by Stina Leicht
Father Dominic and Father Christopher.
The monster caught himself before he could skid into a parked car and pretended to sniff at something underneath the vehicle. You’ve been careless and led them right to us, Liam thought from the back of the monster’s brain.
Or perhaps your Father Murray was followed, thought the monster. We should have dealt with all three sooner. We’ve you and your squeamishness about killing to thank for this.
A car door slammed, sending a quake through the Ford’s metal frame and giving Liam a start. He looked for the sound’s source and saw Father Christopher standing next to the car. His closed fist rested on the dented door.
“We’ve been looking for you, demon,” he said, holding a double-edged, four-foot-long sword in his right hand. Liam blinked. He’d expected the Church’s assassins to carry guns, not swords. Swords belonged in the medieval deserts of Jerusalem and were carried by actors in American films. They weren’t seen in Andersonstown in the hands of priests.
Leave it to the Church to stick with tradition regardless of practicality, the monster thought.
The priest inched closer and a powerful cloud of dread smashed into the monster, making him stagger. He was afraid, now. He couldn’t have said why. His heart slammed against his breastbone, and his limbs trembled. He panted with the fear. Then there was the smell. It overwhelmed his snout with the stench of ancient power. The stink was so thick that the back of his throat clogged with it. We must get out of here, Liam pleaded with the Hound.
It is they who came to us.
“Something gave us the impression you might be in the area.” Father Christopher reached inside his coat and held up a chewed RUC badge.
The man was a Prod, the monster thought. Since when does a Catholic care?
Was? Liam thought. You killed him?
“Time to die, demon.” Father Dominic stepped from around the front end of the Ford and flipped back the folds of his long coat to draw his dirk.
Breathing in great gasps, the beast stepped backward into the street and slipped on a patch of ice. At that moment Father Christopher brought his blade down. The monster whirled and tore into Father Dominic’s leg. The sword missed its mark, biting uselessly into the pavement. Boot leather shredded in the monster’s jaws as he bore down on Father Dominic’s ankle. With a shake of the head the monster felt a satisfying bone snap. Blood gushed into his mouth, and Father Dominic screamed in pain.
“Demon!”
The only demon here is the one you’ve made. The Hound opened his jaws, and Father Dominic tumbled onto the ground, his foot dangling at an unnatural angle. The monster sensed movement at the edge of his vision and ducked just as Father Christopher’s blade swept the air. Steel nicked the Hound’s right ear and unbelievable pain shot through his whole body, felling him before he understood what had happened.
Get up! Liam thought, Move!
Father Christopher lifted the sword for another swing. The monster rolled and then staggered to his paws. His limbs felt rubbery, and his blood burned.
The blade, Liam thought. The blade is poisoned. We must get out of here.
No! Not until they’re dead, the monster thought back and then balanced on his hind legs. He swayed. His ear was numb, and half his skull felt like it’d been hit with acid. Furious at being weakened so easily, he roared and swiped at Father Christopher’s chest. Claws flayed skin, snapped bone, and a spray of gore hit the monster in the face. Blinded, he lunged at Father Christopher headfirst, hitting him square in the stomach. Father Christopher dropped with a grunt, and a clear-pitched ring sounded as tempered metal crashed to the pavement.
Christ. They’re priests, Liam thought. I can’t do this. Let them go. Please. For fuck’s sake!
Them or us. The monster shook his head until his vision cleared. Father Christopher’s arm was clearly broken at the wrist and a ragged wound gaped in his chest. He scooted toward his lost sword while the monster looked on. Warm crimson melted patches in the frost. They will only come back for us. Bring others.
I don’t care, Liam thought. He fought to emerge from the dimness—to wrench control from the monster. Mother of God, I’ll not do this. I. Will. Not.
The monster dropped to all fours and howled in frustration. The prickling sensation that signaled the start of the change crawled its way down his limbs. No! It isn’t finished!
Liam pressed all the harder until he found himself lying on the cold pavement, blinking.
“Demon!”
