Unholy Blue

by Darby Kaye

  “Max?” he whispered.

  The movement stopped. Ignoring the bite of gravel, Bann inched closer and peered over.

  Max stood on the other side, tail beating a frenzy of greeting. Unlike the last time he had seen the creature, Max’s eyes were a warm brown instead of demonic red. A smile seemed to split his muzzle, but his coat was still matted with grave dirt and other things Bann chose not to look at too closely.

  “Max?” Bann said again. He wondered if, by some miracle, the hound really was back from the dead. He wondered what it would do to Cor.

  The dog danced in place, whining at the sound of his name. Unable to contain his elation, he reared up and planted his forepaws against the fence.

  “Max! No!”

  A blast of white light, followed a split second later by a low boom that made Bann stagger a step, lifted the animal off his feet and blew him backwards several yards. Yelping, Max hit the ground in a poof of dust and dried grass. He writhed on the ground, legs kicking, as if not sure how to work his limbs, then lurched to his feet. For a moment, he stood panting, then limped away toward the boulders in a jerky motion that reminded Bann of a marionette attached to the strings of an inexperienced puppeteer.

  Bann gave a sharp whistle. “Max, come!” The dog ignored him—or couldn’t hear after that blast—and staggered behind the nearest rock. Staring at the spot where the hound had disappeared, he curled and uncurled his fingers around the haft of his blade, his mind denying what his eyes had just seen. Dead is dead. At least, with the creatures of this world.

  “What the hell was that?”

  He whirled around at Shay’s voice. She stood in the doorway, thin lines of water running down her naked body from her wet hair, a knife clutched in one hand.

  “Ye gods, the whole house shook!” She stepped back inside as he joined her and closed the door behind him.

  “Do you not wish to finish showering?” he asked, stalling for time. Do I tell her or no? It was her beloved pet, after all.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re hiding something.”

  Damn. “Aye. But.” Before she could protest, he took her elbow and urged her toward their bedroom. “I’ll tell you while you dry.”

  As Shay toweled off, Bann stripped down and stepped into the shower, detailing what had happened over the hiss of the spray. “I believe Cernunnos was somehow using Max to test our defenses,” he finished as he turned off the water and pushed the shower curtain aside. “Thanks,” he said when she tossed him a fresh towel. “Which, in a way, was a good thing for us.” He dried his hair and wiped the rest of his body.

  “How so?” Shay tugged on her jeans, then slipped a camisole over her head before pulling on a checkered shirt.

  “We know the wards work.”

  A car horn honked. “Perfect timing.” Shay ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the drying strands.

  Buttoning his shirt, Bann nodded. “We’ll inform the others when Cor’s not around.”

  “No kidding. The last thing he needs is any kind of hope that Max can return. You know, I really think we should get him another dog so that he can move past all this. Maybe for his birthday—” They both jumped when the front door crashed open.

  “Dad? Shay?” Cor’s shout ricocheted around the house, underscored by Ann ordering him to stop yelling and frightening the poor thing. “Daaaad!”

  Bann hurried along the hall, reaching the great room first, Shay on his heels. They both slowed, then halted at the sight.

  In the middle of the living room, Cor stood cradling a squirming puppy in his arms, face aglow with the wonder of holding his new best friend. He giggled when the pup, failing to lick his face, twisted around and began licking the back of his hands. Ann lingered by the front door. She carried a bulging plastic bag marked “PetSmart.”

  “Look what I got!” Cor beamed at them.

  “Why, that doesn’t look like a piñata to me,” Bann said, his own smile matching his son’s. The puppy turned itself inside out with happiness when he stepped closer, pink tongue working like mad to swipe anything in reach.

  “Want to hold him?” Cor passed the pup to his father. “Be careful. He’s still a baby,” the boy ordered.

  Hiding his amusement at his son’s parental tone, Bann took the small creature, about the same size as a full-grown cat, but stockier, in his hands. He had started to examine the pup when a thin, warm stream splattered on the wooden floor by his feet. He made a face, then snuggled the young animal to his chest and ran a hand along the squirming body. While the conformation and the smooth coat, a shade more blond than Shay’s hair, hinted at a Labrador side of the mixed breed, floppy ears declared a possible beagle influence.

