Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) (23 page)

“And where have you two been? The pubs are long closed,” she said, stepping back. “Don’t lie. I spoke to Elizabeth two hours ago. She said you’ve not been home.”

Oran steered him to the sofa and then dropped him. Liam bounced once on the cushions, and the apartment whirled as Mary Kate closed the door.

“We had a bit of trouble,” Oran said. “Dr. MacMahon thought it best to administer a drop of something to numb the pain.”

“A drop? More like a gallon.” Mary Kate moved closer and gasped. “Oh, shite. Is that blood?”

“Not his,” Oran said, pushing the anorak off Liam’s shoulders.

“No. Wait.” Words slid through Liam’s teeth and off his tongue before he could give them proper shape. The apartment spun in a new and interesting direction.

“What is it?” Oran asked.

It took three tries, but Liam was finally able to produce the pound notes from his pocket before Oran removed the jacket. “Ish for you, Mar—Mary Kate.”

Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “Where did this come from?”

Oran said, “A bonus for a job well done.”

Thou shalt not kill,
Liam thought and flinched. “T-twenty ish for Oran. Owe. Owe him. Last of… bribe money.” Liam laughed, and drunk as he was he knew he didn’t sound good. Barking mad, he must be.
Barking.
He snorted.
Job well done. Did that BA get a bonus when he shot Annette, I wonder? Did the Paras after they gunned down the thirteen that Sunday? A bonus along with a grand medal from the Queen.
“Oh, shite,” he said. “I think I’m going to be sick again.”

Oran helped him into the washroom where he lost whatever whiskey remained in his stomach along with anything he’d eaten in the past month. He was too weak to get off the floor when it was done. So, Oran and Mary Kate cleaned him up and dumped him into the bed where darkness blissfully ended all possibility of thought. Before the blackness completed its work he heard Oran say, “He’ll be in a bad way tonight. If he’s not right after that, you call me.”

Chapter 17

Andersonstown, Belfast, County Antrim, Northern Ireland

December 1975

Liam woke disoriented and feeling worse than he had in his whole life—including the times he’d landed in the Malone infirmary. The yellow light filtering through the bedroom curtains was bright enough to sink molten shards into the back of his brain. Pans clattered in the kitchen, a signal that Mary Kate was home. Judging by the force she put behind each blow she wasn’t in a good mood. For the first time since he’d been with her he wished he were dead. The agony in his head had grown too big for his skull and was threatening to crack it open like a baby pterodactyl splitting its eggshell. He couldn’t remember why he hurt so much. Sitting up, he instantly wished he hadn’t and groaned. In a flash, Mary Kate was at his side with a glass of water.

“Here,” she said, her face tight with worry and fear. “This will be what you’re needing.”

He blinked, considering whether or not his stomach would accept such a thing without rebellion.
Drunk. I was drunk.
“What are you doing home?” His voice was no better than a croak, and he decided he sounded every bit as bad as he felt.

“It’s half past one,” she said. “We’ve eggs. Sean always wanted a Belfast fry after… well… Said the grease did him a world of good. Are you well enough to eat?”

The thought of grease made everything worse. “No.”

“Oh.”

In careful motions for which he was profoundly grateful, she sat on the edge of the bed and held out the glass. He took it and drank, inwardly swearing never to touch the drink again. She seemed to hold herself away and wouldn’t look at him. Her pretty lips were set in a tense line. She didn’t leave, only sat there while unspoken questions curled in the air between them. When no gentle touch on the shoulder or head came as it always did when he was sick, his heart ached enough to compete with his head. He’d had nightmares of hurting her—dreams of blood and screaming.
Did the monster get free? What have I done now?
He found himself searching for bruises on her face, her arms.

“I… called in for you,” she said, the fear in her voice sparking terror in him. “Told them you were sick.”

Right. It’d been Friday when he’d come home from—
I killed a constable,
he thought.
Does she know? Is that why she’s acting like this?
“Have you seen the paper?”

“Didn’t buy one. Wasn’t in the budget.”

“Can you borrow it from Mrs. Black?”

Mary Kate looked away but not before he saw the lie plain on her face. “I asked earlier, but she’d already used it for fish guts.”

