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Prologue
Ireland, present day
“This isn’t how I envisioned present-day Ireland,” said the nerd at the table.
Dermot Stone wished he would quit talking. Every moment Dermot had to spend responding was one less moment available for the task of getting shit-faced drunk.
“So what were you envisioning?” asked the other guy, Greg something. A lawyer.
The nerd shrugged and took another drink of Guinness. “I don’t know. More people wearing green, I guess. A few more redheaded wee Irish lasses. Where are the pet leprechauns?”
Dermot really needed to switch tables. He was far from sober himself, but at least alcohol didn’t turn him into a babbling idiot. He sighed and looked around the wedding reception. A huge number of people, probably hundreds, having themselves a grand old time and here he was sitting at a table with a lawyer and an intoxicated nerd. Wonderful.
Greg the Lawyer took a sip from his beer, grimacing a bit. The guy clearly wasn’t a drinker. “So, Zev, are you here for the bride or groom?” he asked the nerd.
“The bride. Tami’s an ex-girlfriend.”
That caught Dermot’s attention. “Really?”
“Yeah. We were together for about a month when she was living in the states.”
“She was my nanny,” said Dermot. “I lost my virginity to her.”
“Your nanny?” asked Greg. “How old are you?”
“Never mind,” said Dermot, immediately wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. “It’s a long story.”
“Yeah, but you’re, what, early thirties? She’s gotta be about your age, maybe even younger.” Greg started to count on his fingers.
“It’s not important.” It was definitely time to steer the conversation away from himself. “What about you? Are you here for the bride or groom?”
“Groom. But I did sleep with the bride.”
“All three of us slept with Tami?” asked Zev. “That’s a pretty big coincidence.”
“Well, I don’t mean to show disrespect for the bride on her wedding day,” said Greg, “but it’s not all that big of a coincidence, if you know what I mean.”
The men all nodded.
“I want to hear more about the nanny thing,” said Zev. “I bet she sure as hell didn’t have to fight to get you in bed by nine.”
Greg laughed. “Yeah, I have to say, I really got ripped off in the babysitter allocation. If I was good, all I got was a Popsicle.”
“Maybe he wasn’t so good.”
“We were talking about leprechauns earlier,” said Dermot, desperately trying to change the subject. “Have you ever tried to catch one?”
“No, not recently,” said Zev.
“I know how. Want to try?”
“Now?” asked Greg.
“Sure. It’s not like this reception doesn’t suck.”
“I know I could use an extra pot o’ gold,” said Zev.
“We all could. Let’s go.”
* * * * *
“Heeeeeeeeere leprechaun!” shouted Zev, as they trudged through the woods. “Here, leper, leper, leper!”
“Please shut up,” Dermot requested.
“I think I see one,” said Greg. “Hand me the lantern! Oh, no, wait, it was just a couple of ogres and a troll.”
“Catching a leprechaun is serious business,” said Dermot. “If we do see one, don’t grab it. He’ll just vanish. And he’ll do everything he can to trick you, so don’t let yourself be fooled. Let me do the talking.”
“Are we lost?” asked Zev. “I think we’re lost.”
“We’ve been walking for two minutes. You can still see the lights from the party.”
“Oh. I’ve never been a big forest kind of guy. Give me a good meadow any day.”
Dermot ignored the nerd and continued walking. Even though the leprechaun hunt had been an elaborate method of changing the subject, he had to admit that he was now genuinely excited to be out here. He would never admit it to these idiots, but he truly did believe in leprechauns and other such magic, and if only he could find…
“Does anybody know any good Irish songs?” asked Zev.
“‘When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,’“ Greg suggested.
