The Angry Leprechaun snapped his fingers and nothing happened. No spark. No smoke. Not even a spider fell from the ceiling. He tried again, harder. His hand ached, but the air stayed dead. He clutched his green hat and stared at the empty spot on its band. The four-leaf clover was gone. A mortal had plucked it that very morning, laughed, and walked off down the hill. Without the clover, the Angry Leprechaun could not cast the smallest curse. He wanted that mortal to grow warts on his nose. He wanted his socks to fill with beetles. But he could do nothing. He kicked a mushroom cap outside his cottage. It didn't help. So he marched up the winding path to Mosscap Cottage, where the oldest leprechaun in the hills lived. He pounded on the round wooden door. It opened slow. The Grand Old Leprechaun leaned on his walking stick and squinted down at him. His beard hung white to his belt buckle. "Stop that banging," the old one said. "My door's older than your grandfather." "A mortal stole my clover," the Angry Leprechaun snapped. "I can't curse him. I can't do anything. Give me magic. Now." The old leprechaun snorted. He turned and shuffled inside. The younger one followed, fists clenched. "Magic doesn't come free," the old one said. He lowered himself into a wooden chair by the fire. "You lost your clover. That was your power. You want a curse? You take the mortal's luck instead. Steal his good fortune. Turn it against him." "How?" the Angry Leprechaun demanded. The old leprechaun pointed his stick at a shelf. On it sat a small cloth pouch. "Bad-luck dust. One pinch. Throw it on him and his own luck curdles." He held up a bony finger. "But it works once. And it costs you. Every leprechaun who uses it gives up a year of his own good fortune. You'll pay for the rest of your days." The Angry Leprechaun didn't hesitate. He grabbed the pouch off the shelf. It was lighter than he expected. "You're a fool," the old one said. "You should just plant a new clover and wait." "I don't wait," the Angry Leprechaun said. He tucked the pouch inside his coat and left without thanks. Outside, he felt the change at once. His step landed wrong. A stone rolled under his boot and he nearly fell. The bargain had already begun to bite. He steadied himself and grinned anyway. He had no magic. But now he had a weapon that could ruin the mortal for good. He just had to find the man again. And he had one throw to get it right.