by Janni Nell
“How many? Graves, I mean.”
“Three close together and another some distance away. The fourth was the most recent. The letters of the inscription were clear. At first I thought it was written in Irish Gaelic, but I couldn’t make any sense of it.”
“I’ll need to see the graves as soon as possible.”
She spread her hands as though she’d love to take me there, but... “I’ve so much to do with my show in Dublin. I’ll give you directions. You won’t have any trouble finding the place. Anyway, if you get lost just look for the mad eagle.”
“Would this be a black eagle with yellow wingtips?”
“That’s the one. A beautiful bird. Or so I thought until it went for my head. I barely got away with my hair intact.”
“So, returning to the pooka,” I said. “Talk me through the night you were called to ride.”
“There was a big storm. Storms always invigorate me, and I was working in my studio. On the Warrior Series. Casper will make a great addition.” She fell silent, concentrating on her work. I prompted her to continue.
“Right, where was I? Oh yes. I was working when a deep voice called, ‘Siobhan Branna Whelan.’ At first I thought it was the wind, or my imagination. When I realized there was actually someone out there—well, I wasn’t happy to be disturbed. I ignored it. Next thing I know, this black horse is galloping around, rearing up and tapping its hoofs on the windows of my studio. ‘Come out or I’ll kick them in,’ it said. Sure, I’d heard a pooka had come to the village, but it’s hard to believe in the reality of a talking horse until you’ve actually experienced it. The creature kept galloping around, threatening to kick the windows in if I refused to ride. I couldn’t risk my work getting water damaged so I went outside. It took me a while to get on its back. I almost wished I hadn’t. It galloped around the countryside with me clinging to its mane. I was wondering how the hell I’d get off, when it stopped dead. I sailed over its head and into some prickly bushes.”
“Nasty.”
“I was lucky it wasn’t a bog. That’s where poor old Derry Boyle ended up.” She added a bit of shading to the last of four sketches and put down her pencil. “Would you sit for a painting, Casper? No? That’s a shame. But I have these sketches.” She put down her sketchbook and pencil, stretched and yawned widely. “Do you have any more questions? I’m knackered.”
“That’s all for now.”
On the way back to Ronan’s, we swung by Nola’s place to confirm the bird that had attacked her cake was an eagle. Yep, black wings, yellow tips.
When we were on the street again, I said to Casper, “Looks like you might be right. The eagle is the key.”
He nodded as though I was his star pupil. This was such a massive change in attitude from his usual the-Powers-That-Be-won’t-let-me-help-you policy that I wondered whether he considered this case his swansong. Not a pleasant thought. To distract myself, I did a quick recap of the events so far. “This all began when Siobhan messed with the graves and was attacked by the eagle. Later she was called to ride by the pooka. Next, Nola shooed an eagle from her cake and the pooka called her to ride. Third, Derry shooed an eagle away from his garden and he was called to ride.”
“What do the eagle and the pooka have in common?”
“Well, duh, fairy shapeshifters can become all sorts of creatures. Horses and eagles are the most popular. The eagle and pooka could well be the same fairy in different forms.”
“What about Ronan?” Casper’s cane clicked on the road punctuating his words. “Did he see the eagle?”
“I plan to ask him in about five minutes.” Which was exactly the time it took to reach Ronan’s front gate. Irish music drifted out to greet us. I might have even danced a few steps right there in the road. Then I caught sight of Ronan through the open drapes of his living room. He was standing in the center of the room swaying slightly to the music. Leaning heavily on his own cane he executed a simple step. Growing in confidence, his steps became more complicated. He tossed aside the cane and attempted a turn. As he spun around, his hair rose like an eagle taking flight. He must’ve been beautiful to watch when his body was whole.
I turned to Casper wanting to share the moment. His face was granite-still, the cheekbones broad and strong like an ancient statue. Our eyes met. The clouds parted and a sliver of moonlight brushed his lips. It was a moment for romance, for hot kisses and melting into a lover’s embrace. An expression of intense longing passed across his face. My heart bucked like a crazed pooka.
