Heart's Blood

by Calinda B

  Cillian side-eyed her.

  Ryan rolled his eyes and crossed himself.

  “What?” she said, taking another sip. “At last I’ve found something that won’t give me the heaves. Your boots should be happy.”

  “Oh, they are, but you shouldn’t be calling on baby Jesus for something so simple as coffee, especially in the presence of Father Ward, here,” Ryan said with a scowl.

  “Says the guy who had two whiskey shots for breakfast,” Lassi said, smirking. She exchanged a look with him, then realized she hadn’t even said hello to Cillian. “Cillian,” she said, with formal restraint. “How are you today?”

  “Well enough, I suppose. What brings you here?” Cillian said, piercing her with his blue eyes.

  “Ryan has done some digging,” she replied, fighting back the impulse to say something snarky, like, “Oh, it seemed natural to see the father of our children…you know, the guy who planted them in my womb.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “He has a theory about what’s going on around here.” She stepped toward the table and sat as far from him as she could. “Ryan, why don’t you share?”

  “One sec.” Ryan helped himself to a cup of coffee and took a long swallow. “Ahh,” he said. He leaned against the counter, crossed one leg in front of the other, and proceeded to tell Cillian what he’d discovered. “Ever heard of banshees?” he said.

  “I’ve heard of them,” Cillian said.

  “Apparently, Siobhan comes from a line of banshee summoners.” Ryan sipped his coffee.

  Cillian’s eyebrows rose high.

  As Ryan told him what he’d told Lassi, Cillian listened intently.

  “Well,” Ryan said, pushing away from the counter. He strode toward the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “What do you think?”

  Cillian pondered, rubbing his chin.

  Lassi eyed his fingers, recalling the way those fingers felt stroking her skin. She shifted in her seat. Her cheeks grew warm.

  Cillian glanced at her, his gaze dark and brooding. Then, he turned away and spoke. “It’s certainly a possibility. It makes sense. But, off the top of my head, I know very little about banshees, save the stuff I’ve read in fiction. Supposedly, they herald death with their wails and keening. Lore speaks of spirits of women who were murdered or died in childbirth. Some believe them queens of the fairy realm, driven underground by humans. With their tragic history, banshees are hypersensitive to sadness in other people’s lives. In myths, their expression of grief has taken on supernatural powers.”

  “Seamus certainly let out a few dreadful wails. Could a banshee have been speaking through him?” Lassi said. “Surely the church would have tales and teachings of such a thing buried in their archives.”

  Cillian drummed his fingers on the table. “Perhaps. Banshees aren’t necessarily evil, though. They’re more like misguided devotion. And, I don’t recall any of the church teachings mentioning banshees, banishing banshees, or even eradicating fairy women, mist hags, or White Lady ghosts. But, I’ll certainly help you research, Ryan. We can dig through the church teachings. I’ve got centuries’ worth.” A wan smile crossed his face.

  Ryan chuckled. “You’ve probably collected them through the years, eh?”

  “Yes,” Cillian said, his eyes boring into Lassi. “I had to do something to bide my time while I waited for love to arrive.”

  She inhaled sharply but fixed her gaze on the scone crumbs dotting the table.

  A heavy silence smothered the room.

  Finally, Lassi pushed away from the table. “Thank you for the coffee, Cillian. It’s the fortification I need to get me to Waterford City to sit with Siobhan and little Paul. You should be stopping by to perform last rites. I won’t stand in your way.” The words emerged crisper than she’d intended. She’d meant to convey compassion and understanding.

  He sighed. “Yes, I heard about Paul. A parishioner told me,” he said, no doubt thinking, instead of my girlfriend who has little comprehension of how difficult it is to choose between duty and obligation, and love.

  For a second, Lassi’s eyes locked with his. An entire conversation of hurt, betrayal, anger, and desire passed between them. As if following a silken thread stretching between them, she rose and stepped toward him.

  He placed his palms on the table as if steadying himself.

  She leaned down to kiss his warm cheek.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said.

  His shoulders relaxed. “Good. Only if you want to, that is,” he said, glancing at Lassi.

  “Why wouldn’t I want to?” she said, her eyebrows drawing together. “Oh, right, it’s because there are all these unspoken issues between us.” She smacked her forehead with her palm.

