Banshee Song (A Steamy Paranormal Fantasy Romance)

by Jen Katemi

  Quickly, I scrabble out of the trunk, swiping left and right with my shoe weapons. The banshee scream continues as a second man rushes around from the other side of the car. The two of them advance in formation, both wincing as the banshee cry continues to assault their ears.

  They look so ordinary and human. Surely, these were not the ones who disabled a whole room full of people including a fae winter warrior, no less, and then blasted me with some kind of powerful purple magic?

  As I stare at them with a confused frown, another blast of that oily-feeling magic washes over me. I drop the stilettos and fall to my knees, retching. What is this? It feels as if someone is sucking out my insides through my belly button, one small piece at a time. I gasp for breath, the pain so crippling I can no longer make even the slightest squeak, let alone a full-throated banshee cry.

  A third male rounds the corner of the car, and I can tell instantly this one is no ordinary human. He glows with magic. Purple magic. It would be a beautiful sight, were it not so utterly terrifying.

  Guess I’ll have to cross purple off my list of favorite colors.

  I’ve heard the rumors, like most beings in this post-Accord world. Though the supernaturals came out of hiding thirty or so years ago and struck an agreement to live amicably together with humans, there are some who would still prefer to keep the species separated. Scratch below the surface of the Accord and there will always be a few who talk about the loss of power that “coming out” forced upon them. Those rumors have been gathering momentum recently, even making the TV news on occasion. For some reason, the necromancers have been at the center of those rumors.

  I always imagined a necromancer as an old, withered, gray-haired man, wearing a gown and a pointy hat. This guy is dark-haired, wearing normal human street clothes, and would be handsome were it not for the scarily blank expression on his face as he stares down at me in concentration.

  Steer clear of the purple magic, everyone says. Necromancer magic. Never trust a necromancer.

  Which makes my current situation, kneeling in front of a person who oozes that cloying purple magic, all the more chilling. He positions himself so that, to anyone watching, it would appear that I’m about to give him a blow job. Though it is unlikely that anyone will see us. From our surroundings, I would judge we’re still in the city, and the car has been parked in a dead-end alley way.

  No one is likely to pass by and come to the rescue, and I can’t move away from him on my own. He has frozen me in place. Bastard. He knows exactly how to make a woman feel helpless.

  His smile is wide but contains no mirth whatsoever. The eyes are cold and calculating, and he clearly enjoys my fear and discomfort.

  “Well, well, banshee songstress. We meet at last. You and your little country bumpkin sister have been rather difficult to...shall we say, connect with.”

  Country bumpkin? Is he talking about Aleah? You go, girl, I silently applaud her efforts to evade this bastard. She obviously did a better job of that than me. If I ever survive this, I’m going to make an effort to meet her. Maybe Maewen, too.

  My stomach flip-flops at the realization I may never get the chance to meet my sisters. Or even find out how many other of my mother’s children are out there in the wider world.

  I refuse to give in to the fear, even if his goddamn magic suffocates me in the process. I still cannot rise, but his magical iron grip on my throat has eased and I narrow my eyes and glare up at him.

  “Who are you and what the hell do you want with me?”

  “Ah, the million-dollar question. Or rather more likely, the trillion-dollar question, by the time we end this and get what we need.”

  My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can see it vibrating in my chest. “I’m not giving you anything, wizard. You can try, but I won’t cooperate.”

  His grin widens. “We don’t need you to give us anything, young lady. We’ll just take what we need. Your cooperation will make things less protracted and painful for you, but even without it, our plans are well in train. And now that we have you, we can progress things more quickly.”

  I struggle in earnest then, but it does no good. His magic has my knees pinned to the ground.

  Tarrien, I call out in my mind. Where are you? I’ll let you follow me to the ends of the earth and back again—forever—if you just materialize now and smite this guy’s head right off his shoulders. I’ll even kick it like a football once you’re done.

  My knight in shining armor doesn’t appear.

