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I held Mam’s elbow until the last mourner said their goodbyes.

“We’ll be seeing you, laddie.” Eamon tipped his flat cap and climbed into the luxurious backseat of Storey’s vehicle.

Calla and Storey? I wasn’t expecting that. Polly’s conversation floated through my mind—one plus one equals two, and simple logic couldn’t be denied. “It’s about time the boy settled down.” Polly’s voice brimmed with excitement in the kitchen of Mam’s house—something about Storey and a big announcement. I punched the accelerator, passing the Silver Phantom on the next straightaway. One glimpse through the rearview mirror showed Calla’s pretty face in animated conversation.

“Do you have to drive so fast, Colm?” Mam clenched her hands together.

“Put the peddle to the metal, Uncle Colm.” Connor jumped up and down in the backseat, grinning like a mad hatter.

“Yes, Mam.” I took my foot off the gas and coasted down the big hill, making a sharp turn at the diamond and gliding to a stop in my brother’s driveway.

“Connor, help Maimeó from the car.” I gave the rambunctious hallion a job, which he performed admirably.

“Let me help.” The boy hooked his elbow around hers, leading his Maimeó down the sidewalk.

Brake lights flashed, and Storey stepped out of his vehicle. He circled the luxury car, opening the passenger door. She slipped her delicate hand into his, rising into his waiting arms. An aura glittered around her, like black diamonds falling from the night sky. She threw her arms around his neck, pecking his cheek with a playful kiss.

Wrapped in silence mere moments ago, the street came alive. Like bees at the hive, the gathering crowd swarmed their queen. Passing cars honked their horns, and the butcher’s dog howled.

Her face turned pink.

Wee Connor stood on the sidewalk, strumming his ukelele for the admiring crowd.

Her aura glimmered stronger today than yesterday, yet she seemed oblivious to the glamor surrounding her—what it was or what to do with it.

I spent last night trying to solve the puzzle, but it was not until I held her hand in mine that the pieces fell into place. She was innocent—the terror in her eyes confirmed that.

Calla Sweet could only be a halfling fathered by one of the Aos Sí , the mystical beings of Irish folklore. The Irish believed that magical folk interacted with mortals—it wasn’t hard to imagine the rest.

Her return to Ireland was a mistake. The consequences were dire. How long before the wrong people took note? If her heritage were discovered, she would be taken—studied like a lab rat in a cage—all in the name of science. Even more terrifying, she would be exploited by those seeking to misuse her magical abilities. A pang of guilt flowed over me. Was I no better than them? I had sought her out for my benefit, for Ciarán’s.

My heart stilled. Whoever sent her away as a babe knew the truth. But someone or something had engineered her return. My eyelids fell for a brief second. Accusing her of being a Bean Sídhe was the wrong approach. I had not intended to scare her.

My cousin—a complication I had not anticipated.

“Uncle Storey, can I ride in your car?” Connor ran ahead, tugging Storey’s hand, beaming up at him.

“You bet, mate. We’ll take her for a spin a little later. Just you and me.” He mussed Connor’s hair, then held the door to Pete’s Pub open for Calla. They entered together.

Voices rang, welcoming Storey home. I listened intently, waiting for the impending announcement. Suppose he was her man, well, good on her. I couldn’t compete with his likes. Expensive clothes and flashy cars were not me. I preferred the low-brow approach, which easily fit in with the local punters. I settled onto the bar stool, intending to lash down a few pints. Refusing to admit, that woman gutted me.

“You’re about the right age for my grandson, no? He’s off to college in the United States on a full scholarship.” Old Eamon walked ahead, leaning on his shillelagh.

“Sit with us, Eamon.” Storey offered him the bench seat against the wall at a cozy table for three. “What can I get you? Whisky? A pint?”

It struck me odd that he didn’t ask her what she would like. I looked away. What had she said earlier? Get a life. Live your best life.

“I bet he has a lot of girlfriends.” Calla gave Eamon her full attention.

“Here we are. Whisky for you, Eamon.” Storey sat in the chair opposite Calla.

The server followed him, balancing a platter in one hand, whisky neat, and two glasses of rosé wine.

“Aye, he’s a right handsome lad.” Eamon smoothed his charcoal blazer with his free hand, black bifocals resting on the end of his nose.

“I think I’m too old, Eamon.” Her smile dazzled the room.

“Aye? No. I don’t believe it. You’re what, sixteen, seventeen?” He nudged the plastic frames with his forefinger.

“I turned twenty-nine last week.” She cranked up the charm, laughing silver bells.

“You look like you can sing. Aye, well, now. What am I saying? You sang at the burial.” He tipped his glass toward her.

“It was an honor.” She lowered her eyelashes, her stare finding me.

Heat crept up my neck. I pretended to have a conversation with the bartender.

“You probably are not aware that we don’t use all the alphabet letters in the Irish language?” Eamon raised his glass once more.

“No.” She worried her lip and then returned her attention to Eamon.

“Aye, you’ll never find j, k, q, v, w, x, y, or z. Our language comes from the old Ogham alphabet. You’ll sometimes see runes inscribed in the odd fence post thereabouts.” He stared deeply into her eyes.

