Widdershins (13 page)

“Well, you cheered up,” Siobhan said as they were packing away their fiddles and whistles.

Lizzie nodded. “Hard not to. God, I love this music.”

“So what happened earlier?”

Lizzie glanced at where Andy was putting away his own instruments. Con was already at the merchandise table where a line had formed that was happily long and crowded. All four of them would man the merchandise table now so that folks could get their CDs autographed by the full band.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said. “We should go be famous.”

Siobhan laughed. That was their line for the momentary buzz they got from signing CDs.

“I’m going to put out a solo CD,” she told Lizzie, “so I’ll get to be even more famous than you.”

“I’ll put out two.”

“I’ll write a book as well—a tell-all revealing all your dirty secrets.”

“I need to have some first.”

Siobhan shrugged. “I’ll just make them up, then.”

“Make sure one of them includes Martin Hayes.”

“No way. I’m saving him for myself.”

Laughing, they joined the others at the merchandise table.

It took a while to get through the line that had formed, autographing CDs and answering questions, but a half-hour after they’d finished their last song and gotten down from the stage they were finally done. Andy and Con ordered whiskeys from the bar and took them to the table where Liam McNamara, the whistle player they’d met last night, was sitting. He’d returned this evening with a few friends, but only one of them, a fiddle player named Neil Flynn, had stayed in hopes of another after-hours session.

“You’re not heading off again, are you?” Andy asked Lizzie as the two women started to leave the bar.

“We’re just changing,” Siobhan assured him.

Lizzie nodded. “So, you can order us whiskeys, too.”

But the real reason they were going back to their room was because Siobhan couldn’t wait any longer to hear about Lizzie’s latest encounter with the fairy-tale world. They sat down on Lizzie’s bed, backs against the headboard, while Lizzie repeated her conversation with Grey in as much detail as she could manage. Siobhan was a stickler for the finer points of a story and kept interrupting to ask how Grey had looked when he said a certain thing, or had he used just
those
words?

“But in the end he said he liked the tunes you dedicated to him?” Siobhan asked when Lizzie was done.

Lizzie nodded.

“I think maybe he likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t give off that kind of energy,” Lizzie said. “I mean, he’s about as sexy as you can imagine, but he’s also got this wall up about anything that doesn’t relate to his own people. I get the sense he’s very insular.”

“With a big hate-on for Irish fairies.”

Lizzie gave a glum nod. “Although I don’t think it’s just Irish fairies. I think it’s for any kind that aren’t native to this part of the world.”

“Even the Indians emigrated here at one point.”

“I know. But apparently Grey’s ancestors were already here when the Indians arrived.”

“If not Grey himself.”

Lizzie gave her cousin a surprised look. “Do you think?”

“Well, fairies are supposed to be immortal, aren’t they?”

“I guess.”

Lizzie hadn’t considered that. Grey looked so much like a regular person, it wasn’t until he did something impossible—starting up her car with a laying on of hands, stepping away into nowhere—that she’d remember he was this magical being. He wasn’t like Walker with his antlers and deer head, which left no question as to what he was.

“Still, if he
has
been around that long,” Siobhan said, “that’s a long time to carry a feud.”

Lizzie smiled. “Like the Irish aren’t any better.”

“We have excellent reasons for our feuds.”

“Judging by these bogans I had the run-in with,” Lizzie said, “I think he’s got a pretty good reason, too. They really were horrible.”

Siobhan shrugged. “That doesn’t mean all fairies are going to be like that. There’s always good and bad, and consider the source. Of course Grey is going to resent them. People always resent something new, especially when that something new is taking their land or their jobs or whatever. Remember Pappy’s stories about what it was like when his dad moved the family from Ireland? There’d be signs up that said ‘No Irish,’ just like there were for the blacks. And while maybe some of the Irish
were
hooligans, he wasn’t a bad person.”

“I suppose.”

“There’s just a period of adjustment.”

“Except, apparently, this one’s been going on for a few hundred years. And I think it’s different from how it is with people. It’s not like fairies need jobs. And I get the sense that the whole concept of a homeland means a lot more to them than it does to human beings.”