  Shay laughed. “Wow. Talk about scaring the piss out of it. Him, I mean. Cor?” She raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “Paper towels are under the sink, buddy.”

  “I hope this is okay,” Ann said. She stepped to one side as Hugh appeared, wrangling a large metal dog crate through the front door. “We were at the hobby supply store, and the pet shop next door was hosting a puppy adoption from a reputable shelter. Cor ran over to the holding pen they had out on the sidewalk, and, well…”

  “He’s a mix of Labrador and beagle.” Confirming what Bann had guessed earlier, Cor came hurrying back with a wad of paper towels. He squatted down and dried the floor. Somewhat. “I named him Sam.”

  Bann handed Sam back to Cor; they greeted each other as if they had been separated for days. “Here. I’ll get that, Hugh.” Taking the crate from the other Knight, he carried it into Cor’s room and set it down by the foot of the spare bed. As he started out, his son brushed past him with the pup on his heels. Sam was trying his best to chew on Cor’s shoelaces with every step.

  Lingering in the doorway, Bann watched as the boy opened the lowest drawer in the dresser. He dug through socks and underwear and a collection of Transformers action figures before pulling out an old chew toy that had belonged to Max. Cor studied the rubber chicken for a moment, then he hunkered down on the floor and held it out to Sam, who began gnawing on one end, his puppy mouth barely big enough.

  “This was Max’s. Remember I told you about him in the car? But I don’t think he’d mind if you played with it, cuz you’re supposed to share, you know?” Cor spoke in a soft voice, as if talking to himself. “Like I’m sharing Dad with Shay.” He stroked the puppy with his free hand. Sam let go and looked up, tail whipping from side to side and floppy ears perked as if listening. “And you and I get to sleep together and I’ll watch out for you and I won’t let him get you.” The boy sat down and crossed his legs and pulled the puppy into the cradle of his body. “I promise.”

  Yawning until his jaw cracked, Cor held tight to the end of the leash attached to Sam’s harness as the puppy sniffed around the front lawn. “Pee already,” he grumbled, shivering in spite of the jacket he’d thrown on over the old sweats and T-shirt he used in place of pajamas. He huddled deeper inside the jacket, the night air’s nip as sharp as Sam’s milk teeth. The front porch lamp threw a circle of yellow on the yard, mimicking the waning moon’s light. Cor grumbled in frustration when the pup sniffed a patch of grass, decided it didn’t have the right smell or the right absorbency, and then moved on to the next patch.

  “Maybe if I pick him up again, it might help,” said his father, waiting next to him. To Cor’s apprehension, his dad pulled his iron knife from its sheath.

  Alarm kissed the back of his neck. He jerked his head around, searching the shadows for the monsters that lived there, no matter what Dad and Shay said.

  As if reading his thoughts, his father spoke. “Simply a precaution, son. Better to have your weapon drawn and not needed than to need it and not have it ready.”

  Cor nodded. Relief filled him when Sam finally squatted, staring straight ahead in concentration, determined to do his best. A moment later, he stepped aside, kicked a few blades of grass over his mess with his back paws, then bounded back to Cor, proud of his accomplishment.
/>   “Good job, boy.” Reeling in the pup, Cor trotted to the front door, Bann playing rear guard. As his dad began locking up the house for the night, Cor unclipped the leash and draped it over the small table already crowded with several sets of keys, Shay’s purse, and the day’s mail. “C’mon, Sam. Time for bed.” He patted his leg, pleased when the dog followed him. Tossing his jacket over the wooden chair in the corner, he toed off his shoes, then lifted Sam onto the mattress and joined him. He was just crawling under the covers when Shay walked in.

  “No way, kiddo.” She scooped up the pup, ignoring Cor’s squawk of protest, and nuzzled Sam’s neck with her chin. “Who’s a good boy?” she murmured.

  “Please, Shay? Can’t he sleep with me this one time? I just got him.”

  “Nope.”

