Banshee Blues (Bones and Bounties Book 1)

by Bilinda Sheehan

  She started to turn around, and Clary caught my hand and dragged me toward the corner of the pub, where we were obscured by the raucous patrons. Straining to see through the crowd, I could still make out the woman.

  “That’s Daster,” Clary said, nodding in the barman’s direction.

  “I know.” I eyed him carefully.

  Not that I could forget the leprechaun—I was pretty sure there wasn’t a female Fae alive who could forget Daster. He had bright green eyes, and his broad shoulders and muscled chest were barely concealed beneath the tight muscle shirts he liked to wear. And then, there was his height. Daster towered above the others working behind the bar, so that when the banshee beckoned him over, he was forced to lean across the bar. He planted his thick arms on the mahogany counter as he folded his upper body across it so she could whisper in his ear.

  True leprechauns definitely weren’t what humans imagined, but that made it the perfect disguise. Their muscled bodies, strength, height, and good looks made them the perfect candidates for blending in with human athletes. No one questioned them, everybody worshiped them, and that, above all else, was what the leprechauns wanted.

  Most of them were lovely and talkative, especially the Irish ones, and they enjoyed playing practical jokes. The ultimate coup for them had been making the humans believe they were greedy little men intent only on their pot o’ gold. But not every leprechaun was a kind-hearted, chatty chap, and Daster definitely wasn’t.

  “So do we wait for her to leave and then go and have a word, or…?”

  “Or,” I said, straining to make out what the banshee had taken from Daster’s outstretched hand. “We’re going to follow her. The sneaky cow had me framed for murder, and I’d much rather get the humans off my back and keep the Faerie Court happy than have them haul me in for breaking the peace.”

  Clary didn’t say anything, but I could practically feel the cogs turning in her brain.

  “Why are you so eager for me to chat to Daster?” I asked. “Do you two have history or something?”

  “Or something,” she said sullenly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Who hog-tied the troll!” a voice in the crowd hollered, and the revellers roared in response. The sound was deafening in the confined space of the pub.

  “Blondie’s on the move,” Clary shouted over the din.

  An ear-popping roar erupted from the doorway of the pub as the troll chose that moment to burst through the small entryway. He pushed bodies out of his way with wide, sweeping blows of his arms and locked his gaze on me as a second yowl tore from his throat.

  “I knew we should have killed him when we had the chance,” Clary grumbled.

  I grabbed her hand and we pushed and shoved our way through the crowd toward where the banshee had gone. Pushing out past the last person, we found ourselves standing in a back hall that led to an open exit door.

  The troll’s cries of frustration dissipated as we pushed out onto the street.

  “Where’d she go?” Clary asked.

  I pointed toward the end of the street. “That way. I can still sense her.”

  “If you can sense her, can she sense you?” Clary tugged my arm, forcing me to a halt.

  “Nope, she doesn’t know we’re following her. Sensing has to be done consciously.” I picked up my pace, following the banshee’s essence down the street. Her trail was already beginning to fade, but that was the problem with harbingers: we were difficult to track.

  Reaching the end of the street, I paused and watched as the banshee crossed to the other side, making a beeline for another alleyway. Following her down there would put us at risk of being discovered, but what other choice did I have? If I didn’t go after her and figure out where she was lying low, then I would never know what she was up to and the Faerie Court would have my guts for garters.

  Rock: meet hard place. Or, in my world, it’s called another day at the office.

  I crossed the street, and Clary followed. One way or another, there would be an end to what was happening. With Clary on my side, my chances of survival shot up exponentially… and those were odds I could live with.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I shrank back against the shadows of the alley we’d exited just seconds ago and watched the banshee climb the steps to one of the maintained townhouses. The neighbourhood stank of money, but how she could afford something so luxurious was beyond me. Clearly, when she wasn’t busy framing me for murder she was killing it on the job market.

  “Now what?” Clary asked, her voice barely audible. As I turned to glance at her, I admired how she managed to disappear almost entirely into the darkness. No human would be able to pick her out, and even the Fae would have trouble seeing her against the red brick wall.

  “How do you do that?” I asked.

  “Glamour. I can teach you if you’d like?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve got just enough to make the humans think I’m one of them. Anything more than that, and I’m pretty sure I’d short my magic out.” A wry smile twisted my lips.

  Clary returned my smile, but hers was tainted around the edges with sadness. I’d never seen her show any kind of emotion about my predicament. A banshee without her power was a pretty pitiful state of affairs, but Clary knew why I’d given it up. I knew, deep down, she approved. I just never imagined she would be sad about it.

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t kick ass,” she answered, and I widened my smile until it was more of a grin.

  The sound of a front door slamming drew my attention back to the townhouse, and I watched the banshee hurry back down the steps, sliding her door keys into the pocket of her grey satin bomber jacket.

  “Where do you think she’s off to?” Clary asked.

  “No idea, but I guess we’ll find out.” I stepped out of the shadows.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Clary said, and let her glamour drop. She moved from the dark alleyway and headed toward the banshee’s house at a brisk jog.

