Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) (35 page)

It was Oran’s turn to shake his head.

“Please. I need to be alone. For an hour or two. To prove myself. To gain your trust again. I have to. I can’t live like this. You can’t watch me forever.”

“I can if Éamon says I must.”

“Not if you’re to keep your family. And I’ll not have you lose Elizabeth over me.”

Oran paced along the side of the cab. “You’re something else, you are.

Present me with all the reasons why I should kill you and then ask me to trust you.”

“It works out, I won’t ask again for a week. It doesn’t, and Haddock shows up again, you can top me and be done. Has to be that way.”

“Hell of a chance.” Oran slowly filled his lungs. “Could wait until Haddock isn’t a problem anymore.”

“We both know you can’t tell Éamon about Haddock.”

Oran stopped pacing and gave him that guilty sideways look. “What do you mean?”

“You tell Éamon, and I’m good as dead. They’ll not go so far as to top a Peeler over the likes of me. Better, easier to do what should’ve been done in the first place.”

“No!”

“Don’t you lie. This is war. I’m a security risk. And that bastard Haddock knows it. He’ll not stop until I break.”

“You won’t. I’ve seen you! You’re strong!”

“That’s bollocks. Wasn’t you told me all that hard man shite was pointless bravado? Everybody breaks.”

“The hunger strikers at Portlaoise haven’t broken.”

“I look like Martin Ferris to you?”

Oran smiled. “Aye, well, you’re skinny enough.”

“That is not funny.”

Looking away, Oran sighed.

“Give me this. We’ll figure out what to do about Haddock after,” Liam said.

“All right,” Oran said. “One hour. No more. We keep this between you and me. Get back on time.”

“I will. Promise.”

“Right,” Oran said, looking at his watch. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Liam started across the car park. “I won’t. Thanks!”

Oran leaned on the cab as if to take shelter under the hood, checked his watch a second time and then lit a cigarette.

Trotting down the street, Liam couldn’t contain a sense of euphoria. It was all he could do to keep from breaking into a run, but the monster brought him up short. There was work to do, serious work, and there wasn’t much time. Liam made his way to a closed-off alley and then gave himself to the change. It hurt—it always hurt but seemed to take less time than it had in the washroom.
Practice makes perfect,
the monster thought and dashed off out of the alley.

It had been a risk following the ginger constable from the police station the day before. Any number of things could’ve gone wrong—like Oran finding out about the shorted work hours, but the gamble had paid off. The ginger constable lived in Crumlin. Liam would have sworn it was part of another city altogether, perhaps even another part of the world. The walk-up flat was located on a street populated with playing children and smiling young couples watching over their offspring. There had been no fear in any of the faces. No furtive looks. No thinly disguised vigilance for the slightest sound or the stranger, just children playing unafraid of the parked cars. One boy actually kicked a can he found in the street—no child in West Belfast would’ve taken a chance. While Liam gaped, the monster had grown restless. All he’d wanted to know was where the constable lived and that question was answered.

Now he traveled on all fours, and it was nighttime. With the wet pavement under the pads of his feet and the quarry near, the monster didn’t consider what would happen if the ginger constable wasn’t at home—it simply wasn’t an option. He glanced up at dark clouds backlit by a full moon and huffed out a chuckle of anticipation. He could almost taste the salty blood of revenge. In a burst of enthusiasm he ran ever faster and arrived at the ginger constable’s door in record time. There were no gardens, no fences, no gates on the ginger constable’s street. All was quiet, the happy children having long since been tucked into their warm, safe beds. The number twenty-three glittered in mist-laced moonlight like a beacon. Pausing to listen, the monster could hear more than one male voice rumble from behind the door.

Isn’t alone,
Liam thought from his corner of darkness.

Too bad. Should’ve picked another night for a pint with his mate, the murderer,
the monster huffed and ran a paw down the door, scraping paint and wood in long curls with his nails.
Knock, knock. Who’s there? The big bad wolf.

When no one answered the monster threw a shoulder against the door. The voices grew silent.

Ah, now. That’s better,
the monster thought.
Little pig, little pig. Open up, or I let myself in. And I’ll huff, and I’ll puff—

That’s not how it goes,
thought Liam.

It does now.

Someone approached the door. “Who’s there?”

