Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) (43 page)

By the time Kathleen had gotten outside it was misting. She opened her umbrella and then pulled the collar of her coat tighter about her neck. She walked to the corner and waited, hoping she’d guessed the right one. She’d been there for a quarter of an hour when a man in a black coat walked directly to her. He was wearing a dark flat cap, and the taps on his shoes scraped the pavement. A chill went through her at the sight of him. She avoided eye contact, hoping he’d pass without noticing her.

“Are you Kathleen Kelly?” His accent was English.

Taken by surprise, she turned and stared. “I’m expecting someone.”

He took her arm. “I’m sure you are.”

“What? Let go!”

A car pulled up. She caught a glimpse of three men. The one sitting in the front passenger side had a large hump on his back that caused him to fit strangely in the seat. The rear passenger door opened, and she was shoved inside. A blanket was thrown over her. She screamed as she was forced to the floor and then something hard pressed against her skull.

“Shut up. Now. Or I’ll kill you. Understand?” The question was accompanied by a brutal shove. The second voice didn’t belong to the Englishman. It was Irish, she was certain of it.

Too frightened to speak, she nodded.

“Good. Don’t move, Catholic bitch.”

The car sped away. Her heart drummed in her ears, and her mouth was dry. The wool blanket smelled of gasoline and oil.

It was stored in the trunk,
she thought. A sharp pebble on the plastic floor mat pressed uncomfortably into her knee while her mind raced through possibilities. Someone turned on the radio and Kenny Rogers lamented his wife, Lucille, through the speakers. The men in the car were silent, apparently content in listening to the music.
They’re professional, or they’ve done this before.
Her first thought was that they were paramilitaries—Protestant UFF or UVF of course, but she couldn’t think of anything she’d done that might have drawn such attention. She wasn’t political.

Liam is in the ’Ra,
she thought, and her heart froze.
What if they want to know where he is? What if this was in retaliation for something Liam has done?
She shut her eyes against the idea.
No.
Her Liam wouldn’t have done anything to warrant this. She was sure of it. The note had been signed “B.” So, whoever had taken her knew Bran’s name.
Maybe.
The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. She finally came to the conclusion that she didn’t know anything and couldn’t until someone explained. She would have to wait. Chasing her fears in endless circles didn’t help.

In a short time the tension became too much. She started shivering and couldn’t hold still no matter how frightened she was. The pain in her knee grew unbearable. She took a chance and shifted. Pain exploded in the top of her head as one of the men hit her with something hard.
The butt of the gun.

“I said, don’t move.”

Tears slipped down her face, and she resisted the urge to rub the rising bump. She focused on the ridges of the plastic car mat under her palms instead. She was terrified and couldn’t help cursing herself for having warned Bran off.
I can take care of myself,
she thought.
What was I thinking?
She concentrated on breathing and slowing her pounding heart.
Calm down. You haven’t done anything wrong. Wait. Find out what they want. Maybe they’ll see reason.

The car slowed and a hand shoved her farther down until she was a tight ball with her forehead resting on the warm bump in the center of the car’s floor. Wrapping her hands over the back of her head for protection, she prayed.
Hail Mary, Mother of God, forgive us our trespasses—

The car stopped.

“Not a sound now.”

She heard a squeak of a window being rolled down and the temperature in the car dropped at once. A dog barked.

This is a checkpoint,
she thought.
They’ll notice me. They always shine a light in the back, don’t they?

Suddenly, the air tingled. There wasn’t any other way of describing it. It was saturated with energy like lightning waiting to be discharged in a storm. She could almost smell the ozone in spite of being under the blanket.

“Hello, Officer.” It was the man who’d met her on the corner.

The Englishman.
The hope of being discovered dimmed.

British or not, they’re soldiers. They’re trained to look for this kind of thing. Aren’t they?

“Evening, sir. License, please. Where are you headed this evening and why?”

“I’m visiting a cousin. Owns an estate outside of town.”

She listened to footsteps trace a path around the car, and her heart jumped.
Please, God. Let them notice something.
A dog started barking, and the guard stopped.

