Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) (24 page)

He let out the breath he had been holding and stood up naked on the bed to open the closet. Most of what was in it belonged to Mary Kate. He selected a clean shirt and dug into the chest of drawers for a fresh pair of jeans.

Minutes later he found himself facing a man in his mid-sixties with thinning hair, brown eyes and a wide mouth set in a square jaw. No one spoke. Everyone was paying more attention to the tea cooling in their cups than each other. Liam didn’t know this priest that Oran had brought into the flat, and if he expected him to spill everything to a complete stranger, then Oran didn’t know his arse from a drainpipe. Losing patience with the air of expectancy in the tiny room, Liam stood up and announced that he needed to give the taxi a wash. Father Kearney displayed a disturbing tendency toward perseverance and asked if he could help. Unable to object without angering Mary Kate, Liam agreed.

It was too cold to muck about with buckets of water and suds, but he’d committed himself. He collected an old towel, filled two buckets with water from the outside spigot and approached the taxi with the priest at his heels. The taxi shone black in the car park. It had been imported from London along with the others in the fleet, he supposed because black cabs were the most efficient. It was a great hulking box of a car with seating for six in the back and space for two more up front with the driver. Filling it with fares was dead easy. Often the buses wouldn’t run their routes for weeks due to a riot or a bomb, but the black taxis always did. Without the black hacks many in the community wouldn’t be able to feed their families, and Liam was proud to be part of the service.

The instant Liam plunged his hand into the cold water he decided washing the entire car might be a bit ambitious and settled for cleaning the wheels. The taxi didn’t need a washing anyway—that was obvious. Since he didn’t own it he tended to be careful with it. By insisting on helping, Father Kearney had called his bluff. Deciding to give the interior a once-over afterward for show if for nothing else, Liam knelt and began soaping the front driver’s side wheel. Father Kearney hovered like an army helicopter.

“Oran tells me you were in the Kesh.”

Liam paused to allow the electric charge of shock settle before going back to what he was doing. He gritted his teeth.
Why tell the fucking priest about the Kesh? It’s none of his damned business.
After their initial meeting, he and Oran hadn’t discussed the past, and when he thought about it, the organization must have informed Éamon too. How much everyone really knew about his stay in Long Kesh gave Liam a shudder. “Served a few months. Was in Malone three years.”

Father Kearney nodded. “Sorry to hear it. What for?”

Liam sighed. “Is it important, Father?”

“Not particularly,” Father Kearney said. “You’re from Derry?”

“Mary Kate and I. Yes.”
As if you couldn’t tell from my accent.
He finished with the first wheel and squatted in front of the second with his shoulders tensing. He didn’t know why he resented the old priest’s questions. He supposed it was because Oran had specifically sent the man to prying.

“How long have you been in Belfast?”

“Mary Kate has lived here since starting at Queen’s University. Four years. She’s studying to be a solicitor. I’ve been here since we married a year ago last summer.”
There. Is that enough to keep your trap shut for a bit, old man?

“Newlyweds, then?”

“Yes.”

“And how is it?”

Liam turned to look up at Father Kearney. What sort of an answer was he fishing for? “It’s good, Father.”

“No troubles?”

“No more than usual, I suppose.”

“And how is she holding up to the stress?”

“What stress?” Liam’s heart slammed against his breastbone like a battering ram.
The stress of being married to a demon?

Father Kearney squatted next to him and whispered in Irish. “I’m what could be officially termed an army chaplain. If any such thing were official.”

Liam blinked. “Which, Father?” he asked in Irish. “The army or the chaplain?”

“In this case? Both, I think.” He winced and stood. Returning to English, he said, “Now, are you going to finish up with this farce and find somewhere to sit and talk like civilized men? All this is a bit hard on an old man’s knees.”

Rinsing off the wheels, Liam emptied the buckets and then opened the rear of the cab. “Get in.”

“Why not the front seat?”

“If the cab is going to double as a confessional, Father, the back makes a hell of a lot more sense.”

“Ah,” Father Kearney said, “Yes.” He climbed in without further protest, although he cast an uneasy look at the street.

Thinking Oran had probably told Father Kearney about the wild ride, Liam settled into the driver’s seat and turned the key. “Don’t worry, Father. I promise to keep to the speed limit.”

“That’s good, then.”

