Free Pandora's Box by Natale Stenzel

make you disappear from my semiconsciousness
     so I can get back to recovering.”
    His cocky stance subtly wilting, he seemed a little hurt. “Well. Thanks to the curse, I can’t exactly leave you, but if you
     ask nicely, I could give you a little privacy. For a while.”
    Now she’d insulted a hobgoblin named Bob. This was really getting spoofish. She was starting to sound just like her mother,
     bless her weirdo but goodhearted soul.
    Weirdo—“Oh. Of course.” She’d call her mom. If she could tell anyone about a puca in her house, it would be her mom. Inspired,
     she focused on the puca. “Bob.”
    He sighed, almost wistfully.
    She relented. “Riordan, then?” At least she wouldn’t dissolve into hysterical giggles. A puca named Bob just sounded funny.
     And she would not, could not call him the BobGoblin. That sounded way too much like role-playing for the serious fetishist.
     Blech.
    He dipped his head, seeming pleased by her choice of moniker. Then he turned his attention toward the light switch she’d tried
     earlier. It flipped. The lights went on.
    Mina started and gazed around at her illuminated kitchen. It wouldn’t short out or catch fire, would it? “Oh. Um, thanks?”
    He responded with a casual bow that was somehow courtly despite tail and ears.
    She nodded, a little awkwardly. “So. Riordan it is.” She cleared her throat. “Riordan . . . would you please honor me with
     your absence? Until I call you back—”
    A shimmer and he was gone. Except for a hollow voice echoing in her head. No, your kitchen won’t catch fire. Just give me a yell when you want to talk. And, speaking of fire, you might want to avoid the phrase “speak of the, ” you know. Guy from the hot place.
    “Why? What happens then?” She shouldn’t ask. She knew she shouldn’t ask. But maybe forewarned was better?
    Out I pop, in full view of everyone, in whatever form happens to be on your mind at the time. Things could get dicey.
    “I’ll bet. But I thought you said you weren’t the devil.”
    A sigh. Oh, come on. Has no one ever called you a cute little devil? It doesn’t mean that you are literally the devil, but things can get blurred in my part of the world. Metaphorical and literal blend a little more here. So, basically, if the king of the fairies makes a practice of calling his troublemaking halfling son something like that . . . well, scary shit happens.
    Really, really, really scary. “Bye, Riordan.”
    No response.
    “O-kay.” Mina took a deep breath. Then another. Then finished her cold breakfast. She looked around her now-silent kitchen.
     It was still her house, at least for now. Same as it always was. Well, except for the new ventilation, courtesy of her contractor
     Just Teague and, possibly, a puca.
    A puca. Courtesy of a puca. She really needed help. “Yes, ” she said, talking to herself out loud. “Call Mom. Even if I am
     nuts, she’ll never know it. I’ll just be one of her kind. Finally. A true-blue member of the abnormal Avery-Dixon family.”
    After wending her way back to her room and throwing on some jeans and a T-shirt, she gingerly picked her way through the living
     room and glanced around for her purse. The house really was wrecked. She’d left it messy to begin with, and then the contractor
     and his guys had moved a lot of stuff from the kitchen to the living room. Locating her purse on the floor by the couch, she
     pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial.
    “Good evening, darling.”
    “Mom. Thank God you’re home.” Mina inhaled deeply to calm herself. Her mother was bonkers all by her endearing little self,
     so she was in no position or frame of mind to judge. Having a bonkers daughter would only make her proud—not inclined to notify
     the nearest mental hospital. “I have something to tell you. No, ask you. And it’s going to sound weird, so—”
    “Then let me make it easier for you. I heard Cousin Gladys died. Her attorney contacted me, looking for