“It must be hard to learn.” She sipped her wine. Her attention belonged to Eamon alone.

“Aye, that it is. Do you hear that one over there?” He lifted his bushy eyebrows, jutting his chin toward the barber’s wife sitting at the bar. “You hear her before you see her. We call her noisy. Talk your ear off, that one.”

“What do you do for fun, Eamon?” She laughed, the cadence of her voice reaching over the din, touching me, folding over me.

I lapped up every intonation, her every expression. My thoughts scattered, and I knew I had lost. I ordered a whisky from the busy server.

“Woot. Woot. Eamon, sing us a song.” Someone shouted, noticing Eamon in the crowd.

“They say I suck all the fun out of the room. Aye, I do.” Eamon murmured to Calla and rose to the floor.

The place quieted, and all eyes turned toward Eamon. He sang of heart and country, blood-stained valleys and mud-soaked hills, his low voice consuming every breathing soul. He bowed his head for a moment of silence, and when he lifted his eyes, it was with a smile. “And now, how about a nice round of happy birthday for Ardara’s newest resident? The lovely Calla, with the voice of the angels.”

Her birthday? She hadn’t mentioned that, but why would she? We were not exactly friends. I pondered how many more birthdays she might celebrate, how immortality would affect a halfling like her. These were intricacies I knew nothing about.

Storey whispered in low tones something about long-term investments and hedge funds.

“Here you go, luv.” The server set a glass before me.

Eamon started the celebratory song. Faces turned, and voices rose. Wee Connor strummed his ukelele out of rhythm and off-key. Voices joined in, happy for something to celebrate. Everyone clapped.

“Thank you.” She offered an exaggerated curtsey to the crowd.

I imagined what kissing her would feel like. The top of her tousled head would tickle my chin. I would run my fingers down her slender arms, relishing in the honeyed softness of her skin. She would gaze into my eyes, wanting me as I wanted her. I studied her clunky white running shoes. Why would an otherworldly being be interested in a chancer like me? I threw back the shot and ordered another.

She whispered to Connor and then faced the crowd. “This young man would like to play a song.” She placed her hands on Connor’s hips, lifting the young fella onto the bar top. He strummed the first stanzas of “It’s a Beautiful World,” and a hush fell.

She sang out, her voice kissing every corner, enchanting every soul. I straightened in my seat, my gaze glued to the boy. He plucked each string as if touched by an angel himself. Her magic flowed through her fingertips into wee Connor, gifting him with newfound grace. Connor’s mother spoke to Breda, and Breda breathed to Polly.

Calla returned to her table, unaware of what she had done. Connor remained, kicking his legs, strumming the sweetest strains imaginable.

I looked into the shadows and found what I searched for—Da’s spirit threading through the crowd. I lifted my glass.

“Join us for a pint, bro?” Tadgh placed his brawny hand on my shoulder, tearing me from my fantasy.

“What?” I murmured, gazing into his wide blue eyes.

“Colm, will ye come by? Play a game, won’t ye?” Oisin yelled, calling me into the billiard room.

I slid from the bar stool, intent on stealing a look at the Faerie girl. Did Storey know what she was? Someone would have to tell him.

Oisin’s brow furrowed when I met his stare.

“What’s the bet, then?” I removed my suit jacket and tie, unbuttoned the top three buttons of my starched shirt, and rolled up the sleeves.

“Rounds. What else?” Cillian laughed.

“Aye. You break then.” I selected a cue, unable to shut out Calla’s silvery voice. It followed me around the pool table, echoing in my mind with every shot.

The server balanced six pints of the Black Stuff on a silver platter. Cillian dumped a handful of change into the tip jar. I added twenty euros to the mix.

“Brilliant shot, mate.” Tadgh held up the back wall, commenting on the bank shot.

The boys cranked it up, tossing back their pints and ordering another round.

“Right corner.” I shot the cue ball off the left bank, sinking the eight ball and winning the game.

“Deadly. Who’ll play the champ?” Oisin lifted my arm high into the air.

“I’ll play you, Colm O’Donnell.” The queen of the night glided across the room. Her fragrance hit me first, a warm, citrusy scent crafted to lure her victim.

I met her gaze and drowned in limpid silver pools.

“You know her?” Oisin’s eyes popped out of his head.

“This is my brother, Oisin.” I stumbled over my words—so much for playing it cool.

“Was it you who ran my sheep from the road?” Oisin’s eyes glazed over, captivated by her charms.

“Yes, it was. I’m so sorry.” Her voice unlocked the spell, and Oisin returned to himself.

“Ach, no worries. The damn beasts get me into all sorts of trouble. Just glad you’re all right, lass.” He nodded his head, handing Calla his cue.

“There’s Cillian, Hugh Jr., and Tadgh.” I pointed at the three brothers leaning against the back wall.

“Hello.” Her gaze flickered from one to the other, acknowledging them.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday.” I gazed at the Faerie girl because that’s what she was. Was I enchanted? Captivated? I was all of those things.

