Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) (17 page)

Enemy. Kill them. Rip their throats out. Now.
For once Liam didn’t violently disagree with the thing in the back of his head. “Are these men bothering you, Father?” Liam asked, fist at the ready.

“Why, hello.” Fear flickered across Father Murray’s scholarly features. “There’s no problem at all. Liam, I’d like to introduce you to Father Dominic and Father Christopher. We’re from the same Jesuit Order.”

Neither man looked anything like a priest. If anything, they reminded Liam of certain sentenced prisoners from Malone—the ones known for trouble of the worst kind. Father Dominic, the shorter of the two, had a long scar across the bridge of his nose. He didn’t seem the sort you’d want to make angry, and by the look of it, Father Murray had just made him very angry indeed. Nonetheless, Father Dominic gave a grudging nod by way of a greeting as did Father Christopher. Father Christopher gave the impression that he thought Liam was something less than human.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Liam asked.

Father Christopher said, “Go to hell, demon.”

“What did you call me?” Liam asked.

“They were just leaving,” Father Murray said, placed a restraining hand on Liam’s shoulder. He spoke to Father Dominic. “Please give the Prelate my regards.”

“One day,” Father Dominic said, shoving a finger at Father Murray’s chest and making him stumble, “you’re going to be very sorry for this, Joe. Very sorry, indeed. You’ve gone soft.”

“I’m flattered by your concern for my well-being,” Father Murray said.

The pair shoved past, bumping into Liam on the way out. A blinding flash of pain shot through Liam’s shoulder, and Father Murray put out a hand to steady him.

“You should go back to Mary Kate and enjoy your evening,” Father Murray said.

“Who were they?”

“No one you need worry about,” Father Murray said. “But if you should see them again… stay away from them. And call me. Understand?”

“Why?”

“I have to go,” Father Murray said. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

Liam got the impression he was in a hurry to get outside and that there was some unfinished business. “All right, Father.”

Father Murray moved toward the exit and ran up the stairs. Liam glanced over at Mary Kate to make certain she was well. She appeared to be enjoying the music. He thought again about Father Murray being shoved and decided to risk going outside for a bit. Father Murray was firmly in support of non-violence which, to Liam’s experience, didn’t work well when the opposition was firmly in support of the opposite. He stopped to talk to the man watching the door.

“Need some air. Getting back in a problem? My wife is still inside.”

The big man looked at him, exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke at the ground and shook his head.

“Thanks, mate.” Liam rushed up the stairs. Scanning the street, he didn’t see Father Murray or the other two priests. He was about to head back down the steps when he heard someone shout. It came from somewhere on the right. He turned and jogged that direction, but before he reached the corner he spied them fighting in an alley. It took him a moment to register that that was indeed what was happening. Liam looked around until he spotted an old board in some rubble. He grabbed it, hefted it and moved closer. What he saw next gave him pause a second time.

Father Murray wasn’t getting a good kicking as Liam had thought. All three priests were standing over a man lying on the ground. Father Dominic held a blood-soaked dirk. His coat was torn, and he held his left arm at an awkward angle. Liam smelled blood, and something else. Something that wasn’t right. It stank of decay and long death. He knew the difference between fresh blood and old. He’d become familiar with both in the infirmary at Malone. The stinking black puddle forming under the man on the ground slowly expanded, and he saw Father Christopher lift his boot to avoid the stain.

What the fuck just happened? Am I really seeing this? Or have I finally gone mad?
“Father?” Liam asked and regretted speaking at once.

Father Dominic whirled, brandishing the dirk. “Drop the weapon, spawn.”

“Don’t,” Father Murray said. “He’s an innocent, I’m telling you.” He stepped in front of Father Dominic.

“Drop the club.” Father Christopher placed a hand inside his coat.

Liam blinked. “What?”

“Liam, do as they say,” Father Murray said, holding his arms out as if shielding him.

Father Dominic moved closer, causing Father Murray to shuffle backward in order to keep his position. Father Christopher edged toward Liam’s left. Both exuded a professional menace that Liam recognized at once. A broken board wasn’t much defense against a long knife—particularly when wielded by someone who knew what to do with one, but at least it was something. Drop the board, and he’d be at their mercy, and they didn’t appear to have mercy on their minds. Liam worried about Father Murray getting in the way. The beast squatting in the back of his brain pressed for freedom to attack.
Kill all of them. Now. Now.