  Instead, the necromancer raises his hand and the miasma hits me right in the face. The force pushes all the air right down to the base of my lungs, stopping my breathing, and sends my thoughts and my senses into chaos. In the jumble, I feel myself lift from the ground, swirling as if caught in a freak whirlwind, and then a moment of dark nothingness descends. The transition is too brief to evoke terror.

  When the darkness ends and I begin to see flashes of light, I blink several times, gasping for breath. Then I stumble and put out a hand.

  Cold. Icy cold. I stare around me at a winter wonderland lit by moonlight: ice and snow and trees bare of leaves but arching up toward the stars in a strange kind of beauty nonetheless. My kidnappers didn’t accompany me through the blackness. I am standing here on my own.

  The hand I had thrust out to halt my fall is resting on a stone wall topped with a dusting of snow. The surface beneath my fingers thrums with energy. The wall itself circles around a large clearing in front of a turreted building. It appears to be a smallish castle made of stone, with a grand entrance that should look inviting, but it doesn’t.

  There is something seriously off about that castle and this forest scene, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It has nothing to do with having been kidnapped and forced through some kind of travel portal against my will. No, it is the actual place itself that sends shivers down my spine and ignites dread deep down inside.

  Death reigned here, and not too long ago. The essence of it calls to the banshee within me, but the pull is not strong enough to bring forth the banshee song. Whoever died here, is gone, though the disturbing trace remains.

  Where in the hell am I?

  Is this a fae glamor laid over the top of the urban environment I just came from? If I squint my eyes, will I see something different beneath? I try it out. Nothing changes, but the feeling of wrongness intensifies, and I fancy I can see a tinge of purple hanging over the landscape. So, not a fae glamor, but perhaps instead a necromancer gathering place protected by a purple-tinged spell?

  Or is this place something else altogether? Wherever they’ve dumped me, this is definitely not Melbourne anymore. Considering the energy thrumming beneath my palm in the very stones of the place, I don’t think this is even the human realm at all. I remove my hand from the wall and take a few steps forward, toward the castle. Given how my human half is shrinking in anxiety and my banshee senses have just sharpened significantly, I think I might be in Faerie.

  Tarrien

  INDIE’S SISTER PACES back and forth in front of me, barking orders into a mobile telephone, her scowl marring the beauty of her features.

  When she finally ends her call and shoves the phone into the holder on her jeans, she turns to face me. “Are you going to tell me what happened here? Why a fae decked in warrior armor is hanging out in a cabaret club in Melbourne? And how you came to be covered in so much blood?”

  I expect her to sound like Indie, but her voice is rougher, less refined. Perhaps that is due to Indie’s voice training for her job as a singer; perhaps it is simply that this banshee works with the police and her days are spent rubbing shoulders with those less salubrious than Indie’s theater folk.

  I hold out my hands, silently requesting release from the cuffs. I can’t access my magic while these things manacle my wrists, but at least they cuffed me at the front and not behind my back.

  Use the special cuffs, she had ordered, and use them they did. Whatever power is contained in these cuffs, it muff
les my fae magic until I can barely feel it at all.

  I have the inbuilt physical strength to bust the manacles apart, but that would likely injure those humans still milling around us, and it will be much less catastrophic if she simply lets me free herself.

  “Oh no,” she says, with a grin that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You speak first, and then I’ll decide whether to release you from those.”

  “Very well.” What is it with Lady Renna’s daughters? Why are they all so frustrating to be around? I unclench my jaw and work it to release the tension.

  “I am a warrior of the Winter Court, and I have been tasked—by your mother, in fact, Maewen—to protect the guest of honor at the event held here this evening.”

  “The famous club singer, Indigo?” She has obviously already spoken to several of the guests—the ones not injured or killed in the initial blast and attack—to ascertain that the party was held in honor of Indie.

  “Indeed,” I answer.

