, it is,” said Kal, much more calmly than Samantha’s pulse rate. “You two need to take this someplace else.”
    “I’m not going anywhere with him.” Maille crossed her arms, her green talons tapping her scales.
    “Trust me, sweets, I’m not all that keen on it, either. I’m here for one reason only.” Bart spat, barely missing the back end of a gnome who was sticking out from under a twisted hunk of metal that looked to have once been a mailbox.
    Maille exhaled a stream of smoke