He thought,
She’s seen something and isn’t telling me.
Finished with the water, he lay back down and rolled away from the pain in his chest.

“Won’t you be getting up?”

The light was too strong; it etched images into the back of his skull with acid—images he wished nothing more than to forget. The surprised look. Lumps of wet darkness on brick. Annette MacGavigan’s bloody hair. Jagged flaps of skin.
Thou shall not kill.
He pulled a pillow over his agony-filled head.

“All right. Rest then.” Her dread seemed to drain her concern of warmth. “I’ll have the dinner for you in a few hours. You’ll be wanting it then.”

He listened to the door shut and forgot everything for a time. When he woke next it was night, and Mary Kate was talking to someone.

“I don’t know what manner of creature you brought home yesterday, but that isn’t my husband.”

Liam’s heart froze.

“Calm yourself,” Oran said. “He’s taken it hard. He’s a good man, and you can be proud of him no matter what they’re saying on the radio and the television. He saved us all.”

Jesus Christ, what are they saying? Was the man a Catholic? Did he have children?

“I’m not talking about that. It’s something else,” she said. “He… does things in his sleep. Makes sounds. Growls. Something else, I….” He heard her whisper but couldn’t understand what she said.

“There has always been something a bit off about Liam as long as I’ve known him, Mary Kate. You been married to him for what? Almost a year? And you’ve not noticed before now?”

“That creature isn’t the man I married. Liam is sweet. Loving. He certainly doesn’t growl or… or….”

Liam pulled the pillow tighter over his head to shut out her words, but it didn’t do any good.

“You’re fooling yourself. He’s got something in him all right. Something dangerous,” Oran said, his voice dropped to a low murmur.

“You don’t believe that, surely?” Mary Kate said. “Old tales. Used to scare children.”

“I do, and you do too. In the dark. At night. Tell me you don’t,” Oran said. “I’m from Dublin. Lived there until Bobby and me came here for the cause. But my grandfather was a farmer. He told us the stories, and I know what I see when I see it.”

“Oh, go on.”

“My grandfather met one once. Neighbor asked him to stay with his wife one night while he went for the doctor. Grandfather ran down the road. Was met with a young man at the crossroads, he said. With a fiddle and a bow and eyes that glowed red. Played a tune of such sweet sadness he’d never heard in his life nor ever did again. Walked slow, he did. Prevented my grandfather from doing anything more than the same. Before they reached the house the young man told him the Fair People had claimed the good woman for their own. He told my grandfather not to worry, and then left off the road. She was dead when my grandfather arrived.”

“Listen to Liam singing with his tapes in the taxi, and you’ll know he has no talent for the music. Even if they were real, that’s proof enough he isn’t one of them.”

“His eyes aren’t right. You’ve seen it. I know you have.”

More than my eyes,
Liam thought.
I never told her. I let her think I was normal. I married her with a lie between us.

“That’s just a trick of the light,” she said. “Like as not my eyes go red from time to time if my mother’s Polaroids are any proof.”

“You didn’t see. The way he drove.”

“I’ve been to the rallies. There’s others that are better, but they’ve the money, and they’ve been at it longer. My Liam is good at the racing. He loves it. There’s nothing off in that. Nothing… fey.”

Oran’s voice lowered. “No one drives like he did that night. I’ve never seen the like. What he did… Was too fast. Don’t think I’m complaining. I’m thankful beyond measure. But we should’ve been caught. The RUC had us dead to rights. Even Éamon says so. We should’ve cracked up. We should’ve died. Between the RUC, the Army helicopters and the check points I don’t know how he did it.”

“You were frightened—”

“Anyone would’ve been. Éamon believes. Although, he’ll never admit it now. Why do you think he paid your man that bonus? You don’t anger one of the Good People. It’s a wonder we didn’t end in a lake, drowned—like all do who are taken for a wild ride. Only this was no black horse. Was a black car.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Everything was quiet for a time, and then Oran asked, “Do you need me or Elizabeth to stay with you? Do you think he’s that bad off? Are you afraid?”

A second silence stretched out between his question and her answer. “He’ll not harm me, my Liam. Not even like this.” The doubt in her tone bruised his heart.

