Conway's Curse by Patric Michael Page B

having any fun.” Kail shook free of Tion’s grip and dug a berry out of his left ear. “At least not yet!” he said as he flipped it away.
     
    Tion thumped his head against the heel of his hand, still trying to make the ringing stop. “Who cares if he’s het? He ceased to be cute when he almost smooshed us.”
     
    Kail rolled his eyes skyward. He turned Tion around by the shoulders and dug into his pack. Tion turned to see what he had found just as Kail thumbed the lever on his alarm clock. Finally the damnable ringing stopped.
     
    “Why on earth did you bring this thing?” Kail demanded. The familiar green fire flashed in his eyes as he handed the mechanical to his partner.
     
    Tion shrugged. “I don’t know. I—”
     
    “HEY….”
     
    Kail winced and turned his glare to the man still sitting in the middle of the road, watching the exchange. The man cleared his throat and started again. “Hey. Did one of you trip me?”
     
    Tion handed the clock back to Kail and clambered up onto the man’s leg. The man froze, startled, and peered down at him.
     
    “Yes, you big lunk! You damn near stepped on us back there!”
     
    Kail climbed up beside Tion and handed the clock back. “I tripped you, you overgrown, insensitive, useless excuse for a human! What are you going to do about it?” He planted his fists on his hips and glared.
     
    “Is that green fire in your eyes?” The man leaned forward to get a better look. Tion and Kail scrambled to stay upright as the surface beneath them shifted and slid.
     
    “Watch it, mister!” Tion shouted, trying to hold his clock, his stick, and Kail all at the same time.
     
    “Oh. Sorry,” the man rumbled. He straightened with exaggerated care, and Tion let go of Kail when their foundation firmed. “Would you mind telling me what you are?”
     
    Tion groaned and turned to Kail. “He doesn’t get out much, does he?”
     
    “Must not,” Kail agreed. “Not if he’s never seen sprites before.”
     
    Tion handed the clock and his stick to Kail. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, one word at a time: “We. Are. Sprites. You. Big. Jerk.”
     
    The man scowled. “I can hear you just fine, you know. And you don’t have to talk to me like I’m four years old, either.”
     
    “Then have the courtesy to apologize for nearly turning us into toe jam!” Tion shouted through his cupped hands.
     
    “I said I can hear you, bug. I—” The man broke off and sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
     
    Smoldering green fire flared. “Some self-centered, inconsiderate slob took a piss at the side of the road,” Kail said. “And I landed in the puddle when you knocked us over!”
     
    Both Tion and Kail struggled to keep their footing as a low, deep rumble shook the air around them. Tion whacked the man’s thigh with his stick. “Stop laughing, you great idiot! Are you trying to knock us off?”
     
    “Ow. Quit that! I’m sorry! It’s just….”
     
    The laughter began again, and so did the shaking, harder this time.
     
    “Just what is so damned funny?” Kail demanded. His eyes were like miniature green suns.
     
    “You landed”—the human began gasping for breath, trying to speak between gouts of mirth—“in a puddle….”
     
    Kail dropped flat on his stomach, one hand clutching the clock and the other clinging to a fold of the man’s trousers. Twin wisps of smoke curled up from the now fire-singed fabric as Kail’s face bounced against the man’s leg. Tion fell forward onto his knees and, between aftershocks, whacked the man’s leg with his stick.
     
    “…of piddle!” On the final word, the human howled his laughter to the open sky. His hands scrabbled in the dirt as he braced himself and gave in to the inevitable. Tion gave up whacking in favor of clinging, and he and Kail both bounced and flopped like fish in a skillet.
     
    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The man gasped and straightened as the hurricane of humor blew itself