Night of the Dark Horse (An Allegra Fairweather Mystery) (10 page)

A small voice piped up behind Mr. O’Reilly. “Allegra?”

“Liam?” Could he have shifted into a kid’s body and got back here before me? Unlikely, but not impossible.

“Have you been here all night, Liam?” I asked.

Mr. O’Reilly interrupted. “What’s this about? What’s Liam done?”

Ignoring him, I asked Liam again, “Have you been here all night?”

“Yes.”

Mr. O’Reilly said, “I can confirm he’s been here since he got home from school. Whoever you’re looking for it isn’t my son.”

Liam met my eyes. “What’s up? Is it the eagle again?”

Heels clacked on the floorboards. Mrs. O’Reilly marched past Liam and stood beside her husband. “This is the paranormal investigator I was telling you about. Don’t talk to her.”

“Right,” he said, and shut the door in my face.

I was tempted to hammer on the wood until they opened up again, but what good would that do? I’d already got the information I wanted. Liam wasn’t the pooka. I swore and kicked the ground. Maybe I trampled one of the O’Reillys’ flowerbeds, but the less said about that the better.

I jogged back to the Black Shamrock. Dr. Gallagher was kneeling beside Aedan, who had managed to sit up. There was fresh blood on his head bandage, and he had new bruises to add to his collection.

Dr. Gallagher was as sure as he could be that Aedan hadn’t broken any bones, but he’d send him for X-rays in the morning just to be sure. Meanwhile he insisted on Aedan staying with him overnight for observation. We helped Aedan into the doctor’s car.

As they drove away, Niamh looked after the car and murmured almost to herself, “Aedan was really brave to stand up to the pooka. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

I left Niamh musing on Aedan’s courage and checked on Casper, who had remained in my passenger seat the whole time. I got in beside him and started the car. As I drove to Ronan’s, he stirred and murmured, “I had a dream the pooka attacked.”

“It wasn’t a dream.”

He attempted a smile. “So I missed all the excitement.”

“Don’t be too disappointed. I’m sure the pooka will stage a repeat performance.”

He sighed, but whether at the prospect of the pooka’s reappearance or his own weakened condition I couldn’t tell.

“Pull over,” he said. “You can let me out here.”

“Right, and where will you sleep?”

“In a field.”

“You’re not sleeping out tonight. It’s too cold.”

His laugh was as thin as my T-shirt. “It’s summer.”

“Not in my world.”

“You forget I was a warrior. We slept in the snow.”

I was sure he didn’t mean that literally. “Come on, you can stay at Ronan’s place. He won’t mind.” Turned out he wouldn’t even know. He’d taken himself to bed, leaving the now-empty whiskey bottle on the living room floor. I led Casper down the hall to my room.

“You’ll have to sleep in my bed,” I said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Once Casper would’ve protested that the Powers-That-Be would object, but he was beyond that now. He sat on the edge of my bed and passed a hand over his dark-circled eyes. The lids closed and he fell sideways. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He hadn’t had time to undress, which left me in kind of a dilemma. Should I remove his clothes? Well, it was a no-brainer wasn’t it?

His T-shirt was speckled with raindrops. I drew it over his head, revealing his chest and shoulders, which didn’t seem as broad as usual. Was it my imagination or had he lost muscle tone? Since I’d known him, his body had remained the way it was on the day he died, but not anymore. I didn’t much like this new development, although I couldn’t deny that I still found him totally hot. I reached for the waistband of his jeans and unzipped the fly, revealing black jocks.

After removing his shoes, I took hold of the legs of his jeans and tugged until they slid down over his hips. I yanked them off and dumped them on the floor. I was tempted to remove his jocks as well, but, though it took all my self-control, I resisted. Maybe I was belatedly developing a moral compass, but it didn’t seem right to peek at Casper’s bits when he was unconscious. After dragging the covers over him, I put on my pajamas, switched off the light and lay down beside him. I stared at the ceiling, all too aware of the body beside me. I ached to hold him, to protect him from all the bad things lurking in the shadows.

The ache in my heart grew until it could no longer be denied. He was lying on his side, facing away from me. I moved closer until I touched the warm skin of his back. I snaked my arm around his body and rested my hand on his chest. The hairs were fine and soft beneath my fingers. I wriggled closer, spooning him, my front pressed along his back. I inhaled his scent of mountain streams, rugged earth and hot male warrior. I pressed my lips to the skin of his back. It was sweeter than my sweetest dreams.

