Iron and Salt

by Calinda B

  “Yeah? At least I’m not running to escape my demons,” he said.

  “Ouch. And who says you’re not hiding from yours by burying your dick in anything that moves?” Ire spiked in her belly.

  “Going now,” he said, his voice fading from the speaker.

  “Wait!” Marie clutched the phone. “Ryan and Inspector Brown are going to contact you. They’re going to ask you your whereabouts this morning.”

  “And when they ask me, I’ll give them an answer. Now keep your nose out of my bloody damn business,” William growled.

  “William!”

  Her ears were met with silence.

  “William? Did you hang up on me again? William?”

  No reply.

  She slammed the phone on the table and groaned. My fucking brother. He always knows how to piss me off.

  Petra sidled over to the booth and slid another brandy toward her.

  “Thanks,” Marie said. She gulped it down. Instead of relaxing, however, she became more fidgety than ever.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear,” Petra said.

  “Sorry,” Marie said. “I should have stepped outside.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Petra placed her palms on the table and leaned into them. “It’s perfectly normal to want to throttle a sibling and still love them to pieces. I should know. My sister could be an incredibly selfish bitch, but…at the end of the day, Ailis O’Neill had only been human, and it was that very human sister that I forgave time and time again because…I loved her.”

  “Huh,” Marie said, in no mood to be consoled. “Everyone’s different. Sometimes I think my brother and I were born to be at war. We’re twins, for Christ’s sake. We’re supposed to have a magical bond or something. I don’t feel it at the moment.”

  “I think you need to go for a walk or a run or something,” Petra said, reaching for the empty shot glasses. “That always calms you.” With her hands full of glassware, she lifted her elbow toward the table. “Don’t worry about the tab. Consider this grief counseling, as only the Rat can provide. I sense you’ve got more on your mind then the tragedy that occurred today.”

  Marie’s eyebrows rose at Petra’s uncanny perception. “What do you mean?”

  Petra lifted her glass-filled hand to her temple. “It’s just a sense I have.”

  “Huh,” Marie said, narrowing her eyes. She didn’t want anyone to know her suspicions about her brother messing with the gravesite. “I think you’re right, a run would do me good. And thanks for the grief counseling.” She picked up the bottle of Bushmill’s, gulped a swig, and rose. Her head was surprisingly stable despite the alcohol. She said her good-byes to Petra and exited the Rat.

  Outside, the sun hung heavy in the sky, like a bloated orange, falling toward the horizon. She stretched her limbs and took off at a jog. Her mind cleared. Her attention focused on her breathing, on the feeling of feet against asphalt, of her arms pumping at her sides.

  She headed out of town, in the direction of the beach. Her speed picked up. Twenty minutes later, she jogged down the hillside leading to the vampire’s gravesite.

  More stones had been disturbed.

  Marie threw back her head and groaned. This is bad. Like, the cherry on an ice cream sundae of shit bad. Are my parents too preoccupied with the recent murders to take care of this? Should I tell them? She thought for a moment and then let out a huge sigh. She didn’t want to stress them out any more than they already were—especially if her brother had been the one to disturb the grave.

  She glanced at the sea. A thought swirled around her brain with insistent fury. Maybe I can dive deep and gather the rocks to trap the Dearg-Due. She shook her head. Stupid idea. What makes me think I can transform when I’m freaked out?

  She paced along the water’s edge. The opposing counsel in her mind weighed in. Didn’t I just say I never want to attempt Leviathan transformation again? Do I want to transform? A shudder rocked her spine. But what if Mum’s right? I must serve the community?

  She pictured the horror that would sweep through the town if the Dearg-Due went on another killing spree. People would lose loved ones. Every townsperson would be too frightened to leave their homes. Her shoulders squared, and she took a Wonder Woman stance of determination. I’ve got to try. I’ve got to see if I can transform into a Leviathan.

