by Jody Wallace
His phone rang. This late, it wouldn’t be a telemarketer, so he picked up the cordless in the living room.
“Hello, Mr. Connell, I’m calling on behalf of Sterling Consumer Surveys.”
Liam interrupted the PI’s spiel. “I need to know where Ormand is right now. Where all his employees are.”
“The hotel. Two are at a nearby sports bar.”
“Are any in transit? On the move?”
“Not unless there are ones I haven’t identified.”
“Where’s Ormand?” Liam twisted off the water supply to his washing machine, then his guest bathroom. No telling how long his house would stand empty before his lawyer transferred ownership. He should pop his letter to them into their mailbox on his way out tonight. With a broken window, Sal’s new house standing empty wasn’t safe.
“I told you, Ormand’s at the hotel.”
“You have a visual?”
“Saw him enter, didn’t see him leave. Look, it’s late, Connell. I’ve got doughnuts to eat and a rental car to sleep in.”
“Get a motel room. Stay at the Royal. Hell, I’m paying.”
“Are you afraid Ormand’s going to come after you? Sic his goons on you or something? You’re more anxious than usual about what he’s doing.”
“Something like that.” Did it matter what he told Pete since he’d be in another Realm as of this time tomorrow? “I want to avoid him, so I track his location.”
“Did you steal something from him, something he legitimately wants back?” Skepticism tinged Pete’s voice.
Liam paused in his preparations for departure. “Why would you think such a thing?” He should have fired Pete the first time the guy had became too curious about Liam’s motivations.
“It’s a natural assumption. I see it a lot in this business. Aside from missing family members, the person hiring a PI to track somebody usually doesn’t have the other guy’s best interests at heart.”
“I just don’t want him to find me, that’s all. He’s holding a grudge for something I did a long time ago that was totally above board.” Like speak out against the Comas and qualify for deuchainn. “He’s a resentful bastard.”
“It’s above board to swipe somebody’s family heirlooms?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Look, I know we’ve been doing business for a couple months now, and you pay well, but I’ve got to tell you, he pays better. And his case makes a lot more sense than yours. I’ve decided our relationship violates my client confidentiality clause and I’m terminating our contract.”
Pete had to be talking about Robair. Robair pays better, which meant his PI was on the gaidache’s payroll. To do what? Look for other leprechauns. Look for Liam. But Liam didn’t have the signs. He defied the customary leprechaun disguise to the extent it should have duped the gaidache.
At least, he hadn’t had signs until recently with his peels. And the man who’d questioned Kristiana about them…
“You!” Liam exclaimed. “You cornered my ex-girlfriend and badgered her about me.”
“I happened to be at the Matador and witness your confrontation. I was doing my job, spying on Ormand for you. Figuring out your vital stats, too. I love getting paid twice for one job. Why pass up a golden opportunity like that?”
“Did you tell him you worked for me?”
“I’m not insane, Connell. Of course not.”
“What does Ormand pay you to do?” Pete was based in NYC, like Robair, which is why Liam had hired him.
Pete’s voice was smug now, almost dismissive. “Client confidentiality.”
“I can sue you to high heaven for violating my client confidentiality, Pete,” Liam growled. “Ormand could as well, if he found out. Which could be arranged. You’re obviously not chock-full of ethics. I’ll wire you a thousand bucks if you tell me. Does he pay you do the same thing I pay you to do?”
“I want to see the money first.”
“Sorry, can’t get to the bank until the morning and my computer’s down. You’ll have to trust me.”
Liam could hear chewing, swallowing. “He pays me to locate people who want to know the things you want to know. In fact, he had another PI locate me. Make it two thousand and I won’t tell Ormand about this conversation.”
Liam agreed and hung up the phone. Tricky bastards, both of them.
The trickier of the two bastards was doubtless on his way here, or would be soon. Robair would come himself rather than send a sycophant. He’d want to see the expression on Liam’s face when Liam realized the gaidache had traced him before he could complete his deuchainn. Maybe he’d known Liam’s location for years and had been biding his time like a poisonous viper.