Chapter Eight

I’d been awake since dawn. Mostly watching Casper sleep. It was a shock every time I noticed how pale and drawn his face had become.

Around seven o’clock I got restless and climbed out of bed. After swapping my pajamas for jeans and a T-shirt, I watched the sun climb the pale blue sky. Soaking up the rays through the east window, I stretched and loosened my muscles. Behind me Casper sighed. I turned.

He was awake, watching me, his weight supported on one elbow. The covers pooled around his waist. His bed-hair stuck out at all angles. I wanted to hug him.

“Thinking about the case?” he asked.

“Always.” Even when those thoughts weren’t exactly conscious. “Dermot told me Levara is the name of the Fae royal family. It can’t be used by commoners. Ever. Who knew?”

“How does that impact the case?”

“Not sure yet. But we know the body in the grave is Fae, and that being buried in our world means she was banished. What we don’t know is why. Dermot likes the idea of murder, but I’m not so sure.”

“Murder is the most serious crime in most cultures,” he agreed. “But how important is that information to your case? Does it matter
why
she was banished? You were hired to stop the pooka, not solve a murder mystery.”

“At first I thought the key to stopping him was discovering his identity. I was convinced he was Liam. Last night I proved that wasn’t true. Obviously discovering the pooka’s identity is still important, but that alone won’t stop him. Last night, when I looked in his eyes I saw a scared kid. His mom is dead. Where is his dad? That’s the key. Reuniting the pooka and his father is the way forward.”

“Pookas are crude-fairies like leprechauns and elves,” mused Casper. “As a member of the royal family, Sharina would have been pureblood.”

“That’s right. And if a pureblood Fae mates with another pureblood they’ll always produce a pureblood child. No exceptions. But to produce a crude-fairy child like the pooka, Sharina must’ve had an affair with a human or a crude-fairy. Not Dermot, obviously, but...” The name Padraig O’Shaunnessy sprang to mind. Maybe Sharina had a thing for green smoke.

“Got a date with a leprechaun.” I grabbed the car keys in one hand and my shoes in the other. When Casper started to get out of bed, I said, “Stay where you are. I won’t be long.”

Leprechauns are territorial. Once they put down roots in a place, they rarely move on. Lucky for me. I found Padraig by a combination of itching toe and the smell of his pipe.

He was humming to himself as he hammered tiny nails into the sole of a shoe that appeared to be made of glass. Impossible, since the nails would’ve broken it in a second. It must have been some kind of whizz-bang plastic the Fae had patented. The mate of the shoe he was hammering was perched on a flat-topped rock near his workbench. He was so involved in his work, he seemed oblivious to the outside world, including me, which was just how I wanted it. I dropped to my knees and crawled over the dew-damp grass to the flat-topped rock. Keeping out of sight, I snaked my hand up and over feeling around until I touched the shoe.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Padraig yelled. “Stop—thief!”

I rose to my feet, shoe in hand.

“You,” he shrieked. “I might have known. Give that back.”

“Yeah, yeah in a minute. First I want some answers. Do you know a pureblood Fae named Sharina Levara?”

He reacted as though I’d slapped his face, then totally surprised me by saying, “No.”

“Padraig, Padraig, Padraig.” I wagged a finger at him. “You could just be the worst liar I’ve ever met. Come clean.”

“I don’t know her.”

I lifted the shoe into a stream of sunbeams, admiring the way the glass-plastic, which was soft as silk, reflected rainbows of light. “Great workmanship. You’re a real talent, Padraig. I guess you’re making this for someone special. It’d be a real shame if it got stretched out of shape.”

“Don’t ye dare. Give it back.” He snatched at the shoe, but I held it high out of his reach.

“Not so fast. I want an answer. Did you have an affair with Sharina Levara?”

“O’ course not,” he spluttered. “That would be...would be...” He struggled to find a word bad enough to describe what I was suggesting.

“Okay, I get it, an affair is impossible. But maybe you and Sharina had a—oh, I don’t know—a brief liaison?”

“No,” he snapped.

“A one night stand?”

“I never touched her.”

“But you
do
know her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He snatched at my hand again. “Give me the shoe. Sure, it’s no use to ye, even if ye had its mate. The pair was made for fairy feet.”

