Night of the Dark Horse (An Allegra Fairweather Mystery)

by Janni Nell

His skin was slick with rain. My hand slid out of his once, twice. Then I got both hands around his wrist and locked on tight. Slowly he dragged me toward the bank. I was within reach of safety when the effort became too much for his weakened body. He shuddered and swore, losing his balance and pitching forward into the mud. He landed on top of me, forcing us both below the surface.

  We were only inches from dry land, but it would take a miracle to untangle our limbs and reach the surface before I drowned. I was giving it my best shot when my hand hit a rock. It took a chunk of skin from my wrist, but I didn’t care. This was my way out. I put one foot on the rock and pushed upward. My head broke the surface. I grabbed a nearby branch and hauled myself out of the bog. Safe on the bank, I looked around for Casper. Not in sight. Ah, crap.

  I hooked my legs around the same shrub he’d used to anchor himself, and leaned out over the bog digging my hands deep below the surface. When I couldn’t feel him, I plunged my head under, eyes closed, and felt around. The first thing I got hold of was his hair. This was no time to be choosy or kind. I tightened my grip, dragging him through the mud until I could slide my hands under his arms and pull him onto solid ground. That’s when I threw up a river of mud and who-knew-what else. Casper sprawled on the ground beside me, coughing and choking.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, when he stopped retching. “I couldn’t hold you. My arms...”

  “Don’t speak. Rest,” I said. He fell backward, flat on the ground, and didn’t move.

  In Spain, Casper and I had joined forces to defeat an evil spirit. Although we’d been successful, the battle of good against evil had left Casper extremely weak. Last time I’d seen him, a few weeks ago, he’d needed a walking stick for support. Nothing much had changed. The walking stick was in easy reach, but Casper hadn’t moved. Raindrops pattered onto his closed eyelids. His chest rose and fell very slowly. The fury of the storm had diminished with the departure of the pooka, but the rain continued, washing some of the mud from my face and clothes. It might be summer, but an Irish summer isn’t known for its hot nights. I was wet through and Ronan’s soggy coat was making me colder.

  “We have to get inside. Somewhere dry,” I said. When Casper didn’t respond, I asked, “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t open his eyes.

  “Can you move?” Inch by inch he struggled into a sitting position. I asked, “Can you fly?”

  “It’s easier than walking.”

  “Great, you can fly me back to Ronan’s place. It’s the big house just outside Dingaleen.”

  “Didn’t I warn you not to get into danger until I’d recovered?”

  “Who knew the pooka was going to throw me?”

  “Oh come on. It’s what they do.”

  “Look, I couldn’t say no, okay? It threatened Ronan.”

  Casper didn’t have the energy to reprimand me further. Everything he had was focused on getting to his feet. I helped as best I could, handing him the walking stick when he was fully upright. He leaned on it heavily. Then closed his eyes, focusing on making his wings appear. They sprouted through his clothes as they always did, but the golden feathers no longer shone brighter than the Queen of Fairyland’s dewdrop tiara.

  I tried not to stare at his drab plumage. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Grab hold of my shoulders. I’m going to take off.”

  I loved flying Air Casper. Not only was it really quick, but it gave me the chance to get up close and personal with my favorite angel. I put my arms around his neck and prepared for takeoff. As usual, he took off vertically and gradually leveled into a horizontal position. It was good to feel his body lifting me on the air currents. I closed my eyes. I wasn’t even cold anymore. Then his muscles began to tremble. He dipped sharply, losing height.

  “I can’t...” He panted. “I’m going down.”

  We descended rapidly, crashing the last few feet into long grass. Casper was beneath me so he bore the brunt of the crash, landing face down in soggy ground. I rolled off him. He lay still.

  “Casper?” I poked his shoulder. “You awake in there?”

  He groaned and rolled onto his back. “Looks like I can’t fly with a passenger. At least not until I’m stronger.” He looked embarrassed. “A guardian angel who can’t help his morsub isn’t much use.”