He pushed himself up from the ground. His right ear throbbed in time with his heart, and his palms smarted in the grit. When he was on his feet again he saw that Father Dominic was also upright, steadying himself with one hand to the parked car. The other held the dirk.
“I’m not finished with you,” Father Dominic said, breathing heavy.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m done with you.” Liam combed blood-soaked hair from his face with one hand. I did it, he thought at the monster. Shoved you back into the dark, you fucker. As far as I’ve gone, at least I have that. He shuddered with the relief and almost laughed. He heard metal scrape concrete and saw that Father Christopher had at last reached his weapon.
Father Dominic slammed his hand on the car’s hood. “Fight me!”
I fucking did it. And done once, I can do it again. Breathing out a jittery sigh, Liam said, “Get Father Christopher to hospital.”
“Coward!”
“This ends here. On my say.”
“I’ll hunt you down,” Father Dominic said. “I don’t care how long it takes.”
“And I’ll protect myself when I must, but I’ve no war with you,” Liam said. “I’m no demon. I’m—I’m Fey.” He turned his back to Father Dominic and walked away.
“Come on, you great bastard! I’m here! Come and get me!” Father Dominic’s voice echoed off the buildings.
It began to sleet, and Liam shivered. He knew he was only putting off the inevitable. The monster raging in the darkness at the back of his brain was right. Father Dominic wouldn’t stop, but Liam decided he’d face that problem later. For the moment, only Haddock and the end to his vengeance for Mary Kate was important. He sprinted across the street, using as much speed as he dared muster on the ice. In his rush, he forgot to check the road first, and the squeal of tires brought him up short. A black taxi skidded a circle across the slick pavement. When it slowed to a stop, the driver waved a fist out the window of his cab and cursed.
Sorry, mate, Liam thought and continued north.
The sky was full black and he was out of breath and soaked through when he arrived at Haddock’s place.
At last, Liam thought. Soon it will be done. At least no one else will have to die.
The monster whispered back from the darkness, Will you stop your whinging, you wee girl?
Liam checked the house. A car was parked in the garage, but the lights inside were off, and no one answered the door when he knocked. Hoping he wouldn’t be disappointed again, he located an alley within sight of Haddock’s house and prepared himself for a wait. Lighting a cigarette, he pulled up the hood of his anorak. The warmth from the long run was starting to wear off, and he shivered with his back against a wooden fence as sweat cooled under his coat. The sleet had stopped but the humidity remained, and a mist hung in the air. He watched bus passengers come and go. Children played football in the street. He fought an urge to pace. Patience. We’re probably in for a long wait. When Haddock walked up with a grocery sack in one arm, keys jangling, Liam almost missed him.
What kind of mad bastard walks home in the weather when he owns a car?
Briefly, Liam considered assassinating Haddock in the street, but that wouldn’t get the information Liam needed about the mysterious fourth man. Haddock vanished into the recess protecting the doorway from the street. The door slammed, and the lights flipped on. Liam paused long enough to consider the situation. He hadn’t shaved in quite a while, and his hair had grown out. Haddock might not recognize him. The mo
nster pushed for action. Crossing the street, Liam then knocked on the door. The light inside the front room shut off at once. A television flickered through the windows. The porch light seemed suddenly bright. Haddock’s shadow moved beyond the peep hole.
“Who’s there?”
Liam didn’t answer, only knocked again.
From the other side of the door he heard the sound of a bullet being chambered.
“I asked for your name, Paddy. And I suggest you give it. This is a .45. It’ll blow a hole through this door and you.”
“Liam Kelly.”
“One step back, if you please, Mr. Kelly,” Haddock said and then paused while Liam complied. “Ahh. Knew they hadn’t fried your skinny carcass. What the fuck do you want?”
Words formed on Liam’s lips before he knew what he’d say. “The medicine.” He let himself shiver. “I’m dying for it. Tell you whatever you want. Just—”
“Oh, shut your fucking sniveling!”
There was another long pause, and Liam wondered if his act had been convincing. Of course, if he was honest with himself he wasn’t entirely certain it’d been an act.
