Night of the Dark Horse (An Allegra Fairweather Mystery)

by Janni Nell

  “This is very odd,” I murmured. “Everything points to this being a Fae grave, which is

  impossible. The Fae don’t bury their dead outside Fairyland.”

  “Maybe they made an exception,” Casper said.

  “Because?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not familiar with the ways of the Fae.”

  I moved closer to the headstone, ran my fingers over the lettering. “Who carved this? A local craftsman? Or one of the Fae?” I pulled out my phone and took a photo of the headstone. I was taking some more pics from various angles, when Casper crash tackled me to the ground. “What the—?”

  Something shrieked overhead. I caught a glimpse of black wings and yellow claws. Casper pushed my head down, shielding me as he swung his cane at the eagle. The creature shrieked again and retreated, soaring into the sky. It wheeled above the trees and then swooped in a death dive with us in its sights.

  Casper said, “Run. I’ll take care of the eagle.”

  “Not gonna happen.” Refusing to leave him to deal with the feral wildlife alone,

  I grabbed his hand, hauling him to his feet and pulling him after me. We zigzagged through the trees, ducking beneath low branches and somehow avoiding the eagle’s lethal talons.

  By the time we reached the Maguire graves, the eagle was no longer chasing us, but it watched from a perch high above. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t attack again unless we returned to the fourth grave. Was the eagle protecting that grave? Were the eagle and the pooka incarnations of the same fairy shapeshifter? Was that shapeshifter the devoted son of Sharina Levara?

  Casper leaned heavily on his cane. “The eagle is watching us.”

  “I think we’ll be fine so long as we don’t return to that grave.”

  We headed back to the car. As I opened the passenger door for him, I notice he was shivering. Usually he wasn’t bothered by temperatures on earth, but his current weakness had made him more sensitive to hot and cold. Goosebumps covered his bare arms and legs. His T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops were more appropriate for Tahiti or Spain than the fickle weather of an Irish summer.

  “You need new clothes,” I said. “We’re going to Dublin.”

  “In the middle of a case?”

  “We always shop in the middle of cases. Besides, you need something warmer.”

  He protested. “It’s not worth spending your money on me.”

  “You’ve never complained before.” Angels don’t have their own money, so any change of clothes has to be bought by their morsubs. “What’s the problem?”

  Casper studied his flip-flops and refused to answer. Oh, I got it. This was about that whole retirement thing. Best not to think about that.

  Channeling the positive, I said, “Come on. It’ll be fun.” I’m no shopaholic, but I enjoy buying things for Casper. When he hesitated, I got bossy. “Just get in the car.”

  At a store in the Jervis Centre, I picked out several pairs of jeans, some shirts and a jacket for him to try on. Angels aren’t vain, so Casper wasn’t influenced by fashion. Refusing my offer to help him change, he took the clothes and headed for the fitting room. Not only did I miss out on getting a sneak peak at his butt, I had to endure the sales clerk’s endless small talk. I managed some monosyllabic replies until Radha—that was the name on her badge—suddenly asked, “What’s in your pocket?”

  I hadn’t realized I’d been playing with the leprechaun’s pebbles, but there I was clicking them together like worry beads.

  “Just some pebbles I picked up.”

  “Seriously? Pebbles? Do you collect them or something?”

  “Or something,” I said as Casper emerged from the fitting room looking...well, let’s say it was definitely worth the wait. The skinny-leg jeans showed off every muscle of his butt and thighs.

  Even Radha was impressed. “Hhhhot,” she breathed. But Casper wasn’t too thrilled with skinny leg jeans. He claimed they were uncomfortable.

  “You sure about that?” I asked.

  When he nodded, Radha and I exchanged a disappointed glance. There was nothing we could do to stop Casper heading back to the fitting room to try a looser pair. He pulled the curtain closed again.

  I sighed. “I wish I was a fly on the wall.”

  Too late, I realized I was holding a wish-pebble.

  The store ballooned around me, stadium-huge. Visual images bombarded me, as though I had a hundred eyes. I could see parts of the store I hadn’t even realized were there. Far below me, Radha’s head whipped back and forth, looking right and left as though she’d lost something. Since I was no longer standing beside her, I figured it was me.

