by Nova Nelson
“For the lady, why don’t we try a Dragon’s Hair Lager, and I’ll take another one of those Dark Wish Stouts.”
When Seamus whirled around to give me his full attention, Kelley mouthed, “Help?”
I shook my head minutely then focused on the leprechaun. “I heard about you buying drinks for the bar yesterday, too,” I said. “You’ve become quite the philanthropist, Seamus. Giving Count Malavic a little competition. I’m impressed.”
“Dah, it was nothing.”
“I didn’t realize you were so rich. I do like a rich man.” I giggled and wanted to slap myself at the sound.
Push through, Nora.
Then I made a huge mistake and glanced over Seamus’s head to where Donovan sat, his eyes reflecting the same level of disgust for me that I felt for me.
I cleared my throat. “I assume it’s your father’s money,” I said, “since you haven’t had a job in a while. Otherwise, it sure would raise a lot of questions about how you got your hands on it.”
His mouth hung open slightly as his bushy brows pinched together. I believe he meant to nod his head, but with the level of intoxication, he ended up rocking his whole body back and forth slowly.
“Speaking of your father, how is he?” I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Are the ghosts still after him?” I bit back a fake grin and waggled my eyebrows.
Seamus laughed. “Oh, you are a devilish girl! I knew that the second I saw ya.” He leaned forward too, and the stench of stale brewer’s yeast issuing from his mouth put me off balance for a second until I could adapt and breathe through my mouth. “I can’t tell you how funny it is to see him stumbling around the house, swatting at things I can’t see and denying allegations of betraying his kind. Near about pooped myself earlier today when he broke down, sobbing and apologizing for being a disappointment.” He threw his head back and cackled, and I took the opportunity to sneak a fresh bit of air and glare at Donovan, who had posted up, side of his head on his fist, elbow on the bar, to watch the spectacle go down. He flashed me a quick thumbs up.
“Mother thinks he’s going slowly insane,” Seamus continued. “She don’t believe anyone’s there.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” I said. “You believe it, though, right?”
“Of course I do! I was the— I can just tell. Chills and the like.”
For fang’s sake! Was he really that close to a slip up? Already? Obviously, I wanted this to be over with quickly, to get the confession, be sure of it before I presented the evidence to Sheriff Bloom, but it was just pathetic if he let slip that easily. “The Fifth Wind,” I said. “Yep. Speaking of which, and this is just between us, okay?”
He nodded.
“I think it was my queso that did it.”
He cleared his throat and straightened. “Oh yeah? And what makes you say that?”
“Well, the ghosts appeared right after they had my chips and queso. It’s entirely possible that I messed up the recipe and, being a Fifth Wind witch, accidentally caused that to happen.”
He relaxed a little. “I don’t know much about all that stuff, but it sounds plausible.”
“I don’t know how I did it, though. Part of me kind of hopes someone else snuck in and did it, because that is an amazing prank. And who doesn’t want to see the High Council driven slowly mad?” When I laughed, so did he, and against my better judgment, I brushed a flirtatious hand down his arm.
His skin was … wet? Ew. Why was he so sweaty? Was his body in overdrive trying to burn off calories faster than he could drink them? Or maybe I made him nervous.
Either way, I tried not to let my disgust show and wiped off my hand on my pants as casually as possible.
Past Seamus, Donovan chuckled.
“I tell you,” I said, “whoever could pull off something like that on purpose would be my hero.”
“Hero, eh?”
Good golem, this was too easy.
“Oh yes.”
“And would this hero get some sort of a reward?”
I tried to act bashful, but I’m fairly certain I hadn’t looked genuinely bashful in at least a couple decades, so who knew how it actually looked? “Not sure. I’d have to play it by ear, get a little creative.” I sighed. “Man, I really wish I knew who it could have been. You know, assuming it wasn’t me.”
“I think it might be your lucky day, Nora.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because I’m pretty sure I know who cursed the chips.”