So close, and yet, so stupid. What a fool he’d been. If Robair found him, his forcible use of Liam’s power would sentence Liam to three more years in humanspace. Ruin his chance of making the searsanach council.
Would that be so bad?
Spirits, what was he thinking? Not only would it skew the council for who knows how many more years and put countless fey in jeopardy, but it would be terrible to be recognized by Robair Faolain. Liam would shrink like a prune if he had to grant a wish of Robair’s. He’d rather Sal or Gram find him.
What would Sal wish for? Right now, his balls on a platter.
He was inside his closet shoving a set of true-sized clothing into a duffel bag when a rapid tattoo of knocks rattled his front door. A buzz of adrenaline sizzled through him, and he raced silently through the house, grabbing a baseball bat en route to the front door.
The gaidache wouldn’t knock. Liam peeked through his broken window.
Sal.
She was crying. He could taste her pain.
Liam ripped open the door, and Sal dove into his arms, sobbing.
“What is it? Sal, honey, what’s wrong?” He stroked her tangled hair. She still wore his sweatshirt, only she’d added a pair of pajama bottoms and her favorite shabby house shoes sewn to resemble mice. A gift from him. Her vitality, her immediacy, inundated his senses. Had she reconsidered her decision to break up with him?
“It’s Gram. She’s had a heart attack.”
Chapter Nine
“They couldn’t reach us by phone,” Sal explained to Liam on the way to the hospital. The tires of her car screeched as she rounded a corner at too rapid a speed. She gripped the black steering wheel harder, as if she could control the car by squeezing. While she’d dallied with Liam, Gram had needed her. Guilt iced her insides.“When did it happen?”
“I think when we were in the taxi. By the time they got my cell phone number from Mom, I guess Kristiana had already trampled it. I didn’t check the messages when I got home. Did you check yours?”
“No, my answering machine—”
“Is broken, as usual.”
“Yeah.”
He hadn’t spoken when she’d told him the news. He’d only grabbed his wallet and keys from a bedroom overturned by a tornado, clothes, shoes, papers and even suitcases everywhere. She’d spared only a moment to notice the state of his possessions as her guts clenched and her teeth chattered with anxiety.
His hand rested warmly on her tense shoulder. Sal didn’t care about the argument they’d had. She didn’t care that he’d abused her trust. All she could think, when the hospital had called the house and informed her Gram was in critical condition, was that she wanted Liam beside her.
This was a time for family to draw together and support one another. Liam—he was part of her family.
When had he morphed from her secret crush, her friend, into the person she turned to during an emotional crisis? Tonight, when he’d taken her to bed? No, it had been before that, though there was no defining moment in her memory.
And it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was reaching Gram.
She parked crookedly in the hospital lot and they raced to the waiting room. Gram, during a particularly competitive game of Trivial Pursuit with friends, had endured a mas
sive heart attack and been rushed to the hospital. She’d had emergency angioplasty to increase blood flow to the heart. Now, only time would tell if it would be enough, or too little too late.
Meachainn.
Liam could fix this. He could repair Gram, save Sal from anguish.
The small hospital had extended little effort to craft a restful waiting room. The pale yellow walls boasted a few scratched, framed art posters. The vinyl chairs were hard and uncomfortable. Several other individuals perched stiffly in them, awaiting news of their own loved ones, though none from Sal’s family.
Except for him.
What was he going to do?
Sal clutched his hand, her palm sticky and hot with nerves. Gram was sleeping, unconscious. Sal had placed several phone calls from the downstairs payphone to family. He wondered why she hadn’t already made those calls, why she’d come to him. And he felt privileged, touched deep inside, that she had.
He, Liam, who didn’t deserve it, figured at the top of Sal’s list. She was a resilient woman, confident in her own way, and capable of facing a crisis alone. She didn’t need him, which meant something more significant—she chose him.