  “And you say my mother gave you the task to protect her?” She shakes her head and continues before I can answer. “Putting aside the fact that I don’t wish to acknowledge that woman as my mother, why would the fae who birthed me want to protect Indigo?”

  I study her angry eyes and decide not to argue with her about Renna. Indie is the important focus right now.

  “Your sister Indigo has been the target of a number of attacks recently, by abominations. Rogue supes that are almost certainly created and controlled with necromancer magic.”

  “I know what abominations are. We’ve been dealing with them all over the place recently. But...” She tilts her head and studies me. “Sister? What do you mean, my sister? Indigo? She’s my...sister?” Her voice ends on a squeak.

  “Of course. Have you not studied yourself in a mirror lately? You are very similar in looks. I would have thought it obvious. But that’s beside the point. We’re wasting time. If you free me, I can head after her. They grabbed her in the melee. I can’t sense her with these on, but if you set me free, I can use my fae magic to find her. I will not harm her. I give you my word as a winter warrior.”

  She huffs out a breath and I hold out my hands again to forestall the words I know she’s about to utter.

  “This is werewolf blood, not human. I killed those two loups your team is currently photographing, before they got to Indie. Unfortunately, while I was engaged in battle with the second, I believe Indie was snatched.”

  “You believe? Did you witness her being taken?”

  I purse my lips in self-annoyance. “I did not. However, I think those who took her were likely human. They may have had someone with magical skills assisting them from afar—a wizard or necromancer, perhaps? But definitely not more than two abominations here in the club. I would have sensed them, otherwise.”

  Maewen runs a hand through her hair, messing it up despite the fact that the bulk of it is pulled back into a plait. She seems tired.

  “Part of me wants to drag you off to the station and interrogate you some more,” she says. I open my mouth to object when she adds, “But your story checks out. It’s the same one that several of our witnesses have described. Two humans died—but one looks to have had a heart attack and the other was unfortunately trampled in the melee when everyone tried to get out. So, the only bodies that would produce as much blood as you are sporting right now, are the two dead loups.”

  She is silent so long after that, I feel compelled to speak. “You’re welcome.”

  “You are a very annoying person.”

  “Your sister would agree with you, I think.”

  She glares at me with eyes that are so similar to Indie’s a pang forms in my chest. I hope my little banshee is okay. Wherever she is, I hope she can hang on till I get there. I hope she won’t need my healing powers the way Aleah did not so long ago.

  “Did you happen to see any medallions on those loups you killed?” she asks.

  “Medallions?” I frown, playing back the battle in my mind. “You mean, like a coin...”

  “A necklace, with a big fancy-ass disk on the end of the chain.”

  “I do not think so.”

  “Hmm. Okay.” She taps her teeth with a fingertip, thinking. “If the singer has been taken by—”

  “Your sister, you mean?”

  She makes a strange harrumphing sound. “That remains to be seen. I can’t afford personal distractions right now. If the singer has been taken by those involved with the abomination attacks, then I guess we need all the help we can get in locating her.”

  “You are more like your mother than Indie.”

  She steps forward and produces a key, making quick work of the cuffs. “I met Renna once, and you and I both know you did not mean that as a compliment, Fae.”

  “I did not.”

  Luckily, my petty snipe does not deter her. As soon as those cuffs are off my wrists, my fae magic rushes back in as if it were waiting in the corners of the room for my release.

  I feel normal once again, and I release my hold on the warrior armor, allowing the glamor of human-styled street clothes to appear. I could have achieved cleanliness like this when I was with Indie in her apartment instead of using her shower, but for some reason, I wanted her to see the real me instead of anything simply conjured by glamor.

  “Thank you, Maewen,” I say. “I will find her, and I will do everything in my power to keep her safe.”

  I realized this week, while watching Indie go about her usual business, that my feelings for her are growing. I don’t understand why. We had only the one night together. We still barely know each other. And yet, the thought of anything happening to her—at any time but especially on my watch—is completely unbearable.