The chips? Why did he assume it was the chips?
Ho-ly shifter! Of course!
The pieces started to fall into place, and I quickly brought my cup to my lips to hide my expression, which I suspected could give me away, even to someone as slow on the uptake as Seamus.
I shut my eyes. Of course it was the chips. That made perfect sense. This whole time I’d been fixated on the queso, but it hadn’t been that at all. It couldn’t have been.
“And who is that?” I asked, trying to ignore the logical part of my brain as it reshuffled all the evidence, reassembling it in a whole new and more plausible way.
“Ah, now Nora, I may give away drinks for free, but I don’t give away that kind of useful information without a cost.”
No. Noooo!
I knew what was coming. Any girl who’s spent a substantial amount of time alone in bars knows what kind of a price Seamus was about to ask.
I swallowed down the bile rising in my stomach and realized I never ate dinner. Great. If I actually hurled, it’d be nothing but beer and acid. “And what’s the cost for this information?” I asked, trying not to sound like a condemned woman walking up the gallows stairs.
“Nothing ya can’t afford. Just a little kiss.”
“If I do it, you promise you’ll tell me? I don’t find it attractive when men lie. In fact, it’s sort of a deal breaker for me.”
He held a hand to his heart. “Ya got my word, Nora. Give me just a little smooch, and I’ll tell ya who your hero is.”
It wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just a quick kiss. “On the cheek?”
(That’s what a fool’s hope sounds like, by the way.)
“You’re welcome to do that if you’d like, but it won’t get me talking. Lips.”
This wasn’t cheating on Tanner. It meant nothing. And in a way, this was to help Tanner. If I could clear things up before rumor spread that Medium Rare’s food couldn’t be trusted, Tanner would directly benefit from that.
I imagined telling him about it the next day, and as soon as I did, I knew what his reaction would be: commiseration. Would he want to tan Seamus’s hide for being a sleaze? Oh, for sure. But he already wanted to do that. He wouldn’t be angry with me, though, because Seamus wasn’t a legitimate threat.
He might make sure I’d thoroughly washed out my mouth before kissing him, but I could hardly blame him for that. Mouth-washing plans were already forming in my mind.
I started to feel better about the idea of the kiss once I realized Tanner wouldn’t care.
But only a little.
Because I still had to kiss the tiny, drunken, sweaty, thieving man.
Just get it over with!
“Okay,” I said. “A kiss on the lips, then you tell me what heroic member of the Eastwind community is responsible for setting those ghosts on the Council.”
He set his beer on the bar with a thunk, his eyes opening wide. He hadn’t thought I’d actually do it. But now he did. Rolling his shoulders back and tilting his face up toward mine, he prepared the runway for touchdown, and I forced myself not to look at Donovan as I leaned forward slowly.
Nope, better just rip the Band-Aid off quickly. He didn’t say how long of a kiss it had to be. I shut my eyes. A quick peck would do.
And through my lids a blinding flash of light erupted as Seamus squawked. My eyes shot open just as a loud crash echoed through the quiet pub.
Seamus was on the other side of the room, crumpled against the wall with a broken chair
scattered around him. As he moaned softly, I scanned the bar for any indication of what in the five winds had just happened.
Donovan was on his feet, wand extended outward, and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
And yet, as a reflex, perhaps, I yelled, “Donovan! What did you do?” Although it was quite clear that he’d used his wand to blast the leprechaun clear across the pub.
“You’re welcome,” he spat.
“It was none of your business.”
“Unicorn swirls, it’s not!”
I glanced back at Seamus. He’d be fine. Probably.
Lucent and Slash weren’t happy though, and once the initial shock had penetrated their drunken stupor, they stood, their eyes glowing amber. “What in the moon’s unholy fury do you think you’re doing, Stringfellow?” Lucent said, as thick, silver hair sprang from his arms.
“If I never had to look at another witch in my life, that’d be too soon,” Slash said, and claws sprang from the tips of his fingers.