  “Please?” He tried again, this time using the wide-eyed, cute kid look that worked about sixty percent of the time with his father.

  Apparently immune to cute kid-ness, she stepped over to the crate. “We talked about this earlier. He’ll get used to the crate and think of it as his den.”

  Cor watched mournfully as Shay opened the container, placed Sam in the middle of the thick bedding, and then closed the door with a clang. The puppy whimpered and pawed at the bars. “What if he gets scared? Or lonely?”

  “Just speak a few words to him, then ignore him. He’ll settle down soon enough. In fact, he’ll probably fall asleep right away because he’s had such a big day.” She paused by the foot of his bed and refolded the extra blanket draped across the end.

  His father appeared. Hope surged. When he opened his mouth, Bann shook his head. “Do not even attempt it, Cormac Boru. No means no, whether I say it or Shay says it.”

  Cor kicked a leg under the covers in frustration. “Yes, sir.”

  “Right. Now, do you wish for the nightlight?”

  He glanced over at the curtain-covered window. I have to be brave for Sam. “No, I guess not.”

  For a brief moment, Cor wished he was back in the camper, with his father only an arm’s length away. He wondered if Dad ever knew how many times during the year they were on the road—each day blurring into the next as they drove from town to town, determined to stay hidden from the shapeshifter—he had awoken in the dark and reached out to touch some part of his dad. He remembered all the times he had jerked free of a nightmare, a scream choking him and his body slick from fear-sweat. It was always the same nightmare—finding his mother pinned to the large oak in their back yard by a set of antlers driven through her chest, head lolling sideways on her shoulder from a snapped neck.

  Then, strong arms would pick him up, blanket and all, and hold him tight, rocking him while he sobbed away the night terror. More times than not, Cor would end up tucked between the man and the wall of the camper in a bunk not big enough for one, let alone one and a half, the heat from his father’s body balancing the chill of the aluminum sheeting.

  Before he could change his mind, Bann leaned over and pressed his forehead against Cor’s with a whispered codladh sumh, then clicked off the lamp and left, ushering Shay ahead of him. He left the door ajar.

  With a sigh, Cor rolled over and looked at the crate. In the illumination from moonlight through the curtains, Sam was a pale blur, nosing around the crate and whining softly. The whine turned into yips.

  “It’s okay, Sam. Go to sleep.”

  Sam barked louder, following up with long drawn-out whimpers. “Don’t be scared, boy. Nothing can get you in here—Dad said so.” He’s scared. I know how that feels.

  With that thought, Cor climbed out of bed and squatted down in front of the crate. He poked his fingers through the mesh. A wet tongue licked them. Glancing over his shoulder at the door, he chewed on his lip, then scooted on his hands and knees to his bed, snagged his pillow as well as the folded blanket, then scurried back to the cage. He unlatched the door, hissing through his teeth when the latch tinged. The sound seemed to echo around the room. He paused, waiting for footsteps. And a scolding.

  After a long minute, he swung the door open. Holding Sam back with one hand, he stuffed the pillow and blanket inside, leaving the door open for his legs. Making a nest for himself, he lay down, smiling in the dark as the pup flopped next to him, head and one paw resting on Cor’s chest.

  Stroking the soft body as puffs of breath, smelling of Puppy Chow, tickled his throat and chin, Cor gazed at Sam, who gazed back at him. A feeling so intense he wanted to jump up and run around his room and cry at the same time made his chest ache. “I love you, Sammy.” Sam nestled closer and sighed, as if to say, I love you, too.

  Cor wondered how he could love someone he just met. Did Dad feel this way when I was born?

  Muted voices drifted from the great room. Once he thought he caught his name, followed by a question from Shay. His father said something in return, laughter in his tone. Footsteps moved around the house, the sound of running water, the clink of glasses, then lights turned off. The steps grew louder.

  Cor tensed, eyes pinned on his bedroom door. The footsteps paused.

  “I don’t hear anything.” Shay’s voice was a whisper.

  “They are both sound asleep, I’ll warrant.”

  The footsteps moved on. Cor let out his pent-up breath when their door closed.