“Would you like a soda? Something to eat?” If he had control of his magic, he could trickle strength to her through their joined hands until he ran out. In the Realm, refilling took days for the average leprechaun, hours for the searsanach he hoped to be. Here it took much, much longer.
“My stomach is too upset.”
“She’s going to be fine. Your grandmother’s a scrapper, Sal. She’s lucky, too. Heart attacks don’t have the finality they used to, not with medical science these days.”
Sal turned to him, her blue eyes rimmed with red. “Her luck has run out.”
“Not genetically possible,” Liam said. “Once a…lucky person, always a lucky person.”
She leaned against his shoulder, and he slipped an arm around her. Her blonde hair hung in soft snarls around her face. “Did she ever tell you the story about how she met a real fairy?”
“You mean a leprechaun. Fairies are a different race.”
“Leprechaun, right.” She sighed, deep and shuddering. “She and Gramps had been trying to have a baby for years with no luck. One day she bumped into this guy on the street and she just knew if she made a wish, he’d grant it.”
Ironic that Sal would bring this up. Liam chewed the inside of his cheek, his mind spinning furiously.
“That man was a leprechaun, a sprite from another dimension. He wasn’t happy about it and cursed her for ruining his ducky or something, but she got pregnant shortly thereafter. I thought leprechauns gave you a pot of gold.”
“She wished to get pregnant, not for money.”
“The whole family’s heard that story a million times.” Sal laced her fingers through his. “I guess it’s silly, but I keep thinking about it.”
“You believe her story?”
Sal sniffled and surreptitiously wiped her nose on his shirt. “Of course not. I don’t believe in fairies and leprechauns. Or Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. She always told me I’d know if I met a leprechaun, because he’d be different from everybody else. The only person I’ve met like that is you. Are you a leprechaun, Liam?”
Liam opened his mouth and closed it. Part of his deuchainn compulsion was he couldn’t lie if a Finder asked him that question. He could refuse to answer, which the wise Finder would take as an affirmative.
Sal, however, wasn’t a wise Finder. She didn’t believe. She only asked him in jest.
Did it count? He tried to say no. The word wouldn’t come out of his mouth, but his compulsion wasn’t blocking it.
His conscience, his affection for Sal, his empathy with her pain, was blocking it.
“Yes. I am.”
Sal blinked. “You’re what?”
He lowered his voice. There was no reason to tip off anyone else in the waiting room, though they’d probably think he was nuts. “I’m a leprechaun. I’m from another realm where magic exists. Your grandmother was telling the truth.”
She twisted out of his arms. “What the hell?” she asked, her voice a furious hiss. “Are you mocking my grandmother at a time like this? You think you’re being funny? I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
“I’m not joking, and can you lower your voice, please?”
“No, I can’t lower my voice. That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever—”
A white-coated, balding doctor bustled into the waiting room, a clipboard in his hands. “Ms. Winter?”
Sal leapt up. “Me. Here. How’s my grandmother? Is she awake? Can I see her?”
“She’s asked for you.” He turned to Liam, who rose to stand beside Sal. “Are you Liam Connell?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not immediate family, so I can’t let you see Mrs. Rose, but she asked me to give you a message.” The doctor frowned. “You’re not to use it on her because she’s had all the good luck she needs.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sal demanded, but Liam knew instantly.
Gram had known about him the whole time. She didn’t want him to save her with his magic.
“I don’t know what it means,” said the doctor. He drew Sal and Liam aside. “Your grandmother suffered a period of time where the blood supply to her heart was very limited. If she makes it through this, there might be repercussions.”
“If?” Sal said, a hitch in her voice.
“Ms. Winter, let me take you to your grandmother now.”
Liam hugged Sal tightly. She was rigid in his arms a moment before she melted. He kissed the top of her head, her forehead, and ended lightly on her lips.
