Banshee Box Set

by Sara Clancy

  “Mic?” he asked.

  A small, wistful smile curved the corners of her lips as her eyes softened.

  Logically, he knew that the Grim Reaper had chosen the image in some attempt to put him at ease. He was grateful for that. But there was no suppressing his eerie shudder. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror. He flinched away when Mic rose a hand. Her delicate fingertip hovered a few inches from the side of his face, testing to see if he moved again. When he held his ground, she closed the distance separating them and cupped his cheek. The tenderness in the touch almost burned him. He longed to move away but was terrified to leave the only slither of protection that had been offered to him. He locked his knees and held his ground, enduring the contact as best he could.

  Eventually, Mic’s hand moved. Instead of falling away, it rose towards his hairline and sunk into his sweat-drenched hair. There was no hesitation in the motion. Her fingertips went straight for the scar hidden beneath his pale hair. The long, curved gash that marked where the doctors had repaired his shattered skull. He could almost feel the metal plate embedded in his skin warm at the contact. A fine tingle raced across his nerve endings, surged inside him until he felt like his skin contained the churning ocean. He tried to pull away and found that he couldn’t. The sensation increased, crackling within his lungs and sparking over his brain in fireworks.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The sounds of the blood-soaked washing came sloshing back into his ears. Each pulse accentuated his thundering heartbeat.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The whispering came along with the noise. Within seconds, it was back to its unbearable level, driving down onto him until his legs buckled under the weight. He dropped hard to the ground and found himself sinking deep into blood-stained muck. The noise grew louder still, echoing within the marrow of his bones, grinding him into the earth, burying him into the mud. Stray bones clattered against his limbs. The soaked soil was filled with rotting bodies and bare bones.

  “Mic,” he gasped.

  He looked up, desperate to find any form of help. What met him was a look full of sorrow. Slowly, she turned away from him. Through the searing pain in his skull, he followed her gaze, looking on in horror as monsters began to claw their way from the earth. An army of thousands. Millions. Watching the horde surge towards him turned his flesh to ice. The ground rattled with their approach. Strong vibrations that drove him deeper into the mud. Twisted reeds crept over his shoulders like living creatures, wrapped around him, and dragged him down.

  The sudden jerk whipped him back, and he caught a quick glimpse of the woman hovering before him. Her skin like milk and her hair a flowing stream of black ink. Sick delight danced within her eyes as she watched Benton struggle against the tightening grass. The next hard pull dragged him completely under the surface and into his own grave.

  Chapter 6

  Nicole sat on the far side of their fake fire, close enough to keep a constant visual. But far enough that Benton had, for hours now, completely ignored her presence.

  Most of the time, it was easy to forget that Benton wasn’t human. Not entirely. He was a Banshee, and that made things unpredictable, especially when anything supernatural was concerned. She’d seen it herself more than once. Fire that she couldn’t see or feel left him permanently scarred. He immediately overdosed on the venom of the Leanan Sidhe instead of getting high. A Baykok’s arrow, which sent anyone else into a deep sleep, did not affect him at all.

  Going in, she knew that he could have a bad reaction to the cleansing ritual. Nicole had spent hours preparing for anything she could think of. She had convinced herself that she was ready. It was devastating to realize just how wrong she had been. All of her plans had hinged on one certainty; that he would talk to her.

  The process sent him into a deep trance. A bit worrisome but not completely out of the ordinary. She watched him carefully as the hour stretched on, her stomach knotting up as his ever-present expression of irritation melted into placid neutrality. There hadn’t been any warning. Like he’d been struck by a lightning bolt; his whole body jerked, and he crumbled. The epileptic fit took full hold before he hit the ground. Every muscle clenched and twitched. Tendons bulged under the slender column of his throat. Each vein pushed against his rapidly discoloring skin, and froth seeped from his mouth.