The yellow acidic smell of fear soaked through two inches of wood.
Now you’re playing the game,
the monster thought and thumped again. The door rattled on its hinges.

Footsteps shuffled. Whispering. Caution was understandable. It was late, and no one was expected. The ’Ra had been exacting a toll among the Peelers over the past few months. So, who was to say the ’Ra hadn’t decided to target gingers in particular?

“I said, who’s there?”

The monster eased back, taking a position along the wall and just under the front window. When the door swung open he rocketed through and knocked the hall’s occupant to the floor. The man landed with a grunt. A cricket bat dropped from his hand. The monster’s enormous paws jabbed into the man’s chest and stomach. The instant he was certain of his footing the creature shoved his muzzle in the man’s face and took a deep breath.

Boot polish. Cigarettes. Beer. That horrible cologne some fool marketing executive had named High Karate six or seven years back. The monster grinned at the unexpected bonus.
Now, now. Isn’t that interesting? Two for one.
He sneezed to get the foul cologne out of his nose. Beneath him the second constable trembled, and a thin whine escaped his throat.

“Get it off me.”

“W-what the fuck is that?”

“I don’t know! Kill it! Get it off!”

“That thing is fucking huge!”

The monster basked in the constable’s fear for a moment before he lowered his snout and licked the man’s cheek. The cloud of fear grew more intense.
Good. So good,
the monster thought.
Perhaps I’ll take a nip here or there. Maybe I’ll rip a line low in your stomach, Peeler. Watch you crawl the hallway with your intestines trailing behind.

Sounds of items being upturned from the kitchen.

Enough,
Liam thought.
He’s looking for a weapon. Finish. Now. Kill him. While there’s time.

Don’t be a spoilsport.

One of the happy young residents of the street is sure to have heard the screaming. It wouldn’t take long for a prowl car to arrive.
Do it. Now. Now. NOW.

The monster ran a clawed paw down the middle of the constable’s chest. It resulted in a series of long screams. Warm blood oozed between the monster’s toe pads. He felt something give way under him, and the constable’s innards parted in a warm gush. The monster was wading in the man’s intestines now. More screams. Looking up he spied the ginger constable standing in the hallway. He was holding a gun. The barrel was shaking. The monster lifted a hind leg and urinated on the man beneath him, daring the ginger constable to shoot.

“Get away! Off, you big bastard!” The ginger constable fired.

The monster felt wind from the bullet’s passing on his left ear, then he leapt from the remains of the High Karate wearer and landed in front of his last target.

“No! Oh, God! No!” The ginger Peeler scrambled, retreating to the kitchen.

The monster followed. A shelf crashed down in front of him, then a door opened and the ginger constable was out into the back garden. The monster climbed over the debris and burst through the door, knocking it off its hinges.

The fenced yard was empty.

Nice try. I can still smell you, you bastard.

Something clattered and a grunt came from the fence in front of him.
Got you now.
The monster let out a howl.

Sounds of running. Jumping, the monster hit the top of the wooden fence and dropped down to the other side. The ginger Peeler was dashing through a small park and dodging children’s play equipment as he went. One of the swings let out a high-pitched squeak as the chains swayed with his passing. Beyond the park was a dense nest of trees. The constable was making for the safety of the tree line. The moon rode the clouds, casting the entire scene in bluish light. Approaching sirens echoed in the night. Liam thought of the constable inside the flat. Was he dead yet? Should he make sure? Careful. He was supposed to be careful. Another man found mauled to death by a wolfhound certainly wasn’t being careful. What was he thinking?

There are others of our kind.
The monster inwardly shrugged and continued pursuing his prey. He caught up to the ginger constable on the bank of a tiny stream.

“Mum told me about you,” the ginger constable said, his teeth clattering together. “When I was little. You—you can’t cross streams. Running water.” He stepped on a stone and slipped, splashing into the stream. “I’m safe.” He laughed and there was an edge of hysteria to it. “Guns don’t stop you. But running water does.” This statement didn’t cause him to lower his shaking gun. His foot touched the opposite bank.

The monster edged to the stream and sniffed. It was true. The man’s scent trail vanished where he’d crossed the stream, but that was as far as the myth went to Liam’s experience. If he were one of the Good Folk—the monster huffed a laugh at the name—he was of the sort that enjoyed water. Ignoring the rocks, the monster set a paw into the stream.