  When Casper mentioned help, he didn’t mean in terms of solving a case. That kind of help was forbidden by the Powers-That-Be because Casper could zoom about invisibly and learn things I couldn’t, which would give me an unfair advantage. Apparently the Power-That-Be didn’t consider the many times Casper had saved me from certain death as being an unfair advantage. Once I used to discuss this with Casper and try to understand. Now I accepted that the Powers-That-Be weren’t always logical. They danced to their own tune, and I just had to deal with it.

  So, when Casper mentioned help, he really meant protecting me.

  “I can look after myself.”

  “That defeats the purpose of having a guardian angel. Anyway I’m no use to you at the moment. I—”

  “Can it, Casper. I’m in no mood for a pity party.”

  “Angels don’t do pity. I was trying to be practical.”

  “Forget it. Just concentrate on getting well.”

  “I’ll still watch over you.” He got to his feet as though to emphasize the watching over thing. “Even though I might not be able to help you out of a dangerous situation.”

  “Well, it’s the thought that counts, right?”

  “Ouch.”

  I hadn’t meant to sound snarky. I tried again. “What I meant was that I appreciate you watching over me. Look you’d better get back to Cloud 9 and take a nap or something. I can walk back to Ronan’s.”

  Casper’s big shoulders hunched as though he was totally pissed off with his weakened state.

  “Don’t sweat it,” I said. “You’ll get better.” When he didn’t reply, I patted his muddy cheek. “Even if you don’t, I’ll still love you.” It was a throwaway line. Too late I realized I shouldn’t have mentioned the L word. The Powers-That-Be didn’t like romantic relationships between angels and their morsubs. If they suspected I cared more for Casper than I should, we could be separated permanently. “I mean I love you as a friend.”

  Casper held my eyes. “I know what you mean.” My heart skipped a beat.

  The tension stretched between us until I had to break it or kiss him. I chose the sensible option and asked, “You sure you can fly by yourself?”

  “It’s difficult, but so long as I don’t have a passenger, I can stay airborne.”

  “Guess I’ll see you ‘round, then,” I said.

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “It’s okay. I really can take care of myself.” I waited for his wings to appear, fully intending to watch him take off, but nothing happened.

  He looked kind of embarrassed. “Do you mind turning around?”

  I grinned. “Does this mean you’re about to strip?”

  “You should be so lucky,” he quipped. Then his face fell. “I’d rather you didn’t see me take off in my weakened condition.”

  “I don’t care what you look like. Anyway, I thought angels weren’t vain.”

  “This has nothing to do with vanity.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know how to explain. My weakness makes me feel bad. Especially when I’m with you. Please turn around.”

  I did as he asked. And, though I was tempted, I didn’t look back. I knew he was gone when the beating of his wings died away.

  It was a cold lonely march back to Ronan’s house. When I arrived at his door, gray dawn was shoving the night aside. I had no key, but he’d waited up for me. Taking in my muddy hair and dripping clothes, he said, “The pooka threw you in the bog.”

  Resisting the impulse to say no shit, Sherlock, I headed for the shower. When I emerged clean and dressed in fresh clothes, he had made coffee. I barely had time to take my first sip befo
re he said, “I thought the pooka was targeting the people of Dingaleen. Why did it call you to ride?”

  “Oh that. Scare tactics. To stop my investigation.” The pooka hadn’t said that in so many words, but I’d kind of gotten the message.

  “Will you stop?” Ronan asked.

  “Of course not. Do I look like a wuss? I’ve tackled worse things than a pissed off pooka.”

  “Why has it come to Dingaleen?”

  “Sadly, it wasn’t in the mood to share, but I didn’t expect the case to be solved so easily. Now, I’d like to go over a few things with you.” But first I had to get comfortable. My butt was bruised black and blue. Taking my coffee cup, I headed for a group of softer chairs near a display cabinet. It was weighed down with trophies and awards for dance. Along the wall were heaps of photos, professionally taken and beautifully framed. Ronan: dancing solo, dancing with the Irish Dance! troupe, being congratulated by celebrities, winning awards. There was even a photo of Michael Flatley with his arm around Ronan. Across the photo were the handwritten words To a worthy successor.

  “I’ve been meanin’ to store those in a box in the cupboard.”