  Her years of first aid training kicked in automatically. Without thought, she rushed to his side, moving him farther away from the heated stones so that his long limbs wouldn’t touch them, and kept Wapun from putting anything in his mouth. In time, he settled. But his eyes remained closed. Even now, the memory of that cold, crippling silence haunted her.

  She completely lost count of how long it took for him to come back to her. His storm-gray eyes didn’t hold their usual tendency and wouldn’t focus on her. Still, she almost sobbed with relief to see them.

  The seizure left him as weak as a kitten. If he hadn’t leaned against her, he wouldn’t have been able to sit up at all. Sweat that was cold to the touch trickled down his skin in rivulets, and he rattled with the aftershocks. None of her words of encouragement seemed to reach him. When he started speaking, it was more like he was muttering to himself, recalling the bare basics of his experience in a whispered breath. All the details he kept to himself.

  Wapun hadn’t listened to Nicole’s pleas to keep from pressing too hard. She knew it was too soon. But Wapun sharpened her voice and demanded answers. In response, Benton had struggled to his feet and worked his way back to the teepee with a wobbling stride. There, he had collapsed onto his blankets, curled up onto his side, and stopped responding altogether. The most he did was shiver violently when the air cooled the sweat against his skin. The morning crept into the late afternoon, and he hadn’t spoken another word.

  Winter air chilled his skin, leaving him trembling aggressively. Draping her blankets over him succeeded in stopping the trembling, but nothing more. So she started her ritual; waiting patiently for him to come around in his own time.

  Night had fallen about an hour ago, and all of her hope turned into dread. However, even fear wasn’t enough to keep hunger at bay. She pressed a hand against her stomach, trying to dull the ache. It wasn’t all that effective. An answering growl echoed from Benton’s stomach.

  “Are you hungry?” Nicole asked.

  Benton didn’t so much as blink in response.

  “How about some of the stew I’ve been talking about?” she pressed. “You know, it’s the only place you can get it. Mrs. Milton only makes it for the festivals.”

  Again, there was only silence. Nicole remained where she was until the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach became too much to ignore.

  “Benton,” she whispered, trying not to startle him. He didn’t even flinch. “It’s almost six o’clock. I’m going to quickly go get us some dinner, okay? And I’ll get you some water, too. You have to be dehydrated.”

  Still nothing.

  “I’ll be back before you know it,” she promised as she rose to her feet.

  Sitting for hours left every muscle in her legs as dense as rocks. She staggered the first few steps to the flaps, barely remembering to grab her wallet and phone on the way out. Not that he’s going to call me, Nicole told herself. Still, she shoved it into the pocket of her yoga pants. I probably should have a shower, too. Even while she thought it, she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that she was going to leave Benton alone for long. I should get Zack or one of the twins to sit with Benton while I’m gone. Her phone was in her hand before she realized that might not be the best idea.

  It wasn’t that they weren’t on good terms. Most of the time, it seemed like they could get along. As much as Benton got along with anyone, that was. Things changed when they recalled that he wasn’t quite human. When they remembered what he could do with his voice alone. She wasn’t quite sure why it bothered them so much. All three of them were still enthralled by ghosts.

  Benton’s way more interesting than any g
host. Deciding not to put any of her friends into that awkward situation, she put her phone back and pushed her way out of the tent.

  One step and she was struck with the knowledge of just how out of control the situation was. Owls now covered the campsite like a swarm of locusts. The colossal birds perched on every surface and covered the ground like a living blanket. They fluttered around the sky like drifting leaves in autumn. Razor sharp talons glistened like polished onyx in the last rays of sunlight.

  Her sudden presence stirred the birds closest to their teepee. Feathers toppled down like snow as they fled from the overhead branches. The ones at her feet furiously squawked and clicked their beaks. The sound produced was eerily similar to bones rattling. Suddenly very aware of her bare feet, she shuffled back slightly, disturbing the owls that had resettled in the minimal space between her and the teepee opening. Swallowing thickly, she couldn’t help but stare at the array of beaks around her. Until they were this close, it was easy to ignore how sharp they were. Small but perfectly curved to cleave flesh from bone.

