He lifted his head from where the was studying the engine to look at her.

“Not permanently,” he said.

He put his hand on the manifold and the engine coughed, then started up. Lizzie stared at the car. The motor seemed to be running more smoothly than it had in years.

“What did you just do?” she asked as he closed the hood.

He gave her a thin smile. “Now that was magic. It’ll hold until you get to wherever you’re going so long as you don’t turn the engine off.”

“But—”

“Where were you headed?”

“I was on my way to Newford from Sweetwater, but maybe I should go back if the car’s not really fixed.”

No, it had been magicked and what did that mean, anyway? Hopefully, she’d already fallen asleep in the back of the car and was dreaming all of this. Maybe she’d never left the bar. Maybe she was actually sleeping upstairs in the room she was supposed to be sharing with her cousin Siobhan. Except, could you know you were dreaming if you were dreaming?

“What’s in Sweetwater?” the stranger asked.

“A gig. We played at the Custom House tonight, and we’re supposed to play again tomorrow night and Sunday.”

He nodded. “I’d take your car to the garage at the corner of Willis and the highway, just after you’ve come into town. They’re cheap and they do good work.”

“I will.”

“So you’re a musician? What kind of music do you play?”

“Celtic stuff—you know, jigs and reels, a few songs. We also do some original material.”

Although the moon was bright enough to see by, she couldn’t read much on his face. His features were too still. But she got the sense he disapproved. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t like her.

“Get into a fix like this again,” he said, “and you should try whistling some of that music. Even bogans are suckers for anything that reminds them of their homeland.”

“You called them that before. What are bogans?”

“A kind of fairy. You people brought them with you when you came in your big ships. Bogans and every kind of fairy freak.”

Lizzie knew that a lot of Native Americans harboured a grudge against Europeans, and rightly so, she supposed, all things considered. So she thought she understood his anger. But all this talk of fairies didn’t make any kind of sense.

“Fairies,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. And as you can see, they’re not all tiny little things living in flowers and sipping nectar from acorn cups.”

“But—”

“I’ve got to go. Your car’ll get you back to Sweetwater. Just remember: don’t turn it off until you’re actually at the garage because it won’t start again until they fix it.”