Always Be My Banshee

by Molly White

  “I suppose you can take a break and go have a piece of pie,” Bonita said, waving her hand airily.

  “Speaking of which, I met a new eligible bachelor in the pie shop the other day,” Cordelia told her with a grin.

  “Oh, honey, I haven’t dated since I don’t know when,” Bonita scoffed. “And I don’t know if I should start now.”

  “I’ve heard you considering how lonely you are. Besides, Walt’s sweet and kind of cuddly. You could use a little sweet and cuddly,” Cordelia insisted.

  “Walt Benson? With the mustache?” Bonita made a hand motion over her mouth.

  “He’s nice,” Cordelia said. “And I get the feeling that he’s lonely, too.”

  “Do you think the mustache is negotiable?” Bonita asked.

  “OK, I’m going to make this happen now,” Cordelia giggled. “Because of stubbornness…or possibly because I like seeing things stirred up. Maybe a mix of both.”

  “Well, I hear that most good relationships start out of stubbornness,” Bonita said. “All right, all right, you go have your piece of pie and some rest, before somebody figures out that I’m letting you fondle the general public’s mail. We’ll talk about sad mustaches some other time.”

  Chuckling to herself, Cordelia left the post office. Maybe she did have time for a piece of pie. There always seemed to be time for a piece of pie in Mystic Bayou. People seemed to accept that as an excuse for not being on time or even showing up. “Sorry, I was having a piece of pie.”

  As she was walking into the pie shop, Walt Benson himself was pushing the door open. He grinned broadly at her, displacing the much-maligned walrus mustache. “Hey there, sweet girl.”

  Cordelia exclaimed. “Hi, Mr. Benson! I was just talking about you!”

  Mr. Benson followed her into the shop, where she stood away from the crowd. To her immense relief, there was a slice of pear-cranberry tart left in one of the mismatched cake stands. Cordelia recognized several people in the booths, but instead of approaching her, they just waved and nodded while indulging in their own pie.

  “What have you been up to?” Mr. Benson asked.

  “Oh, just making a living.”

  Mr. Benson scoffed. “Well, that doesn’t tell me anything. With the League, that could mean anything from working magic to washing socks.”

  Cordelia only smiled. “Well, they would have to be awfully important socks.”

  “Well, honey, I imagine you’re smart enough to head up a whole department full of important socks,” he snorted. “But surely the League has you assigned to something a little loftier, smart girl like you.”

  She snickered. Walt reminded her of the nosy old men who used to loiter around the lot, lookie-loos who had no intention of buying a ticket to the show, but would try to talk Cordelia and the other carnival kids into giving them the secrets of the house—how the magicians did their tricks, how to win the games. It was annoying, but basically harmless, the human instinct to get something for nothing.

  Cordelia winked at him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Walt’s big blue eyes twinkled with excitement. “Ayah, sure can.”

  “I can, too,” she told him, making him burst out laughing. “So are you seeing anyone?”

  Walt’s fuzzy blond-gray eyebrows drew together. “I’m flattered, but I think I’m a mite old for you.”

  She didn’t mean to laugh that loud. Really, she didn’t. “No, not for me. For a friend of mine who is a little bit more in your…demographic.”

  “You should work as a diplomat for the League,” he told her. “Besides, I thought you were sweet on that skinny Irishman that’s always hanging around you.”

  “I happen to like that skinny Irishman very much,” she said. “But we’re talking about you. Bonita De Los Santos. She’s a nice lady. Funny and smart. And a hell of a good cook.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Walt promised.

  “That’s all I ask.”

  Walt opened his mouth as if he was about to ask another question, but Siobhan interrupted him.

  “Are you gonna order something, missy, or are you gonna stand there, taking up the bought air?” Siobhan asked.

  “I better let you get to it,” Walt said, nodding toward the door. “Miss Siobhan takes her ordering etiquette pretty seriously.”

  Cordelia shot an apologetic glance at Walt. “Miss Siobhan, is there any chance that the pie that will soothe my soul is that pear-cranberry tart, there?”

  Siobhan squinted at her, as if she was scanning Cordelia for computer viruses. “No, you need something a little stouter than that.”