  She slipped off her shoes and socks, then waded through the surf and dove through the waves. Then, she swam into deeper waters. As she bobbed in the frothing sea, she tried stilling her mind and thinking Big ugly squid shape, here I come. Nothing happened. She pictured having sex with Jonny Coyne. That only made her mad, remembering what a jerk he’d been at the end. She dove beneath the water, hoping she might spontaneously transform. She dove deeper, then ran low of air and popped back to the surface with a gasp. She went down again, deeper still until her lungs felt like they might explode. Nothing worked. Finally, she dragged herself out of the sea, exhausted.

  She fell to her knees and pounded the sand. “Why, Mum and Dad, why? Why did you keep William and me? Why didn’t you flush us from your system when you had the chance?”

  Tears fell from her eyes. She crumpled into a ball and began to sob. Her sobs became wails. A profound sense of aloneness fell upon her. No one on earth had the same problems as her. She was a freak…an aberration…something not fit to live on this planet.

  Only when a warm jacket fell upon her back, smelling familiar and comforting, did she still her cries.

  Strong arms and the warmth of a body wrapped around her shivering form.

  “Easy, sweetness. I’ve got you,” Ryan murmured in her ear.

  Basking in his warmth, she let out a long shuddering sigh. When her shivers had ceased, she pushed to sitting and wiggled around to meet Ryan’s gaze. But, when his lion’s eyes regarded her, compassion streaming in her direction, the tears started again.

  He reached out and wiped the salty droplets from her face with his thumbs.

  “Shh,” he soothed. “Shh.”

  “How did you know I was down here?” she finally managed to say.

  “I saw you running at a ‘bent for Hell’s’ pace, heading in this direction. It made sense to look.” He smiled. “You and I…we’ve always shared a line of thought to know when the other is distressed or in need.”

  She shuddered, not daring to read more into his words than friendship.

  “I’ve…I’ve got to show you something.” She scrambled to her feet, clutching Ryan’s coat around her to try to bring warmth to her shaking limbs. She headed for the grave. “Look.” She pointed. “More stones have been moved.”

  “Shite,” Ryan said. Lines of worry marred his handsome face. “This is bad.”

  “Way,” Marie said. She pulled the jacket tighter. “Is Inspector Brown still around?”

  “No, she left for Dungarvan. But she could be part of the problem,” Ryan said.

  Marie’s brow stitched together. “I don’t follow. How is she part of the problem? Won’t she be working even harder to catch the criminal?”

  “Yes, in our village.” Ryan’s eyes met hers in a serious, steady gaze. “You know, the one where secrets are kept. What if she unearths our mysteries?”

  Marie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no. You’re right. What if she finds out about my family?” She shook her head. “She’ll never figure it out. The Leviathan magic protects us. But still…” She hugged her arms around her belly. “What if she unearths questions none of us can answer with a plausible story?”

  Chapter 9

  Sunday evening – Marie

  When Marie clambered in Ryan’s SUV, parked near the trail to the gravesite, the sun had descended, leaving flat ribbons of gold and orange upon the horizon. She fastened the seatbelt around her waist with trembling fingers. Still frozen to the bone, she pulled her knees to her chest.

  Ryan glanced over at her. “You all right?” Without waiting for an answer, he ignited the vehicle and cranked up the heater.

  It b
lew hot air with a gusty racket.

  He hooked a U-Turn and headed away from the beach.

  The heater blasted warm air from the vents, warming her bones.

  They said little as he guided the SUV toward her home. Her erratic thoughts bounced all over her head. One minute she was consumed with her lust for Ryan; the next minute she’d slide into the fear zone about the Dearg-Due and the violence colliding with her village.

  By the time Ryan pulled into her driveway, she barely remembered the drive, she’d been so consumed with her thoughts.

  He put the vehicle in park and turned to look at her.

  She longed to reach across the console and kiss his luscious lips. He’d shown her such tenderness at the gravesite, she’d mixed up his brotherly attention with real affection—and that was a ginormous problem. She had to nip it in the bud before she shamed herself and screwed up an awesome connection.

  “Well,” she said, directing her gaze at her lap. She picked at her fingernails.

  “Well,” he said.

  “Another misadventure for you and me, I guess. Thanks for coming to my rescue. I might have gone into hypothermia and frozen to death out there.” She lifted her head to side-eye him, her insides swamped with sheepishness.