This was not good.
They made straight for Donovan, who kept his wand extended and lowered his stance, ready for the impending confrontation
Were we really about to have a werewolf and witch fight in the middle of Sheehan’s Pub?
Two fairies in a corner booth slipped out the back door, and I thought that seemed like a pretty smart move.
I couldn’t leave Donovan, though. The idiot had gotten himself into this mess, yes, but being torn to shreds by a couple of silver-addicted werewolves didn’t seem like a fair punishment.
We could never outrun them, though.
“Don’t you dare,” Kelley warned the men from behind the bar.
But his words only seemed to pull the trigger, and in the blink of an eye, Lucent and Slash finished their shift, dropping to all fours, fangs bared.
Hide.
The voice came from deep inside me but wasn’t mine. Hide? How were we supposed to hide?
The light.
And just like that, Insight took over. I didn’t think it was supposed to do this, to step in front of my conscious mind. Everything I’d learned about it said it stayed in the background, and a witch had to develop the wisdom to pause and ask it for guidance.
I clenched my fists and held my breath and the room went cold.
But it also went dark. Pitch black.
Somehow I knew this even as I peered through the darkness, each person’s form glowing like the bones of an X-ray. I didn’t waste time questioning it, though. Instead, I rushed forward, grabbed Donovan by the hand, and dragged him behind me through the dark and out the front door of Sheehan’s, and I didn’t stop running or let go of him or think about where I was taking him until we were five blocks away on the doorstep of Ruby True’s house.
I slammed the front door behind us as soon as Donovan had crossed the threshold and sucked in air as my lungs burned from the sudden exertion. I shut my eyes, leaning my back against the door, hoping the totems that dangled from the ceiling could help protect us from werewolves as well as they did from things in the spiritual realm that might want to harm us.
The last blue embers glowed in the fireplace, and compared to the darkness we’d just experienced in the pub, Ruby’s home, lit only by a magic-powered lamp on the parlor table, was blinding.
Donovan braced his hands on his knees, catching his breath as well. “What just happened?”
“I don’t know.” I desperately sucked in air to say what I’d wanted to say back at the pub. It was just that important. “You’re an idiot.”
He raised his drooping head just enough to glare at me. “Says the one who was about to kiss Seamus Shaw.”
“It was a freaking kiss, not an engagement! Don’t sound so jealous.” It was just an offhanded comment, meant as a light jab, as banter. But as soon as it was out of my mouth, I wished I could take it back.
He straightened up slowly, his chest still heaving. The early August air outside was thick with the residue of summer, and beads of sweat had formed around his hairline and upper lip, but I didn’t find them repulsive the same way I had on Seamus.
Quite the contrary.
“If it doesn’t mean anything,” he said, moving so close I could feel the heat coming off of him “then why don’t you kiss me right now?”
My mind flashed back to the edge of the cliff, the ocean waves pummeling the craggy rocks below, more stars than I knew existed painted across the sky above as I lay on my back after banishing Ba, and the silhouette of Donovan appearing above me, blocking out the stars for just a moment before …
My voice was a hoarse whisper, and I couldn’t believe what I was about to say. But I said it anyway. “Because it would mean something with you.”
His lips were so close to mine. It wouldn’t take much. No one would have to know.
Every heartbeat sent a surge of blood to my head while I waited for him to say something, do something. Even if that something was kissing me.
I blame the hastily chugged beer for the fact that I wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d tried it.
But he didn’t. Instead, the intensity melted from his face, and a soft smile tugged at the corner of his rosy lips. He nodded and stepped back. “I knew it.” The smile reached his eyes. “I’m not giving up on you, Nora Ashcroft.”
In that moment, I wanted to say, “Please don’t,” but instead I said, “You should.”
He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, and as he did so, I got a peek of his toned abs and those diagonal muscles just above the hips that draw the eyes downward …
It seemed cruel of him to do that right in front of me. Totally unfair.
