The venue was a small dark hall behind a church, warm and wood paneled with the ubiquitous "church kitchen" at the back.
When Mike arrived at the Victoria Folk, at 7:30 p.m., he had thought that he might feel a little out of place. He paid his fee to the smiling, white haired woman at the front who took his five dollars and handed him a program and a newsletter just for good measure. She advised him that The Mist O'er the Breakers CDs would be on sale at the intermission and after the performance.
The large L-shaped room was furnished with small tables and rows of folding chairs that were set up surrounding a small raised stage. There were no microphones, no speakers, no soundboards.
He stood for a moment of indecision. I'd really like to get a coffee but there are more people coming in and I said that I would be front and center.
He had decided to place his coat over the chair back to hold his spot and then join the line at the kitchen pass-through for a coffee, when he heard her voice.
"Michael!" she said, "Michael, over here."
He looked to the darkened back of the club and saw Liath beckoning him over. He made his way to her, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek.
The tall, thin, redheaded man beside her raised his brow and said aloud, "Oh so it's like that is it?"
Liath turned to him and said with a mock severity, "Mind your own affairs Andy! Michael, this rogue is Andrew our guitar player. Andrew, this handsome young gentleman is Michael."
Andrew took Mike's hand in a firm grip, and winking conspiratorially said, "Well I hope you know what you are about with this one, man. I'm off to get the rest of the instrument stands."
He smiled at Mike once more, "Good luck to you, then."
Liath waited in line with him while he got two coffees, and she introduced him to several people in the interim, all were friendly and welcoming. He began to feel more comfortable as he realized a broad variety of people were in attendance, from young high school age kids to a couple of biker chicks in leathers, to people who looked like college professors, to mechanics or fishermen.
She sat with him for a few minutes in gentle conversation until they saw two more case toting, musicians enter through the front door to a chorus of "hellos." Then Liath excused herself to go and tune up; Mike's eyes followed her as she made her way to the back.
Andrew finished arranging multiple instrument stands and two stools on the stage and then with a quick nod of acknowledgement to Mike, left to disappear into the darkened back of the club.
It was only a few more minutes until the hall was filled, every chair taken and not just a few people standing around the edges of the room. The individual greetings and conversations had blended into an overall hum of anticipation as people settled in their seats. The house lights went down via the services of an old man at the light switch by the door, and the host for the evening came on stage.
He made a few announcements about upcoming events and a short plea for volunteers for setting up the hall and then got down to business.
"Normally we would have one or two open stage performers and the 'ad hoc' sing before the feature, but tonight we are privileged to have six well known locals who, though they have played together for years, have banded together BRIEFLY to form, The Mist O'er the Breakers, or The MOB as the most of us like to call them. Please give a warm welcome to Mist O'er the Breakers!"
Over their applause the expectant faces of the audience followed the musicians as they came up from the back of the darkened hall. Mike had eyes for only one of those figures.
Then they were there on the stage, a close packed mass of six musicians and at least twice as many instruments. They stood in a row at the front of the stage. Liath stood short and solid and relaxed between a towering, thin, mustachioed man and redheaded Andrew. Then there was another beautifully manicured older woman with iron-grey hair, and then two younger blond bearded men like bookends on either side. Every musician held an instrument in front of their body but none lifted them to play.
Instead they composed themselves, standing quietly until the audience fell silent; the only sounds the rustling of clothing and an occasional throat clearing. Liath's eyes met Mike's and then in unison with no discernible prompt, all six voices raised in a swelling rolling a-cappella harmony that made hair rise on Mike's arms and his chest thrum with a sympathetic vibration. The tune was simple and minor with Gaelic words that Mike didn't understand, but he kept his eyes locked on Liath's for the entire time and just allowed the music to engulf him. When the song ended, a collective sigh lifted from the audience for a timeless second before the thunderous applause and foot stomping began.
The first half was given over to quiet airs and ballads, the forty minutes flowing past gently, only interspersed with loud applause and whistles and shouts of approval from the audience at the end of each piece.
At intermission the group left the stage, and Mike was disappointed that Liath did not reappear. He did however briefly speak with Becky Anderson, who greeted him as he was on his way to the door to get a breath of air.
While he was standing staring up at the clouded sky, his phone started to vibrate. He pulled it out, and saw it was Vicki.