It was clear, even to me, that my size ten foot would never fit into to something that was barely a size six. But he wasn’t getting it back until I learned the truth.

I looked from him to the shoe and faked an expression of longing. Not easy since I was probably the only woman in the world who didn’t have a thing for shoes. I owned about three pairs total. All flats. The only way I could summon a suitably longing expression was to think about Casper. And this time there was nothing fake about it.

“I’d like to wear something like this just once.” I untied my running shoe and prepared to jam my too-large foot into the tiny pump.

“Noooo,” screamed Padraig.

I stopped, toe poised to dive into the shoe. “Tell me how you know Sharina Levara.”

“I don’t
know
her.”

“That’s a shame.” I slipped my toes into the shoe, not far enough to do any serious damage, but far enough to drain the color from Padraig’s ruddy face. “You recognized her name. I know you did.”

“Sure, o’ course I recognized it. Levara is the name o’ the Fae royal family. Everyone knows that. The shoe you’re defiling is for Princess Perfecta Levara.”

I admired the shoe again. “The princess will love it. Providing it doesn’t get stretched or anything.” I slid my foot deeper. The glass-plastic made weird little noises as though it was protesting.

Tears welled in Padraig’s emerald eyes. “I swear on the life o’ me sainted mother, I don’t
know
Sharina Levara. In any sense of the word.”

Hmm. I wanted him to be lying, but my gut screamed that he was telling the truth. Looked like he wasn’t a candidate for Pooka Dad of the Year. Reluctantly I removed my foot from the shoe. Padraig collapsed with relief. But he wasn’t getting it back just yet. I wanted answers and clearly I needed leverage to get anything out of him. Even if he wasn’t the pooka’s dad, he might be of some help.

“Why would a fairy be banished from Fairyland?” I asked.

He seemed surprised by the question, but, keeping one eye on Princess Perfecta’s shoe, he didn’t hesitate to answer. “For committin’ a crime, obviously.”

I ignored his snarky tone. “What crime?”

“How should I know? Ask a pureblood. They aren’t like humans. They don’t air their dirty laundry on CNN. Oh yes, I’ve seen television. Through the windows in Dingaleen. The purebloods wouldn’t discuss a banishment. Not amongst themselves and most definitely not with outsiders.”

“You must’ve heard stuff on the grapevine. A whisper of something?” My foot hovered over the shoe.

He sighed. “Don’t quote me on this. Rumor has it that the usual reason for banishment is breaking the Fae Code of Honor.”

“You mean like murdering another pureblood?”

“Sure, that would fit the criteria, but so would other things.”

“Such as?”

He folded his arms. “I don’t know anything else. You’d have to ask a pureblood.”

Fat chance of that. The border of Fairyland was sealed. Anyway, I didn’t think I’d get much more out of him, not even if I crammed my foot all the way into the shoe. When I handed it back, he cradled it as though it was the fricking Precious.

He shot me a venomous glance. “What are ye starin’ at? Go away.”

Might as well. There was nothing to hang around for. Unless he felt like giving me a few more wishes. Nope, didn’t think so.

I waved. “Have a nice day.”

He grunted and blew a cloud of green smoke. When it cleared, the workbench, the shoes and Padraig had disappeared.

I headed back to Ronan’s. The place was silent as the proverbial morgue. In Ronan’s room I checked the bump under the covers and even took his pulse to make sure he was still alive. Just barely. Next I headed to my room to check on Casper. I was too late. The bed was empty.

Where was he? Had he suddenly become too weak to remain with me? Had the Powers-That-Be taken him and refused to let him say goodbye?

“Casper?” His name fell into the empty silence.

Ah crap. I picked up a discarded shoe and flung it at the wall. It connected with a satisfying thump. That woke things up a bit. First I heard Ronan stagger to the bathroom. Then my phone blasted the opening notes of Barry Manilow’s
Copacabana
.

“Hello.”

“Where the heck are you?” Wanda said.

“In Ireland. Where the heck should I be?”

“Dublin Airport. Did you forget we were arriving today?”

“No, of course, not.” I had so forgotten. “I’ll be there within the hour.” Okay, maybe that was a tad optimistic, but I’d already hung up and was racing out to Ronan’s car.

I didn’t ask how long Wanda and Mac had been waiting for me, I just bundled their bags into the car and drove south. Wanda chattered non-stop about the excitement of attending her first Witches and Wizards conference. Her only regret was leaving her familiar, Buttercup, at home. The cow would have been a challenge to transport on a plane even if Wanda had mastered a spell to make her invisible to flight attendants.

