Unholy Blue

by Darby Kaye

  “And your next words better be: ‘Aye. You’re right’.”

  A corner of Bann’s mouth twitched. “Aye. Ye’re right,” he relented.

  “Shay?” Ann patted her hip. “All done. Here, Bann.” She handed him the mug. “Help her drink some tea while I clean up.” Reloading the tray, Ann started out of the room, then paused. “And that offer of whiskey still stands.”

  “Thank you, but no. I best keep my wits clear.”

  “Isobel?”

  Bann nodded. With a knowing look, Ann left.

  Already feeling less like roadkill and more like herself, Shay sat up and took the mug. As she sipped the healing potion, he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the whoosh of running water, then he reappeared, face and hands somewhat clean. Worry continued to tighten the skin around his eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

  “Bann, I’m fine. Sheesh, you’re going to fret yourself into an early grave.”

  He perched gingerly on the edge of the mattress next to her. “Seeing you lying on the ground was a nightmare.” At that moment, muted voices floated up from the main level, followed by the thud of the front door closing.

  “I bet that’s Mom and the others.” Shay made a face. “Man, she’s going to love this. Gives her a reason to hammer the hell out of her point.”

  “Perhaps your mother is right. Since we’ve met, you’ve been in constant danger.”

  “So? Making a life with you and Cor is totally worth it, so shut up. You’re not going down that path again.” She took another sip, then chugged the rest of the potion. Tingling warmth, like room-temperature soda, spread outward from her stomach to the rest of her body, easing the pain and healing bumps and bruises.

  Footsteps thundered up the stairs. Cor burst into the room, wide-eyed and panting from his sprint. He skidded to a halt when he spotted them both sitting calmly on the bed. Bann reached out a hand and drew the boy between his knees.

  “Are you okay?” Cor asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Shay’s heart wrenched, as it always did when she heard that tone. She knew he had lived every day for a year with the fear that something would happen to his father and that he would be alone in the world. Maybe our marriage can make his world just a little more secure. Don’t you know, Cormac Boru, that not just me, but the entire Doyle clan, will always be there for you?

  “Oh, just a bump and a scratch on the head, kiddo.”

  “Was it…?”

  “Just some goblins. I, um, sort of ran into a tree.”

  “Ann said Dad saved you.”

  Shay smiled and laid her hand over Cor’s. “You know your dad. He’s always rescuing someone.” She leaned closer to her almost-son, ignoring the throb of pain, and whispered. “Do you think maybe he’s a superhero in disguise? Like Spider-Man?”

  “No, he’s too old,” Cor whispered back. “He’s more like Batman.”

  “Odd.” Bann joined in the game. “I fancied myself rather Thor-like.”

  Shay snorted. “I should be so lucky.”

  Bann laughed. Leaning over and ignoring Cor’s protests that he was being squished, he kissed Shay gently on the lips, one hand cupping her cheek.

  “Well, well.” They looked up. Isobel stood in the doorway with that cold expression Shay had hated since childhood; she found she hated it even more as an adult. “Looks like an I-told-you-so is in order.”

  15

  COR SLUMPED FURTHER ON the sofa of the upstairs den. He made a face at the man on the television who was way too excited about squirting lemon juice over something green and leafy, then sighed and thumbed off the remote.

  At the silence, Sam looked up from his cave under the computer desk and yawned, showing a row of milk teeth. He rose to his feet and gamboled over to the boy. Stretching to his full length and scrabbling furiously with his paws, he managed to pull himself up on the sofa.

  “No, Sam. Ann said you can’t get up here.” Cor slid off and pulled his dog down with him onto the area rug. He watched as the puppy began circling, sniffing the floor. “Uh-oh. I know what that means.” He looked around for the leash, finally finding it between the sofa cushions. “Seems like all you do is pee and eat and sleep and play.” Clipping it to the harness, he and the dog walked out the door and along the hallway.

  He slowed when he passed by Shay’s room. The door was closed. Low voices spoke from the other side; he could make out his father’s. Its tone reminded him of all the arguments his parents had had before that day. Arguments that left their house chilly with resentment and his mom and dad speaking in clipped sentences, as if they couldn’t bear the thought of wasting one word on each other. During those times, each meal was a torture for Cor, trying to eat around a knotted stomach.