  The gathering flock had thinned the crowds. Without moving forward, she could see that a mass number of tourists had fled, taking down tents and clearing the parking lot. Those that remained stayed close to their homes or huddled in the food and souvenir area. It was the only place where the sheer number of people had kept the birds from taking hold.

  A handful of people were trying to move the birds along; banging fry pans, whipping shirts around their heads, and working in teams to heave large blankets. It went about as well as trying to hold back the rising tide. Newly arriving owls quickly filled any pathway they managed to create. Eyes wide, she surveyed the scene before her.

  Where are they all coming from?

  Mind-reeling, she unintentionally caught sight of a few Elders. Three of them stood on the edges of the eating area, talking amongst themselves while they stared in horror at the still increasing numbers. Superstitious or not, it was going to be hard for anyone to dismiss a mass gathering of the living omen of death. The pit of her stomach went cold when she saw Wapun join the group. She knows about Benton, a voice whispered in the back of her head. She’ll blame him.

  Instantly, she tried to chastise herself for even having such a thought, stubbornly keeping hold of her righteous indignation even as she reminded herself that this was kind of his fault. Glancing over her shoulder, she contemplated heading back in to keep close to him in the off chance that anyone had the sudden urge to demand answers. That option was gone when she checked on the group of Elders again and accidentally caught their eyes.

  Don’t arouse suspicion.

  Nicole’s back stiffened at the internal demand. Forcing her cheeriest smile, she waved at the group. They looked at her like she was an idiot. Not the intended reaction. Hurriedly, she surged forward, ignoring the angry birds shifting out of the way of her bare feet. She was halfway to the food tent when it struck her that casually strolling amongst harbingers of doom probably wasn’t the best way to look nonchalant.

  With everyone concerned with the sudden infestation, she was able to get to the front of the line pretty quickly. The aroma of steaming buffalo stew and fresh mint balm tea made her mouth water. It was a source of injured pride that she could never get the recipe right on her own. Distracted by the gnawing ache in her stomach and the promise of a warm meal, she almost ran straight into the person who suddenly cut into her path.

  “Mrs. Bertrand,” she gasped. Oh, not now. “How are you? I hope you and Mr. Bertrand are enjoying yourselves.”

  “Where’s Benton?”

  Reluctantly, Nicole came to the conclusion that Benton’s mother really didn’t like her. It wasn’t that the woman tried to hide it. Her animosity seeped into every chipped word she shot Nicole’s way. Also, they’d almost known each other for a full year and she still insisted on calling her Miss Rider. That was a pretty big hint. Despite Nicole’s attempt to win her over, Mrs. Bertrand had only grown more dismissive.

  “He’s resting,” Nicole said as sweetly as she could.

  “At this hour?”

  “The sweat lodge is a lot more physically grueling than people give it credit for.”

  This didn’t appease the older woman. With a sharp twist of her mouth, she snapped. “Please tell him to get his stuff together. We’re going home.”

  “Home? Why?”

  Mrs. Bertrand gestured to the birds.

  “They’ll head off soon,” Nicole assured.

  “This obviously isn’t normal. Something is very wrong.”

  Are you kidding me?! Nicole had to bite her cheeks to keep from laughing in Mrs. Bertrand’s face. Or scream. Or both. This is where you draw the line? Your son having prophetic dreams for a decade is just luck, but a few birds get together and suddenly you’re open to supernatural explanations?

  Schooling her features, Nicole fought to keep her smile. “Wild animals can be unpredictable. I know it can seem very intimidating for someone not used to having them around.”

  “I don’t know why you’re arguing this,” Mrs. Bertrand snapped. “You don’t have a say.”

  “It’s just that Benton’s been having so much fun. And it’s great to see him being social.”

  “Why are you so obsessed with my son?!”

