Temporary Monsters by Craig Shaw Gardner Page B

sense the presence of others.”
    â€œSee?” Foo was proud of himself. “Tell us more, Swami!”
    The turbaned gentleman stared at the ceiling. “There are two spirits from the beyond.” He waved dismissively. “The ghost is easily banished.”
    The air around the nameless spirit shimmered.
    â€œWhat?” The ghost’s image blurred, his voice fainter with every word. “But I just got out of that pit. This is no fair at all! You haven’t heard the last . . .”
    The spirit faded from sight.
    â€œExcellent!” Foo cheered.
    â€œThe other one—might take a minute.” The swami sighed. “It’s a pooka.”
    Foo frowned at that. “A pooka? What does a pooka do?”
    â€œWell, mostly they poo—” Swami Phil caught himself. “Explanations are useless. You would have to be an advanced swami to understand.” He frowned in concentration. “I can at least banish him for a while. But pookas have a way of coming back!”
    â€œNothing will stand in the way of my five-year projections. Remove the pooka!” Foo commanded.
    Swami Phil began an elaborate series of hand gestures—waves, slaps, finger wriggles, even a gesture that might be considered obscene in certain parts of Europe.
    â€œHah!” Bob the horse said. “An amateur!” He sidled up next to Lenny. “Don’t worry, Boss! I’m here for the duration.”
    The swami began to shuffle and stomp his feet.
    â€œYou know, that’s kind of catchy.” Bob started to shuffle along.
    Swami Phil redoubled his shuffle, clapping along to the beat. He began to hum.
    â€œNow you’re talking!” Bob began to dance. Lenny thought he was pretty good for someone with four hooved feet.
    â€œOne, two, cha-cha-cha!” Bob called.
    The swami’s hum grew louder. The melody surrounded them. Lenny could faintly hear a full orchestra playing along.
    â€œEverybody mambo!” the pooka called. Bob danced through the wall of the bus, disappearing from sight.
    â€œAll clear,” Swami Phil said as he sank back onto the couch. He was breathing heavily. Sweat darkened the base of his turban and rolled down his face.
    â€œExcellent!” Foo replied. He glanced at the other, much larger occupant of the couch. “In all the excitement, I didn’t introduce the other member of our team. This is Bruno.”
    Bruno took up fully two-thirds of the couch. He glared up at Lenny.
    â€œHe’s paid mostly to be a silent menace,” Foo added.
    Lenny heard the bus’s air brakes groan as the vehicle stopped abruptly, almost jarring him off his feet.
    â€œBut we’ve arrived!” Foo slapped him on the back. “It’s time for you to rescue the fair maiden!”
    Lenny had never thought of Sheila in quite that way before. But then, he’d never been on a rescue mission before, either.
    â€œWhat do I need to do?”
    â€œI think we should let Sheila decide that,” Foo replied.
    This was making an odd rescue even odder. Unless, of course, it was a trap. Which it probably was. Lenny wished the rest of his team was around to explain things.
    Foo grabbed Lenny’s arm and propelled him toward the front of the bus. Lenny glanced back to see Swami Phil and Bruno follow. Phil’s first few steps were tentative, as if he hadn’t regained the energy he’d used on his banishment spells. Bruno lumbered at the rear, making hardly any noise at all.
    The bus doors hissed open, and Foo pushed Lenny forward. Lenny stepped out of the bus to find they were in a large parking garage. It seemed every bit as anonymous as that strange hotel hallway, or the huge urban wasteland where Foo’s minions had pitched their tents. Lenny couldn’t see any signs or markings identifying the place, besides the pillar opposite the door that informed them the bus was parked at G68. Foo led him through the parking lot and