  “You’d better,” Maewen says, and swivels away to answer a query from another SUDAP member. Just before I leave by touching the ring on my thumb, she turns back. “And it’s not Maewen. It’s Inspector Jones to you.”

  I leave Inspector Jones to the messy scene in the club and transport myself outside to the street, but of course, there is no actual physical clue left by now to indicate which direction Indie’s kidnappers took her. I didn’t think the attackers would be that stupid, but I had to check.

  I reach out into the ether, searching for Indie’s essence. Frustration fills me when I can’t sense her at all. A sudden thought hits and my frustration morphs into anxiety. What if she’s already...no. Don’t think like that. She’s strong and feisty, and whoever they are, they clearly don’t want their banshee captive dead straight away. She will still be alive. She has to be. There is no other acceptable outcome than to have Indie safely back where she belongs.

  And where is that? A tiny voice whispers in my head. Does she belong back here, in her ordinary human-based life? Or does she belong with you, in Faerie...in your arms?

  Wherever she is, I need Indie to answer my call.

  Silence is the only response. Nothing. It is as if she has been snuffed out like she never existed at all.

  Chapter Seven

  Indigo

  If this is Faerie, I didn’t expect it to feel so...forsaken. It’s the only word that fits this dark and lonely landscape. I’m aware of Faerie, of course, having listened to Mother babble on without stopping during her one and only visit when I was young. I’ve never been to see the place, but even knowing my roots are in the Winter Court, my mental image was one of vibrancy and icy beauty rather than the heavy trepidation that infuses me now.

  Tarrien, is this where you’re from? Is this why your heart is encased in ice and you say you cannot love?

  At the thought of my warrior, my pulse rate briefly speeds up. If we are in Faerie, surely, he’ll find me soon. Please find me. I could do with some of your protection, right about now.

  The feel of that oily miasma hangs heavy in the air, making my breathing more labored than usual.

  A man dressed in black ceremonial-style robes emerges from the shadows at the edge of the clearing. He strides toward me through the sno
w-covered landscape. It isn’t one of those who snatched me from the club, but his face is grim and I suspect from his demeanor he’s going to be as soulless as the others.

  That’s when I realize there are several figures lurking around the edges of the clearing. I study them, trying to work out who they might be. Are they all necromancers? Oh. Dear heavens. Some of these creatures look like abominations.

  Great. I’m likely somewhere in the depths of Faerie, away from everyone and everything I’ve ever known, and it seems as though I’ve been brought to a necromancer stronghold filled with the very creatures I’ve been trying to escape.

  “Hiya,” I say, as the man draws to a halt in front of me.

  He backhands me across the face. “The only thing I want to hear from you, banshee, is your name.”

  Ouch! I touch my stinging cheek and do a quick mouth explore with my tongue, hoping none of my teeth have been knocked loose. Nope. Teeth are all intact.

  “Nice to meet you, too.” Oh, my God. Stop being a smart arse. My head has the right attitude, but stress keeps making my mouth run off with itself. “Want my name? It’s Indigo.”

  Another backhand.

  “Your real name.”

  I narrow my eyes at him and this time I manage to press my lips together, successfully holding back more stupid words. Is my cheek already beginning to bruise or swell? Feels like it. That second whack really hurt.

  He stares at me, during which time the others draw closer until a ring of black-robed figures circles us. Some are human and some are not, but at least the abominations aren’t jumping in and ripping me to pieces. Yet.

  Even as that thought touches my mind, one of the loups—a weirdly formed half-vampire, half-human hybrid—lurches forward and grabs me around the throat. I scrabble at its clawed hands, trying to loosen the hold, and shove my knee up into its groin area.

  It just laughs, and squeezes tighter until no air can get through at all and pressure builds in my head. Then it leans in close to my face. The eyes gleam red with a hint of purple and its tongue darts out to caress its own incisors—up and down until I want to vomit at the sick innuendo.