“Liam! Please! The peaceful solution! It’s the only way!”

Reluctantly trusting Father Murray, Liam dropped the splintered board and put his hands in the air. “There. It’s done. I’m sorry,” he said. “Thought they were attacking you. Who is that man? Why did they kill him?”

“That thing isn’t a man anymore than you are,” Father Dominic said.

He knows what we are. Kill him.
“What?”

“Please, Dominic,” Father Murray said, “put the knife away.” He was so close now he was practically standing on Liam’s toes. “I won’t allow this. You know I won’t. I can’t.”

Father Christopher folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

“If you continue, I will send in a report,” Father Murray said. “And neither you nor the Prelate will like the resulting inquiry.”

Sighing, Father Dominic’s shoulders slumped. “Get him out of here.”

“Come on, Liam.” Father Murray tugged at Liam’s arm.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain everything,” Father Murray said. “First, let’s let them do what they must.”

Crouching, Father Christopher reached into a pocket and produced a clear vial. He uncorked it and muttered something that sounded like Latin as he poured the contents on the dead man’s head. Steam rose off the body.

Liam allowed Father Murray to pull him away. Priests were killing people in the streets.
Priests.
And Father Murray wasn’t doing anything to stop it, but then, what could he do? “I thought they were attacking you.”

“That’s all right. I understand, but you needn’t have worried. I had everything under control,” Father Murray said. “For now, I want you to go back inside. We’ll discuss this in detail tomorrow. Don’t tell Mary Kate, whatever you do. It will only upset her.”

“I won’t,” Liam said. “Father?”

“Yes?”

“What did he mean when he said that man wasn’t a man any more than I was?”
They know about us. They’ll come for us. We should’ve killed them.
Liam shook his head to dislodge the monster’s warnings.

Father Murray cast a glance over his shoulder. “Overzealousness is a danger in any policing force.”

“Father Dominic and Father Christopher are Peelers?”

“Of a sort, yes.”

They stopped in front of The Harp and Drum. Electric guitar music wailed its way up from the underground nightclub. It was a good rendition of Elvis’s “Jailhouse Rock.” Liam shivered inside his coat. “Why did you let them kill that man?”

“Just go inside,” Father Murray said with a pained expression. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

Liam nodded, checking the empty street for trouble. “Be careful, Father. You should keep a little something with you. To protect yourself. Those two—”

“I’ll be fine, Liam. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Father.”

Trotting halfway down the steps, Liam turned to watch Father Murray go. He tugged up the collar on his coat and walked down the street, a lone man in the darkness. Liam sighed and then re-entered the club. He found Mary Kate was still at the table and this time she was alone.

“You were gone for a while,” she said.

He nodded. “Had a talk with Father Murray.”

“That’s nice,” she said. “But you know, I’ve a problem.”

“You do?”

“You see, this very attractive man made a particularly lewd suggestion. Something I’m sure my mother wouldn’t approve of one bit,” she said. “But I’ve been sitting here thinking about whether or not I’d take him up on his offer anyway. I’ve had two shorts, after all. Trouble is—” She showed him her glass. It was empty. “He up and vanished on me. I’m here all alone. I don’t suppose you’re interested in finishing off where he started?”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “His loss is my gain.”

“Strange, that was my very thought.”

He went back to the bar, reassured by the return to normalcy, ordered two more shorts and got serious about seducing his wife. The band got better as they played and finished the set an hour later. Then he and Mary Kate staggered home together. He tried not to think about the two priests, and what they might or might not know about the beast living inside him. More than anything, he wanted to feel normal. He took Mary Kate’s hand, and kissed it. If anyone made him feel sound, it was her—even if things had been a bit rocky of late. She didn’t treat him as if he were a dangerous creature. She wasn’t afraid of him. She trusted him, even believed in him. She stopped, got up on her toes, placed a hand on the front of his jeans and gave him a great scorcher of a kiss. That was enough to banish any unwanted specters of guilt, and gave him high hopes for a most interesting end to the evening, but the moment they entered their flat she headed directly to the washroom.