“You can always go to Mrs. Black’s,” Oran said. “If there’s need.”

Oh sure, that’d be just grand,
Liam thought, feeling the bands around his chest squeeze.
The meddling old bag would just love that.

“No. I’ll be fine.”

Liam heard a thump as the front door was opened.

“Where are you going?” Mary Kate asked.

“There’s nothing can be done tonight,” Oran said. “I’ll be back tomorrow. With a priest.”

What does he think a priest is going to do? Drive out the demon inside me?
He tried not to think of Father Dominic and Father Christopher standing over the dead man. The edge of another mad laugh forced itself against the back of his throat like vomit. If anything could’ve been done to get rid of the demon short of killing him surely Father Murray would’ve done it, had he but known.
Little experiment.

He knows,
Liam thought.
Even the whole of Derry knew. It’s why everyone was so careful. Everyone but those who didn’t believe.

Within moments of the door closing he heard Mary Kate sobbing in the next room. The sound of it drew him out of the bed and through the bedroom door before he knew it. He found her sitting on the sofa with her hands covering her face.

“Mary Kate?”

She looked up at him with eyes swollen and red. For a moment he couldn’t breathe.

“Do you need something?” she asked.

He stood where he was, shirtless and still dressed in the stained black trousers he’d been wearing since Friday morning.

She sniffed. “Well, what is it?”

He sat next to her and hesitated before gathering her in his arms. Gently. He didn’t want to frighten her further. More than anything he wanted to comfort her. Reassure her. She was wooden at first, but then relaxed. Soon, he felt warm tears trace cooling paths on his bare skin.

“You’d gone from me,” she said, not lifting her face. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Say it. Tell her. Now. While there’s still time,
he thought.
But she’ll leave me. And then what’ll I do?
“I love you.”

“I love you too. Don’t frighten me like that again.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Terrified.” She blew out a loud sigh. “Was sure you’d gone mad.”

“No. At least I don’t think so. Well, no more mad than I am already.”

“Good.”

More than anything he needed to lose himself in her. Forget. Hold her and never let go, but after everything that had happened he wasn’t sure she would allow it. “I… I need you.”

“Oh.” She sniffed and looked into his eyes, pleading. “I need you too.”

He kissed her long and hard, then picked her up off the sofa and carried her to bed.

Church bells echoed through the Falls Road, calling the faithful to Mass. He lay on his back in the warm bed with Mary Kate’s head anchoring his chest. It was a sin, missing Mass in order to make love to your wife, but it was a good sin.
The best sin.
Her fingers played with the hair curling in the center of his chest. It tickled something fierce. He twitched and felt her smile in response. The smile stoked a comforting glow that burned out all the bad feelings. He didn’t want to move or think, happy in animal contentment.

Animal. Can’t wait any longer,
he thought.
It has to be done.
“There’s something I must tell you.”

“Don’t.” She laid a finger on his lips. “I know. About the constable. It’s all over the papers. The radio. The telly. I don’t care. Sooner or later it was going to come to killing. I knew, even if you didn’t. Three of my brothers are volunteers. All of my uncles. Father too if Mother would let him,” she said, “You only did what you had to do. That constable had to have known. He’d have felt the same, were it you and not him.”

I wouldn’t be so sure,
he thought.

Someone knocked on the door.

“That’s probably Oran,” she said, getting up and throwing on her clothes. “Get dressed. He’ll have brought a priest.”

“Don’t need a priest. I need to tell you—”

She paused in the doorway, her light brown hair stuck out in disheveled tufts minted gold by the late morning light. Her eyelids were puffy from sleep, and she’d slept with her mascara on. It made smoky smudges around her swollen eyes. A short blue dress hung crookedly on her slender body, and her feet were bare. She looked damned beautiful, he decided. She always did in the morning. On second thought, she looked beautiful no matter the time of day or night.
You’ve got it bad, you have,
he thought.

“You’d have a priest in the place, and you in the clothes you slept in? Where are your manners?”

“What clothes? I seem to recall some brazen bird tore the trousers right off my—”

“Hush now. They’re right outside.” Blushing, she closed the bedroom door.