Free Mythology 101 by Jody Lynn Nye Page B

even the faculty advisor’s. Had everybody left through some other door? he wondered, holding his breath and straining for any telltale sound. No, if that place had a second entrance, Marcy wouldn’t have to come down through the stacks, risking the librarians’ wrath. No, he reconsidered, it was probably all set up with the librarians. Maybe he could coax one into telling him all about it later. He gently cuddled his ear closer into the rough wood, leaning his weight inward.
    A second later, he was measuring his length on the concrete floor of a brightly lit room, shaking stars out of his head. Marcy was halfway to her feet, about fifteen feet away from him, fingertips over her mouth, staring at him in shock. Right now he felt as surprised as she looked at his unexpected appearance. Her books sat atop the kind of wood and metal desk Keith called an “iron maiden,” for its deserved reputation of discomfort comparable to the medieval torture device. There were fifteen or so occupied iron maidens in the room. From his undignified vantage point, Keith also recognized Carl Mueller. Aha, you scum, he thought. There were other college students there, but most of the rest of the class were adolescent kids, and they were all gawking at him. If this was the “study group,” what were they doing here? Were they what the mystery was all about? Was Marcy ashamed to admit that she talked about her homework with a bunch of genius midgets? Or was it something more sinister, like a government think-tank?
    A figure introduced itself between Keith and the rest of the room. Keith’s eye traveled upward—not too far—past a pair of short legs, a protuberant belly and a barrel of a chest, to a round face bethatched and bewhiskered with hair of bright carrot red going white over the ears. Pointed ears! Keith’s jaw dropped open. He blinked and twisted his neck to change his angle of view. An optical illusion? No, they were pointed, all right, and about five inches high. That was impossible! They must be made of latex, like theatrical artists used. And then again, maybe not. He opened his mouth to say something, but the man stopped him with a curt gesture of his hand. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles sat on the bridge of a pugnaciously turned-up nose behind which iris blue eyes regarded him icily. By all that Keith knew or imagined, there was a living leprechaun standing there looking down at him. “Top o’ the morning to ye,” he cried cheerily.
    “Gut efening,” said the leprechaun. He was the owner of the tenor voice he had heard through the door. “Vould you care to get up?”
    ***

Chapter 8
    The Big Folk were surprised when Keith catapulted through the door. Holl and the other small folk were not. In fact, they were expecting him. Keith’s footsteps had been audible for some time in the silence on the other side of the wall. He looked as surprised to be discovered as his classmates were to see him.
    The Elf Master closed the heavy door with a thud and turned to Marcy, whose face was beet red. Holl felt sorry for her. “Zo, Mees Collier, your friend has joined us. Not efen waiting for his infitation. Zit down zomevere, Meester Doyle.” He crossed his arms patiently and stepped back to let Keith get to his feet. In control as usual, the Master was taking this blatant invasion of his domain nonchalantly, as if it was not the first time such a thing had occurred.
    In fact it was not. Holl and Enoch sat back at their ease in the shabby maple-topped desks and watched with amused pleasure as the young man clambered up off the floor. His jaw was hanging agape. Though the others usually waited to be asked to join the group, one and all they started out disbelieving in their surroundings. Right now, Holl’s classmates were regarding the intruder with sympathy. They all remembered what it was like to walk in. Sourpuss Carl was the only unfriendly face. He looked furious to see Keith, and his shoulders were bunched up around his