“Do you really have to do that now?”

“Yes,” she said, slurring the word. “Def-definitely.”

“You’re going to tell me that you spent half the night giving me a hard-on the likes of which I’ve not had in a week, and you didn’t check before we left?”

She placed the thermometer under her tongue and winked.

“You’re fucking evil, you are,” he said. “I should never have married you.”

Putting her hands over her ears, she shut her eyes and hummed out of key. He went to the kitchen and found the whiskey they saved for special occasions. He supposed not being killed by a Peeler-priest was occasion enough and poured himself a glass. Then he went back to the washroom. She was squinting at the little mercury line. Ever since she’d gotten sick the thermometer had become an obsession—twice a day, every day, she took her temperature. He was beginning to really hate the damned thing.

“Well?”

A sly smile crept onto her face. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s hard to say.”

“Why do you do this to me every time?” Liam asked. “Why can’t we do things like we used to?”

“T-told you,” she said. “I’m not getting preg—”She hiccupped.“—pregnant until I’m through Uni.”

He sighed. “Couldn’t we risk it the once? Please?”

“No.”

“Fine. Well? Is it to be the headache or not?”

She bent over the sink and tilted the thermometer into the light with exaggerated care. Her short skirt rode up on her hips, giving him a nice view. It was then he noticed she wasn’t wearing any underpants. That was his Mary Kate — freezing cold outside and there she was. No pants. Because she knew exactly what that did to him.

He tossed back the last of the whiskey and set the glass down. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, will you please—”

She turned to face him with a knowing smile. “Will I please what?”

“Give me that damned thing. I’m going to fucking break it.”

“No!” She jerked the thermometer away, laughing. He tried to get it from her, but drunk as she was the lithe minx somehow managed to keep it just out of his reach.

He tried another tactic and faked a grab for the offending glass wand and then threw his arms around her. “Got you now.” Picking her up, he carried her out of the washroom and then threw her onto the bed. It was a short toss as the end of the mattress wasn’t all that far from the bedroom door.

“Stay-stay back,” she said, holding up the thermometer as if it were some sort of talisman. “Foul fiend.”

“Ah, well. That’s where you’ve gone wrong,” he said, kicking off his boots. “Saw ‘Dance of the Vampires’ once, I did. Turns out I have to believe in order for it to work. And if there’s one fucking thing I don’t believe in, it’s that.”

“Shite.”

He dove for her.

As it turned out she didn’t have a headache after all.

“Have you ever seen something you’re certain couldn’t possibly exist?” Father Murray asked.

Liam blinked. They were in the The Harp and Drum—only this time in the pub proper. There weren’t many people around. It was in the middle of the day, and Liam was taking a short break for a few pints and some chips before the evening rush of fares. “Honestly?”

Father Murray nodded. “You’ve no need to worry. I’ll not think you mad.”

Gazing out the bull’s eye pane at a watery version of West Belfast, Liam’s thoughts wandered back to the times when he was sure he’d hallucinated—the day he was first arrested, the Kesh, that day when the thirteen died. He sighed. “Aye, I have.”

“May I ask what it was?”

Liam decided to start with the least troublesome of the lot—not that he’d have talked about the Kesh. He’d never even told Mary Kate about that, and he had every intention of dying before ever speaking of it. “I saw a Para with teeth filed to points.”

It was Father Murray’s turn to blink in surprise.

“Saw him twice. The first time he wasn’t a Para. Was in the crowd when I was arrested on Aggro Corner. The second time he said something mad and then fair stove my head in.”

Father Murray frowned. “Have you seen him since?”

“No.”

“What did he say to you?”

“I don’t exactly remember. Something about the mac Cumhaill. Didn’t make any fucking sense at all. To tell you the truth, I half-believed I didn’t remember it rightly because he cracked my damned skull.”

“Are you sure? Fionn mac Cumhaill? Mythical leader of the Fianna? Caught and ate the salmon of knowledge? Had two nephews that were turned into hounds by a vengeful fairy Queen?”