by Janni Nell
“Nah.”
He looked so disappointed, I immediately said, “Count me in.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” I even noted the date and time.
Chapter Seven
There was no road to the Day Spa on the Edge of Fairyland. Its clients tended not to travel by car. Their preferred methods of transportation were riding unicorns or flying with their own wings. Since I could do neither, I left my car beside the road and headed into the hills on foot. These weren’t the same hills where I’d found the pooka’s cave. They were more remote, the vegetation wild and tangled, the shadows deeper. You could feel the magic and other strange things invisible to the human eye. One of those things was the day spa. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d walk right past. Luckily, my itching toe informed me when I got close. I looked out for the rock shaped like a four-leaf clover. Then I wandered around until I literally bumped into the invisible door.
Elves liked to hang out on the edge of Fairyland. Well, most creatures, including humans, would if they knew where it was. Fairy energy is very pure and healing—I’m talking pureblood Fae, not crude—and elves, like leprechauns, are crude-fairies. Unfortunately pureblood energy is quite fragile. Too many non-fairies or crude-fairies entering Fairyland causes the energy to breakdown very quickly. Not only are outsiders unwelcome, it can be dangerous for them to enter Fairyland. But if, like the elves, you know where Fairyland is, you can live on the edges and reap some of the benefits without any of the dangers.
I was right on time for my appointment with Dexterous Dermot, but he was running late. The receptionist tried to do her job, but her small talk was as annoying as her curl-toed shoes, a style that never seemed to go out of elfish fashion. Her full-skirted dress boasted big red spots on a white background, which made her look like a mushroom in a kid’s picture book. She had very white teeth and flawless unmade-up skin.
The receptionist—did I mention her name was Shasta Daisy?—eventually gave up on trying to engage me in conversation about the weather, and said, “If you’d like to take a seat, Dermot won’t be long.” I sat down and flipped through a copy of Elfin Medical. Avoiding the articles on unicorn hoof fungus and Elphaba’s Syndrome I went straight to an article on witches’ RSI, which my friend Wanda was bound to develop one day. All the best witches had a kink in their little finger from casting spells.
I had time to read the full article and even noted a few things to pass on to Wanda, who was due to arrive in Ireland next week. At least I thought it was next week. I had picked up my phone, intending to check the exact date and time I’d promised to pick her up, when Dermot finally emerged from his treatment room. I shoved the phone in my bag, forgetting all about Wanda as Dermot enveloped me in a hug.
“Sweetcheeks.” He air-kissed me. “It’s been too long.”
Dermot was shorter than me and slender like most elves. His coloring had much in common with the pureblood Fae—blond hair, very blue eyes and long eyelashes, which he didn’t bother to bat at me. A large percentage of male elves are gay. Female elves are often forced to look to the human population for a boyfriend. The really desperate will even consider a leprechaun.
Dermot closed the door of his treatment room. “What brings you to the Emerald Isle?”
“Hired to get rid of the pooka that’s harassing Dingaleen.”
“Ah, Dingaleen. Nice village. Good people. So what am I working on today? Do I detect a limp? And those shoulders, oh my, so tense.” He wiggled his fourteen digits, eager to get to work. Fine by me.
“I twisted my knee,” I said. “Plus lots of bruises and strained muscles all over.”
Dermot nodded understandingly. “Strip down to your underwear and I’ll take a look.”
He checked out my shoulder first. “Hmm. Nasty bruise. We’ll work on that soon, but let’s take a look at your knee first. Hmm. Your kneecap’s slightly out of alignment. Not dislocated—lucky you. Won’t take a moment to snap it back into place.” Dermot always talked like that, but his treatments were really gentle. As were his hands as they ran over my bruised inner thighs. “You’ve been riding something interesting.”
“Don’t get excited. It was only the pooka.”
“Ooh nasty. Is that how you got the other injuries?”
“When it threw me in the bog, yeah.”
“Poor Allegra. Don’t worry, sweetcheeks, I’ll have you feeling better in no time. Although there’s not much I can do about that smiley face in your hair. Very nasty, that.”