  Holy crap, the wishes did work.

  Radha’s mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear a word she said. What the—? Flies didn’t have ears? Being a fly on the wall wasn’t going to be much fun if I couldn’t eavesdrop on conversations. Actually being a fly wouldn’t be much fun at all. And didn’t they have a seriously short lifespan? Like about a month max?

  Returning to human form became a priority, but here was the kicker; now that I knew the wishes worked, I was reluctant to waste one to reverse the stupid wish I should never have made in the first place. Still, it wasn’t like I had many other options, and believe me I considered them all. Funny that although I had a fly’s body, I still thought like a human. Go figure. Anyway since I didn’t want to hang around in the fly’s body any longer than necessary, I reached into my pocket, intending to use a wish-pebble to get me out of this mess. Uh-oh. I didn’t have pockets! Oh, bugger.

  Was I stuck in this stupid body with only a month to live? Even worse, Radha was reaching for the fly spray. I zoomed off the wall, and headed straight for Casper’s fitting room. Having a limited lifespan made me realize what was really important. I landed on the wall of the fitting room. Multiple images of Casper hit me like a drug. Oh yeah, I was in heaven. A fly on the wall might not be able to eavesdrop but it sure as heck could appreciate the sight of a hunky angel in his jocks.

  Casper tensed. He looked up, a pair of jeans dangling from his hand. When he caught sight of fly-me, he rolled his eyes. He waggled a finger at me, his mouth moving. I think he was saying, Naughty, naughty. Then he scrambled into his clothes like a virgin bride. When he was dressed, he extended his hand to me as though I was a runaway bird. He didn’t need to offer twice. I flew down and settled on his finger. He transferred me to his shoulder and I sat there like a parrot on a pirate. He left the fitting room and returned the clothes to Radha. When she caught sight of me, she reached for the fly spray again.

  “Don’t,” said Casper. At least I think that’s what he said. Anyway I didn’t wait for Radha’s response.

  I zipped out of the store as though I was being chased by a hell-hound and kept going through the mall and out into the street, where I perched on the side of a building until Casper appeared. He caught sight of me and extended his hand. I flew down and settled on his index finger. His mouth moved. I thought he was saying, Why did you waste a wish?

  I tried to shrug my shoulders, which turned out to be impossible, so I settled for shaking my head. Never mind, he seemed to say. He set off down the street, keeping the hand on which I had perched close to his chest, protecting me. As we passed a deserted lane, he turned into it. Instantly I saw the discarded paper bag bulging with a half-eaten hamburger. Did I want flies with that? The burger was crawling with them. I left Casper’s hand and joined them, walking over the burger and tasting first with the hairs on my feet, which was a totally weird and yet yummy sensation. I was enjoying my snack when a handsome male caught my eyes. One glance was all it took for him to fly over and land on top of me. Was he planning to mate? Nooo!

  Suddenly the world tilted and I was standing beside Casper again. I did a quick recon of all my body parts. Yep, everything was in place. Most importantly, everything was human.

  “Are you okay?” asked Casper.

  Phew! I could hear again. “I’m fine, really fine.” I took a moment to enjoy being me again
before asking, “How did you know the fly was me?”

  “There was a tuft of red hair on your fly-head.”

  “Very funny.” I punched his arm. It wasn’t a hard punch, but he winced as though I’d actually hurt him. “Sorry.”

  “No problem,” he said too quickly.

  “So how did you really know I was the fly? And don’t give me any more shit about the tuft of red hair.”

  “I sensed it was you. It’s my job to know when you’re in danger, remember?”

  “A fly almost mating with me certainly qualifies as danger,” I agreed. “How did you turn me human again?”

  “More to the point,” he countered, “why did you wish you were a fly?”

  “I didn’t, not really. I just said, ‘I wish I was a fly on the wall.’ It was pure chance that I was holding a pebble at the time. I didn’t even think the wishes worked.”

  “Now you know, be careful.”