Liam steered the taxi out of the car park and into the street in silence, trying to work out what he would say—if he would say anything at all. When Father Kearney showed no sign of cracking, Liam offered him a boon. He switched to the Irish again. “Army chaplain? So, the Church is secretly in support of the cause, then?”

“Ah, no. If they knew, I’d be removed. I’m a volunteer.”

Liam paused. “Don’t most chaplains carry guns?”

“I operate strictly in a non-violent capacity. My purpose is to tend to those who don’t.”

“This is a bit… out of the ordinary, Father.”

“Isn’t it?” Father Kearney asked. “But it’s what I was called to do. Was a time when the Church turned its back on the IRA. Priests weren’t allowed to grant the sacraments, did you know?”

Liam nodded.

“I’m here to see it doesn’t happen again.”

“Ah.” Liam drove four blocks before continuing the conversation. “Begging your pardon, Father, but I don’t know anything about you. You could be an informer for all I know.”

The rearview mirror framed Father Kearney’s shrug. “Caution is an admirable quality. And surely this wouldn’t be considered a traditional confession by any means, but anything you say is protected by my vow just the same.”

For a moment, Liam thought of Father Murray—although, Father Murray had nothing in common with the man sitting in the back seat. Father Kearney wasn’t gentle. If anything, his eyes were fierce. He claimed to not carry a gun, but Liam wasn’t sure it was by choice.

“I’m not permitted to discuss anything with anyone,” Liam said.

“Not even in a confessional?”

“Don’t know. Never asked.”

“It is your choice, then, my son. I can’t force you.”

Liam drove a bit further, avoiding looking into the rearview mirror. He wanted to speak to someone—had to, when he thought about it. At the same time, he couldn’t imagine walking into St. Agnes’s next Saturday and telling Father Murray.

“I kill… did for a man.”

“I’m listening.”

“While robbing a bank,” Liam paused. “Don’t suppose you’ve a standard penance for that, do you?” The madness was there again, tickling at the back of his throat.

“Was it in the line of duty?”

“What?”

“Were you under orders?”

“For which, Father? The robbing or the killing?” Liam choked back a laugh.
Steady on, man. You don’t want Father Kearney telling tales to Oran or Éamon or HQ.

“Tell me what happened.”

Liam kept the story as vague as he could. Father Kearney made the appropriate listening sounds without interrupting except when needing clarification. When Liam finally stopped talking he found he’d driven halfway to Lisburn. He drove farther south a few blocks in silence.

“So, that’s why Oran came to me,” Father Kearney said. “You’re the one shot that constable.”

Liam’s face heated. “You can go ahead and tell me what I already know.”

“And what is it you already know?”

“Was a Catholic, wasn’t he?”

“Protestant, actually,” Father Kearney said. “Had a wife. Two children. Girls. Both in school. Does that help?”

Father Murray’s voice echoed in Liam’s head. The words were from the time he’d beat the shite out of a Protestant boy for calling him a stinking taig.
We’re the same, Protestants and Catholics. You’re never to think any different. This is important, Liam. Never do that again, you hear me?
And that was true enough, Liam knew. His uncle was a Prod, wasn’t he? And Uncle Sean was a kind man, so he was. Therefore, he hadn’t done anything like it again without severe provocation.
Until now.
“No, Father. I can’t say that it does.”

“And what would’ve happened if you hadn’t killed him?”

Liam paused. “We’d be on our way to prison, I suppose. But like as not, we’ve all seen that before. At least those little girls would still have a father.”

“And the organization wouldn’t have the funds you collected.”

“Sure.”

“There’d be less money to pay for equipment, to pay volunteers like yourself, to provide for the protection of Catholic families,” Father Kearney said. “As well as four less volunteers to shield them. Four volunteers who would’ve had to endure questioning and thus, risk betraying the entire organization.”

Liam swallowed.

“Let me ask you something,” Father Kearney said. “Why did you volunteer?”

Liam hesitated. Admitting to the killing and robbing was bad enough, but to answer now was as much as admitting being a member of an illegal organization and that meant going back to Malone or worse, the Kesh, for serious time. The Brits had revoked political status, and the news coming out of the prisons was that conditions were worse than they’d been before. He decided if Father Kearney was an informer he was probably done for anyway. “The truth, Father? I’d seen enough, lived through enough… well…. Was the red anger. Officer spotted it right off. Told me to reconsider. After a time I did. But then I thought about Mary Kate. In Belfast. Alone. With no one to keep her safe. But she was willing to take the risk. To fight back against the whole system in her own way. Then I thought about when I got out. We’d be married, God willing, and have children one day. And did I really want my son to see what I’ve seen? To live as I have? To be beaten and shut up in prison or shot?