Casper said, “I’m—um—tired. I need to get to Cloud 9.” As he disappeared, a loud crash came from Ronan’s house. Ronan had fallen sideways, crashing into a coffee table before he tumbled onto the floor and out of sight. My first instinct was to rush inside and help, but I held back. Ronan wouldn’t thank me for witnessing his failure. To save him embarrassment, I waited outside until he got to his feet, limped across the room and sank gratefully into a chair.
I didn’t have a key to his house so I had to disturb him by knocking. He took a while to open the door. I followed him into the living room. The table he’d fallen against was intact, but the broken pieces of a vase had been hastily brushed under the sofa. A lump had risen on his forehead and there was a small trickle of blood from a cut on his cheek.
“Maybe you should sit down,” I said.
He shook his head. “Too tired. I’ll go to bed.”
As I helped him to the bedroom, I asked, “You ever had any problems with eagles stealing food?”
“Eagles? No, I don’t think so.” He seemed confused. Maybe he had a slight concussion. “Is this important? The case?”
“Never mind. We can talk in the morning.” I helped him to his bed.
As I pulled the covers over him, he mumbled, “Stealing food. There was an incident. Not an eagle. A kid. I wasn’t long out of hospital—the time I had the flu, not for my knee. The weather was unseasonably warm. I took my cup of tea and biscuits outside. I’d forgotten the sugar and went inside to get it. When I came out, there was a kid shoving biscuits in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in a month. I acted like a real shite and yelled at him to bugger off. He dropped the biscuits and ran. Jaysus, I felt lousy about that. If I couldn’t spare a biscuit for a hungry kid, what kind of person was I?”
“Did you recognize the kid?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him, but it must’ve been Liam Murphy. He’s the only kid around here of the same age and build. Does he have something to do with the pooka?”
“Maybe.” Especially if he turned out to be a fairy.
Chapter Three
Next morning, I borrowed Ronan’s car and set out alone to visit the graves. Casper had an early morning training session with Aedan, but he’d promised to join me afterwards. Feeling a bit lost without him, I followed Siobhan’s directions until I reached an enormous oak near a triple fork in the road. I pulled over and parked.
The sun was shining and a light breeze ruffled the leaves overhead. I didn’t regret leaving my jacket in the car. Jeans, a T-shirt and sturdy walking shoes kept me comfortable as I hiked through the woods. I’d been walking for twenty minutes when my toe started to itch. It does that when I’m near anything paranormal. Don’t ask me why. It’s something I was born with, like red hair. Over the years I’ve adhered to a rule that rarely fails me. When in doubt, follow my toe.
The itch led me through the woods increasing and decreasing several times before I smelled a strange odor. Not the sulfurous scent of the pooka, more like cigarettes or weed or the smoke from a pipe. I’d never smelled that particular blend before, but I had a pretty good idea who would smoke it. I mean, I was in Ireland and even though leprechauns usually slept under hedgerows there was no reason one might not prefer the woods. So I had a choice. I could creep by without disturbing him or find out whether he knew the location of the graves. This was his territory, after all.
He was curled up in the fetal position, sleeping soundly. Reddish brown hair curled aroun
d his ears, providing a sharp contrast to his coat of shamrock green. His face was heavily lined and deeply tanned as though he spent vacations in Spain. In one hand was a hammer. Between his lips, like a pacifier, was a beautifully carved pipe. On the ground beside him lay a silver sandal that my fashion-conscious sister, Lily, would have killed for. He stirred as I approached and opened one eye. Before he could run away, I grabbed his ankle.
“Feckin’ hell,” he said. Although leprechauns are a type of fairy, they can live happily in the human world without aging prematurely. He was fit, despite his wrinkles, and I had to keep a tight hold on his ankle to stop him from escaping. He blinked emerald green eyes and asked, “Who the feck are ye?”
“Allegra Fairweather.” I’d have offered him my hand if I hadn’t been so busy hanging on to his ankle.
When he realized he couldn’t wriggle free, he demanded, “What do ye want?”
“Information. I’m looking for some graves. Three close together and another more recent one farther away. Know where they are?”