  “Which means knock first, unless it’s an emergency,” Dad had said to Cor while they had driven around town in the new truck, talking about house rules—most of which Cor was already used to following, since they had been staying with Shay for almost a month. The closed door was a new one, however. “Otherwise, any time you need either of us, and our door is open, even a little, you may come in.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why can’t I come in when the door’s shut?”

  “Because Shay and I need our private time together.”

  “To talk?”

  “And other things.”

  “Like, to kiss and stuff?”

  His father had shifted in his seat, clearing his throat before answering. “Well, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you need the door shut just to kiss—”

  “Oh, would you look at that—a bakery. Care for a treat, son?”

  Happy to have discovered that asking about kissing would earn him additional donuts in the future, Cor shifted around to a more comfortable position and pulled the blanket up to his ears. “Codladh sumh, Sam.”

  7

  A METALLIC CLANG, FOLLOWED by a yelp, had Bann out of the bed and on his feet before he was completely awake. Eschewing his clothes, he grabbed the iron knife from where he had placed it last night, unsheathed, on the floor next to him.

  Shay had glanced at it while they prepared for bed. “Good idea.” She had grabbed one of her own and had done the same thing.

  Now, panting from the shock of being yanked out of sleep, he wrenched the door open, raced down the dim hallway to his son’s room, and threw himself inside.

  Cor’s bed was empty.

  Panic walloped him in the gut, making his exposed testicles draw up good and tight. His eyes flew to the window. The curtains were still drawn; the first hint of dawn backlit the cloth panels.

  A gasp of pain jerked his head down and around.

  The boy was sitting inside the crate, rubbing the top of his head while he tried to keep Sam from jumping on his lap. Bann noticed a blanket and pillow shoved to one side.

  “What the hell are ye doing in that thing?” He walked over as his son scooted out, hampered by Sam, who was doing his best to chew on Cor’s hair. Bann scooped up the pup, wincing when claws scratched his bare torso.

  “Sam was lonely. And Shay said he couldn’t sleep in my bed.”

  “So you decided to sleep inside the dog’s kennel?” My child is an idiot.

  Cor nodded, still rubbing the top of his head. “I had to pee and I forgot where I was. I hit my head on the top of the crate.”

  “What’s going on?�
�� Shay appeared, belting her robe around her.

  Even in the dim light, Bann could see Cor glancing at his father’s naked body—more specifically, at his father’s groin—then at Shay. He could almost hear the confusion roiling around inside of the boy’s head. He’s seen me nude almost every day. And, on more than a few occasions, in front of his mother. But this is different.

  “Cor. Go on to the bathroom.” He stepped aside as Cor scurried from the room, then placed the pup back in the kennel and secured the door. He looked at Shay.

  She shrugged. “It’s only awkward if we act like it is.”

  After dressing, Bann ushered Cor and Sam out the back door to allow the pup to relieve himself, father and son bundled up against the early morning chill. The cold turned them into dragons with white smoke coming from their mouths. Hands shoved in his jacket pockets, Bann studied the waning moon still visible over the western mountains; it seemed reluctant to give up its kingship of the sky. Nearby, Cor played with Sam. Boy and puppy scampered from one end of the fenced yard to the other, engaged in some sort of tag with rules that changed depending on who was winning.

  Bann noticed that the woodpile, stacked to one side of the back door, had spilled out of its cradle. Shaking his head, he walked over to it. She should not store this so close to the house. Picking up the logs, he started to restack them.

  “Dad! Help!”

  Bann whirled around. Cor was crouched by the fence, holding one of Sam’s back legs. Meanwhile, Sam was doing his best to crawl through a puppy-sized gap between the bottom of the fence and the ground. Before the Knight could reach them, the pup squirted free of Cor’s grasp and disappeared.

  “Shite!” Still a few yards away, Bann broke into a sprint. Without thinking, he started chanting lines from the Song, the ancient words that gave the Tuatha Dé Danaan speed and strength and endurance. “‘I am a bull of seven battles, I am a hawk on the cliff.’” A surge of power rushed through him. He cleared the fence with a foot to spare, as if a giant hand had pitched him over the top of it.