  Isobel answered back, interrupting his dad and saying something that made Shay snarl in angry protest. Feeling the familiar ice building up in his gut, Cor hunched his shoulders and kept moving. He was momentarily distracted by helping Sam negotiate the steps, using the harness to keep the puppy from falling on his nose. Reaching the main level safely, he headed for the kitchen, vaguely wondering where everyone was. I guess Hugh and Rory and James are still hunting. He paused long enough to grab a handful of puppy treats Shay had left in a plastic baggie on the counter earlier, then snagged his hoodie from the coat hooks next to the back door.

  Slipping out, he freed the pup, stuffed the leash and the bag of treats into his pocket, and raced over to the jungle gym. The noon sun was warm on his face and helped thaw the anxious ice inside.

  Clambering up the ladder to the very top bar, he became a Knight, climbing a tree to spy out the land. He shaded his eyes against the bright sun and scanned the woods. “No sign of the Amandán yet,” he called down to Sam, using his best imitation of his father’s brogue. “But stay alert, boyo. Those manky beasts are wily gits.” He pulled out his switchblade, the weapon his father had a blacksmith forge for him from iron a year ago, and opened it with a snick, careful to keep the blade pointed away from him.

  Once, when they had taken a break from their flight across the country to sleep in real beds and enjoy a hot shower, the cleaning person at the motel had remarked that Bann was not a very good father for allowing his son to carry a knife.

  “The child could slice himself with that nasty thing,” the woman had declared.

  “Not my son. He knows how to handle a weapon, eh, boyo?” Bann had winked at Cor, who had grinned back, feeling ten feet tall. Or as tall as his father. Which was really the same thing.

  “‘I am the roar of the sea,’” he chanted, speaking the words gifted to their people, thousands upon thousands of years ago, by the war goddess Herself, Danu. Words that gave all Tuatha Dé Danaan extra strength and speed and power when they reached puberty. He wondered if his dad would let him leave home and become an apprentice when he turned thirteen. Cor tried to imagine living with another Knight, learning the traditional ways of their people, but all he could see in his mind was Dad teaching him. He shrugged the thought away and pointed his knife at the woods in challenge and sang louder. “‘I am a bull of seven battles, I am a hawk on the cliff…’” The rest of the words died in his throat.

  On the other side of the wall, a wolfish form came trotting through the trees, ears up and tongue lolling in a happy grin. Stopping far enough away to keep eye contact with Cor, he barked, tail wagging like crazy, then bowed, rump in the air in his old come-play-with-me motion.

  “Max?” Cor breathed.

  His father’s voice whispered in his memory. What you saw was just his body, lad. Inside, he is not the same Max.

  Cor licked his lips as confusion roiled around inside of him. But what if he is Max? He’s going to wonder why we don’t let him inside. What if he’s hungry?

  Remembering the doggy treats in his pocket, Cor closed his knife, then climbed back down and walked toward the gate; the journey seemed to take a year. As he drew nearer, his feet slowed and the hairs on his arms stiffened. Beyond the gate, something moved with a
crackle of dried vegetation. The buzz on the wards made him shiver. He stood there, palm pressed against the switchblade in his pocket, and waiting for the courage Dad always said would come to him when he needed it, even when Cor might be feeling really, really scared.

  Something cold and wet touched his other hand. Cor squeaked and lurched to one side.

  Sam cowered on the ground, tail tucked tight, protecting his testicles. His ears were flat against his head. A soft whimper.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Cor whispered. “I’m just going to give Max some food.” He paused when Sam whimpered again. A warning? “Well, maybe I’ll throw it over the gate instead.” Just in case. In case of what, he wasn’t sure.

  Cor pulled the bag from his pocket and fished a treat out and lobbed it over. Paws rustled through dried leaves. A crunching sound, then snuffling. He eased closer to the gate. “Max?”

  A bark, followed by a whine, then another bark. It was so Max that tears stung Cor’s eyelids. He reached for the latch.

