Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen)

by Stina Leicht

  Liam shook his head.

  “What is she afraid of?” Oran asked, pouring another round.

  “The Good Folk,” Liam said. “She thinks they’ll come for the baby. Never seen anyone so afraid of such a thing in all my life. Didn’t even know she believed. And her at Uni.”

  Oran’s face changed, and he stared down into the glass in his hand as if he were hiding his expression.

  Liam asked, “Are you going to tell me you believe it too?”

  Not taking his gaze from the glass, Oran frowned and then shook his head. “I don’t believe that they’d come for your baby.”

  “Where do you think she got a notion like that?”

  Oran glanced up at him. The glass shook as he lifted it to his lips and sipped. “Oh, pregnant women get ideas in their heads. Drives them a bit mad, the pregnancy. Don’t tell Elizabeth I said so, I’ll never hear the end.”

  Oran was a bad liar. The deception would’ve been obvious even if Liam hadn’t overheard that long -ago conversation. Once again it occurred to him that Oran was frightened. Unlike the others, for the most part Oran didn’t show it, but for the careful glance or the unspoken word here and there. Liam gripped the glass in his hand. His face burned and his knuckles went white. Does everyone see it in me? “I’m not what you think, Oran.”

  “And what is it I think?” Oran looked nervous.

  “Heard what you said. After our first job. Well, you know. When I was sick, and you brought the priest.”

  Oran went a little pale. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “I know you didn’t,” Liam said. “You were scared. Hell, I was scared too.”

  Setting down his glass, Oran said, “I love you like a brother. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me what you are and what you aren’t,” Oran said. “You’re my friend. And you’re a good man. That’s all I care about. Nothing else matters.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Don’t deny it. We’ve all seen you drive. Me, Níal and Éamon. We know.”

  “You’re telling me the lot of you think I’m some sort of—”

  “Éamon is of the opinion you’re Lon Chaney, Jr.,” Oran said with an incredulous look. “Says he got a report, you see. Some sort of rumor about you. From the Kesh.”

  A chill ran along Liam’s arms, raising the hairs under the sleeves of his sweat-er. “Shite.” How much did HQ know? Worse yet, how much had Éamon told Oran and the others? Níal’s watchful looks began to form an image in Liam’s head that he didn’t like—the image of the word “fairy” written in flesh.

  He suppressed a shudder.

  “Not to worry. We’d never tell. Not that anyone would much believe us if we did.”

  It was Liam’s turn to gaze into his glass. When the skin on the backs of his arms started to prickle he got up from the chair, feeling a little sick. Lon Chaney, Jr. “I have to go.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I told you,” Oran said.

  The need to run had overtaken Liam and grew powerful enough that he found himself quivering with it. Must get home. Now. He grabbed his anorak and shoved his fists into the sleeves.

  “Will you be going to midnight Mass tomorrow?” Oran asked, looking worried. “Elizabeth wants to walk to the church together.”

  Unable to speak, Liam nodded and then threw open the door.

  “We didn’t drink a toast to the babe’s health,” Oran said. He paused and then added, “Later, then?”

  Liam bolted down the stairs as fast as he could without tumbling. He burst through the apartment building’s entrance and jogged home. The last of the warmth from Oran’s flat faded, and he was left frozen and empty for the length of three breaths. Then between one lungful of air and the next the urgent need to see Mary Kate propelled him down the street. Concern became terror and terror exploded into panic. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The knowledge pressed bone deep in jagged shards—trapped inside the ice of his chest. He didn’t know why or how he knew. He just knew.

  He hadn’t bothered zipping up his anorak. Cold moist wind tugged at the flapping coat and pinched his face as if unseen forces attempted to hold him back. It’s too late. Don’t go. You don’t want to see. Reaching their building, he shot up the stairs without a pause. When he hit the second landing he was knocked down by three running men wearing masks. He smelled the blood as they thundered past, and he noticed something odd about their shoes but didn’t consciously register what it was. Above, someone screamed, ripping his attention away from the men. Liam scrambled to his feet and took the steps three at a time. When he reached the last landing he spied Mrs. Black. She was standing in the hall just outside the door to a flat. Our flat. Mine and Mary Kate’s. A scarlet stain in the shape of a smudged, deformed flower had bloomed on the front of her blue print dress. The ever-present scarf was gone, and her brown hair—normally so carefully groomed—stuck out in shocked angles. Her face was pale enough that her skin faded into the white paint on the wall beyond. She would have been invisible but for the round black eyes and gaping red-painted mouth. Her throat moved, and Liam was afraid she was going to scream again. He didn’t want that. He knew if she did he would blow apart like a glass pane smashed with a stone. Taking charge, he grabbed her arm at the elbow.