  Siobhan turned and cut her a sizeable slice of the chocolate rhubarb pie, a strange pudding and crust concoction that included little chunks of pink fruit oozing into the filling. Cordelia lifted a dubious eyebrow at the pie. If she told Siobhan that pie looked like a tragic science experiment, she wouldn’t get pie again. So she just said thank you, paid for the pie, and retired to the gazebo on the town square, to eat in peace.

  Siobhan was, of course, right. The pie, as off-putting as it looked, made her feel warm and relaxed, all the way down to her toes, like she didn’t have enormous pressure from the League or Alex or the confusion of her personal life, pushing in on her from all sides.

  It was nice, sitting on the wide wooden swing in the sunshine, watching the trickle of traffic toodle through town, the faces of the locals as they went about their errands. Other than the weird fountain, which Cordelia now realized depicted most of the shifter species living here in the bayou, you would look at this idyllic scene and think Mystic Bayou was like any other town. Her eye slid across the people walking down the sidewalk across the street, not really catching on anyone until a short, dark-haired woman suddenly turned just as she passed Cordelia’s spot.

  Her mother.

  Bernadette Canton was standing across the sidewalk, grinning maliciously at Cordelia across two lanes of municipal road.

  Cordelia recoiled, dropping her pie with a splat against the wood plank floor and nearly tumbling off of the bench swing. Multiple cars passed between them and like a blink, Bernadette wasn’t there anymore.

  Cordelia stood, unsteady on her feet, her head spinning. Her hands were so cold. Why were they so cold? She could barely bend her fingers as she tried to clean up the pie mess she’d made.

  This hadn’t been some dark forest imagining. Her mother was right there. In broad daylight, that same old awful, calculating expression on her face. And then as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone. No one on the sidewalk acted like they’d just seen a woman disappear into thin air. So Cordelia could only imagine that this was happening inside her head.

  Had her gift finally fractured her mind? Was she going crazy? Maybe it was the weight of working with the artifact. The casket was more powerful, more sentient, and more cunning than anything she’d ever read before. But at the same time, she’d been working on building a mind palace to strengthen her shield and make that work easier. Maybe it was all just too much at once?

  She stumbled down the gazebo steps, her legs still wobbling. Suddenly, there was a body in front of her and Brendan caught her by the elbows.

  “Hey, hey, are you all right?” Brendan asked.

  Cordelia shook her head, her eyes unfocused.

  “You’re scaring me, Cordelia. Just take some breaths with me, come on, sweetheart.” He cupped his hand around her jaw as he drew her close. “Through the nose, out the mouth. Come on, darling. You’re all pale and drawn. Did you touch something that gave you a fright?”

  She shook her head, burrowing into his chest. Even in her panic, she recognized that she felt safe, not because someone was holding her, comforting her, but because Brendan was holding her. She needed him. And she hadn’t needed anyone since…she wasn’t sure she’d ever needed someone. She’d been alone for so long, and before that, she hadn’t had someone she could depend on. But since the moment they’d arrived, Brendan had done nothing but w
hat he thought would protect her or make things easier for her—even that strange morning when he’d been pushy with her. Maybe he thought it was better for her to get back to work and meet the League deadlines. He understood. Why couldn’t other people understand what this was like? She could depend on Brendan.

  She sniffed. “I need to talk to Jillian. Now. I don’t give a shit who’s in her office or whether Messina himself is parked at her desk. I need to talk to her.”

  “All right. Do you want me to go with you?” Brendan asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you,”

  He put his arm around her. “It’s gonna be all right, Cordy, no matter what.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said as she shakily made her way to the research village.

  “Well, of course, I do. I’ve touched you multiple times in the last few minutes and your death isn’t imminent. As long as you’re alive, things are going to be all right.”

  They opened the door to the administrative trailer, finding a much more subdued Leonard at the front desk. His hair was tidily combed, and he was wearing a slate blue shirt and tie. She’d never seen him wear a tie before. He rose from his seat at the sight of them. “Ms. Canton, Mr. O’Connor. You don’t have an appointment, is there something I could do for you?”

  “I need to speak to Jillian, please,” Cordelia said as steadily as she could manage.