  Words of sympathy leaped into my mouth but I held them back. I’m not a great dancer, but I love it and I have a talent most people lack. Not rhythm or grace or elegance, but the talent to dance like there’s no one watching. I don’t care if I look like a total dork, so long as I can move to the music. I couldn’t imagine not being able to dance.

  Moving on to happier things, I headed for a group of amateur pics. Family groups, with captions like To my brother, the best groomsman ever and Uncle Ronan meets baby Jack. Several photos featured a pretty girl with honey-blonde hair, pixyish features and a dancer’s body.

  Ronan followed the direction of my gaze. “Ah, feck. I meant to put those away too. More for the box in the cupboard.” He tried to sound light-hearted and failed.

  “Girlfriend?” I asked.

  “Once,” he murmured, rubbing his leg. “But it was just a tourin’ thing. You know, you’re away from family and friends, relationships form. They don’t always mean much when you stop tourin’.”

  “But she meant something to you.”

  His mouth turned down at the corners. “Does your nosiness ever get you in trouble?”

  “All the time. But it’s good for business—the nosiness, that is, not the trouble.”

  “Look, if I was still dancin’ my relationship with Nessa might have ended amicably, but the way it happened, it feels like she left me. I know that’s not true, but it feels that way. It’ll take time to get my head around it.” Ronan sank into a chair, his back to the cabinet. “What do you want to go over? I’ve told you everything I know.”

  Sure, he’d put it in an email, but you can’t see body language in an email. “Tell me again,” I said. “What happened when you were called to ride?”

  He sighed, as though it was a big effort. “I should have been on tour, but I got swine flu. Almost died. When I came out of hospital, I was ordered to have time off. I’d just begun to get my strength back when the pooka called me to ride. It threw me. I landed awkwardly and this is the result.” He gestured at his knee. “I need a drink. There’s whiskey.” He pointed to the sideboard in the adjoining dining room. I got the bottle and poured him a small measure.

  “Not very generous,” he muttered and swallowed it in one gulp.

  “It’s six-thirty in the morning. Besides I need you sober for now. What were you doing when the pooka called you to ride? Be precise.”

  “Warmin’ up. Like I said, I was just gettin’ my strength back after the flu. I wanted to try a few steps but I never got the chance. The feckin’ pooka called me to ride. At first I ignored it, but the next thing I knew I was surrounded by broken glass and the pooka was in my livin’ room. It threatened to break my legs if I didn’t ride. I was terrified of losin’ my career. So I rode and look what happened. I lost my career anyway.”

  I couldn’t afford to get emotional. I’d be no use to Ronan if I blubbered over his lost career. “Can you remember anything the pooka did or said? Did it give you any clue why you were targeted?”

  He shook his head and a lock of dark hair flopped onto his forehead. “The beast didn’t say anything during the ride. At least, I don’t think so. It was hard to hear over the noise of the storm. It laughed when it threw me. Right before it galloped away, it said, ‘This is a warnin’. Leave me alone.’ It was a strange thing to say. The pooka had made contact with me, not vice versa.”

  I made a note of what the pooka had said. Then, “I want a list of all the others who’ve been called to ride. Name, age, occupation, marital status and anything else you know about them. I want to build up a picture of the type of person who interests the pooka.”

  Ronan got to work right away. He wrote quickly and soon handed me a list.

  I read the names: Nola O’Malley, Derry Boyle, Siobhan Whelan. “Only three?”

  “Five, including you and me. I assumed you didn’t want us on the list.”

  “No, this is fine.”

  As I perused the names and information, he asked, “You want breakfast?”

  “Later. I’m going to study this list and work out the best way to proceed.” I went to Ronan’s guest room, where clothes spilled from my suitcase. Must hang them up sometime. But I didn’t do any hanging or even list studying. I had good intentions when I flopped on the bed with my list, but I ended up dozing for hours. It was after midday when I awoke to the smell of frying food.

  After eating a super tasty brunch of eggs, sausage and bacon, I headed off to conduct my first interview. The storm had passed and the weather had perked up to something resembling summer. I tried hard not to mourn the blazing heat I’d left behind in Spain.