  “They killed her. They… they…”

  Mary Kate will need to go to hospital. “Call Father Murray at St. Agnes’s if the phone is working. Send for him if it isn’t. Get him here. Now. I’ll—” He released her and stepped inside the flat. The furniture, what little they had, had been wrecked. From the amount of blood covering the walls and soaking into the old sofa, he knew that Mrs. Black had to be right.

  I should’ve gone straight home, he thought. I knew it.

  Please, God. Jesus and Mary, please, let me not be too late, he prayed, cautiously moving forward step by step. He was certain all of the men were gone, but there was always a chance they’d left a surprise. A message had been scrawled on the wall. It blurred and then he blinked. It read: We know who you are –UFF. A bloody handprint had been placed just below the message; its shape like that of a BA’s hand stopping a car. The Red Hand. They’d also left a coin in the center of the floor and drawn a circle around it in blood. Moving closer, he saw it was an old shilling—at least, he thought it was. He picked it up and pocketed it, thinking he’d ask Oran or one of the others about it later. Then he spied Mary Kate’s shoe in the corner of his eye and turned toward it.

  She lay in the doorway between the bedroom and the kitchen. She was on her stomach, hands clutching her belly beneath her. The print skirt she had put on for University that morning was soaked black with the blood.

  So much blood.

  I knew. I should’ve been home, he thought.

  He was so certain she was gone that she groaned twice before he heard her. Rushing to her side, he gently rolled her over so that he sat with her head in his lap. Her face was bruised and splotched. He was fairly certain her nose was broken. At the edge of his awareness, clammy wetness seeped through his jeans.

  “Mary Kate? I’m here. Say something. Anything.”

  “Bastards.”

  He wanted to hug her to him but couldn’t risk hurting her further.

  “Fucking UDA.” It came out in a mumbling lisp. Her front teeth had been shattered. “Looking for you.” She started to sob. “Oh, Liam, the baby. They—they—”

  “Shhhhh, hush now,” Liam said. “You’re both going to be all right. Mrs. Black went for Father Murray. We’ll get you to hospital.”

  “It hurts.”

  For a moment he couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. He took a breath and forced the words out. “I know. Don’t move.” Don’t take her from me. Please, God. Not her and the babe. Not now. I’ll do anything you want. Please. You can’t take her. It’s Christmas.

  “I’m cold.”

  Moving as little as possible, he reached to the bed and pulled the rumpled blanket to the
floor. He draped it over her as best he could. “There. You’ll be warm soon.”

  “I love you.” Tears streaked the drying blood on her face.

  “I love you too.” He kissed her on her forehead and blinked, suppressing a compulsion to hunt down the three men now while he had the chance of catching them. The black monster shifted in the back of his brain, but was otherwise quiet. He didn’t understand why he didn’t feel anything—not even the tingling in his arms. He should be grieving. He should be raging. But there was nothing in him at all.

  “Always loved you,” she lisped through her broken mouth. “Told Theresa Madden. Was going to marry you. Was twelve.”

  “Hush now. Save your strength.”

  She sobbed. “Don’t want to die. I want to stay with you.”

  “You’re not going to die. You’re going to live.”

  He sensed more than saw someone move in the doorway, but didn’t see anyone from his position on the floor.

  “Why am I so cold?”

  Where the fuck is Father Murray? The Church isn’t that far. What if he doesn’t come? What if she dies because I waited?

  Mary Kate started having trouble breathing. Panic rippled through his body. He wedged himself under her until she was sitting up and then he wrapped his arms around her. He tried not to think of how sticky the floor was. His skin itched, and his face was cold. Her breathing eased. He rocked her slowly as if she were a fragile child.