“Are you alone?”
Liam said, “You think the ’Ra would provide me an escort after what I’ve done?”
“The farmhouse. What happened?”
“Open the door, and I’ll tell you.”
Yet another long pause stretched out. The sounds of children playing in the street filled in the silence. Liam’s teeth chattered. For a moment he thought Haddock wasn’t going to allow him inside. Liam considered busting down the door but knew he didn’t have the strength. He’d been starving himself too long which, now that he thought about it, had been a bad idea. Haddock was tough, and he’d need everything he had to best him. Too late now. Doesn’t matter if I make it through, so long as that fucking bastard doesn’t. There was the front window. If Liam was going to make enough noise to rouse the whole estate he supposed a bit of glass wasn’t going to matter.
“Get back. Turn round, and put your hands against the wall. Do it. Now.”
Liam paused.
“Be a shame to put a hole in the door just to rid myself of one pathetic sod, but I’ll do it.”
Turning, Liam put his hands up against the wall. He heard the door open, and before he knew it he’d been slammed face-first against the bricks. Cold steel pressed against the back of his skull.
“Don’t you move.”
Liam’s heart jumped as Haddock conducted a quick search. Doesn’t matter what he does, Liam thought. Get inside. Ask about the fourth man. He’s MI5. He’ll know. When we’ve got what we want then he’ll get his. The monster wasn’t in favor of delay. He wanted to end it now. Gritting his teeth, Liam willed himself still, but when a cuff circled his left wrist he jerked. An explosion of pain erupted in his right kidney.
“I said don’t fucking move.”
His right arm was yanked down to the small of his back to be trapped with his left. Cold burned into his flesh. The cuffs. He felt Haddock’s hand on his bicep. Liam’s stomach clenched, and trembled. Trapped. The cuffs. Can’t shape-shift. Haddock said something but the fear was so bad Liam couldn’t make out what.
“Are you deaf? I said get inside.”
Liam was pulled from the wall and shoved through the door. He tripped and fell onto the horrible shag carpet. The door thumped shut. Liam was able to roll onto his side before Haddock landed the first kick.
“You stupid fuck,” Haddock said. “What makes you think I’d waste anything on you?” The toe of his shoe slammed into Liam’s back twice and once in his arm. “What the fuck will I get out of it?”
Through the pain Liam heard a click and the lights came on. The room was bare but for a lone sofa, television and an old coffee table littered with bits of wire. A frayed poster of a naked blonde woman stared down at him. It was the only decoration on the bare white walls.
“Farmhouse. Tell you about the farmhouse,” Liam said. “You said you wanted to know. Take the cuffs off. I’ll tell you.”
“How about I leave them on, and you tell me anyway?” Haddock kicked him twice more.
“All right! I’ll tell you!”
“Out with it, you stupid fuck.”
“Was a fight.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Haddock said, circling. “Two years I worked on them contacts. Worked my way up the chain one by one. Two years in this lousy shit hole. Gone in an afternoon. You tell me why!”
“Éamon was working for you, wasn’t he?”
“I’m the one asking the questions, you piece of shit.”
“Were after Oran. Never asked me anything.”
“Go on.”
“Oran told them about Éamon. Éamon went crazy. Started shooting up the place. That’s all I know.”
“Give me the rest, damn you.”
“I don’t know! Spent most of the time with a bag over my head. I swear. I don’t—”
Haddock kicked him hard in the thigh, and Liam screamed.
“Don’t you lie to me,” Haddock said. “I’m supposed to believe you brought down the operation. You. A stupid Mick who can’t even bloody read for Christ’s sake.”
Liam spit at Haddock and missed.
“I can see we’ll have to get creative.” Haddock strode out of the room and into the next.
Liam had a bad feeling when he heard things being turned over in the kitchen. He pulled at the cuffs on his wrists. He writhed on the floor until he could leverage himself against the sofa. With that, he was finally able to get to his knees. He was about to stand when Haddock re-entered the room.
