“A word of warning,” Con added as we went through the front door. “Lizzie’s gone all superstitious ever since Siobhan took her fall last night and is insisting we wear these little good-luck charms she’s made up for us. She’ll probably have one for you, as well.”

He indicated something pinned to the front of his shirt, but turned away before I could have a real look at it. And then it got busy with the other band members showing up and Eddie coming from a back room to give both Geordie and me a hug. Eddie was the same jovial, balding man I remembered from years ago, and though I wasn’t surprised he remembered Geordie—Geordie’s played here a kazillion times, after all—I was surprised that he remembered me, too.

“Are you staying the night?” he asked.

Geordie and I looked at each other.

“I’m game if you are,” I told him.

Eddie beamed when Geordie said we would.

“I love it,” he said. “It’ll be like old times, except there’s no way you’re talking me into swimming again. Not in the Kickaha in March.”

“You seemed to like it the last time,” Geordie said.

“No, that was the whiskey that liked it. I came down with a cold that lasted three weeks.”

“How about if we say ‘pretty please’?” I asked.

“Don’t you dare go all puppy-eyed on me,” he said, his voice stern, his eyes twinkling. “You know I can’t say no to those eyes of yours.”

I guess he really did remember me, because I was the one who’d actually sweet-talked him into playing polar bear that March afternoon a few years ago. In my own defense, I’d been more than a little tipsy at the time. We all had been.

He checked us into a room with twin beds and then, after introductions were made with the rest of the band, we all trooped into the bar and commandeered a table by the window. Or at least they all trooped. I was a little slower, and Lizzie dropped back to walk with me. My gaze went to the front of the black fleece vest she was wearing and took in the little twig she had sewn onto the fabric with a length of red thread.

“Having fairy trouble?” I asked.

She paused and got this strange look, part embarrassed, part guilty. I stopped with her, leaning on my canes.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Con told us you were having everybody wear charms, and that looks like a rowan twig.”

“God, of course,” she said, and it was like a little light went on behind her eyes. “You’re that Jilly Coppercom.”