  Certain his dad would finally break down and use his belt on him—a punishment that was often threatened, never enforced—if he knew Cor had opened the gate, the boy stood frozen with fingers inches from the bolt.

  It was the soft chuff of breath, the sound Max had always made when he would flop down by Cor for an ear rub or extra attention, which broke his uncertainty.

  Ignoring the spike of pain in his temples, he lifted the latch.

  16

  “NOW, THAT WAS GREAT fun—schooling those beasties in the fine art of retribution.” Hugh fluffed his beard clean of goblin ash as he marched along the narrow path, a spring in his step.

  “Hugh? How about a break?” In a slightly breathless voice, Rory called from a few yards behind him.

  The Knight grinned to himself. I can still fight and march these young ones into the earth. “Why, certainly, m’lad.” He paused as Rory sank down on a nearby log and wiped the sweat from his face. Farther back on the trail, James kept a watch.

  “Really?” Catching his uncle’s smug expression, Rory scowled up at him. “You’re standing there acting like this is just a stroll in the woods. Remember, I’m the one who’s been fighting off and on for two hours now!”

  James walked over. “Hey, I offered to stay with you—”

  “And leave Bann unprotected while he carried Shay? Yeah, right.”

  “And what excuse will you use next time, boyo, when…” Hugh paused, the sentence unfinished. Stretching to his full height, he scanned the woods, head cocked.

  “What’s wrong?” Rory was on his feet, all sign of weariness gone. “Amandán? Damn, but they’re persistent. You’d think after that last skirmish—”

  “Whist.” Hugh signaled for silence. At his nephews’ questioning looks, he added, “I thought I heard someone speaking.”

  All three Knights stood silent, listening. Hugh tensed when he caught a boyish voice.

  “Max?” Cor’s voice. “Where’d you go? Here, boy! Here, Max!”

  “Ye gods.” Alarm and disbelief collided in the older Knight. What the bleedin’ hell is he doing out here?

  “Is that…is that Cor?” James was already along the path toward the sound.

  Without answering, Hugh shouldered past his nephew and broke into a jog. Not wanting to scare the boy—not until I have a chance to wring his neck—he called out. “Cormac Boru.”

  Ten yards away, the boy edged out of the bushes and onto the path. As Hugh drew nearer, he noticed a few scratches, apparently from pushing through the thick undergrowth, on Cor’s hands and face. A coppery leaf decorated the side of his head like a barrette; a few others clung to his hoodie. Relief flooded Cor’s face at the sight of the Knights. It was immediately followed by apprehension.

  He’s right to be worried, Hugh thought. Not only from what I might do, but what his da is certain to do to him. Reaching the boy, he grabbed him by the back of his jacket and gave him a shake. “You best have the Goddess’s own permission to be out here,” he growled.

  “Um…” Cor screwed up his face, as if trying to figure out an excuse that wasn’t going to get him killed. He gave up and evidently decided on telling the truth. “I-I was following Max, but he took off when—”

  “WHAT!” Hugh exploded. “Ye followed that monster into the woods?” A drop of spit flew from his mouth and landed on Cor’s cheek. He shook the boy again. “Are ye daft?” Not waiting for the denial, he whirled around, hand still fisted in Cor’s jacket, and began stomping for home, eyes watching every shadow. “One of ye. Run ahead and tell Bann we have the lad,” he barked over his shoulder. “The poor man is most likely out of his mind.”

  “We can’t get back inside the yard…” Rory began.

  “Well, ye can holler over the fokking wall, can’t ye!” Hugh snapped back.

  “I’ll go. I’m faster and fresher. By the way, Cor, it’s been nice knowing you.” James loped off toward the house.

  “Rory, ye keep yer head on a swivel until we’re safe home.” Tis a good thing we’re both armed with iron.

  “Got it, Uncle.”

  Gripping the back of Cor’s hoodie, Hugh set a pace that had the boy jogging to keep up. Each time Cor tripped over a snag in the trail, the Knight would heave him up and along. Once, the boy tried to say something.

  “Hugh? I’m sorry—”

  “If I was ye, and I’m grateful beyond measure that I am not, I’d be saying me prayers to the Goddess, because yer dad is certain to end ye.” He glanced down at the pale face beside him. The boyo is certain of that, too.