  All the while Ryan sat stiffly, appearing extremely uncomfortable if the set of his jaw was any indication.

  “I’d best be on my way,” Lassi said, straightening her shoulders.

  Ryan cleared his throat. “Right. And Cillian and I had best get to researching banshees. Ready?”

  “Of course,” Cillian said. Again, he glanced at Lassi, conveying, what? A great wounding? Heartbreak? Resolve?

  You brought this on yourself, Father Ward.

  Lassi turned and fled from the room before her emotions had their way with her.

  As she jogged down the hill toward her house, she chided herself. “You’re nothing but a silly chicken, Lassi Finn. Puk pukaaak,” she added, mimicking a hen. She tucked her hands beneath her armpits and made a few flaps. “You both need to lock yourselves in a room and sort things out.” She paused, breathless. Her arms fell to her side. “But, he doesn’t want you. He wants to fulfill his obligations. I’ve become an obligation.”

  Tears started to fall.

  At her driveway, she hopped in her car, turned the key in the ignition, and drove away. The entire journey to Waterford City, she continued her pro and con rant about her relationship with Cillian. By the time she arrived at the hospital, nothing but aching longing filled her heart. I miss him badly. Her heart heavy, she opened her car door and slid onto the damp parking lot asphalt. When she pivoted, her gaze landed on Bres a few vehicles away.

  “Hey, Bres,” she called, waving. Remembering she had been crying, she snagged a crumpled tissue from her pants pocket and wiped her face and nose.

  “Hey, Lassi.” He strode toward her, his footfalls heavy and slow. When he stood before her, he said, “What a total shit-storm. Getting my vehicle rear-ended seems mild.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry to hear that. Was the damage extensive?” Lassi leaned against her Subaru, folding her arms across her blue raincoat.

  He gestured toward his SUV. “Not so bad. The guy who hit me was in a panic. Said he’s uninsured. He promised to pay for any damages. Christ.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “I had to play the part of calm psychotherapist while that guy lost his shit. Finally, I lost it. I started yelling, saying, ‘I’m not where I need to be for a woman who’s dying…dying, do you hear me, man? And you’re worried about your lack of responsibility.’ That got him thinking. Then, he turned into an apologetic, groveling, simpering imbecile. I took his number and got the hell out of there.” He let out a long sigh. “I got to the Conway’s too late, though.”

  He sent a small rock sailing with a sharp kick of his boot.

  Lassi patted his arm. “There’s nothing you could have done, Bres. Mary was possessed. Something got to her soul. Ryan thinks it’s a banshee.”

  A light mist began to fill the air.

  Absentmindedly, she lifted her hood over her head, knowing it would do nothing to stop the frizz her hair would soon adopt.

  “A banshee, huh?” His eyebrows lifted in a skeptical expression.

  Lassi filled him in on the details.

  “Wow. So, Siobhan’s living in a house formerly owned by the O’Neill’s? And her family is known to call banshees from wherever they hide? It seems like a fanciful stretch.” Bres tapped his lips with his index finger.

  �
��It does. But, that’s the thing about the supernatural world. It can’t be tested, qualified, verified, or proved. Yet, that doesn’t stop it from existing.” Even as she stood there justifying it, her scientific mind still railed against the supernatural.

  “Well, what is it about Ballynagaul and pissed-off women?” Bres said, smiling coldly.

  “It seems to have a few. Ailis, Penny the butcher, and the Dearg-Due.” She ticked them off on her fingertips. “And, also, don’t forget the group of women in Dungarvan, known as the Revenge Angels. Inspector Brown suspects they’re at play. She has no idea of any supernatural realities.” She grew silent for a moment. “At least Siobhan’s still alive.”

  Bres’ face flash-frozen in a rigid expression. “Is she? I was going to ask you if you knew where she is. I can’t reach her.”

  “She’s probably in the hospital, sitting with Paul,” Lassi said, pushing away from the Skoda.

  “No, she isn’t. I checked before heading here.” Bres stiffened. “I’ve tried and tried her number.”

  “Let me try. Maybe Siobhan isn’t answering you,” Lassi said. “I’ll text her, first.” She tapped out a message and waited. No reply came. Dread pooled in her belly with a lead weight finality. “She always answers when I call.”

