Night of the Dark Horse (An Allegra Fairweather Mystery) (6 page)

“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 anything 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.

Colum led me through fields, around hedgerows, over stone walls and stiles. He had the advantage of knowing the terrain, but I was fitter and faster. It wasn’t long before I was closing the gap between us. I could hear Colum’s labored breathing. He was tiring. Soon I’d catch him and...

Was I close enough to bring him down with a flying tackle? I’d almost decided to chance it when I caught sight of movement from the corner of my eye.

Too late I realized Colum had led me away from the village on purpose. The other two guys hadn’t gone off in random directions, either. They had circled around and were now coming at me from left and right. Ahead of me, Colum stopped running, turned suddenly and stood his ground.

They cornered me in a field away from the road, away from houses. My heartbeat ramped up. Should I run? I was faster than they were. I could’ve escaped, but that would’ve let Colum off the hook. I chose to stand and fight. It’s the only thing bullies understand.

“Bring it, tough guys,” I taunted, fists raised.

Colum taunted right back. “Think ya pretty smart, don’t ya. But ya walked right into my trap. Eejit!”

I was glad the fading twilight hid my embarrassment. My instinct was to rush at him, but I stood meekly, waiting for the moment when all three were within striking distance. I wondered whether Casper would make one of his eleventh hour appearances, and knew I couldn’t count on it.

“Here’s what’s goin’ t’ happen,” said Colum. “Yer goin’ t’ leave Dingaleen. Not tomorrow. Not in half an hour. Right now.”

Did he think I’d scare that easily? The pooka had already warned me off the case and it was a whole lot scarier than this guy.

“Who’s gonna make me?” I said.

Colum yelled to his mates. “Davin. Eamon. Get her.”

“You want us to hit a girl?” squeaked Davin.

Colum sneered, “Yer soundin’ like a pussy, mate.”

Davin looked at me uncertainly. Should he hit this girl? Should he refuse and risk Colum’s wrath? He wavered for only a moment then the decision was made.

Davin and Eamon didn’t come at me one at a time like bad guys in movies. They rushed me together. My fist connected with Davin’s jaw. My kick sent Eamon sprawling. Davin recovered and came at me again. I sent him away with a bloody nose. Two down, one to go.

I looked around for the main danger, but Colum was nowhere in sight. Typical coward running off and letting his henchmen do the hard work. Davin and Eamon were both groaning. Not badly hurt—I’d gone easy on them—but they’d given up the fight. Their hearts weren’t in it now Colum had deserted.

“Take this as a warning,” I said. “Tell Colum to leave me alone.”

I turned away heading across the field to the road. I’d gone no more than a few steps when Colum sucker punched me. I went down.

Through the ringing in my ear, I heard Eamon say, “She’s not movin’.”

“Feckin’ hell,” said Davin. “You’ve killed her.”

“She’s still breathin’,” said Colum, as his mates started to back away. “She’s got balls, that one.” I took that as a compliment, although I was sure he hadn’t meant it that way.

When Colum realized his mates weren’t going to hang around, he stared into my half-closed eyes. “Leave Dingaleen.”

For once I was smart enough not to tell a bad guy to fuck off. I lay still until their voices faded away. The world spun as I got to my feet. It took a while to get my bearings and find my way back to the road, where I’d left the car. And Aedan.

He was leaning against the car talking to the old Chinese guy I’d seen on my jog the night before. When the old guy caught sight of me, he inclined his head in acknowledgement then walked silently away.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Tourist,” said Aedan. “He offered to take me to a doctor, but I insisted on waiting for you.”

“How you doing?” I lifted the T-shirt he held to his head and checked the gash. Still bleeding way too much. I shouldn’t have left him to chase Colum. So stupid. What had it achieved? Exactly nothing.

Aedan took a closer look my face. “Did Colum do that?”

“Lucky punch. Does it look bad?”

“Not so bad.” Then he muttered, “Feckin’ Colum hittin’ a woman.”

“Trust me, this woman hit back.” Shame I hadn’t actually hit Colum, but Aedan didn’t need to know how he’d tricked me.

Aedan raised his clenched fist. “Colum will pay for this.” So cheesy, but I appreciated the sentiment.

“Better get you patched up before you take on Colum,” I said. “Where does that doctor live?”

“His name is Dr. Gallagher.”

“Right, and his address?”

“The Lane, where old Deirdre Flynn lives.”

It was only a couple of blocks away, but Aedan was in no condition to walk. I opened the car door. “Get in and don’t forget to buckle your seatbelt.” I wasn’t taking any chances with him.

Thankfully the car had only suffered minor damage when I ran off the road. It started immediately.

I drove in silence until he said, “Stop here. This is Doctor G’s place.”

The doctor and his wife were watching TV, but he seemed happy to abandon his soap opera for a patient. Although he had retired several years earlier, he was used to treating people in emergencies. Just as well, because there were no other doctors in the village. Aedan insisted on him checking me out too.

I protested, “Really, there’s no need, I’m fine.”

Dr. Gallagher told me, in the nicest possible way, to shut up and let him do his thing. He wanted me to go for an X-ray, and though I promised to do it in the morning, I was so lying. My face was fine...except for the nagging pain. But I could deal. I got off a lot lighter than Aedan, who needed stitches in his head.

I did score a prescription for Mrs. Gallagher’s tea, which would apparently make me feel a whole lot better.

At first I declined, but Mrs. Gallagher, with her frizzy gray hair and soothing manner, wouldn’t take no for an answer. She soon had me settled in a fat armchair holding a delicate porcelain cup and saucer. Gold-rimmed, lilac floral pattern—the kind you’d expect Elizabeth Bennett to use when she wasn’t busting Mr. Darcy’s balls.

