The Luck Of The Ireland Guide

Liam O’Shea still had empty pockets sometimes, but he walked like a king, for he knew exactly where the heart of the island was beating. If you'd like, I can:

The air in the village of Kilmarran didn’t just carry the scent of peat smoke and rain; it carried the weight of a thousand-year-old secret. For Liam O’Shea, a man whose pockets were usually as empty as a dry well, "the luck of the Irish" had always felt like a cruel joke told by people who had never actually stepped foot in a bog. The Luck of the Ireland

Tripping over a root that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago, Liam tumbled into a hollow. There, tangled in a thicket of gorse, was a small, frantic figure in a coat the color of a bruised plum. It wasn't a leprechaun—those were for the tourists. This was a Clurichaun , a surlier, more honest cousin of the fae, and he was currently stuck in a very mundane fox trap. Liam O’Shea still had empty pockets sometimes, but