  I reached into my pocket. Only two pebbles remained. “I can’t believe I wasted a wish.” There was going to be some serious head-to-desk action over that little mistake. “So how did you make me human again? Obviously you didn’t use a wish.”

  “No,” he agreed. “The leprechaun gave you the wishes. Only you can use them.”

  “So how come I’m human?”

  “I overrode the wish. It’s something I can do to get you out of danger. But don’t get too complacent. I couldn’t have helped if you’d been sprayed or swatted.”

  I shuddered at the thought. “I didn’t much like being a fly.” I shot a glance at the rotting food, which no longer smelled so good.

  “Do you have a tissue?” Casper asked.

  I produced one from my bag, which had magically reappeared when I returned to human form. Casper moistened it with saliva like a mother preparing to clean her kid’s face.

  “Don’t,” I said brushing him away. “That’s gross.”

  “Not as gross as the moldy pickle on your chin.”

  “Ew. Get it off.”

  “Stop batting your hands around,” he said. “Hold still.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Not that my mom would have cleaned my cheek with saliva on a tissue. She’d have used an antibacterial wipe.

  I remained perfectly still while Casper cleaned my face. When he was done, he suggested we head back to Dingaleen.

  “Not gonna happen until we get your new outfit.”

  Reluctantly he agreed to enter another clothing store. This time I didn’t even think of wishing to enter the fitting room. No more fly-on-the-wall stuff for me. I contented myself with watching him model different styles of jeans.

  He still claimed the skinny leg jeans were uncomfortable, so although I liked the way they outlined his butt, I bought him something looser. I also purchased a new T-shirt, an all-weather jacket, socks, jocks and walking shoes. He really did look hot in his new clothes. I couldn’t help noticing the admiring glances from women we passed on the street. Yeah, girls, you can look, but don’t touch. He’s mine.

  On impulse I decided to stop by Siobhan’s gallery and check out her work. Who knew, it might somehow help with the case. Even if it didn’t, I might pick up something to hang in my Maui house, which had been a gift from a grateful billionaire client.

  Siobhan’s paintings had a lot to do with myth and magic. One subject wore the floaty dress I’d seen on the rack in her studio, another wore the barbarian loincloth low on his hips. I was tempted by the prospect of owning the barbarian, but then I did have my own ex-warrior angel.

  I stopped in front of a portrait called Daydreaming. Its subject was a boy of about eight, who had hair as black as a pooka and skin that was pale even for the Irish. His eyes were a kind of light brown almost golden. His features were delicate and his shoulders so slight he could’ve blown away on the breeze.

  “You like it?” asked Siobhan, coming to stand beside me.

  “Very much. It’s my favorite. Is that how you think the Fae would look?” I asked.

  “No, he’s human. He lives in Dingaleen.” Folding her arms, she regarded the pic with a critical eye. “I wanted to call it The Changeling, but the kid has it tough enough already. Sure, and he’s a good kid. A little weird, but we’re all weird in our own ways. I know I am.” She laughed. “I used to babysit him. Things were fine until he was about six or seven. He had a great imagination. Potential as an artist, too, if his parents would stop trying to turn him into an accountant. Not that there’s anything wrong with accountants. God knows, I’d be lost without mine. Still, you’ve got to have a talent for it, haven’t you? And Liam couldn’t balance the books to save his life.”

  “Liam Murphy?” The kid who’d stolen Ronan’s cookies? He was quickly becoming my prime suspect. “You know him? What happened when he was six or seven?”

  “He asked me what a changeling was. Of course, I knew his parents had been calling him that for years. And not in a nice way. I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him it was a scrawny, ugly, bad-tempered fairy. I tried to change the subject, but he was having none of that. He pulled a dictionary from the bookcase. I’d always thought it was a good thing he could read so well for his age, but I changed my mind when he read out the definition of a changeling. Poor boy. He just broke down. I told him he was a great kid and really talented. Not that it made any difference. He needed to hear that from his parents, not me. Jaysus, I’m making them sound horrible, aren’t it? They aren’t bad parents per se. It’s just that Liam had the misfortune of being born into the wrong family. He doesn’t fit. They don’t understand him.”