  “Being with you is never a misadventure,” he said, solemnly.

  She raised her eyes to meet his. Swirls and shivers cascaded through her belly and nether-region.

  He kept a steady gaze trained on her while chewing on his lower lip. “I’ve got to get back to the station and write reports.”

  “Right. And I’ve got to go give my brother a tongue lashing.” She let out a sigh.

  “Is that where you’re headed? Dungarvan?”

  As she sat caught in his gaze, the desire to kiss him grew more intense, even though she knew she shouldn’t do it. And talk about awkward when he pushes me away and asks me what the hell I’m doing.

  She ripped her attention from him and stared out the window at her parents’ yard.

  Dad had the green thumb of the family. He’d planted all manner of flowers and shrubs in the landscape, adding winding pathways through the colorful display. “It’s to soothe the mind,” he’d told her. “Wandering through nature should always be a source of nourishment. And delight. That’s why I’ve placed hidden treasures throughout.”

  Statues of fairies crouched beneath fuchsias. Tiny elves peeked out from underneath heather. In one section, elegant orchids surrounded a bubbling fountain filled with koi.

  Ryan’s fingers landed on her chin. He gently guided her to face him. “Will you be all right?”

  Briefly, she closed her eyes and squeezed the fingers caressing her chin, savoring his warmth. Then, her eyes popped open, and she pushed his hand away.

  “Fine. No problem. I’m all good. Thanks, again. I’ll see you later,” she said, abruptly, and hopped from the cab. She waved at him. “Toodles.”

  She bolted inside the house and slammed the door. Then, she turned and whacked her forehead once against the solid wood.

  “Toodles? Who says that? God, I’m an idiot. Utterly pathetic.” With a sigh, she dragged her feet toward the bedroom, to shower and change her clothes before heading out.

  Forty-five minutes later, she pulled up to Devil’s Arms in Dungarvan, the run-down pub where William worked. The place looked like it could use a good cleaning and a new location. A neon sign sputtered the word “Guinness.” The lights for the E and the R of “Devil’s Arms” were on the fritz. All the lights upstairs, where William lived, were off, save one dim yellowish glow.

  When she stepped from her Skoda, a raccoon scurried past her feet. She yelped. A wad of crumpled food wrappers from the overflowing trash bins in the alley blew past her legs, buffeted by a brisk wind.

  He could do so much better. He’s smart, funny, and adventurous. And good looking as hell.

  Marie shook her head as she stepped toward the pub. She wove around twenty motorcycles, parked near the door.

  The inside of the pub looked no better than the outside. Dark and dingy, it still reeked of smoke from the ghosts of cigarettes past, along with the stench of unwashed bodies and booze.

  Several men, sporting the name Bandidos on their leather jackets and t-shirts, looked up from their drinks as she entered. She shuddered, sensing twenty sets of hungry eyes on her. The Bandidos, a self-described “one percent” gang—a response to the comment from the United States that ninety-nine percent of bikers were law-abiding citizens—frequented this place. They’d established their presence in Ireland many years ago, way back in 2016.

  Several were friends with William.

  Marie preferred to give them a wide berth. She kept her focus on the bar as she strode through the room.

  A burly looking bartender named Chip greeted her. “What can I do you for, Marie?” he asked in his gravelly voice. He chewed on a toothpick.

  He slid a Guinness toward one of the Bandidos, who slouched over the bar.

  “Is William here?” Marie asked.

  Chip inclined his head toward the back stairs. “He’s upstairs.”

  “Does he have anyone with him?” she asked, not wanting to interrupt a two-some, a threesome, or a foursome.

  “Nah. He just got off his shift. He hasn’t had time to score.” Chip’s eyes twinkled.

  The Bandido sitting at the bar turned his scruffy-bearded face toward her. “If you’re looking for a ride, I can oblige you.”

  Marie winced. “No thanks.”

  She turned and scurried for the stairs.

  Upstairs, she knocked on the peeling door that marked the entrance to William’s apartment.

  “Yo,” he called. “Enter at thine own peril.” Then, he let out a laugh.

