Free Night of the Dark Horse (An Allegra Fairweather Mystery) by Janni Nell Page A

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.