  Before Leonard could respond, Alex emerged from Jillian’s office door. “Cordelia? I was hoping to speak to you.”

  “Are you meeting with Jillian?” she asked.

  “No, that’s his office now,” Jillian said. “I’m doubling up with Sonja until we can find some space in one of the lower department buildings.”

  Cordelia glared at Alex. “You took her office?”

  “Now that’s a dick move,” Brendan murmured.

  Alex looked vaguely offended, but Cordelia said, “Agreed.”

  “Could we please talk, Cordelia?” Alex asked.

  “No,” she seethed, turning to Jillian. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Of course.” Jillian motioned for Cordelia and Brendan to join her in Sonja’s office.

  “Cordelia, please—” Alex said.

  Brendan turned and said something to Alex in Gaelic that sounded charming, and yet, very, very threatening. Alex stopped in his tracks and Brendan closed the door behind him. Sonja’s office was smaller and less cluttered than Jillian’s, save for the garden’s worth of carefully potted plants surrounding her desk. Jillian reached up and closed the vents and the blinds.

  Cordelia’s carefully constructed shell she’d kept up in Alex’s presence crumbled and she sank into Sonja’s chair with a thunk. Jillian hovered in front of her, not quite touching her, then pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t talk just yet, OK?”

  Turning off her laptop and unplugging her phone, Sonja held up a small black box with two parallel lines of blinking lights on its plastic cover. She walked around her office in a grid, waving the box around, holding it close to the vents, her desk, her bookshelf. When the box offered no response, she nodded to Jillian. “We’re clear.”

  “What the bloody hell was that about?” Brendan asked.

  “The door is soundproofed, but ever since Alex and Messina showed up with their brute squad, we’re a little paranoid about surveillance,” Jillian said. “They’ve taken a much more aggressive approach to this ‘occupation’ than we expected.”

  “Actually, paranoia seems rather sensible,” Brendan admitted.

  “Honey, what’s going on? You’re all pale and cheesy-looking,” Sonja said.

  “I think I’m going crazy,” Cordelia whispered. “I keep seeing my mother around town and I know it’s not possible. I mean, the probability is just below microscopic. But I’ve seen her twice now, and…am I going crazy?”

  “I’m going to hug you, just prepare your shield OK?” Jillian wrapped her arms around her and squeezed. She didn’t feel much, just warmth, probably from the blue flames that enveloped Jillian in her phoenix form, enveloping her like a blanket of protection. It was all Cordelia could do not to burst into tears right there.

  Sonja, who had been preparing a cup of tea with a shiny electric kettle behind her desk, pressed the hot ceramic mug into her hand. Cordelia nodded in thanks, wrapping her hands around a cup that said “I am my own superpower.”

  “Is it possible maybe you’re just stressed out, or maybe your gift is manifesting in some wonky way?” Jillian asked. “The rift has been known to change the way magique’s gifts work.”

  “Maybe? That’s sort of the problem with psychic powers,” Cordelia said, shrugging. “There’s no way for me to measure that without touching her to make sure she’s really there, but she’s always out of reach, disappearing before I can do anything.”

  “When have you seen her? Give me details,” Jillian said.

  “Right after we arrived, I saw her outside my window. It was only for a second, and I thought maybe I was stressed and imagining things,” Cordelia said. “Or maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. And then today, she was on Main Street, in broad daylight, staring at me with that awful look on her face she used to have right before she was going to talk me into doing something I didn’t want to do.”

  “But she didn’t say anything to you, try to communicate in any way?” Sonja asked.

  Cordelia shook her head. “No, just the smirking, which was her main means of communication, anyway.”

  “If it was really your mom that you saw, do you think she would hurt you physically?” Jillian asked.

  “Well, she’s definitely not going to make me smiley face pancakes and braid my hair,” Cordelia muttered.

  “Do you think it’s possible that you have seen your mother?” Jillian asked. “Maybe someone in the League, one of those sabotaging factions we talked about before, brought her here to mess with you?”

  “Well, anything is possible,” Cordelia told her. “Messina threatened to tell my mother where I am if I don’t meet his deadlines for progress with the casket.”