“I know I should,” he said on a sigh, letting his shirt fall. “I also know I should get a job other than bartending at Franco’s, but I’m not going to do that, either.”
He reached for the door handle by my hip, and I grabbed his wrist to stop him. “You can’t go out there yet.”
“What,” he said, cocking a bemused eyebrow at me, “you inviting me to stay over?” The humor melted from his face as he pressed his parted lips together firmly then shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Knock it off, Donovan. Just hang out here for a while. You can sit in Ruby’s chair and I won’t tell her. Just don’t go. It’s too dangerous with Lucent and Slash out there. They can follow your scent, and who knows—”
His body language changed in an instant. “Do not”—he pounded the wall with a fist—“tell me what to do, Nora.”
I froze, his body so near to mine as his fingers remained clasped around the handle. His next words were little more than breathed into my ear, yet they quivered with emotion. “You have no right. None.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping out of the way.
He opened the door without another word, and, drawing his wand, stepped out into the night.
Chapter Fifteen
Sleep decided not to pay me a visit, and an hour before I needed to wake up for my morning shift at Medium Rare, I rolled out of bed and set to work.
That Seamus Shaw had been the one to cause the Guilt Gale and steal the gold, I had very little doubt. I hadn’t gotten an outright confession from him, but once the sting of the Guilt Gale that was Donovan Stringfellow had faded from my mind and I’d had hours of alone time to think it over, everything came together.
It was Seamus’s mention of the chips that snapped everything into place. I’d mentioned the queso, and he’d referred to the chips. It seemed fairly obvious that only the person responsible for casting the curse would have made that slip. Otherwise, he would have simply followed along with what I was saying.
There were still a couple loose ends, though. So, when I rolled out of bed and nudged Grim, who’d been snoring in his dog bed since the moment I’d gone upstairs, I asked him if he could still hear the hellhounds.
“Yep. Every minute of every day. Unless I’m sleeping.”
“Then
I guess it’s a good thing you sleep twenty-two hours a day.”
“You’re telling me.”
“One last thing: you never tasted the queso, right?”
“Nope.”
“Promise?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you about this. What could you do about it now anyway? Call me a ‘bad dog’? That’s no big deal because I’ve been telling you I’m a bad dog this whole time. Honestly, it would be a relief if you started believing me.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
As he buried his muzzle under one of his giant paws and promptly began snoring, I went downstairs to start some tea and tried to account for all the other loose ends in my theory.
Tanner had tasted the cheese, but had he eaten a chip?
No, he’d said he ate a spoonful. That added up because he hadn’t been affected by the Guilt Gale.
Grim hadn’t tasted the queso, but had gorged himself on the chips like I never fed him, and then he’d started hearing the hellhounds.
That made sense, too. Grim had been a hellhound before he’d died and become a grim. The reason he’d been able to hear them but not see them was, I assumed, that even in death hellhounds didn’t want to leave the Deadwoods. And I couldn’t hear them because they were too faint for my ears to pick up. That also meant that if Seamus had cursed the chips, he had to do it before Grim had eaten one. Hm. I’d have to come back to that.
The tea kettle began to sing, and I pulled it off the stove and poured myself a large mug’s worth.
Did Seamus have motive? Yes. He wanted to distract me from trying to find who stole the gold. That assumed Landon’s theory of the two crimes being perpetrated by the same person was true. It sure held water. It was also probably a bonus that the curse affected Quinn, Seamus’s father. Everyone in town knew Quinn was not Seamus’s biggest fan and vice versa. And Seamus had seemed to delight in the idea of his father being on the receiving end of lectures for once. Not only did he have a motive for causing a distraction, he had a clear motive for why he chose the distraction he did.
As for means, Oliver had established that leprechauns were capable of such magic. Sure, he’d said it without complete certainty, but an uncertain Oliver was correct more often than a certain anyone else when it came to things of this nature, information that could be written down and memorized.