“Mac is so lucky she has a small familiar,” Wanda said wistfully. Mac’s familiar, Orlando, was a spider, who had a nasty habit of crawling up women’s legs.

“No, in-flight incidents with him?” I asked.

“Just one with a supermodel, but Mac used a spell to convince her she’d dreamed a spider had run up her leg.” In the rearview mirror, I saw Orlando perched on Mac’s shoulder, peeping out from beneath her hair. He even managed to look innocent.

Mac met my eyes in the mirror. “You’ve missed the turnoff.”

Yikes
,
better
concentrate
on
the
road
. I screeched into a U-turn, sped back the way we’d come and took a hard left, continuing down a private road until we reached a pair of electric gates.

After being cleared to pass through, I drove down a tree-lined avenue to the site of the Witches and Wizards conference. Perhaps site is the wrong word since it implies an open field and tents. The event was being held in a medieval castle. Scaffolding propped up much of the west wing, but restoration of the east wing was complete and conference delegates would be housed there. The owner of the castle, J.J. Flanagan, was a writer not a wizard. He probably didn’t even know his Aunt Hazel was a witch. Or that she was hosting the Witches’ and Wizards’ conference at his place. J.J. was currently holed up on a friend’s Caribbean island finishing his latest thriller. Most people would envy him. I didn’t. Not even if he was earning squillions, which, by the look of the castle, he was. The prospect of being chained to a computer for lengthy periods didn’t appeal to me. I’m an action girl.

I’d have preferred to drop Wanda and Mac and rush straight back to Dingaleen and Casper—wherever he was—but Wanda begged me not to leave immediately. We hadn’t seen one another in six months and we were BFF. I stayed, telling myself that if the Powers-That-Be had summoned Casper for the final trip upstairs, there was nothing I could do to bring him back.

Wanda and I headed for the great hall, where urns had been set up for coffee and tea—quite literally witches’ brews since they were kept hot and strong by magic. I’d never understood the charm of castles. Drafty, damp and cold even in summer, and the décor of the great hall wasn’t helping any. Apparently gloomy was the new black. Amongst the depressing color scheme of crimson and bottle green lurked the heads of dead stags, who stared at us with mournful eyes. At one end the huge fireplace remained unlit, which was a mistake in a room that seemed to shun sunlight. Even the plaster cherubs on the wall above the fireplace looked as though they’d rather be somewhere else. Wanda is the only person whose small talk doesn’t remind me of nails on a blackboard. I actually listened as she babbled about the flight across the Atlantic, the conference workshops she planned to attend, and her last date-from-hell with a pro athlete.

“So,” Wanda said, when she’d finally exhausted her own news, “how are things with you? Have you solved the mystery of the pooka?”

“You might be able to help with that. Could you turn the pooka into a My Little Pony?”

Wanda smiled.

“I was serious.”

“Sure,” she said, and smiled again. “Do you know why it’s messing around in Dingaleen?”

“I have a few leads—looks like there’s a pureblood Fae involved. I found her grave in the woods. The inscription on the headstone was in the fairy language.”

“Not possible,” said Wanda. “A pureblood wouldn’t be buried outside—”

“I know, I know, but it’s true. I dug up the body to be sure.”

“Ew.” Wanda crinkled her cute upturned nose.

“It wasn’t so bad. Did you know Fae dead bodies smell just like...” I named Mom’s favorite perfume.

“No way.” Wanda giggled. “Better not tell her that.”

I gave an evil grin. Wanda giggled harder.

Then I got serious. “I’m thinking Sharina was buried outside Fairyland because she broke a Fae Law and was banished. It would help to know the laws she might have broken.”

“The Fae are really secretive about their laws. You’d need to talk to an expert.”

“Got anyone in mind?”

“Even if I knew someone, it wouldn’t help. All the experts are in Fairyland and the border is sealed. Still, you seem to have a way of doing the impossible. If you do find a way into Fairyland let me know. I’d love to see the place.”

That was all I needed. A witch entering Fairyland would set paranormal relations back centuries. Desperate to change the subject, I looked around for inspiration and noticed a wizard hovering nearby. His bright greenish-blue eyes reminded me of the mermen I’d met on an island near Tahiti. Was he eavesdropping on our conversation?