  “What a dick!” Jillian exclaimed, her eyes flashing an eerily brilliant sapphire while a crown of flames formed around her temples.

  “Sweetie, you said you didn’t want to introduce profanity to the womb,” Sonja reminded her. “Also, you’re on fire.”

  Breathing deeply, Jillian smiled gently at the swell of her middle and stroked a hand over it. The blue flames faded back into her hair, leaving the scent of ozone in their wake. “Honey, Mommy’s sorry, but I would hope that after you’re born, when you see someone being a dick, you call it like it is!”

  Sonja looked to Cordelia, jerking her head towards Jillian. “By comparison, you’re not that crazy.”

  “I heard that,” Jillian told her.

  “But, she is right; that was far more dickish than taking over someone’s office space,” Sonja said.

  “It’s not that bad, honestly,” Jillian said. “I’m glad to hand the reins over to someone else, even if he is a dick. Here lately, I can barely keep up with the work while the baby sucks all of the energy out of me. I’m much more suited to the community liaison role.”

  “But who’s going to keep Adam McTeague from dominating all of our meetings?” Sonja asked, then shook her head. “But back to Messina. I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like this to scare you into compliance.”

  Jillian pondered this for a while and added, “Or, when you think about the patterns, the big picture, maybe he doesn’t want the rift issue to be fixed. Maybe he’s messing with you because he has no real interest in seeing the rift repaired, no matter what he says. He’s sabotaging you while adding extra stress by demanding results because he has a vested interest in the rift staying unstable and getting worse.”

  Cordelia frowned at her. “What?”

  “You’re telling me that a man who guards the secrets of the League doesn’t know about factions within the League until an anthropologist in Louisiana writes Akako Hiyash
i an email?” Jillian scoffed. “He’s the head of strategic projects and he needed my people to figure it out for him? What’s more strategic than sneakily undermining the League from within and staging some sort of coup that would essentially equal world domination once the whole ‘if everybody’s magique, no one will care’ plan is complete. I don’t trust him. He seems far too dominating and ego-driven to be content working as part of a hierarchy instead of being its leader…and in short, I think he is a bad man.”

  Cordelia sank back into her chair. Great, new disturbing information to process. If Darwin Messina was the root of all the troubles in Mystic Bayou, and Alex was his right hand, how involved was Alex in these evil world-domination plans? She thought back to that sweet boy she’d known and the idea that he could be setting out to hurt people for his own gain broke her heart.

  Of course, he could also be totally ignorant of what Messina was doing. It was unlikely, but she was willing to cling to the idea…unless, of course, he was the one who told Messina to use Bernadette as leverage against her.

  Her head hurt.

  “Thinking it is one thing,” Brendan noted. “Do you have any evidence of your suspicions? You can’t go to Akako Hiyashi with ‘he’s a bad man.’ Even if I do think you are entirely correct.”

  “Well, to be honest, we’ve had these suspicions for a while. But your information shows that I’m not just resentful of getting unceremoniously booted out of my office. That’s the real reason Sonja and I have been bunking up together in here,” Jillian said. “We’ve been researching Messina and any connections he may have had with the people who have been causing our problems over the last few years.”

  “Like what?” Cordelia asked.

  “Like, Cole Lydon—the traitor who used League resources to pull the artifact out of the swamp for nefarious purposes,” Jillian said.

  “And almost killed me,” Sonja added.

  “And almost killed Sonja,” Jillian agreed. “He was an intern for Messina’s office, which is weird, because in general, the office of strategic projects doesn’t take on interns. But Messina justified taking him on by stating that he and Lydon’s dad were old family friends. Or the fact that Karen, the telekinetic that Lydon used to unearth the artifact? She was a freelance consultant on a project Messina oversaw about twenty years ago. Or Lara, my psycho-assistant who went all murder-y on Dani? She went to the same college Messina did. She was hired through some sort of alumni outreach program he’d orchestrated. It’s just a lot of vague connections like that. We don’t have anything concrete yet, but that seems like a lot of coincidences, enough that we were already planning to find some sneaky secret way to contact Akako and talk to her about it, without pinging any sort of internal alarms Messina has set up. Now, I think we’re just going to move up our timeline.”