  “I’ll not leave you alone again. I’ll protect you. I swear it,” Liam said, and then started to hum without thinking. Too late he realized it was that stupid Bay City Rollers song, “Bye, Bye, Baby.”

  A breathless laugh bubbled out of her mouth.

  “What’s funny?”

  “You never did have the music.”

  Footsteps and voices echoed up the stairwell. Within moments Father Murray and Mrs. Black entered the flat. Father Murray’s brown hair hung in his shocked face.

  “Over here, Father,” Liam said. “We have to get her to hospital. Can you drive the cab? I—I can’t.”

  Father Murray nodded.

  Liam reached into his coat pocket and held out the keys. His hand was stained crimson.

  “I should do something.” Mrs. Black asked, biting her lip, “May I call her mother?”

  “Number is on the kitchen counter,” Liam said, thinking he sounded too calm. “Call my mother too. If you would. Lock up, will you?” He clamped down on a laugh. As if there was anything worth saving now. He kissed the top of Mary Kate’s head. He felt better, stronger now that Father Murray was there. “Mary Kate, love, brace yourself. I’m going to lift you.”

  “I love you so much.” Her voice was sleepy.

  He wrapped the blanket around her battered body and gently looped his arms under her. She gasped in pain as he straightened. Father Murray led the way down the empty hallway. The soles of Liam’s work boots were slick with blood, and he concentrated on not slipping as he went down the stairs one at a time. Too long. I’m taking too long. Shouldn’t have waited. He got her to the cab without any disastrous mishaps and tucked her into the back. He got in next to her once she was settled and then they were off.

  “I knew it,” he whispered. “Should’ve been home. I knew.”

  “What do you mean?” Father Murray asked.

  Please, God, Liam thought. I’ll never touch a drop again. I swear it. I’ll give up the cigarettes. Anything. “I—I knew.”

  It couldn’t have taken long to reach the hospital; it was only a few blocks away. He had a sense that Father Murray drove with speed and skill unexpected in a priest, but time had slowed. Mary Kate lay curled on the black leather seat, her skin glowing white in the darkness. Her eyes were closed, and he would’ve thought her asleep or dead were it not for the grip she had on his hand. Her lips moved, and he moved closer to hear.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “You haven’t done anything to be sorry for,” Liam said.

  “I’m so sorry. For the baby. I shouldn’t have.”

  He carried her into the hospital while Father Murray parked the car. It seemed to take forever for the nurses to take notice and even longer for them to bring a gurney. When he set her down Mary Kate cried out and clamped onto his hand with a surprising amount of force.

  Liam smoothed the tangled hair off her face. “Shhh, you have to go with the doctors now.”

  “No. Please.”

  “I’ll not be far.”

  Father Murray arrived just as they wheeled her away. A nurse handed Liam a clipboard and a pen. He stood, blank and empty, watching her retreat. The rubber soles of her white shoes squeaked on the grey linoleum. He glanced down at the clipboard. The text on the form shifted and scrambled before it blurred. I can’t read it. I didn’t protect her, and now I can’t even fill out the fucking forms. The ballpoint pen in his right hand shook.

  “Let me take that,” Father Murray said. His voice was gentle and calming. “Come have a seat.”

  “Is she going to die, Father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Liam allowed Father Murray to lead him to one of the square plastic chairs with steel legs that were positioned against the wall.

  Father Murray reached into a pocket. “Here,” he said, holding out a handful of black rosary beads. “It’ll give you something useful to do.”

  The rosary felt warm in Liam’s otherwise numb fingers. He closed his eyes and started praying in an urgent whisper. “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth.” The words brought some measure of peace. As the antiseptic hospital smell penetrated the numbness he told himself that none of it was real. It was a bad dream, and he’d wake at any moment. “And in Jesus Christ his only son, Our Lord.”

  Outside, someone was crying. A woman. He could hear her through the glass doors. They must’ve given her bad news. Her wails pierced the walls and rattled Liam’s nerves, breaking his concentration.