  I set out at a brisk pace, which lasted only a few steps before my muscles protested. I had more strains than a virologists’ convention. In addition to my torn and damaged muscles, my inner thighs were covered in bruises. This called for a special massage from Dexterous Dermot, the fourteen-fingered elf, who worked at the Day Spa on the edge of Fairyland right here in County Wicklow.

  You couldn’t just phone Dermot for an appointment. Elves don’t work that way. To make a booking I had to find a fairy at the bottom of a garden. Trouble was not all Irish gardens boasted fairies. You had to find a particularly pretty garden with lots of flower beds, little paths, and maybe a wishing well or some plaster gnomes. I found what I was searching for at the end of a country lane, which was actually called The Lane.

  An elderly woman was clipping pale pink roses and depositing them in a basket at her feet. She glanced up. “Good mornin’ to you. Allegra, isn’t it? Everyone’s talkin’ about you. Sure, there are no secrets in small villages.”

  I returned her grin. “Pleased to meet you...um...?”

  “Oh, how rude of me. I’m Deirdre. Have you come to ask me about the pooka? I hear it’s caused all manner of havoc. But I can’t claim to have seen the beast.”

  “Then I won’t need to question you.”

  “No, I suppose not.” She seemed disappointed.

  I went on quickly. “Your garden is really pretty. Mind if I take a look around?” I’d never get away with that request in the city, but out here it was no surprise that Deirdre offered to give me a guided tour. I told her I’d prefer to wander around alone, if that was okay by her.

  She quirked an eyebrow. “If you’re lookin’ for the fairy, he’s at the bottom of the garden behind the wishin’ well.” She winked. “Don’t tell anyone. He’s my little secret. I’m only sharin’ with you because you’re a paranormal investigator.”

  The fairy was asleep, mouth open and snoring softly. I gave his little shoulder a prod. “Wake up.”

  He groaned and opened one dazzling blue eye. Smoothing down his long white beard, he got to his feet. He was less than a foot tall. Certain types of fairies—the delicate ethereal purebloods, not the crude-fairies, like leprechauns—shrink and age when they
’re in our world. It was way past time for this little guy to return to Fairyland and put on some height and youth.

  I bowed, showing proper respect, which is really important when you want a favor from a fairy. After introducing myself, I said in my best and most formal Fae, “May I make an appointment with Dexterous Dermot?”

  “Of course, dear one. Give me a moment.” He closed his eyes and began to hum. I knew better than to interrupt, but I couldn’t help tapping my foot as I waited for him to respond. His eyes suddenly popped open. “Many apologies, but Dermot cannot see you today. The Fae Olympics have recently concluded and he’s very much in demand. His first available appointments are in two days, but they will fill fast.”

  “I will take the earliest,” I said.

  He closed his eyes and hummed again. Just for a few seconds. “It is arranged. Do not be late.”

  After putting the time and date into my phone, I thanked him and bowed again.

  “My pleasure.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wishing well.

  “Excuse me.” I poked his shoulder again. “I do not like to be rude, but you might want to consider a trip back to Fairyland before you get any older.”

  He looked alarmed. “Am I aging?”

  “Yes, indeed.” He could support a plastic surgeon’s family for decades.

  The fairy struggled to his feet. “I must go. Thank you for the advice, dear one.”

  I made my way back to the front garden. After calling goodbye to Deirdre, I set out again to interview the people who had ridden the pooka. I had only gone a few paces when I heard footsteps behind me.

  Chapter Two

  Casper moved toward me, leaning heavily on his cane. His golden hair seemed tarnished, his cheeks sunken.

  “You should be resting on Cloud 9,” I said, when he finally drew level with me.

  “I wanted to be close to you—in case of danger.”

  “Am I in danger?” I looked up and down the peaceful village street—two old ladies strolled arm in arm, a man walked his little poodle. Any more boring and we’d all nod off.

  “The thing is...” Casper studied his feet, which were still clad in the flip-flops he’d worn in Spain, “...I’m not as fast as I used to be. If you got in danger five minutes from now, it would take me twice that long to reach you. It’s best if I hang around for now.”