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
He chuckled and began to manipulate my knee. I felt something shift and release. Instantly the pain and stiffness disappeared. When my kneecap was back in place, Dermot got to work on my inner thighs. Healing energy poured from his fingers into my body. When you have fourteen digits that’s a lot of healing energy. My skin tingled. The pain from the bruised areas thinned and disappeared like mist dispersing in sunlight.
“Feeling better?” asked Dermot.
“Very much.”
As he got to work on my shoulder, he said, “Did you tame the pooka?”
“No. But believe me, I’d be soaking up the Maui rays this moment if the leprechaun’s wishes worked on fairies.”
“Whoa, back up a minute. You met a leprechaun?” When I confirmed it, he wrinkled his nose. “Nasty, smelly creatures. Those pipes—eew. Did he give you three wishes?”
“Yep.”
“So how will you spend them?”
I was too embarrassed to admit I’d wasted one on becoming a fly. “I’m saving them for the case. Mmm...that feels good.” For long moments I blissed out on the pleasure of fourteen fingers massaging my shoulders.
Soon Dermot said impatiently, “Don’t keep me in suspense, sweetcheeks. Tell me more about your case.”
Should I tell him? Dermot wasn’t exactly the soul of discretion. Still, that could work in my favor especially if he knew something about the pooka. I took a chance. “Well, there’s a grave in the woods, which seems to be guarded by an eagle, who might be a pooka that’s been appearing as a totally feral horse and calling the villagers of Dingaleen to ride.”
“Sounds complicated. Who’s buried in the grave?”
“Someone called Sharina Levara.”
Dermot stopped massaging. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“Levara is a Fae name. Pureblood. I mean exclusively. Not only that, it’s the surname of the royal family. By Fae law no other family is allowed to use it.”
“Aren’t members of the royal family always buried in Fairyland?”
“Absolutely. So either the grave is a hoax, or Sharina Levara was banished from Fairyland.” “Does that happen often?”
“Almost never. To the Fae, life is sacred, and considering how rapidly they age in the human world, banishment would be a death sentence. Sharina must have committed a really, really heinous crime.”
“Such as?”
“Murder,” he said dramatically. “But not the murder of an elf or a human. Banishment is reserved for the crime of murdering pureblood Fae.”
“So who did Sharina Levara murder?” I mused.
The question was rhetorical but Dermot answered anyway. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, sweetcheeks, at the moment all you have is an inscription on a headstone. There’s no evidence murder was committed. There’s no evidence Sharina Levara was banished either. Remember my hoax theory? There might be nothing buried in the grave. Or the body might be human.”
I knew where he was going with this. “Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “I am not going to dig up that grave.”
* * *
After borrowing a shovel from Derry Boyle, I returned to Sharina Levara’s grave in the late afternoon. Pale green shadows caressed the headstone, shifting and moving until the carved flowers and leaves and birds around the inscription seemed to come alive. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. No, just a trick of the light.
Tough PI’s do not tremble wi
th fear when they push a shovel into the black soil of a grave, and thanks to Dermot’s wonderful massage, my muscles didn’t tremble either. I worked hard, quickly building a pile of earth beside the deepening hole at my feet. Since this didn’t appear to be an official burial site, I figured the body, if there was one, wouldn’t be buried very deep. Boy, was I wrong. Before I knew it, I’d dug down so far the sides of the hole were as tall as I was, and I still hadn’t uncovered a body. Maybe it really was a hoax.
If only Casper were with me, I could bounce a few ideas off him. Should I keep digging? Should I leave well enough alone? Should I head for the nearest pub? Suddenly it felt really lonely out in the woods. Everything was too quiet. The birdsong had stopped and that raised the whole question of the elephant in the room. Or should I say eagle. Why hadn’t it attacked when I turned the first sod?
I wriggled my toe. I’d been so focused on digging, I hadn’t noticed the itch. There was something paranormal nearby, and my guess was that it was right under my feet. I dug faster.
I had reached seven feet or thereabouts when my shovel finally hit something. A coffin? That was my first thought, but as I carefully scraped dirt aside, I uncovered a partially decayed body.
