There’s a side door. An emergency exit. I take a sharp left and head for it, but three women in black head me off.
Panic sets my nerves on fire. I’ve always been able to find an exit, an escape route, somewhere to flee. But this time I’m trapped, hemmed in by women I’ve known all my life—placid-looking Southern ladies who now remind me of harpies, or Fates, or something dreadful out of mythology.
ButIam something dreadful out of mythology. And I’m not helpless. I’ve survived this thing inside me, and I can survive them, too.
And what’s more…this isn’t just “a thing inside me.” Sometimes I create that mental separation out of shame or denial…but the banshee isn’t some hitchhiker in my body.
I am the banshee, and the banshee is me.
So I let myself be whole, and I release one scream of pure, defiant freedom.
The force of the sound wave throws the three women out of my way. Everyone in the church cringes and crouches down, covering their ears. In that moment of confusion and chaos, I yank open the emergency door and rush out, heedless of the alarm that shrills at my exit.
Cold wind in my face, the scent of damp leaves. There’s a concrete step. I jump off it and start running the second I hit grass.
One second, the stretch of grass between me and the forest is clear. The next second, a figure stands between me and the woods. He’s tall, with shoulder-length dark hair, sharp features, a chiseled jaw, and a short, neat beard. He reminds me a little of Viggo Mortensen…
His hand lifts. Is that a gun?
Pain explodes through my body, making me jerk and shudder.
Not a gun. Taser.
Fuck.
15
Heathcliff
Rolling over in the bed fucking hurts. I had to spend a ton of energy repairing Alan Wolcott’s body during his resurrection, and I almost didn’t have enough strength to wipe my prints off the stolen car and stagger back home. At least the tattoo is fading now, its mission completed. No more irritation from that source.
Groaning, I manage to grasp my phone. Looks like I got a text from Cathy.I can’t do this anymore.
She sent it hours ago. Shit.
Can’t do what? Can’t dous? Fuck, I knew I was going too far with the tattoos. I wanted to protect her, but it probably looked real weird and possessive, like some movie boyfriend who turns out to be a stalker. I probably scared her off. Maybe she decided someone like Edgar Linton is better for her.Fuckthat.
I send her a reply.I’m here. What’s up?
That sounds dumb. But I don’t have any more words in me.
I try to stay awake. I fight the overwhelming tide of weariness, the heavy ache in my head, the leaden weight of my limbs. Cathyhasto answer me, has to explain herself. She can’t just end it like this.There has to be a reason. Something scared her. Maybe she heard something about me or the Lockwoods, maybe she’s stressed out, maybe she went through another one of her mourning episodes and she’s saying this because she’s tired. Whatever it is, I need to know. So I struggle to maintain consciousness.
But I’ve drained my energy almost completely, and I have nothing left to draw from. The Vague is in my head, suffocating me, and I need to sleep. I don’t have a choice.
I let the phone slip from my fingers onto the mattress, and I drift into darkness.
16
Cathy
Are you really a prisoner if you don’t try to get away? If you have nowhere else to go?
Sure, I was taken to Aunt Nellie’s against my will, but it’s not like I’m locked in or tied up or anything like that. Dad brought over most of my stuff late Sunday night, while I was lying on Aunt Nellie’s couch recovering from being tased. I still don’t know the guy who tased me, and when I asked, nobody answered.
I’ve been here three days now. I get up at six, shower, dress, and eat breakfast with Aunt Nellie while she watches Fox News. We drive to the store together, and I do my work like normal—inventory, restocking, arranging displays, helping customers.
There’s been no more talk of curing me, no discussion of my unnatural powers or my corrupting influence in Wicklow. Things seem weirdly normal. I guess that should reassure me, but it really doesn’t. It feels like the strange, brittle, yellow heat beneath towering, blue thunderheads right before a terrifying storm breaks and skewers the land with lightning.