  “I know what that feels like,” I said, thinking of Mom and Lily, with their love of fashion, domesticity and politics. “What about you, Siobhan, how did your parents feel about you becoming an artist?”

  She chuckled softly. “I’m one of the lucky ones. My family is all madly artistic. Mum and Dad founded the Four-leaf Clover Theatre. My uncle is Lucas Healy, the musician. He owns this gallery. Don’t you just love nepotism? Liam belongs in a family like mine.”

  A group of tourists—German, by the sound of them—wandered into the gallery. Scenting potential customers, Siobhan hurried away, leaving us to browse. I didn’t do much browsing, I was too busy thinking about Liam.

  I had already added him to my list of people to interview, but it looked as though the universe was telling me to make that a priority. What if his parents were on the money and Liam was a changeling? Dingaleen wasn’t far from Fairyland—it was the nearest village, in fact, and Liam did have a look of the Fae about him. Did he also have a talent for shapeshifting? Could he be the horse and the eagle? Could he be Sharina’s son?

  “It’s time we returned to Dingaleen,” I said, expecting Casper to be right beside me. But he had wandered away and was admiring a painting of a tall, athletic-looking redhead brandishing a sword.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. We have to get going.”

  Casper couldn’t face another road trip and the possibility of more car sickness, so we parted outside the gallery. He planned to fly to Cloud 9 and spend the night there. As I drove back to Dingaleen, I thought how strange it was that Casper could ride a rollercoaster multiple times, even after stuffing his face with hotdogs and cotton candy, and not get ill. Yet a simple car journey made him puke like a werewolf who’d been winged by a silver bullet.

  As I drove to Dingaleen, I turned up the radio and sang along to an old U2 song—not as good as Barry Manilow, it has to be said, but when in Ireland... My love of Barry’s music had a lot to do with my dad, who’d been a big fan. When I was fifteen, Dad had visited relatives in Australia. (Barry had nothing to do with that.) He disappeared in the desert and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. Eventually he’d been declared dead, and Mom had remarried. Morally, and maybe technically as well, she was now a bigamist, since I had it on good authority—Casper had consulted some kind of celestial register—that Dad was still alive.

  Neither Dad nor Barry had anyth
ing to do with what happened next. I could’ve blamed Bono for the fact I wasn’t concentrating on driving, but would that be fair? I think not. Anyway, by the time I saw the man lying in the road, it was too late to stop.

  Chapter Five

  I hit the brakes and swerved, ending up in a hedgerow. I scrambled out of the car. “Don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.” I started to punch in 911. No, that wasn’t right. What was the emergency number for Ireland?

  Before I could key in 112, the man mumbled, “I don’t need an ambulance.” He sounded familiar. I looked closer. Unlucky Aedan was living up to his name.

  “What happened? Did I hit you?”

  “No.” Blood streamed from his head. I had nothing to stanch the bleeding except my T-shirt. I stripped it off and handed it to Aedan. He held it to his head, while I grabbed a sweatshirt from the car and put it on over my bra. I thought I heard sniggering from nearby bushes.

  “You sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?”

  “Just take me to Dr. Gallagher’s.”

  I helped him to the car. “How did you end up on the road?”

  “I was walking home. I—um—tripped and fell.” This time I definitely heard laughter from the bushes, laughter that was abruptly cut off.

  “You sure you fell?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the bushes. “You weren’t pushed by anyone? Colum, for instance?” Aedan’s expression told me I was right on the money. “Say the word and I’ll hurt him.”

  Aedan gave a thin smile and said nervously, “I was clumsy. I tripped.”

  The bushes rustled. I thought I heard someone say, “Loser.”

  “Hmm. I think I’m gonna hurt him anyway.” As I marched toward the bushes, three figures leaped up and sprinted away in different directions. Even in the twilight, it was easy to pick Colum out from the other two. I took off after him, expecting he’d head to the village and the safety of The Black Shamrock, but he ran away from the village. I was too intent on the pursuit to realize what that meant.