“What about Ireland and the Middle East? And that’s just for starters.”

Lizzie shook her head. “That’s political. I think their idea of home runs a lot deeper.”

“Okay,” Siobhan said, laughing. “So down with all the nasty invading fairies, then. We should start putting up signs at our shows: ‘Fairies go home.’ Maybe we could make up T-shirts and bumper stickers.”

“I don’t think you should be saying stuff like that,” Lizzie said as she gave a worried look around the room. “Didn’t Pappy used to tell us that you’re only supposed to refer to them as the Good Neighbours—or something like that—and if you didn’t, you’d attract their unwelcome attention? And let me tell you, it can be pretty unwelcome. I don’t ever want to see those bogans again.”

“Do you think they’re watching us right now?”

“I don’t know. When they disappear, they go into some place called the between, but what does that mean? I’ll bet they can see us from there if they want to.”

“Now that’s just creepy,” Siobhan said.

Lizzie nodded. “I wish I hadn’t thought of it.”

They fell silent for a moment, then Siobhan got up from the bed.

“Well, screw them,” she said. “Let’s go join the boys for a whiskey and a few tunes.”

Lizzie followed her cousin out of the room, pausing in the doorway to look back inside. Were there really invisible presences watching them, listening to their conversation? Pappy’s stories were one thing, but having actually seen the bogans for herself . . . that put a whole new spin on how dangerous they could be.

“Are you coming?” Siobhan asked. “Or did you see someone interesting in there? Maybe tall, handsome, and Native?”

Lizzie glanced at where her cousin leaned against the wall, arms folded, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

“Hardly,” she said.

She shut the door and let Siobhan usher her down the stairs. Halfway down, Siobhan made a startled cry from behind her. Lizzie started to turn, but her cousin was already tumbling into her and the two fell down the remaining stairs. Lizzie managed to grab hold of the banister and banged up against the wall, shaken but unhurt. Siobhan wasn’t so lucky. She twisted as she fell and landed hard on her arm.

Lizzie got her balance and hurried down the last few steps to help her cousin.

“Ow, ow,
ow!”
Siobhan cried.

“Are you okay—no, that’s stupid. Of course you’re not okay. Can you sit up?”

After Lizzie helped her settle on a riser, Siobhan put a hand gingerly on her right arm and winced.

“Oh, god,” she said. “I think I broke my arm.”

“What happened?” Lizzie asked.

Siobhan glared up the stairs. “Someone pushed me.”

Lizzie followed her gaze, but the stairway was empty.

“There’s no one there,” she said.

“No one we can see, maybe. But I
felt
someone push me—some invisible piece of fairy shite. Ow. God, this hurts.”

“We have to get you to a hospital,” Lizzie said.

She gave another glance up the stairs, nervous now. Did she hear a fading echo of mean-spirited laughter?

“I don’t want to go to a hospital,” Siobhan said. “I want to pound in the face of the little shite who pushed me.”

But she let Lizzie help her to her feet and walk her into the bar.

They made no mention of invisible assailants when they told the others what had happened, leaving it at an unfortunate stumble on the stairs. Siobhan calmed down somewhat under the concerned attention she was getting, but her arm didn’t feel any better.

“I guess the nearest hospital’s in Tyson,” Andy said.

Liam nodded. “But I’ve got a friend who’s a doctor, and he lives here in town. He’ll have a look at her.”

“It’s almost two o’clock in the morning,” Lizzie said.

“It’s okay. Things are different in the country. We don’t follow rules and regs the same way you city folk do.”

“Oh, like you’re a country boy now,” his friend Neil said.

“Arm,” Siobhan said before Liam could respond. “Hurting a lot.”

“Have a whiskey,” Con told her, pushing the glass across the table to her.

Liam’s doctor friend didn’t seem particularly surprised to see the group of them show up on his front porch at such a late hour, though he did blink at them for a long moment. Standing barefoot in the doorway, in jeans with a T-shirt untucked, he didn’t look much like a doctor. However, once they explained the situation, he woke up and became all business. Forty-five minutes later, they were all back at the bar, sitting around the table with another round of whiskeys—this round on the house, the bar man assured them before going back to closing up for the night.