  Somewhere a door swung open and hurried footsteps approached. “Father? Can I speak with you for a moment?” It was the doctor. Bright red splotches stained his white coat.

  I should feel something, Liam thought. Why don’t I feel anything?

  Father Murray put down the pen and the clipboard. Glancing over his shoulder he said, “Will you be all right for a little while, Liam?”

  Liam swallowed and nodded. Shutting his eyes again, he returned to his prayers. He pretended he couldn’t hear the doctor whisper to Father Murray of what the three men had done to Mary Kate and that the baby was dead. He pretended not to hear Father Murray ask the doctor if he could enter the room to administer the Extreme Unction. The hairs on the backs of Liam’s arms stood up on end, and his skin bunched in cold knots.

  Mary Kate wanted to go home for Christmas. She wanted to see the Giant’s Causeway. It was to be our first real holiday.

  I should’ve come home. I didn’t protect my family.

  A fierce pain pierced his chest. The woman outside continued her cries, if anything they grew louder. No one was comforting her in her grief. It occurred to him that she was alone. It wasn’t right for anyone to be alone with such news. He stood up, and the rosary fell from his nerveless hands. He would go to her, to the grieving woman. He’d comfort her.

  He made it to the glass doors when he saw her standing on the walk. She was slender and graceful under the white old-fashioned dress. Long black hair curtained her face. He had placed a hand on the door’s handle when her chin lifted, and he saw her eyes. They glowed pale, silvery blue. He saw it had started raining. Big fat drops slammed the pavement. Her skirts blew in a wind that didn’t affect the nearby tree, and her hair floated, dry on the damp air.

  “Liam,” Father Murray said. “You must come with me.”

  “Can you see her?”

  “Who?” Father Murray peered through the glass. “There isn’t anyone out there.”

  Realization filtered through the haze.

  “Come, Liam.”

&n
bsp; Liam didn’t think he could move, but somehow he did. “I knew.” He understood he must’ve sounded mad, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t have stopped himself from speaking if he’d wanted to. “I knew it.”

  “She needs you.” Father Murray’s hair hung in disheveled clumps. He held out a hand. “She’s lost too much blood.”

  “I’ll go in, Father.” I should’ve gone home. I shouldn’t have waited. I should’ve driven her to hospital myself. I should’ve risked it.

  They’d tucked her into a bed with blankets and someone had cleaned her face. Her skin was so pale it was tinged with green. The stench of disinfectant and drying gore spooked him, and for one alarming moment he was torn between his terror of hospitals—must leave, must get out of this fucking place—and his love for Mary Kate. He shuddered with the need to run. Fucking coward. How could he even think of leaving her in the awful place? Alone?

  Her eyes fluttered open, and he snatched her hand to tether himself. Unlike before, her grip was weak. The reality of it registered in his brain and in a flash his terror was gone.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “The baby.”

  He buried his face in her chest and sobbed. He felt her hand on his head as if to comfort him. Her chest lifted once and then it was done. An instant and she was gone forever.

  Liam felt someone tugging at him. He was hollow. Mary Kate lay still under his forehead, and no matter how he tried to convince himself he felt some small breath, some sign of life, there was none. Reluctant to see proof, he sat up and stared at the blank hospital room wall.

  “Do you need anything from the flat?” It was Father Murray. “You can’t go back. The RUC are there. Do you understand?”

  Liam blinked twice before slowly nodding. Not caring. He heard a soft tapping at the window and saw a moth fluttering against the glass. Stumbling across the room, he reached the window and pushed it open. The moth flitted through the gap and into the night.

  “I’ll call for Mrs. Black. We’ll take care of the arrangements. But we must get you out of here.”

  Shuffling toward the double glass doors like a sleepwalker, Liam was almost afraid he’d see the Banshee again, but the walk was empty. He’d somehow gotten to the cab. Glancing inside the window to the back seat, his emotions flooded in at the sight of Mary Kate’s blood. Feelings slammed into him so hard he couldn’t breathe or think. He caught himself with one hand on the glass; his reflection gawking back at him. The tingling ran up his arms and legs. Pain twisted inside his guts. His breath finally came but only in short gasps.