“No. You can’t. Mum said. Mum would know. Was from Ballymena, Mum was. Her people were in with the Good Neighbors. Means I am too.” The ginger constable’s eyes weren’t seeing, that much was clear. Nor was he talking to anyone present.

“You won’t kill me. Can’t. Don’t matter what she said, that Fenian slut.”

The monster stopped—three paws in the water now.

“She caused trouble, that one. Roused up the others. Started riots. Filthy Catholics should stay where they belong. Would have but for her. Had to shut her up.”

The monster stared the ginger constable in the eyes, willing more answers from him.
What did she tell you?

A choked laugh fell from the ginger constable’s mouth. “She… she said we’d be cursed. She said her husband was a… a monster. Said he’d come for us. One by one. Rip us apart. John said it was a lie. Said her husband was just ’Ra scum. But she wasn’t lying, was she? You’re him, aren’t you? You came for John and now you’re here for me and Alex. You got Alex, but you won’t get me.” He reached into his shirt and brought out a stone tied around his neck with a cord. When he held it up, the moonlight shone through the hole in the center. “See? My Mum gave this to me. Talisman this is. Look through and you can see them, she said. Fairy Folk. Only I can see you without it, can’t I?”

The monster placed all four paws in the water now.

“Shouldn’t have done it,” the ginger constable said. “Said she was pregnant. Shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry. But they’re always pregnant, aren’t they? Catholics. Breed like fucking rabbits. So, John laughs and says let’s check to be sure.”

Moving closer, the monster’s rage burned more fiercely than before. He focused that hate until it shone bright red from his eyes.
Kill you. Now.

“I’m sorry. You can take the stone. You won’t hurt me. I’m sorry. So sorry. We shouldn’t have done it. We didn’t know. Never again. Offerings. I’ll give you whatever you want. Anything.”

Reaching the bank where the constable stood, the monster reared back on his hind legs, and standing, he towered over the ginger constable. A misshapen shadow poured over the terror-stricken face. The whites of the man’s eyes were bright in the darkness.

“Oh, God. Jesus, I’m sorry. Please.”

Images of Mary Kate lying in her own blood on the floor sprang to mind—of holding her in his arms while she shivered in pain. He remembered the feel of the gore soaking through his jeans. The smell of the hospital room.
I don’t want to die. I want to stay with you.

The echo of her last words was all he needed to push him past the hesitation.
I’m so sorry. The baby.

The man’s screams were cut off in one satisfying crunch. Blood exploded in the monster’s mouth, and the warm copper taste of it filled his nose, his brain, his world. He shook his head back and forth worrying the constable’s corpse like a dog with a rag. For a time Liam only knew the taste, smell and feel of blood. When he came to himself again, the monster was standing in a shredded mess of meat that had once been the ginger constable.

Lights flickered in the trees and voices of those who searched called out to one another.

Hour. One hour,
thought Liam.
How long have I been here?

He got down on all fours and ran through the stream to rinse the gore from his paws, and then bolted for Oran’s flat as fast as he could. When he was within a block of the place he ducked into the same alley as before and changed back. His clothes were wet and a little worse for wear but that couldn’t be helped. He got up from the pavement and headed for the car park at a brisk walk. Oran was almost exactly where he’d left him, but was now wearing a jeans jacket to keep off the rain.

“Two minutes to spare,” Oran said with a relieved smile.

“I’ll take that pint now.” Liam needed something to wash the taste of blood from his mouth.

“Oh, aye?” Oran asked. “We’ll have to be quiet about it then. The little ones are asleep.”

Liam woke from dreams of Mary Kate to the sound of someone kicking in the door. He had time to sit up and throw off the covers before the men were upon him, and a black cloth bag was forced over his head. Someone tossed him his clothes, and after he was dressed his wrists were cuffed behind his back. The children were crying. There was a scuffle—involving little Brian from the sound. In the confusion he could make out Oran shouting and Elizabeth screaming. Who were the men? The Church? The RUC? Loyalist paramilitaries—the Ulster Volunteer Force? The ’Ra finally come to settle accounts?