  “Clary!” I whisper-shouted after her, but she ignored me, taking the steps in front of the townhouse two at a time.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered under my breath as I raced after her. “What the hell are you doing?” I said, watching her press her hand against the front door of the house.

  The front door swung open in response to reveal a dark hallway.

  “I’m going to find out what she’s been up to,” Clary said, “and then I’m going to call the Elite down here to arrest her.”

  “The Elite?”

  “Yeah. They’re gunning for your ass, so I’m going to give them the real culprit.” She slipped inside.

  “Shit,” I said again, this time meaning it.

  The human cops were one thing, but the Elite were a different kettle of fish. I didn’t fancy tangling with them over something that wasn’t even my fault.

  “You coming?” Clary asked, poking her head back out the door.

  “Yeah,” I said, moving cautiously up the steps. I glanced up and down the street, but no one could see me as I stepped into the hall.

  Despite the entrance hall’s gloom, the darkness didn’t affect my eyes and I navigated through it easily. The walls were split in half by an ornate rail of cream timber; the upper portion was painted dove grey, and the bottom half of the walls were dominated by striped wallpaper in varying shades of greys, creams, and blacks. A small shudder raced down my spine. Not all banshees were alike, but this particular banshee had my taste down to a fine art. Of course, it could be nothing more than a weird coincidence…but I’d been among the Fae long enough to know that such a thing didn’t really exist.

  The slate tiles on the floor gave way to thick cream carpet as I moved stealthily through to the living room.

  “Clary, where are you?” I called out, my voice low and cautious. Despite watching the banshee leave, I worried she might still be here, waiting to pop out on top of us at any moment.

  Something tapped my shoulder, and I whirled around to
find Clary standing behind me with a wide grin on her face.

  “This is so much fun! I wish you’d taken me out sleuthing like this before.”

  “Sleuthing? That’s what you think this is? Personally, I call it breaking and entering, and I’m pretty sure the law would agree. What are we doing in here, anyway?” I gestured to my surroundings. “From everything I can see, there’s nothing much to tell me who she is or what she wants.”

  “There has to be something,” she said. “Maybe if we look upstairs.”

  I opened my mouth to protest and then stopped. What was the point? We’d already broken in, so delving a little deeper at this point wasn’t going to do more harm.

  “Fine, but we’ll make it quick and then we’ll call the Elite.”

  Clary nodded in agreement and practically skipped toward the stairs. I’d never seen her enjoy something so much, especially not something that involved breaking any kind of law. Clary had always been the type to toe the line without ever stepping out of bounds. Perhaps it was all part of the process she was going through.

  What a stupid way to think of it. She’d been my friend for a very long time, and when she needed me most I was burying my head in the sand by pretending that she wasn’t really approaching the end of her life cycle.

  I followed her up the stairs, pausing once I made it to the landing to stare at the door sitting ajar at the very end of the hall. My stomach twisted nervously, and I contemplated turning away and never looking back. The gnawing feeling in my guts was hard to explain, and I wasn’t sure why I felt so suddenly out of step. But I’d been a banshee long enough to know that ignoring my instincts only led to disaster.

  Clary moved ahead of me down the hall, pausing at each door to push it open and give the room a cursory glance. I held my breath until she made it to the final door at the end of the hall and gently pushed it open with the toe of her boot. The light from the hall didn’t penetrate the thick gloom beyond the door jamb.

  Clary disappeared inside the room, and a moment later a yellow light flickered to life.

  “Darcey, I think you should see this,” she called out to me, but I was already moving toward her. I gasped as I crossed the threshold and saw the icy tendrils of the strange banshee’s magic clinging to my skin like thousands of tiny strands of cobwebs.

  “Shit,” I muttered, brushing my hands across my face and arms in an attempt to scrub away her magic. It was a personal alarm system of sorts, created to ward against others from trespassing into claimed territory. Now, she would know I was here.

  “What’s wrong?” Clary asked.

  “We need to get out of here. The room is warded; she knows I’m here.” I ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to shake free of the strands of her power.

  “I see that,” Clary said, nodding in the direction of my hair.

  “What?”

  “The blue is fading from your hair.” She was watching me in abject fascination.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I said again. The colour fading from my hair had nothing to do with the warding she’d created on the room, but everything to do with her proximity. I was on her turf; the closer she was to home, the more my fake dye job would fade and reveal me for what I truly was. Of course, the same would be true of her.

  “She’s been after you for a very long time,” Clary said, turning away from me. Her movement drew my attention, and when I glanced up at the walls of the room my heart came to a shuddering halt.

  My image was plastered all over the walls. There were photographs of me coming and going from my office, the Between, and even the nursing home. Among them were also pictures of Clary, MacNa, Noree, and Lunn. But what really set my teeth on edge and caused tendrils of fear to crawl across my skin were the drawings.