“Biscuit?” offered Mrs. Gallagher. “They’re choc-chip.”

Mmm, my favorite, except I called them cookies. What’s in a name, right? They’d taste as good in any language.

Mrs. Gallagher folded her neat, if a bit saggy body, into the twin of my chair and inhaled the aroma from her own cup. “Excuse my dressin’ gown. Declan and I like to get comfortable in the evenings. Old age, you know,” she added, as though getting older was no big deal. “Would it be impolite to ask how your case is goin’? Sure, I understand some things are confidential, but I’m intrigued by the life of a paranormal investigator. Do you specialize in pookas?”

“I handle all kinds of paranormal problems.” I didn’t want to tell her this was my first genuine Irish pooka. Of course, I’d handled other shapeshifters.

Mrs. Gallagher might be the wrong side of seventy but she was sharp as a werewolf’s teeth. “Your first?” she guessed correctly. “Sure, you’ve a heavy load to shoulder. This pooka will not be easy to tame.”

“I’ve faced worse,” I said, thinking of Ignatio, the evil spirit of a Spanish Inquisition torturer. The very one who was responsible for Casper’s current weakness.

“You look as though you could do with another cuppa,” said Mrs. Gallagher. When I declined she peered at me through silver-rimmed glasses. “You look tired. Go on, go home. We’ll take care of Aedan.” She patted my shoulder with her small gnarled hand. “Don’t feel too bad about the accident. Sure, it wasn’t your fault. Some people are born unlucky. Aedan is one of them. The villagers used to talk about him being cursed. It’s understandable they’d look for a way to explain bad luck, but the truth is there’s no explanation. I’ve been wed to a doctor for fifty years. I know better than most that bad things happen to the best people. Don’t you worry about Aedan. We’ll keep him here tonight and make sure he gets home safe in the mornin’.”

“If only I could change his luck.” I thought of my wish-pebbles and wondered whether changing Aedan’s luck would fall under Padraig’s description of a wish that was too lavish.

Mrs. Gallagher was more pragmatic than me. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could change things just by wishin’. But that’s not a place for healthy minds to wander.
What
if
?
If
only
... Pah! Worst words in the English language.”

“You’re a wise woman, Mrs. Gallagher.”

“And you’re a smart one. I’m glad the fate of Dingaleen is in your hands.”

“No pressure, then.”

She smiled as though she thought I could handle the pressure just fine.

It was a relief to leave Aedan in their care. Mrs. Gallagher had been right about one thing. I was tired. Bone weary. I’d planned to head right back to Ronan’s but when I saw the lights were on in Liam’s house, I just had to stop by and ask a few questions.

My knock was answered by a pretty woman. She was slim for someone in her early forties and had golden hair just like the twin girls who hovered behind her.

“Go back to your homework,” she instructed. They obeyed faster than Stepford wives.

Before I could ask to speak to Liam, she said, “Allegra Fairweather, isn’t it?”

“Mrs. O’Reilly?” She confirmed it, but didn’t tell me her first name. I guess she didn’t want us bonding or anything. “Nice to meet you.” I was so sucking up.

“Are you here to question me? It’s only fair to warn you I don’t believe in the paranormal.”

“And yet you call your son a changeling,” I said.

“Obviously we know Liam’s human. We’re not crazy. But he’s such a strange kid—talking to himself, always running away, and—well, frankly he’s not very good at school. We got into the habit of calling him a changeling. It was a joke at first, but when the girls came along...well, they’re so well behaved. The school has classified them both as gifted and there’s talk of them skipping a grade. Even as babies they hardly cried. Liam was always a challenge.”

“Would it be okay if I spoke with him?”

“As part of your investigation?”

“He might have information about the pooka.”

“You don’t seriously believe a pooka has been calling people to ride?”

Had she been living under a rock? The whole village was talking about the pooka. Trying not to sound too incredulous, I said, “You think the pooka is fiction?”

“Of course it’s fiction. Sure, and I know the villagers have seen something, but it’s most likely a horse escaped from a farm. At night, people imagine all sorts of things.”

“Like nostrils snorting fire.”

“Exactly. It’s possible to have too much imagination.” She looked at me as though I was a prime candidate for that.

Ignoring her intended insult, I asked again, “Can I speak with Liam?”

“No.”

Would I take no for an answer? Not in this lifetime.

“This is really important, Mrs. O’Reilly. Whether you believe in the pooka or not, people have been injured. It’s only a matter of time before someone dies. Liam might have information that will lead me to the—um—wild horse,” I said, using language she’d be sure to understand. “When I stop the horse, no one else gets hurt. Including your family.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“The only threat to you is from the poo—the wild horse.”

“Mum,” called one of the golden-haired twins. “We’ve finished our maths homework. Can we do some history now?”

These kids were how old? They looked about five, but maybe they were small for their age.

“Be there in a minute,” called Mrs. O’Reilly. She began to shut the door in my face.

“Not so fast,” I said, forcing it open. “About Liam...”

She sighed and glanced over her shoulder to the room where the girls were studying. “Liam’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s run off again. There’s no telling when he’ll be home.”

I repeated, “Where is he?”

“If we knew that, we’d have brought him home, wouldn’t we? He might be a naughty boy, but we always do our best for him.”

Struggling to remain patient, I asked, “Where are his favorite places?”

“He likes Pebbly Creek and those hills near the oak at the triple fork in the road. I think there are caves up there. Sometimes he stays out all night. We can’t control him.” Her composure almost slipped, but she pulled herself together. “If you find him I’d rather you didn’t speak with him about the paranormal. Filling his head with that nonsense will only make him more unmanageable.”