He snorted. “Sure, and there are graves all over these hills. Unless ye have a name I can’t help ye.”
“The inscription on one of the headstones might have been Irish Gaelic.”
“And ye think that makes it unique? We’re in Eire, for feck’s sake.” The leprechaun looked at me as though I was a few coins short of a pot of gold. He puffed on his pipe and exhaled a stream of green smoke.
“So you know nothing about the graves,” I said, giving him a chance to ‘fess up.
“Aye, that is correct.”
Shame I didn’t believe him. In one swift movement, I released his ankle and leaped forward knocking him backward and straddling his chest. “If you know anything about those graves, you’d better tell me.”
“Or what?”
“Or this.” I ripped the pipe out of his mouth.
He yelped, “Feckin’ hell.”
“Hurts to be deprived of your favorite blend, doesn’t it?”
He grunted. “You can sit on me chest all day and night, but I don’t know anythin’ about those graves. However, if you’ll release me, I can offer you a pot o’ gold.”
“Oh please, that’s a load of crap for gullible tourists. But if you genuinely don’t know the location of the graves, I’ll settle for that pair of silver sandals. My sister would love them.”
His face reddened. He spluttered, so angry that at first he couldn’t form words. When he finally got his tongue under control, he said, “I make shoes for the delicate feet o’ fairies not human clod-hoppers. Now get off me.”
“Not a chance, buddy.”
He looked longingly at his pipe. “What can I offer in lieu of the graves? Let me see. How about a wish?” Did leprechauns’ wishes really come true? I had no personal experience, but if they did come true, I could heal Casper. The thought of bringing him back to peak fitness made my stomach flip with excitement.
“Okay, but I want ten wishes.” Might as well start the negotiation high. With ten wishes I could heal Ronan, bring some luck to Unlucky Aedan and—oh, there were so many lovely possibilities.
“Two,” the leprechaun offered.
“Eight,” I said.
“Three.”
“Seven.”
He snorted. “Ye’ll not find a leprechaun in all Eire who’ll give ye more than three. That’s me final offer. Take it or leave it.”
Hmm. “I’ll take it.”
“Good choice.” He held his hand out for the pipe.
“Wishes first.”
He sighed and grumbled, but when I refused to move, he deposited three smooth white pebbles into my hand. I got off his chest.
“Give me the feckin’ pipe,” he said.
“Oh right, here you go.”
After several deep inhalations, he asked, “Do ye know the rules of the wishes?”
“The usual, I guess. Can’t wish for more wishes, can’t wish for someone to fall in love with me.”
He nodded. “Love must be given freely.”
“Okay, I understand the rules. Have a great day.” I turned away. I had some graves to find.
“Wait,” he said, “there’s more. The wishes won’t work on my kind.”
“No problem. I don’t expect to meet any other leprechauns.”
“I meant the Fae.”
“Right, got it.”
He exhaled smoke in my face and went on. “The wishes aren’t strong enough to change the world. They’re only useful for small personal things. You could wish for you own house, but make it a modest one. Lavish wishes never work.”
Hoping that healing Casper couldn’t be categorized as a lavish wish, I said, “Okay, got it. Thanks, leprechaun.”
“My name is Padraig O’Shaunnessy.” He grinned showing tobacco-yellowed teeth. “Enjoy your wishes.” He exhaled an enormous cloud of green smoke. When it cleared, he was gone. I wandered back through the woods but my toe no longer itched. My detour to find Padraig had destroyed my sense of direction. It wasn’t long before I had to admit I was lost. I could’ve used a wish to find my way through the wood to the graves, but why waste a wish when you can summon an angel. By now he should have finished training with Aedan.
“Casper,” I called. “I might need a bit of help here.”
He took a long time to appear. In the past he’d done that to tease me, but teasing was no longer the reason for his tardiness. It was a relief to hear the beating of his wings overhead. He landed awkwardly and lost his balance. I steadied him with an outstretched hand. Usually he was able to remove his wings easily, but now they seemed to weigh him down. I turned around giving him privacy to shrug them off.
“How did the training session with Aedan go?”