“I’ll be here.” His decision was made. “I’ll always be here for you.”
Gram’s tan, healthy features were sunken, tinged a ghastly yellow in the horrible hospital lighting. Tubes ran from her thin, spotted arms, her nose, and machines beeped on both sides of her. Her lips were pale with fatigue, and her closed eyelids didn’t even twitch.
A nurse paused in the doorway. “Five minutes,” she said, her voice soft and respectful.
Sal muttered a brief but fervent prayer before speaking to her grandmother. Let her be all right. Let her heal. You don’t need her yet, God, but I do.
When she was finished, she licked her dry lips. “Gram,” she said.
“Baby girl, is that you?” At last, Gram’s eyelids fluttered. The blue eyes all the Rose women had stared out at Sal, dazed.
Gram’s fingers patted the bed, and Sal clasped her bony, warm hand. “I’m here, Gram. Liam’s in the waiting room, and everyone else is coming.”
“Don’t use it on me,” she whispered. “Don’t waste the wish.”
Her eyes closed again and she sighed. Then, silence. The machines continued to beep.
“Gram? Gram?” Sal leaned over the figure in the bed, placed a trembling hand on her grandmother’s cheek. Her chest rose and fell with delicate breaths.
“What do you mean, Gram? What did your message to Liam mean?” Not expecting an answer, she rested her forehead on the white cotton blanket. As she stared at the floor, she could see a ragged hole in her mouse slipper where the lining had come unstuffed. “Liam and I had sex, and I don’t think he loves me. I don’t think he has a heart-secret he’s been saving just for me.”
Her grandmother’s breath stuttered in a tiny cough. Sal bolted upright. A flicker of a smile lightened the gaunt severity of Gram’s face. “He’s peeling. He’ll have to choose soon, and he’ll choose you. When I’m gone, he’ll still be here.”
“You’re not going. You can’t go, Gram. I need you.” Sal willed her grandmother’s body to mend.
“Tell your mother and aunts and uncles I love them all. They were the best wish I could ever have made.”
“Tell them yourself.” Sal’s voice came out sharper than she intended. Should she yell at a dying person?
Gram’s eyebrow quirked. “I don’t know if I can wait. Your mother’s been la
te to everything since before she was born.”
“Three weeks late, I know, and you had to use a leprechaun’s magic to get pregnant. Liam said…”
Sal’s voice trailed off. Not only should she avoid yelling at Gram, but she shouldn’t fill her ears with the idiotic details of her most recent romantic misadventure. “Liam said you have to get well soon because he’ll starve if you don’t.”
“He told you, didn’t he?”
“He told me he’d starve.”
“He told you he was a leprechaun. Believe, baby. The skin, the hair, the shoes. And those eyes.”
Sal knew the list even if she didn’t believe it. “Gram, he has brown, circular irises and a sunburn. We shouldn’t be talking about this now. This is not important.”
Gram’s eyes opened again, and this time her gaze was clear. “I know you feel it. You sense him. It’s why you love him so much. But he loves you for yourself.”
The nurse in the doorway cleared her throat. “Ms. Winter, your grandmother needs to rest. We’ll let you know if anything changes.”
Tears welled in Sal’s eyes. She kissed the limp hand in her grasp. “Gram, get better. I love you.”
“And I love you, Sal gal.” Gram closed her eyes.
Chapter Ten
“Skin will peel, hair unreal, shoes all over, eyes of clover.” The childhood rhyme clouded Sal’s mind when she needed to focus on how much she loved her grandmother. She needed to exert every atom she had to send healthy vibes to that sterile, white hospital bed.She didn’t need to wonder whether leprechauns existed, whether the man she’d known for years hailed from another world. If he was a leprechaun, he could use his magic to mend Gram. Sal could wish for it. That must be what her grandmother meant when she’d told him no, that she’d had enough luck.
Hope surged, but she recognized that grief was deluding her. There was no such thing as leprechauns. There was no such thing as magic.
