Pat searched his parents’ faces for signs of suppressed laughter or incipient madness.

“All right,” he said carefully, in case they became violent. “Our family is descended from the oldest of the Irish. Interesting. Are you saying that we’re part of the sidh? Don’t you think that’s a bit odd, seeing as they’re mythical?”

“They’re not a myth,” Eileen stated. “A legend. There’s a big difference.”

Michael leaned over and put a hand on Pat’s arm. “We should have told you, son, but we’ve tried so hard to fit in. We put our money in banks, instead of burying it. No one in the family has soled a shoe in decades. America was a new start for us. It’s not as though it was easy for our kind here in Ireland, forced to work for the Tuatha, hunted by men for our gold, and,” he faltered, “and by other things.”

Something finally connected in Pat’s brain. He leaned back in the chair and started to laugh.

“You had me going there,” he told them. “You and that girl with the vanishing trick. You can’t be serious. You want me to believe we’re leprechauns?”

Michael drew himself up. “And why not?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“We taught you to be proud of your heritage,” Eileen added. “None of us married out for four generations in America and four hundred in Ireland. Teresa was right; we should have taught you the charms. But we thought you were charming enough on your own.”

She smiled fondly and stood up, brushing her hands on her swirling peasant skirt.

“Well, now that you know, shall we get back to the group? There’s a seminar on soda bread recipes that I want to go to this afternoon.”

“A few of us were going to go down and dig our own turf. It will be too damp for the fire tonight, but we wanted to see what it was like,” Michael said. “Want to come with us, son?” He got up, too.

“Whoa!” Pat caught them at the door. “You tell me a boatload of bilge like that and then expect me to just get on with the party?”

“Sure,” Michael answered. “You’ve got your explanation. Now that you know you’re not going mad, you can get on with enjoying yourself. Once you’ve learned the five charms for staying out of trouble, you can take the invisibility class.”

“But no cobbling shoes,” Eileen warned. “Some of these others have some idiotic idea about tradition and want to go back to the old ways, but I say that’s bringing back the bad old days. I’ll never be a cobbler to a bunch of airy-fairies who still live in earth mounds.”

Pat was too dumbfounded to resist as they took his arms and led him back to the reunion.

“The very first thing you do, my boy,” Michael said after lunch was done, “is get to the charm class. I always told your mother that you should have at least been taught that much.”

“Right, Dad.” Pat could think of nothing to do but go along for now. There were too many of them to fight, and they all seemed to share the same delusion.

He hesitated before going to the charm session, not because he thought it was silly, which he did, but because that Australian girl might be there. And he wanted to find her again. Not because she was attractive, not at all. He was determined to get her to tell him how she had made him think she could turn invisible. Pat grinned to himself. He was sure he already had enough charm to talk that one around. A woman didn’t bump against him twice unless she was interested.

Pat did a circle of the camp and the session rooms, but didn’t see his quarry. It occurred to him that she might still be invisible, and then he shook himself for even considering such an absurdity.

The charm class had barely started when he arrived. The teacher, a slim man even shorter than Patrick, spoke with a lilt that seemed more Spanish than Irish. Pat wondered how many O’Reillys there were in the Mexico City phone book.

“The five charms—pay attention now.” He glared directly at Pat. “These can save your life and your gold.” He held up his hand and counted them off. “You must learn to ward off fire, flood, cave-in, wicked tongues, and most of all, the envy of the ones who stayed behind.”

Someone in the front raised a hand.

“Why should we care about the Old Ones?” a boy asked. “They didn’t have the courage to get on the boats with the rest of the Fir Bolg. There are hardly any left here, my mother says, and they have no power.”

“No power?” The teacher made a complicated gesture with his left hand. “You take a dozen steps outside the rings here and see what happens. No power! Do you know how much force there is in a grudge held for two hundred years? They hate us all for escaping while those cowards stayed behind. Now I want you all to know these inside out before you leave this room. No power,” he muttered again. “What are they teaching them these days?”

Pat did his best to pick up the chants and gestures, mostly because he knew his parents would grill him. The rest of the people in the room were practicing as if their lives depended on it. Once again, Pat longed to get out and find the Ireland of his dreams. He wondered if that was the reason this remote site had been chosen. Out in the wilds of Connemara, surrounded by treacherous bog, with no car and a cell phone that only worked in the States, the only way to leave was to walk and hope to find some sort of habitation that would let him call for a taxi.

He was getting close to risking it. Looking around him at all the idiots solemnly waving their hands about while reciting words in a language a thousand years dead, if not entirely made up, Pat felt like a duck in a flock of loons.

That afternoon he spotted his cousin Jerry sitting at a table with a bunch of people from the invisibility seminar. They were on the other side of the bonfire, so Pat was sure that it was a trick of the light that made them fade in and out. Just to be sure, he took his glass and went over to join them.

“Hey, Patrick!” Jerry greeted him heartily. “Isn’t this the most amazing holiday ever? Who’d have thought we were magical? Won’t they get a laugh out of this at Biddy’s when we get back?”

“You aren’t going to let our friends know we’re leprechauns!” Patrick was aghast. “Don’t we get enough guff about our size as it is?”

“But look what I can do.” Jerry concentrated on his arm and it slowly vanished, leaving a pint mug floating in midair. “They’ll be buying me drinks all night, just to watch.”

“And none of this seems strange to you?” Pat asked, gesturing at the happy commotion around them.

Jerry scratched his nose with his perceptible hand. “Not really,” he decided. “It feels like family, only with a few twists. I mean, when you think about it, this answers a lot of questions about us. Like why we’re so short and can still drink everyone else flat. And why my dad won’t even polish his own shoes. If that was your slave job, you wouldn’t want to be reminded of it. Although,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Sheila told me that Ferragamo’s real name is Fergus. What do you think?”

“I think you’re all barking mad,” Pat thumped his glass down. “Or I am. Either way, I’ve had enough.”

“Pat, what’s wrong with you?” Jerry asked. “This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? We’re back in our homeland, among our people, and learning really cool tricks. Not to mention really hot cousins distant enough to date. Loosen up!”

“This isn’t what I dreamed of.” Pat was nearly in tears. “I’m trapped inside a double circle in the middle of nowhere. I’ve seen nothing of the country. Some old fart tells me my ancestors were shoemaking slaves instead of heroes. I don’t know how you do that disappearing thing, and I don’t care. I came here to soak up the real Ireland, to come home at last. And you all seem happy to camp out for a while, learn some parlor tricks, and go back home.”

“Well, yes, that sums it up,” Jerry grinned. “Haven’t you been listening? We’re proud of what we came from. Real leprechauns, who’d have thought it? But our family had the gumption to get on the boats and get out. We all went places where we could be free, even marry out, like Kate and the milkman. I want to be back in Cleveland in time for baseball season. I love it here, but it’s not my home.”