  The sudden outburst caught Nicole off guard. She flinched back, her heels knocking into a few owls and sending them scurrying away.

  “I’m his best friend,” she stammered.

  Mrs. Bertrand’s eyes narrowed into deadly slits. “I don’t know how you fooled my son, but I assure you Miss Rider, I see right through you.”

  “I just want what’s best for him.”

  “Funny. That’s exactly what his other stalker said.”

  Nicole choked on her breath. Benton was stalked? By a human?

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you think you were the first?” Mrs. Bertrand continued.

  “I’m not-”

  “Cheyanne!” Nicole sagged with relief to hear her mother’s voice. A moment later, Dorothy Rider came charging to the rescue. “There you are. Ready for dinner?”

  Cheyanne’s shoulder’s stiffened. Still not comfortable around my mom, huh? Later on, Nicole would chastise herself for finding some malicious glee in that thought, but right now, she was just going to enjoy having the backup.

  “Constable–”

  “Come on,” Dorothy cut in. “We’ve been through this. When I’m not in uniform, you don’t have to address me by rank. Dorothy is fine.”

  “Dorothy,” Cheyanne said hesitantly. “I was just letting Nicole know that I’m taking Benton home.”

  “It’s only day two of the festival.”

  “But–”

  “You promised your son a week.”

  Dorothy had already taken hold of Mrs. Bertrand’s arm. Talking while she moved made it easier for the RCMP officer to lure the woman away. Neither one of them said goodbye to Nicole as they disappeared into the crowd. Distract and disarm. It was a motto her mother said often, and no one could follow it through like she did. That was why the three of them had decided it was Dorothy’s job to keep Benton’s parents busy and out of the way. Nicole knew that she didn’t have the time to dwell on what would happen if her mother failed in that task. She had already left Benton alone too long.

  As much as she wanted to be there for him when he woke up, she was half hoping that he would be back to his normal, irritated self by the time she got back. No such luck. He was exactly where she had left him. Blocking the wind kept a small amount of warmth in the place. Her frozen feet melted slightly as she crossed the fur blankets. She sat down with only a few inches separating them. Still, he didn’t look at her.

  “Benton?” she whispered.

  Careful not to spill, she placed a bowl down before him, hoping that the scent might draw him out. Good luck. Benton wasn’t food driven at the best of times. Might have a better shot with the water, she thought. Shuffling until her hip pressed softly against his stomach, she cracke
d open one of the bottles and held it out to him.

  “Come on, Benton. You’re bound to be dehydrated. Can you take a sip? You don’t have to talk.”

  He barely blinked.

  “Please,” she stressed. “You’re really scaring me.”

  Benton’s even breathing staggered for a second. Finally, his eyes flicked towards her. While he kept his silence, he did move, slowly extending a hand out the few inches needed to grasp the bottle.

  “Here, I’ll help you get your head up.”

  He didn’t say a word as she awkwardly shuffled around until he could rest his head against her lap.

  The small angle change made it easier for him to swallow down a few mouthfuls. Afterward, he just curled into her and wrapped his arms around her waist, clutching her close like a terrified child. She began to card her fingers through his hair, letting her nails scrape along his scalp. It was a gesture she had noticed him do to himself when he was looking for comfort.

  Soft hair gave way to the long hard ridge of his old surgical scars. Curiosity burned inside her like embers. Using less than legal means, she had read all of the police files and medical reports on his attack. On the metal plate that now held his skull together. He never really talked about it, and she didn’t press, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to know. The problem was that he was always self-conscious about it. She was half sure that was the real reason behind his obsession with his hair.

  It spoke volumes about his state of mind that he was letting her touch it at all. He didn’t even seem to notice it.

  “Do you think you can take one more mouthful?”

  He did the bare minimum to make that happen. If she wasn’t so relieved that he was finally getting some fluids, she would have found it funny. A little whimper passed his lips, and he resumed his position, melting under the constant motion of her fingers.

  “Everything’s going to be alright,” she told him.