  “You’re probably right. Call her.” Bres leaned forward, desperate eagerness radiating from his face.

  Lassi retrieved her phone from her pocket. She tapped Siobhan’s number and pressed the speaker icon. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. When it kicked to voicemail, she and Bres exchanged a horrified look.

  Bres fished in his pocket for the keys to his SUV. His face resembled the pale complexion of an angel of the grave. “You see to Paul. I’m heading over to her house. If Siobhan’s dead, I…I…I don’t know what. I just need to see her with my own two eyes.”

  “Go!” Lassi said. “Call me if you hear anything.”

  He jogged away from her.

  And Lassi prepped her mind as best she could for yet another tragedy.

  Chapter 22

  Day 6, noon - Siobhan

  Lady Freddie’s admonitions snaked through Siobhan’s soul the entire morning, ripping apart her self-loathing and grief-torn wallowing. As she drove the kilometers to Waterford City, dressed in a somewhat clean red shirt and jeans with garden mud on the knees, she whispered them over and over, like a chant.

  “You’re simply jealous of a dead woman, and everyone is fair sick of you taking it out on the living. You need to get a grip and pull yourself together.”

  She didn’t exactly know what “getting a grip” would look like, but somewhere in the fog of the last few hours, she vowed to change. She owed it to Paul. Even if he only had a few days left, he deserved to see his mom in a better light.

  As she thought this, the sun played peek-a-boo in the sky. Just the sight of it made her feel a wee bit more hopeful. She passed the stone walls and grass fields dotted with sheep, feeling a teensy trickle of warmth trickle through her heart.

  When she pulled into the hospital parking lot, Lassi stood in the distance, next to her red Skoda.

  Lassi’s mouth dropped open as she stared at Siobhan. Her fiery hair billowed around her head like flames. She staggered back against the sedan, pressing her palms against the smooth metal like her knees had given way. Then, she held her phone before her and furiously typed.

  Alarm spiked through Siobhan’s body, noosing her belly in a tight knot. “Oh, no. It’s Paul, isn’t it?” She sped through the lot and screeched to a halt in a spot near the Skoda. After killing the ignition, she leaped from her Subaru and raced toward Lassi. “Lassi! What is it?”

  “Oh, dear, God, you’re alive.” Lassi threw her arms around Siobhan and held tight. “I just texted Bres to let him know you’re all right. We’ve both been frantic with worry.”

  Siobhan eased her away. “You’re worried about me?”

  She blinked, confused.

  Lassi gripped her shoulders. “Of course I was worried. And Bres turned sheet white at the thought of losing you.”

  “Why did you think I’d have died?” Siobhan pried Lassi’s fingers from her shoulders.

  “We couldn’t reach you. And, because of …oh.” Lassi’s hand flew to her mouth. “You don’t know, do you?”

  Siobhan jerked. Now it was her turn to clench Lassi’s upper arms. “It’s Paul, isn’t it? While I was away feeling sorry for myself, my Paul has passed away.”

  “No, no, no,” Lassi assured, her hands fluttering before her chest. “It’s not Paul. It’s…it’s…” Lassi’s eyes filled with tears. “Mary died last night.”

  Siobhan’s legs became jelly-boned. She released her grip on Lassi, stumbled toward the Skoda, and fell back against it. “Oh, no. How did it happen?” She pressed her knuckle to her mouth to staunch another round of tears.

  Lassi filled her in on the details of Mary’s death. As she spoke, she reached for Siobhan’s free hand, holding it tightly.

  “This is horrible. What if it’s all my fault? What if some curse has been placed on me by the Dearg-Due?” Siobhan’s tears burst free. “Oh, Lassi. I’ve been such an ass this past year. I let my grief overwhelm me. And you…you and all the good folk of this town have stood by me, let me wallow,” she blubbered. “I’ve been too short-sighted to see anyone’s needs but my own. I’m truly thankful for your friendship and devotion to me and Paul.” She turned and embraced Lassi, dripping tears and snot onto her friend’s raincoat. “These last few days have been wretched. Awful. It’s a wonder I have any friends left. And now Mary…” She broke off, gulping lungfuls of air as she sobbed into Lassi’s shoulder.