Shit, do I really need this now? he thought. But he flipped the cover open and held the cell to his ear.
"Hey Vic, look now's not a great time, can I…"
"When the fuck were you planning on returning my call Mike?" Vicki hissed into his ear. "You lied to me about seeing Henry. Why?"
"I didn't lie, Vicki, I just didn't want to go into it," Mike said, bringing his other hand to his forehead. "And I suppose his Highness just couldn't keep his bloodsucking trap shut could he?"
"Well, we are going to go into it Buster. I'm going to be in Vancouver tomorrow and when I am…"
Mike cut Vicki off, dropping his hand to his side, suddenly angry, "So you're running right back into his waiting arms, are you Vicki? Well you better be careful. You may find that he's not the tame little 'graphic novelist,' that you remember."
Her angry voice was audible, loud even, in the parking lot where he stood. He held the phone a little away from his ear. "Fuck you, Celluci."
"Right back at you, Nelson," he said, his voice rough with an emotion that he couldn't name. "What the fuck makes you think that you can go around screwing with everyone's heads and hearts and that there won't EVER be any price to pay, huh? Or maybe it doesn't matter to you, as long as you're not the one who pays that price. You know what Vic? I'm done. You fucked me over big time, and you can't even imagine what you've done to…Arg! Fuck this shit!" Mike's momentary eloquence ran down to an inarticulate groan of frustration.
The silence on the other end of the line was complete except for Vicki's ragged breathing. Mike said in a resigned voice, "Look, I have to go…I'll call you." Then he disconnected.
He turned to see Liath leaning in the doorway, the sorrow on her face written plain. She looked into his eyes for a moment and then opened her arms to him. When he stepped forward into her embrace she turned her face up to him and kissed his lips, "I'm sorry Michael, I'm sorry for your hurt."
Mike looked down into the deep dark compassion of her eyes. "It doesn't matter now," he said. "That is the past."
Liath nodded and then slipped her arm around his waist, pulling his hip against her. "Well then," she said, "There's still the second half, full of jigs and reels and shanties to cheer you. Then we are off down to the Irish Times for an after party, will you join us?"
"Are you asking me for a date?" Mike inquired in a teasing tone.
"That sir…I am!" Liath smiled.
****
The inside of the Irish Times Pub was all dark shadows, warm bodies, voices and shuffling feet. The sparkling glass and polished brass bounced what light there was around the room, that…and the music.
It was crowded where Mike leaned against the bar, tight packed bodies on either side of him. He was working on his third or was it his fourth mug of beer? He turned and leaned his back against the dark stained oak of the bar and watched where not one but two fiddlers were chasing each other around the repeats of a jig, while Liath behind them played the underlying rhythm on the guitar.
When the song tune ended, there were whistles of approval and applause as well as the thumping of hands on tables and the bar behind him. A waitress scooted forward to lay a tray with a pitcher of beer and a number of mugs on a stool in front of the musicians.
Handing the guitar off to Andrew, Liath accepted a mug poured by one of the fiddlers and then made her way across to Mike. Her face was coated in a fine sheen of sweat and her cheeks pink with excitement and alcohol. Mike touched her cheek. "You are beautiful," he said, bending towards her and capturing her lips in a soft kiss of admiration.
When he drew back he saw her gaze darken and intensify like…like….She leaned into him and raised her face to him. The tip of her tongue swept out to trace between his lips in invitation. Before he could respond she drew back and turned outward to face the musicians who had taken up a bodhran and the "small pipes." Liath leaned herself back against Mike and he felt her soft curves mold themselves to his body. The drum began a driving rhythm that the patrons picked up as foot stomping and hand clapping.
Mike brought his arms up to clasp his hands in front of Liath's body, resting them low against her, just below her waist. After a moment she rested one of her own hands gently over his. He felt her weight against him and he was filled with a sense of calm, a sense that all would be well. His heart grasp at that feeling, so rare, so fleeting were these moments of grace in his experience. Yet the feeling did not dissipate, instead it deepened, and filled him with a sense of peace.
***
When the Times closed down at two a.m., Mike knew he was too inebriated to drive, not that Liath would hear anything about it anyway. Neither would she allow any talk of calling a cab.
"It's a beautiful night Michael," she said teetering just a little. "We'll just walk."
Michael looked about the deserted downtown street at the fine drizzling mist that was falling, and said quizzically, "But it's raining?"