“Fuck!” I jumped back, heart thudding, and dropped the shovel. Pull yourself together, Allegra. I’d seen bodies before, and this wasn’t the worst of them. Besides, I was intrigued by the scent that filled the air. Not of decay. It was more like the expensive perfume Mom wore. And you’d better believe I was going to share that with her next time she pissed me off.
I picked up the shovel and dug carefully, exposing the body of a female with the pale hair and slender figure so common to pureblood Fae. That in itself wasn’t conclusive proof she was Fae—plenty of humans have that coloring. I looked closer holding a tissue to my nose blocking the cloying scent. Sections of her bones had already been exposed. Something sparkled. And that’s all I needed to confirm her race. Only pureblood Fae have gold-flecks in their bones.
Gently I brushed soil from her face. What remained of Sharina was even more wrinkled than the fairy at the bottom of Dierdre’s garden. Sharina had died from overexposure to the human world, no doubt about it.
I used my phone to take pics of the body. Then I began to climb out of the grave, which wasn’t easy. Soil from the sides tumbled down in a little shower. A vibration shuddered through the earth. Uh-oh, I’d gone too deep. The shower of soil became a torrent, and the walls of my excavation crumbled. I launched myself upward, clawing the rim of the grave, and bringing the walls down even faster.
“Caaaaasper.” Dirt filled my mouth. Darkness closed around me, tight and deep. I was knocked to my knees. The palm of one hand pressed against fairy skin, an eye, a nose, hair so silky it could’ve featured in a shampoo commercial. I snatched my hand away. Silky hair or not, groping a decaying corpse was wrong on so many levels.
Did I mention breathing had become super difficult? Impossible, actually. I fumbled in my pocket for a wish-pebble, but when I opened my mouth to wish I was out of the grave, all I got was another mouthful of dirt. So, I had two choices: a) wait for Casper, who, given his present condition, might not even show up, or b) dig my way out.
Since holding my breath was becoming more difficult by the second, I chose option b). Using Sharina’s body as my ground level, I worked my hands into the soil above my head and began to burrow. Sadly, I didn’t have any random mole genes, so burrowing my way out was much more difficult than I’d imagined. I had made little progress and was in danger of passing out, when I felt movement in the soil over my head.
A hand wormed down. When it grabbed my boob, it quickly retreated and tried again. This time, it connected with my nose. I reached for the hand, grabbed hold and hung on tight. The hand pulled me up through layers of thick damp earth. I reached the surface. Sucked in air. Spat dirt.
Casper brushed soil from my face. “Come here,” he invited, opening his arms.
An invitation to sit on his lap was as rare as it was unexpected. I didn’t ask stupid questions like why was he breaking more rules. I just folded myself onto his lap and enjoyed the way his arms wrapped around me. There weren’t many male laps my six foot plus frame could fit into so snugly. I cuddled into him not caring that the Powers-That-Be would look down with disapproval. Casper stroked my hair. So sweet, so comforting.
Until he said, “I like your smiley face.”
I leaped to my feet. “Laugh, and I’ll hurt you.”
He looked confused. “It isn’t a fashion statement?”
“Don’t be stupid. Since when have I been interested in fashion? It was the eagle. Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not.”
“That would be more convincing if your lips weren’t twitching.”
He assumed a serious expression.
“That’s better,” I said. “Anyway I’m thinking of shaving my head.”
“You’ll look very tough with a bald head. No one will mess with you then. I can retire.” He stopped suddenly, realizing what he’d said. Our eyes met and I looked at him properly for the first time since I’d exited the grave. There were scratches on his face and a trickle of blood near a semi-circular bruise on his cheek. He was hunched on one side as though his shoulder hurt.
And I’d been fussing about a few bald spots. Sometimes I’m so self-absorbed I want to hurt myself.
“Did the eagle attack you?”
“No, the pooka.” Judging by that crescent on his cheek, its hoofs had done most of the damage. “I fought him off, but he’ll be back.”
“I’m gonna kill that pooka.” I scanned the woods ready to put my plan into action. Lucky for the pooka it hadn’t hung around. Of course, I couldn’t kill it if it turned out to be a kid like Liam, but if not, the pooka was so dead.