“Now, now. We can’t have you rabbiting off just when things are getting interesting, now can we?”
Haddock punched him twice in the stomach. Liam couldn’t breathe. Wheezing, he was dragged to the coffee table. The cuff came off his left wrist and then he was anchored to the table’s leg. He glanced down and saw that Haddock had looped the cuff inside the metal bracket between the leg and the tabletop.
“There,” Haddock said. “That’s better. And here you weren’t even going to wait to see what I have for you.”
He began placing objects on the table—a lump of tin foil, a syringe, a spoon and a lighter. Liam started to relax, but then Haddock left again. A door slammed in the back of the house. Noises from outside. When Haddock returned, what he held in his hands made Liam’s guts turn to water.
A small blowtorch.
“Let’s handle this like your friends would, shall we?” Haddock asked. “It’s something your slow Paddy brain will comprehend.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll tell you anything you want.”
“I know you will,” Haddock said, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a small black zippered bag. “And then you’ll tell me the truth.”
“Look, I could go back. Get you some names.”
Haddock shook his head. “We both know that’s not possible. They probably have the same questions I do. And will ask them just as hard.” He unzipped the black bag and brought out a compact and lethal-looking chrome knife.
A scalpel, Liam thought. Oh, Christ.
Two scalpels from the black bag clicked onto the table. One was slightly longer and more lethal-looking than the other. Haddock re-arranged the items, aligning them in a neat row just as Liam had seen him do with pens and a notebook at the station before the long-ago interview.
“I’m not without mercy. Be a good little junkie, and you might get your medicine.”
Liam licked his lips and tried to control his breathing. Focus, he thought. You have to focus. Get yourself out of this. He stared at the tin foil.
“That’s right,” Haddock said. “Now. Just in case you decide to display a selfless streak, I’ve done my research. Read your file. You’ve a mother. In Londonderry.”
Liam’s stomach turned to ice.
Haddock laughed. “So easy. Éamon at least presented a challenge. No family, you see. None he cared much for. Was smart.
Kept it that way. Knew family was a liability in this business. Only he made one little mistake. He took money from someone he shouldn’t have. Oh, he was sly about it. Waited a good three years before he spent it. But spend it, he did. On that stupid farm.”
Grabbing Liam’s arm, Haddock yanked him upright.
“Now,” Haddock said. “The farm. What happened?”
“Brought us there. Asked Oran the questions.”
“You’ve already said that,” Haddock said and reached for the first scalpel.
“They tortured him. Oran,” Liam said. Shouldn’t have let him cuff me. Should’ve let the monster have him. Questions or no.
Haddock stood up. Bending over, he placed Liam’s left hand on the carpet and then stomped on it. Pain shot up Liam’s arm, and he cried out.
“You’re not trying hard enough,” Haddock said.
He took the scalpel and cut at the shoulder of Liam’s anorak. In a moment the sleeve was gone as well as the shirt underneath. The furnace hadn’t had time to heat the house and cold air prickled Liam’s bare skin. White fluff floated across the carpet. The steel cuff numbed his right wrist. Cold. So cold. Got to get it off my skin. Can’t change. Can’t—
“I suggest you talk faster.” Haddock leaned closer and touched a curved blade to Liam’s bicep.
“Éamon ordered me to shoot him! Oran! I killed Oran! In the field. Near the trees.”
Haddock paused. Blinked. “You shot the only friend you had?” His mouth stretched into a slow smile and then he let out a loud guffaw.
Enough, Liam thought, feeling his anger rise. He searched the floor for anything that might help. Spying the ripped sleeve lying on the carpet next to his knee, the last of the fear vaporized beneath his rage. His left hand tingled beneath Haddock’s shoe. Liam breathed in gasps as the change fought against the cold iron in the cuff, adding to the hurt but lending a certain clarity. “You’ve read my file. You know the stories.” His voice sounded suddenly calm in his own ears.
Haddock continued laughing. “Éamon said you’re a werewolf. What superstitious rot.”