"Yes," Liath said slowly, nodding as though she were enlightening a child, "That is why it is beautiful."
Mike hoisted the guitar case and Liath the concertina case and they started off down Government Street, laughing and arm in arm, leaning into one another.
It took perhaps forty minutes to walk to Liath's house in Fairfield. They laughed and talked and Liath sang him, in a whisper, several rather ribald songs that had them both giggling under the cool touch of the misting rain.
At length they stood outside of Liath's gate. As she turned to face him, Mike placed the guitar case on the ground. He glanced up to the halo of light from the lamppost at the curb. He could see the steady fall of the misting rain against that light. He didn't want this feeling to end.
He looked down and took her loosely in his arms. She turned her face up to his, her eyes dark and deep pools above the gentle smile on her lips.
"I don't want to leave," he whispered at last.
She raised a hand to his cheek. "Why, then you should stay."
***
So it was that Michael Celluci, Detective and one of Metro Toronto's Finest, found himself, standing behind Liath as she fitted her keys to the front door. "Shhh…Shhh…" she shushed repeatedly as they tried to sneak across the kitchen to her bedroom, like a pair of teenagers.
Mike was pretty sure that the amount of noise they made could have woken the dead, but Liath's roommate had the courtesy not to investigate.
As the door of her bedroom closed behind him, in the dark against the window's soft glow he saw her silhouette cross to the bedside table. He heard her strike a match and saw the brief flare as she lit a candle that stood there.
She was beautiful, in the golden flickering light and as she crossed back to him her head was haloed in the damp curling ends of her hair. She reached up to his shoulders; her eyes never leaving his as she pushed his coat back to fall to the floor.
"Will you stay with me then…Michael?" she asked.
***
Her flesh was soft and supple, warm and yielding, under his hands. Right, she felt right.
They lay facing one another, side by side on the bed, each exploring the others body, with gentle touches, in the light of the single candle. Touch gave way to kisses and then taste as they found their way together along the ancient path.
When he lay atop her and was lost to himself in their joining, he felt the peace of surrender flow over him. Her soft sighs whispered over his muscled shoulders as, trembling before that final decent, he eased back to regard her face.
Her eyes were soft and hooded with her arousal, but grew bolder under his gaze. They were deep and wise and the irises and pupils huge and almost inhumanly dark in the half-light. She shifted under him, tightening that most intimate of embraces around him and he moaned aloud as he felt himself slide into the dark depth of her eyes. He felt her buckle under his weight as she followed close behind him.
There were no words between them as he slipped from her and turned on his side. He pulled the duvet up from the foot the bed and then drew her into his strong embrace and as he spooned his body behind hers she laid her head against his chest.
The last thing Mike remembered, as sleep came to claim him, was the soft rise and fall of her breasts against his arm and the sweet sound of her voice humming a lullaby.
***
The liquid sky was green and wide as she winged her way to the surface.
The rumbling splashing of the waves and the call of the gulls were loud in her ears when her head lifted to the air.
She could see the man on the rocky shore. She called to him, "Michael."
The sound that emerged was the barking of a seal.
He did not turn around.
She slid closer to the shore and changed her form. What had been the comforting and buoyant home of the sea became a cold and cruelly insistent draw on her human limbs.
She called his name, "Michael!"
He paused, searching the beach and the land in front of him though he still did not turn to the tide.
She struggled in the water and slipped beneath the surface, coughing and choking as she raised her face to the air again. He was still moving away, trailing a seal's pelt behind him through the sand.
She slipped under again and in a panic realized that she couldn't "see" her skin. She couldn't change. She began to sink, and she couldn't change. The ocean welcomed her with a chill embrace; she breathed in the cold salt water as the shining surface above wavered…
Michael's arms tightened around her as she jerked in his grasp, though he did not wake. Her eyes wide and her heart pounding she lay on her side in his embrace.
It is safe she thought…it is safe. She called her skin and its location to her mind. It was there, silvery and secure in its hiding place. Just a dream, she thought, t'was just a dream, as her heart rate began to slow.
She held her eyes open to banish the memory of the wavering shiny surface above her, and turned in Michael's arms to rest her cheek against the sparse blond hair of his chest. She could hear his heart beating reassuring and strong, and he sighed softly as he adjusted his body in sleep to pull her close.
T'was just a dream…