Casper got to his feet and moved toward the grave with difficulty. “We should repair the damage. That might go some way toward appeasing the pooka.”
“I’ll take care of the grave. You just take care of you. Go to Cloud 9. Get those wounds healed.”
“Uh—that’s no longer possible. If I return, the Powers-That-Be will take me straight to Heaven and retirement.”
“You’re sure of that? They’ve told you?”
“Not in so many words, but it’s clear what their intentions are.”
Okay, I wasn’t exactly unprepared for this. I knew the Powers-That-Be had threatened to retire him, but I’d convinced myself I’d find a way to heal him before they took him away. Now I was forced to face the reality that I might lose this battle. As we headed out of the wood, I said, “Come back to Ronan’s.”
Without argument, Casper walked straight to the car and opened the passenger door.
“Aren’t you going to fly?” I asked.
When he didn’t reply, I figured flying was no longer possible. I made sure he was buckled in tight then I hit the gas hard.
We found Ronan passed out on his sofa, a half empty whiskey bottle beside him. After tiptoeing past, I headed for the bathroom and the first aid kit. At my request Casper pulled off his T-shirt. His skin was a network of cuts and scratches. His shoulder was turning some interesting shades of purple.
“Antiseptic,” I said. “But those cuts need to be washed first. Since you can’t go to Cloud 9, you’ll have to shower here.” I looked at my own dirt-encrusted clothes. “Looks like we both need showers.”
“We can’t shower together,” Casper said.
He’d broken so many Rules of Conduct lately it hardly mattered anymore, but apparently some old habits died harder than others. I let Casper have the bathroom first. While he was showering, I did my best to brush the dried mud off his clothes. Thankfully there were no spots of blood, which would’ve really tested my domestic skills.
When Casper emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, I wiped his cuts with a cotton pad drenched in antiseptic. He didn’t even wince. I stuck on some Band-Aids. Maybe I stuck on a few too many, but I was desperate
to help him heal. Casper didn’t seem to notice. He seemed to be retreating from my world, as though Cloud 9 was reaching out to him even while he resisted its pull.
I told him to lie down while I trotted off to shower and change. Then I insisted we eat. Casper protested that angels didn’t need to eat.
“You’ll eat and like it,” I said, sounding too much like Mom for my liking.
Since cooking isn’t featured in my skill set, we headed for the Black Shamrock. After installing Casper at a table, I ordered two servings of my favorite Irish stew and two half pints of Guinness.
When our meals arrived, I put on my severest mommy-expression and insisted Casper eat everything on his plate. When he was done, I told him he’d earned another drink and headed for the bar.
Niamh was relaxed tonight. Her smile actually reached her eyes as she pulled the drinks. No prizes for guessing Colum and his morons weren’t in the pub. I was paying for the drinks when the pub door banged open and Aedan came in splattered with raindrops. He cast a wary eye around for Colum and his mates. When he didn’t see them, he relaxed and approached the bar. I smiled at him, making sure Niamh saw. There was a bandage on his head and bruises on his face.
“Hi Aedan, how you feeling?” I asked.
“I’m grand.”
“You look grand in those jeans.”
He blushed to the roots of his red hair. “Ah, thanks.” He turned to Niamh and ordered a pint.
Niamh wagged a finger at him as though he was being very naughty. “I heard you had a concussion. What would Dr. Gallagher say if I served you alcohol?” Apparently nobody saw the doctor in Dingaleen without the rest of the town finding out about it. “You’d best stick to soft drink tonight.”
Aedan was putty in her hands and immediately ordered an orange juice.
I brushed raindrops from his hair. “You’re wet.”
“The rain just started. Looks like it’s goin’ to be quite a storm.” Several people in the pub overheard him, drained their glasses and left. Worried about the pooka or getting wet? I glanced at Casper, interested in his opinion, but he hadn’t overheard our conversation. He was kind of slumped over, elbows on the table, head bowed staring into his empty glass. A storm—even if it included a visit by the pooka—was the least of his worries.