“There isn’t anything back there worth looking at. It’s cold and damp, and you’d rather go back to your tea.” The words came from the front seat in a loud whisper. It wasn’t the Englishman. It was the man with the hunchback, she was sure of it.

The electrical charge in the air became so heavy that she couldn’t breathe. One of the men in the back seat coughed.

Mary, Mother of God, please let him notice. Let him do something.

“Nothing back here,” the guard said. The dog continued to bark and snarl. Kathleen heard a thump as something slammed into the side of the car.

Outside, someone shouted, “Get that dog away from there!”

“Very good. Everything is in order, sir. Have a good evening.”

“Thank you.”

The window squeaked again, and the driver gunned the engine. She felt all the blood in her body drain down into her hands and feet. The shivering grew worse. Tears traced cooling paths down her face as disappointment set in. It wasn’t long before the car stopped again, and she was dragged out of the back with the blanket still over her head. The moment she thought to throw the blanket off and run, a hand clamped onto her arm, and she was guided into a building. The floors were concrete and their footsteps echoed until she was pushed again into a room. The blanket wasn’t removed until she was pushed and fell onto what felt like an old sofa. It stank of mildew.

Blinking in the light, she saw her captors clearly for the first time and panicked. Three of the men were dressed in military surplus clothes. None wore masks. One of the smaller men stared right at her, but his eyes were unfocused as if he were in some sort of trance.
Drugs?
There was something wrong with the big one. Whether it was the hunched back or something else, she couldn’t decide, but he didn’t move like a normal person. He twitched as if he were ready to take flight, his head moving in short jerks like a bird’s. She didn’t like him at all. His gaze made her feel like a rabbit in a field being targeted by a human-sized owl.

“We’ve questions,” Hunchback said. “And you’ve got the answers. Don’t you?” The tingling returned to the air. “Don’t you?”

She found herself nodding in answer because that was what he wanted from her. He smiled, and his charcoal eyes burned with such intensity that she had to look away.

It was then she noticed the Englishman’s flat cap was a deep crimson edging on brown, the color of drying blood, and his teeth were filed to sharp points.

“Hello, Kathleen,” the Redcap said. “I believe introductions are in order. You may call me Henry. Henry, son of Bran.”

Chapter 26

Londonderry/Derry, County Londonderry, Northern Ireland

September 1977

Liam woke to someone shaking him. It was late. He knew it by the hushed ticking of the nightstand clock and the darkened window.

“You must get up.” It was Father Murray, and he was speaking in a frightened whisper.

Is a punishment squad on the way?
Blinking, Liam found himself tangled in the plastic tubes. In his rush to get free, he pulled something he shouldn’t have and sharp pain shot up his left arm. “Get these fucking things off me. I can’t move.”

“Stop your thrashing. I’ll be right there.” Father Murray shut the door and turned on the light. “Calm yourself.”

“Calm? Is it you they’ve come for, Father?”

“You’re safe. I didn’t wake you for that.” Father Murray took Liam’s left arm and gently attacked the bandages. Withdrawing the needle from the vein inside Liam’s left elbow, Father Murray placed a cotton ball on the tiny wound and bent the arm to hold it in place while he cut fresh tape. “That’s going to bruise.”

He did everything with an expertise surprising in a priest. It made Liam wonder how Father Murray had acquired the skill, as well as who’d stuck the IV in his arm to begin with. He’d assumed it’d been the doctor he met in the cave but was beginning to think otherwise.

“Then what’s wrong?” Liam applied pressure on the cotton ball while Father Murray wrapped surgical tape around it.
If it was Father Murray that did all this, where did he get all the equipment? Who else knows where I am?

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. Bit hungry but otherwise fine.” He tested his back by stretching his shoulders. “The pain is gone.”

Father Murray raised his eyebrows and then lifted the back collar of the T-shirt Liam was sleeping in to have a look. He tugged at a bandage there.

“That’s interesting.”

“What is?”