“Not bad for the first time. He’s got more ability than I expected.”
“Think he’s got a chance of beating up Colum?”
“I’m training him to defend himself, not beat people up.”
“Then let me rephrase. Do you think he has a chance of ‘defending’ himself against Colum?”
“We’ll see.” He leaned against a tree. Not trying to look cool, trying to stay upright. “Why aren’t you at the graves?”
“Don’t you know? You’ve always kept tabs on me before.”
“It’s becoming more difficult. Allegra, I’m not—never mind.”
“Don’t tell me not to mind. It’s clear you’re not getting any better. Time to tell me the truth. After twenty years together, you owe me that much.”
He bowed his head. “You’re right. This isn’t easy to say. I’m growing weaker all the time. The Powers-That-Be want to retire me.”
“Forever? Not just temporarily, until you recover your strength?”
“Forever,” he confirmed.
I struggled to find a loophole. “You don’t have to agree. I mean, they give you a choice, right?”
“I’m no use as a guardian angel if I’m too weak to guard my morsub.”
What would I do without him? He was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Suddenly I was angry. “I won’t give you up. Not without a fight.”
He touched my cheek. “You won’t have a choice. One day soon, you’ll have to let me go.”
“We’ll see about that.” I dug the leprechaun’s pebbles from my pocket and said, “I wish—with all three wishes—that Casper regains his strength and is stronger and better and more wonderful than before.”
Seconds became minutes. I waited for the lines on his face to fade, for color to banish the gray of his cheeks. It was a long time before I admitted, “Stupid wishes don’t work.”
“Not on angels,” he said gently. “Didn’t the leprechaun tell you that?”
I opened my hand. The pebbles slid from my palm hitting the ground with dull thuds. Casper bent to retrieve them.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “They’re no use to me.”
He put them into my palm and folded his fingers around mine. “Keep them. They may come in handy. For the case.
” He released my hand. “Stop pouting. You’re strong. You’ll survive without me.”
For the record, I don’t pout. But if ever a situation demanded pouting, this was it. The unhappy truth was that Casper’s weakness would only kill him if he remained with me. Once he got to Heaven, he’d be healed and live in paradise forever. I should’ve been strong enough to let him go, but I wasn’t. Not then. I said again, “I’ll fight for you.”
“You’ll lose.”
“Are you leaving now? Is this goodbye?”
“No. But it won’t be long. I’ll get weaker and weaker. I’ll stay with you as long as I can, but one day I’ll have to leave.” Refusing to let me dwell on our eventual separation, he said, “I’ve found the graves. Come on. They’re not far from here.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat along with all the words I wanted to say. There’d be a time for goodbyes later—unless I could figure out a way to heal him. Trust me, I was going to pull out all the stops.
Chapter Four
Three headstones, weathered and slick with moss, leaned as though they no longer had the strength to stand up. Siobhan’s enthusiastic weeding had cleared the ground so thoroughly the area around the graves looked bald. The upside was that the inscriptions weren’t obscured by vegetation. All three of the decreased seemed to have died during the seventeen hundreds. They shared the surname Maguire and a liking for Biblical epitaphs. I lost interest in the graves pretty quickly and turned to Casper. “Where’s the other one?”
He pointed through the trees and we set off—me striding out in front, him following as fast as his walking stick would allow him. The fourth headstone looked kind of lonely. Even the little posy Siobhan had left didn’t help, since it was now pretty dried up and shriveled. Still, the headstone itself was beautiful. It wasn’t crudely worked like the Maguires’, but had been created by a gifted artisan. As well as boasting a beautifully carved border of flowers, leaves and birds, the headstone had top-notch calligraphy—think plump letters with exotic loops and curls. Siobhan had been right about the language resembling Gaelic, but I knew immediately it wasn’t. Fae has a lot in common with Irish Gaelic, although the languages aren’t interchangeable. The first part of the inscription was a name: Sharina Levara. That was followed by the word lovely or maybe lover. No, beloved, that was it. So, putting it all together I came up with the translation: Sharina Levara, beloved mother of a devoted son.