  Marie opened the door and squinted into the gloom.

  William sat on his couch, sucking on a joint. His booted feet were propped on his coffee table. His eyes widened slightly when he saw her, and a grin formed on his face.

  “What a surprise. My favorite Sis,” he said. His dark, tousled hair drooped in his blue eyes. His unbuttoned cream-colored shirt hung open, revealing the tattoos of a shark and a whale on his chest.

  “Your only sis,” she replied.

  “Details,” he said, waving his hand in the air. He held the joint out to her. “Want some? It’s good shit.” Smoke curled from his mouth and nose when he spoke.

  She brushed away the smoke coiling in her direction. “No, thanks. You know I don’t alter my mind that way.”

  “Right, right, right,” he said, nodding vigorously. “You prefer a natural high. Running.” His lip curled into a sneer. “Then, how about some of this?” He reached over the side of the couch and retrieved a bottle of whiskey. His eyebrows rose, hopefully.

  “No, thanks. I’ve had my fill of the drink today. Today sucked.” She looked around for a clean surface on which to perch.

  Her brother’s sole furnishings consisted of one small table, a kitchen chair, his couch, and a mattress on the floor in the corner. His kitchen held a hot plate and a small refrigerator. A few cups and plates sat on a shelf next to the fridge. Mum had made sure he at least had that much. Most of the stuff their parents gave him, he sold for cash to make ends meet.

  She remained standing.

  “Come and tell your brother all your woes,” he said, patting the cushion next to him.

  “Why are you so nice to me?” she asked.

  “Because you’re my sister,” he said, slurring the word.

  “I was your sister when I called you earlier, and you were a wanker with me,” she said. She sidled toward the couch and perched on it, in an “I might bolt at any moment” sort of way.

  He tsked. “Watch your mouth, my oh-so-pure sibling. Did you know that the British deem the word wanker as the fourth most offensive word in the UK? It ranks with cunt, motherfucker, and fuck. Although I don’t understand why they lump fuck in there with the offensive words. Fucking is an art form of the highest order. Trust me.” He smiled like an
angel.

  She rolled her eyes. “I have to ask you something.”

  He sucked the joint, inhaling deeply. “Ask away,” he said on a plume of smoke. “I’m an open book.”

  “You weren’t exactly open with me earlier,” Marie said.

  “I was working, sister-mine. Keeping the peace among a motorcycle gang takes focus and finesse.” He rested his head on the back of the sofa and sighed.

  A fluffy body poked its head out of the bathroom and mewed.

  William sat up. “There’s my cotton-puff tiger. Come over and meet my sis, Mothball.”

  A gray and white kitten scampered toward him. He scooped the cat up and kissed her small nose. “Isn’t she the cutest little thing? She reminds me of you.” He turned her on her back and scratched her belly. “Who reminds me of my annoying sister? Who? Is it Mothball? Yes, it’s Mothball.” He leaned over and buried his face in her fur.

  Marie smiled. “At least it’s not a snake.”

  He lowered the kitten to the ground. “No snakes for me. She’s the oddest little thing. Likes to nap in the tub, of all places.”

  “Maybe it’s the only place that doesn’t smell like man-balls and armpits,” Marie said.

  “Sister, sister, sister,” William said, with a shake of his head. “My man-balls and pits are doing their duty of spreading pheromones around my space. The scent is like nectar.”

  “Right,” Marie said, staring at the cute feline hopping toward her.

  The kitten jumped, landing on Marie’s shoe.

  Marie scooped her up. “Where’d you get her?”

  She held her up to eye level until the kitten squirmed to be put down.

  “She was wandering around in the trash in the alley. I figured beggars keepers, losers weepers. She keeps me warm at night, and I give her food. We have an arrangement of mutual benefit.”

  “I thought you let women warm your bed,” Marie said.

  “Whenever, wherever. But a kitten has no demands. She’s easy to love. Almost as easy to love as you are.” He gave her a side-eyed glance.

  Marie’s heart warmed. Her brother could be an arse, and then, he could be an angel. The angel William melted all hearts in his presence, just like their dad.