  Lassi held her, patting her back, while her own tears flowed. “There, there. And, it’s not your fault.”

  “How do you know?” Siobhan whimpered.

  Lassi said nothing.

  A glacial chill frosted Siobhan’s skin. What if it truly is my fault?

  They both stood sobbing for a moment.

  Then, Lassi eased her back and produced a clean tissue from her pocket. “Here.”

  Siobhan took the tissue and wiped her face dry. “Thank you, Lassi.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled. “And let’s call it square if you’ll agree to be my children’s godmother.”

  Siobhan’s jaw dropped. “Your…your children? Plural? And you’re pregnant?”

  “It seems so. I’m having twins.” Lassi smiled, almost shyly. “I’m not telling many people, yet. Keep it on the down low.”

  “No one mentioned you were pregnant with baby squid,” Siobhan gushed. “Cillian must be over the moon.”

  Lassi’s expression fell. “That’s a long story. Let’s save it for another time and see to little Paul, shall we?” She hooked her hand around Siobhan’s elbow, and they tromped toward the hospital.

  Once they were inside the elevator, Siobhan said, “Pregnant! With twins.”

  Lassi started to chuckle.

  Siobhan smiled.

  Lassi’s chuckles turned to laughter.

  Siobhan couldn’t help herself. She joined in the weird, hysterical laughter one does in moments of deep fear and grief.

  By the time they reached the fifth floor, she knew they appeared utterly insane.

  Her gaiety vanished as soon as the elevator doors opened. She approached Paul’s room, clutching Lassi’s arm. My poor baby is dying. How can I possibly laugh about anything? By the time she stepped through the doorway to his room, her face had ossified with fear.

  Paul lay still as a corpse. His moon-pale, pinched little body left her joyless, sliding back into the well of grief.

  A respirator pumped air into his lungs. His IV fed fluids into his body. He seemed to hang in the balance between life and death. Clearly, there was little left in the “life account.”

  Siobhan rushed to his side, sat on a chair already next to his bed, and took his hand in hers. “Oh, my Paulie. May the angels keep you safe.”

  Lassi stood in the doorway, murmuring some
thing to a woman in the hall. She stopped speaking to the woman and stepped through the door.

  Coming behind the chair, she placed her hand on Siobhan’s shoulder. “He has maybe a day at most. The attending nurse just told me Dr. Quinn informed her of the odds this morning. I’m sorry, Siobhan, but we need to prepare to let go.”

  A gasping sob hurled from Siobhan’s lips.

  Cillian strode through the door at that moment, as if summoned by Jesus himself. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Lassi said something or other about the news she’d given Siobhan, but Siobhan didn’t hear it. All she heard was the whish-whish of the respirator and the bleep-bleep of the heart and blood pressure monitor tracking Paul’s vitals.

  “Siobhan. Siobhan?”

  Siobhan blinked. “Huh?”

  Lassi gave her a soft smile. “Cillian needs to speak with you. You need to follow him to the family lounge down the corridor.”

  “What? No! What if my baby dies while I’m away?”

  Lassi kept smiling and nodding. “He won’t die. You’ll only be gone a moment. I’ll stay here. It’s important you hear what Cillian has to say. I’m only a short sprint away from the family area. Please go speak with him. It’s important.”

  She lifted her gaze to Cillian.

  He radiated calm assurance.

  Siobhan sighed. “Okay. But you make sure to come to get me if Paul starts to slip away.”

  “I will. I promise.” Lassi squeezed Siobhan’s shoulder.

  Curiosity got the best of Siobhan. Maybe he’s going to offer up the miracle Lady Freddie told me not to give up on? She rose to her feet and trudged down the hall with Cillian by her side.

  Once they’d both settled on green plastic-covered chairs in the waiting space, Cillian began speaking.

  He told her about the O’Neills and McGraths and the theory about the banshees. “Ryan and I have been digging through books all morning. The theory holds true. A banshee will devote itself to a family. They’ll spend centuries trailing the children of that family. They are also deeply devoted to their country, Ireland, and will attach themselves only to those descended from Celts, which you most definitely are.” A gentle smile creased his cheeks. “The banshee—they’re best known for their premonitions. But yours seems darker…almost out of control.”