“It appears the burns have healed already. Your father said that might happen.” Father Murray’s face squeezed into a concerned frown, then he seemed to come to a decision. “I’ll take the bandages off. Then put some clothes on while I pack.”

“Where are we going? What’s happening?” Liam pulled the T-shirt over his head.

Father Murray stripped the hospital tape securing the bandages with practiced motions. “Your mother has gone missing.”

“What? What happened?”

“She left the flat to come here and somewhere in between there and here she vanished.” Father Murray finished, throwing the stained gauze in the trash. “You’re done.”

She was on her way here.
Liam blinked and stuck an arm in the fresh shirt. His heart was drumming out a forced march. “No one saw her?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re to meet your father. Then we’ll look for her. Together.” He left the room.

Liam tugged on the blue jeans, long sleeved shirt and sweater—all were a bit too big for him. The work boots, however, were exactly the right size. Before snapping up the anorak draped on the chair, he put a hand to the back of his head and found that not only were the burns on his scalp healed but most of his hair had grown back. He decided not to waste time wondering about it until the crisis was over. Then he’d have questions.
A lot of them.
He threw open the door and stepped into the hallway only to bump into his Gran. She was wearing a white housecoat, and her gray hair was gathered in a long braid that hung over one shoulder. An apron was tied over her housecoat—the white one with the blue flowers embroidered on it. She looked right at him with her ever-present scowl and then glanced away. The expression on her face—outside the usual distaste—was unreadable.

She spoke to the wall, not to him. “Was making cocoa. Your fath—Patrick called. Father Murray said—” She stopped herself. “I suppose this means you won’t be staying?”

“No, I won’t.”

Nodding, her jaw twitched and for a moment the tight line that was her mouth softened.

“Ma is in trouble.” He was babbling a bit. He wasn’t entirely sure why. She affected him like that. Always had. He shrugged on the coat.

His Gran blinked. “You were almost dead yesterday. Now, you’re on your feet as if nothing happened.”

He waited for whatever it was she would say next. He didn’t expect it’d be grandmotherly. To his experience, it never was. His heart was beating fast, slamming against his breastbone hard enough for her to hear.

“You’re one of Them, aren’t you?” she asked in a whisper. “I knew it. Saw it in you from the start.”

Saw it in you—

No.
Liam clamped down on a bolt of anxiety.

“Even as a babe your eyes were never right. Red, they were. Like fire. I saw it. Send that boy to Church, I said. See he gets baptized. I was wrong.”

“I must go, Gran.”

“You never had a soul to save. You and Him both.”

Clutching his rising anger in one fist, Liam moved to push past her, but she grabbed his arm, and it brought him up short. She was stronger than she appeared. There was iron in his Gran.
Steel.
No other element sprang to mind when he thought of her.

“She was a wayward child, our Kathleen. My William wanted to send her off. To the nuns. To the Laundry.” She tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. “I wouldn’t stand for it. That place. As much as a death sentence, that. For what? You? Still, she wouldn’t give you up.” She scrunched up her face in disgust. He moved to jerk away, but she clutched tighter. “No more than I would give her up. It’s the way of it.” She clamped down upon his arm with both hands, and it hurt. “You find her.”

Father Murray walked into the hallway carrying a large duffel bag over one shoulder, and stopped. It was obvious to Liam that his Gran wasn’t aware the priest was behind her. She didn’t move. Liam couldn’t remember a time when she’d so much as touched him, but there she was, staring up into his face with fierce eyes and tears shining on her pale cheeks. She was a specter in the half-light coming from the next room.

“Find my daughter before it’s too late. She’s your mother. If there’s anything human in you, you’ll find her. Do that and—”She swallowed, shutting her eyes with a shudder. “I will accept you as my grandson.”

He wanted to tell her to sod off, but the lump in his throat prevented it. She seemed to be waiting for something from him. Her eyes were almost pleading—as close to it as he’d ever witnessed in his entire existence. Her grip on his arm tightened, and her neat fingernails were digging into his skin. Father Murray mouthed,
Go on.

Liam gave her a nod and that was it. She finally released him.