  “James, are you sure he’s all right?” Bann called again over the wall. He stalked back and forth, his hand clenching and unclenching around the haft of his iron blade, while Ann wrangled the gate one-handed; in her other arm, she held a squirming Sam. Just when Bann was ready to take the puppy from her, she finally opened it. He brushed past her with a muttered thanks.

  James waited nearby, still panting from his dash. “Unless Hugh killed him already. He was mad enough to do it. C’mon.” He started to lead the way back when the trio appeared around a bend in the trail.

  Bann stared at the small figure, made smaller by the large Knight dragging him by the scruff of the neck. Relief so strong it almost made him ill flooded him at the sight of Cor whole and alive. Then, anger at his son’s foolishness, combined with the panic when he first realized that Cor was missing, and, on top of everything, the fight he had had with Shay to stop her from going out with him, drove him right up to the edge of a warp spasm.

  “He’s right as rain, Boru,” Hugh said, handing the boy off.

  “He won’t be for long.”

  Taking a white-faced Cor by the arm, Bann hustled him back through the gate. He shook his head at Ann when she started to speak, and kept walking, stomach cramping at what might have happened. The boy stumbled along beside him. Once inside, he marched up the stairs, ignoring every teary overture from his son, and practically tossed Cor through the doorway of the upstairs den. He kicked the door closed behind him. It immediately opened again.

  Shay walked in. Her face mirrored Bann’s own anger. Stalking over to the computer desk, she pulled out the desk chair, its wheels rumbling dully along the wooden floor, and spun it around. “Sit.”

  Cor crept over like a guilty man approaching a judge in a courtroom, and took a seat. His feet barely touched the ground. “Dad, I’m sorry—” He cringed when Bann glared at him.

  Grinding his teeth so hard he was sure the molars would shatter, Bann fought to form a coherent sentence. An odd sense of betrayal soured his mouth. The little shit. How dare he do this to me? To Shay? Doesn’t he understand what his death would do to us?

  Unable to speak, he unbuckled his belt, his fingers stiff, and slid it through the loops, pausing at his right hip to remove the first sheath.

  “Bann.” Shay laid a hand on his arm. “No.”

  He cut his eyes at her, fingers working on the other sheath.

  Relenting, she dropped her hand.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she muttered. With that, she walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  Tossing the weapons on the sofa, Bann folded the belt over into a loop. He hesitated, then steeled himself. He beckoned with his free hand.

  To his astonishment, Cor shook his head. Tears welled up and spilled over, making clean tracks on dirty cheeks. He reached down and gripped the chair seat on either side of his lap, determined to protect his bottom from the dreaded strap.

  Bann stabbed a finger at the floor in front of him.

  Cor hunched down farther in the chair.

  “Stubborn git,” Bann muttered, not sure if he was talking about his son or himself. “Cormac Boru. Ye have to three.” You’re crazy if you think this is going to work, said a small voice in his head. “One. Two.” A pause. “Three.”

  Neither of them moved.

  “Damn.” Bann walked over. Ignoring the terror on Cor’s face, he grabbed the boy by the arm and yanked.

  Anger made him yank harder than he should have.

  The chair and its passenger whipped around. With exquisite timing and positioning, the back of the chair nailed Bann in the groin. “Son of a bitch,” he gasped. Breathless from pain, he squeezed the leather strap as he fought not to double over until the agony faded.

  He sucked in a breath and pulled at Cor’s arm again, taking a precautionary step to one side this time. Cor rolled with the chair, still clinging with a death grip as he rode along.

  “Let go of the bleedin’ seat!”

  “No!”

  Reaching down with his free hand, the man began prying the small fingers loose. Not an easy task. Ye gods, but he’s strong.

  He froze in surprise when Cor suddenly jerked his hand free, gave a kick with his foot, and scooted backwards to safety. Before he could stop it, the chair rear-ended the computer desk with a crash. The lamp perched on its corner rocked precariously. With a speed that astonished Bann, the boy reached around and caught it just as it toppled over, then placed it back on the desk.