  I would have recognised his handiwork anywhere. From the moment we’d met, he’d been fascinated with drawing me. In the beginning, I’d been flattered. I’d honestly believed it proved just how much he loved me, how much we were meant to be together.

  Crossing the room, I paused in front of one particularly large drawing. He had used the pencil to bring my image to life in such a way that I might have been persuaded to believe that he’d actually been in my room as I slept…

  “This isn’t possible,” I said, my hand hovering above the drawing.

  “He always was very good at capturing your likeness.” Clary’s voice was heavy with scorn.

  “No, Clary, you don’t understand. This was done recently. This is my apartment. I lived somewhere else when I knew Manann, before I trapped him in the cage… He’s never seen my bedroom.”

  She stared at me for a few seconds, unable to comprehend my words. I could see her confusion as she chewed her lip and stared down at the picture before finally giving up the silence.

  “How could he know any of this?” she said. “It’s not possible. I thought the cage was unbreakable.”

  “You’re not the only one. I had Noree check it out, and she was pretty convinced that the cage is still secure, that Manann is still locked away.”

  Grabbing the edge of the picture, I ripped it from the wall and balled it in my fist. If he was free, then we had much bigger things to worry about beyond finding MacNa and setting the human cops on the right killer. If he was free, then we were all as good as dead.

  Power prickled down the back of my neck, giving me a split second to slam my hands over my ears before the strange banshee’s scream sent me reeling backwards. Pressure welled in my head, and it took all of my strength not to rip my hair from my own head.

  I should have been immune from her scream, but locking Manann away in his cage had come with some particularly nasty side effects. I shook my head, a poor attempt at breaking free of the magic she was weaving, but it was utterly useless. I could only shut her up by using physical force. Sliding an iron blade from the sheath at my waist, I rolled forward and into the woman standing in the doorway.

  Shock momentarily cut off her scream, and I used the split-second reprieve to my advantage, crashing into her and sending her sprawling onto the carpeted hallway. Her fist collided with the side of my head before I could arc the blade up and into her exposed abdomen. Pain bloomed in my face and my ears rang, but I pushed through it to bring the blade down. She rolled to the side, and as the iron embedded itself in her shoulder the sound of metal on bone filled me with grim satisfaction.

  A howl of anguish and pain ripped the air, but there was no power behind it. She fought against my hold, but I twisted the blade deeper.

  “Tell me how you have it,” I said, gesturing to the photographs and drawings plastering the walls.

  Despite the very obvious pain she was suffering, a bitter laugh burst from her lips. I cut it off with another twist of the iron blade.

  “Why would I tell you anything?” she asked.

  “Because you and I both know that the iron from the blade stuck in your shoulder is slowly leeching into your bloodstream. If I don’t remove it soon, you’re going to die.” I ground the knife down.

  She hissed, closing her eyes and writhing beneath me to try and escape my hold on her, but the blade and my body weight pinned her in place.

  “Don’t bet on it,” she said.

  She let out a long sigh and her body went limp, but her eyes fluttered open and stared up at me. Only then did I notice the almost imperceptible violet bloom of colour that surrounded her pupil.

  “Half-breed,” I said, unable to keep the disgust from my voice. I hadn’t thought of it before, but now everything made perfect sense. Part banshee, part whatever other type of Fae her banshee mother had decided to hop into bed with. The Fae community had long considered them abominations.

  Why hadn’t I thought of it before?

  Banshees were a dying breed, and it had seemed unusual for one to wander into my territory without my knowledge. My power had diminished, but not enough that I could no longer sense another one of my own. It also made perfect sense that she had been able to so callously kill Mart
ina Ricer, breaking her body apart as though she was nothing more than a plaything. Half-breeds were stronger, more vicious, and far more bloodthirsty than just any ordinary Fae.

  She rolled her eyes at me, but I could see something else now lurking in her hate-filled gaze. If I wasn’t very much mistaken, I might even have called it envy. Of course, it was entirely possible that I was wrong and no actually face to face with a jealous half-breed. If anyone had the right to be jealous, it was me; after all, she was the one with all of the power and none of the hang-ups.

  “That’s so last century of you,” she said. “My kind are now far superior to yours. We always have been, but now everyone else knows it too.”

  “How do you know Manann?” I said, not wanting to waste any more time on idle chit-chat. My earlier threat regarding the iron wouldn’t hold water against a half-breed. It would slow her down, and it would hurt like hell, but ultimately it wouldn’t kill her.

  “He misses you,” she said, and I ground the knife further into her flesh. She screamed, her violet and grey eyes sparking with power.

  “I might not be able to kill you, but the iron will still keep your power in check. Let enough of it soak into your bloodstream and you’ll be nothing more than a human. So tell me how you know him.”

  “He’s bored of the cage and I wanted to help him out,” she said, and the sudden movement of her hand caught my eye.

  “Darcey, the Elite are coming,” Clary said from somewhere over my left shoulder.

  “Don’t move,” I commanded, but the momentary distraction from Clary gave the creature pinned beneath me enough time to make her move.