“What are we going to do?” Siobhan said.

She had her right arm in a sling and wore a miserable expression.

“Do about what?” Andy asked.

“Me. Not playing. The band. Keep up here, Andy.”

“We’ll make do till you get better,” Lizzie assured her.

“Yeah, you can work the merch table,” Con said.

That actually teased a faint smile from Siobhan.

“You’re willing to make that sacrifice?” she asked. Then she looked at the others. “The two fiddles is a big part of our sound—you know it’s what gets us the better gigs.”

“Plus the fiddlers are very cute,” Con put in.

She smiled at him. “Thank you for that. But you heard the doctor. I can’t play for weeks and we have a ton of gigs lined up, starting with the two shows we still have to play tomorrow. None of the people who’ve booked us are going to be very happy when we show up with only one fiddler and a new full-time merch table worker—” She glanced at Con. “—cute though they both may be.”

“So we’ll get someone to fill in till you’re able to play,” Andy said. “I’ll take a cut in my share of the pay so that we can afford it.”

Lizzie and Con both nodded in agreement.

That was the problem with the career that they’d chosen, Lizzie realized. In the best of circumstances, they made do and covered their expenses, and some months they even had a little left over to put in the bank. But they didn’t make enough that they could afford medical insurance or any kind of compensation coverage for a situation such as this.

“Who would we get?” Lizzie asked.

Because she knew just how hard it would be to replace her cousin. They’d played together for so long that there was an intuitive bond between them, almost as though one musician was playing on two instruments. They traded harmonies at the drop of the hat, jumped tunes, or even keys, without having to warn the other.

Siobhan turned to Liam’s friend Neil. “You play the fiddle, don’t you?”

“Don’t look at me,” he said, holding up his hands. “There’s no way I could keep up with you guys.”

“So, who
do
we know that could keep up?” Andy asked.

“Who doesn’t already have a gig,” Siobhan put in.

They all fell silent.

“What about Geordie?” Con said finally.

Andy gave him a surprised look. “Geordie Riddell?”

“Unless there’s another local fiddler named Geordie.”

“No, it’s just . . . he’d be booked for months, wouldn’t he?”

Con shook his head. “I guess you don’t know him that well. He’s got this weird thing about commitment, so he really only does pickup gigs.”

Siobhan gave him a surprised look. “But he’s been in lots of bands. I can’t count the times I’ve seen him around town.”

“But they’re never bands that tour,” Con said. “Or at least, he doesn’t tour with them.”

“Then why would he play with us?” Lizzie asked.

“I don’t know that he will, or can. But since it’s just a fill-in gig, there’s a good chance he’ll do it. We could get him to play with us tomorrow, without mentioning the rest of our gigs. If it goes well, we can ask him then. If not, well, we’ve got five days to find another replacement before our next gig.”

The other band members exchanged glances.

“I’d love to play with him,” Lizzie said.

Siobhan gave a glum nod. “Me, too.”

“He’d know all the tunes,” Andy said. “Amy told me once that unless you write the tune just before you play it for him, he probably already knows it.”

“And he
would
know it by the time you’ve gone through it a couple of times,” Con said. “So, what do you think? Should I ask him?”

The rest of the band nodded their agreement.

“Then I’ll call him first thing in the morning,” Con said.

He lifted his whiskey and the others followed suit, clinking the glasses against each other.

“No offense,” Liam said to Siobhan, “but this is going to be sweet. If you guys can get him to play, I mean.”

Siobhan shrugged. “At least I’ll get to
hear
some great music.”

It wasn’t until they were alone again in their room that the two women addressed what had really happened in the stairway.

“Oh, I’m sure I was pushed,” Siobhan said in response to Lizzie’s question. “I could feel the hands on the small of my back just before they gave me a shove.”

They both looked nervously around the room.

“This is all my fault,” Lizzie said.

“Oh, right.”

“No, it is. I’m the one who got involved with them in the first place and that’s gone and brought you to their attention.”

“Mouthing off.”

Lizzie shrugged. “They’d probably never even have heard you if they weren’t already spying on me.”