“Are you ready to lose, Mr. O’Donnell?” She chalked the tip, then blew dust fragments through the stale air, enchanting the room.

“Aye, she’s good craic.” Oisin chuckled, a wave of heat filling his face.

Her eyes bored into mine, setting my heart on fire and my nerves tingling. ‘Tingle,’ a word not part of my vocabulary.

“G’wan, ya hoor, there’s a fiver in it for ye.” Tadgh nudged my elbow, offering a bet.

“He’s got it bad, aye?” Pádraig sallied forth, offering a tray of chocolate-covered scones. “Hello, Sweetheart. I’m Pádraig, the most talented O’Donnell brother. Did we meet the other day?”

“From across the road. I’ve heard all about your sticky buns.” She winked, sending Pádraig into a fit of chuckles. She took a bite of the flaky delight, closing her eyelids and murmuring her enjoyment. “This is amazing.”

“Are you married? Not for me, mind. There are several eligible bachelors in the room.” Pádraig turned his eyes toward me.

“Nope, not married.” She twirled one cascading lock behind her ear. “Would you like to break?”

“You go ahead.” I nodded toward the table, unable to keep my thoughts straight.

She tapped her fingers and then, without hesitation, bent at the waist and lined up her shot. She thwacked the cue ball, sending stripes and solids flying in all directions, sinking two solid balls in the corner pockets.

"Deadly." Oisin’s face showed a blend of wonder and fear.

Cillian nudged Tadgh.

Pádraig placed his platter of sweets on a nearby table.

She circled, the hem of her dress swishing with every turn of her hips. She languished, resting the cue on the curve of an uplifted thumb while sinking one solid ball after another.

I scratched my forehead, studying all the striped balls decorating the green felt.

“Game shot.” Pádraig shuffled across the floor, gaining a better view.

The eight ball sat in a precarious position, blocked by two striped balls.

“Impressive.” I circled the table, eyeing up the difficult shot.

“Easy peasy, hurling boy.” She chalked the cue one more time.

Pádraig snickered, his face beaming like the second coming of Christ.

Oisin whistled.

Cillian slapped his thigh.

I watched the way her lower lip shifted to the left. The way she had blinked before every shot.

“Left corner pocket, lads.” She pointed her cue. Tilting her chin, she gave me a teasing smile, then drew back, driving the white ball into the cushion, making the most spectacular-looking bank shot I had ever witnessed.

Hollers and shouts broke the silence the moment the black ball disappeared into the left corner pocket.

“Thanks for the game, boys.” She moistened her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, then slid away.

I took my hands out of my pockets, picked up my pride, and followed her.

“Where’d you learn to play?” The frog in my throat croaked sincere congratulations.

“I’m good at a lot of things.” Sparkles danced in her eyes, but she didn’t elaborate.

“I’m sure you are.” I extended my arm, leaning on the doorway, stalling for time.

“What’s wrong, buttercup? You don’t look like you’re having much craic.” Her words whispered over me.

She was a temptress, that Faerie girl.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I knew what defeat looked like. I took one last look at that enchantress.

"Pardon?" She challenged me to express the obvious to everyone.

“Your Storey’s wan.” I nodded toward my cousin, who seemed oblivious to Calla’s presence. It made sense: the playful kiss, the hug, and the big announcement Polly was so excited to share.

“I’m what?” Her smile teased me.

“I’m not na?ve, Calla.” The trusting fool seemed oblivious to Calla’s whereabouts. If she were mine…the thought played with my mind before I could shut it out.

“Storey and me?” She handed me the pool cue, a smile teasing her lips. “You need to work on your game, buttercup. Rounds on Colm O’Donnell.” She lifted her chin, making an announcement for all to hear. Her voice rang out as she floated away, her graceful swish daring me to follow.

My pride, the only thing I had left, stopped me.

I observed my cousin from afar, studying his movements and enthusiastic conversation with the barkeep. I should rise above my disappointment and congratulate him. Fair play to him. I should, but I failed to do so. I weaved toward the empty bar stool.

“Such a nice send-off for him, aye?” Breda handed me a foaming pint of the Black Stuff.

“Aye. Thanks.” A cloud hung heavy over my head, and I wallowed in it.

“Don’t thank me. This is your treat.” Breda tugged my sleeve. “It was nice to see Eamon get up and sing. Did you notice his hands shake?”

“Aye.” I took a long sip of the tall blonde in a black dress, one of many I would drown tonight. Tomorrow, I would share my concerns with Storey.

“Colm? What’s wrong?” She prodded.

“Things aren’t what they seem, Breda.” I took another long pull.

“What things, Colm?” She gazed into my eyes. “Are you having visions again? You don’t look good.”

“No.” I tossed Breda my car keys, settling in for the next round or two or three. She owed me one.

“Let’s talk about it.” She planted her palm on my forehead.

Dear Breda, she deserved better.

“No.” I caught the server’s eye for another refill.

“Touchy. Touchy. Well, I’ll leave you to it, aye?” Breda left me to drown in my sorrows.

I couldn’t say I blamed her.

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