“The long and the short of it, Father, is… I did it for him. And he doesn’t even exist. Is that mad?”

Father Kearney said, “I shouldn’t think so.”

It was very quiet in the cab for a time.

“According to the Church, there is such a thing as a justified war,” Father Kearney said. “In order for there to be peace, sometimes someone must make a stand for those who can’t stand for themselves. Negotiation is the first moral option, of course. So, we attempt peace time and again. But the British are never serious about negotiations. They’ve demonstrated that. It’s on their heads.”

I don’t know what manner of creature you brought home yesterday, but that isn’t my husband.

Demon. Fallen.

“You’re a soldier. You’re not a chauffeur. Soldiers kill for their country,” Father Kearney said.

He… does things in his sleep. Makes sounds. Growls.

I did it for my son. And he doesn’t even exist. Such shite. Will you listen to yourself?
“Do soldiers rob banks too, Father?” Liam tried to keep the bitterness out of the question but found he couldn’t. Glancing at the rear-view mirror it was clear he needn’t have worried.

“In your case, I’m afraid they do.”

And what if I have to do for someone again? Will the monster grow stronger until there’s nothing left of me?
Ever since Liam could remember, he’d feared

becoming like his stepfather. He hadn’t understood he had the potential to be something else.
Something worse.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and waited for what was next.

“You only did your duty, hard as it was,” Father Kearney said. “Say five ‘Our Fathers’ and a rosary for the dead man and his family.” He made the sign of the cross as a blessing and to signify the end of the confession. “God forgives you.”

But Liam knew differently. That dead constable’s face would stay with him to the end of his days. The day it didn’t would be the day Father Dominic and Father Christopher would come for him, and Liam had the feeling that they wouldn’t be alone. Father Murray would be right there beside them.

Chapter 18

Andersonstown, Belfast, County Antrim, Northern Ireland

March 1976

“Come on, Mary Kate,” Liam said. “I told Bobby we’d be downstairs. They’ll be here any minute.” It was Saturday morning, and Bobby was taking them to another road rally—the first of the new year, and Liam couldn’t wait to get out of Belfast and have some fun.

Something clattered to the floor in the washroom.

“Dammit!”

“You’re beautiful,” Liam said. “Let’s go.”

“All right, all right.” She emerged, wearing flares and a brown turtleneck.

Light brown hair draped over her shoulders and down her back in silky waves. She had decided to stop cutting it, and he couldn’t help but approve. She grabbed her handbag and coat, and they locked up and headed down the stairs, making it to the curb just as Bobby drove up. Oran was to ride in the back with Mary Kate and Elizabeth, and Liam would be up front with Bobby so they could talk about the race.

Bobby threw open the driver’s side door and hopped out. Where Oran was stocky with straight blond hair, Bobby was slender with bushy brown hair. One wouldn’t have thought them related but for the brown eyes and strong chin. “She’s all yours,” Bobby said, rounding the front of the still-running car.

“I thought you were driving?” Liam asked.

Bobby climbed into the passenger seat. “If you’re going to drive today, you might as well test out the road conditions.”

Taking the wheel with a grin, Liam eased into traffic and headed north. Bobby knew the location, and Liam followed Bobby’s directions the whole way. They had to get out of the car for a search several times at various checkpoints on the way out of town, but it was the only black mark on an otherwise beautiful morning. The sun was out and the road was relatively dry. He accelerated into the turns while judging the grip of the tires on the pavement. A herd of sheep afforded an excuse for quick braking. The RS1600 responded with joyous grace and precision. He rolled down the window and let the air push against his arm until Mary Kate complained of the cold. Then he turned up the heater, leaving the window open just an inch or so. It wasn’t as good but it was good enough. He felt alive at the RS’s wheel in ways he never could inside the sluggish taxi. By the time they arrived at the rally site Liam felt content and whole—the long months of mundane existence since the last race, since the last bank job, were blown from his mind. He was alert. Ready. And although he’d never done a timed run before, he was sure he would win.