Page 1 of Echoes of the Banshee

Thea

Love, Lightly Starved

Days have passed, at least I think they have, since we last saw a guard. No footsteps echo in the hall, no keys jangle against metal. For once, there is no torture. Only silence. And hunger. I press my back against the wall, the cold seeping into my bones.

“Still with me, Lazlo?” My voice cracks, hoarse from thirst and the long, terrible absence of anything but whispered words between us. I don’t realize how badly I need to hear him until that tiny, stubborn voice answers.

“Aye,” he replies, his Irish lilt faint but steady. “Still dreamin’ of a grand meal I’ll never have.”

Relief blooms in my chest. I force a laugh, but it dies in my throat as my stomach twists painfully.

“Don’t start,” I groan.

He chuckles, the sound soft and strained.

“Can’t help it, love. I’ve got waffles on me mind.”

“You always have waffles on the mind.” I try to inject some lightness into my tone, but probably fail.

“I can practically taste the Mass Ave Diner’s Cinnamon Surprise, or the Crème Brûlée.” His voice takes on a teasing edge. I smile faintly. For a moment, it almost feels normal.

“Wrong,” I counter, mustering some strength. “Their French Toast Waffle is the pinnacle of waffle evolution. Golden, crispy perfection.”

He snorts. “French Toast? They’re nothin’ but posh eggs.”

I laugh. It morphs into a cough that leaves my ribs aching.

“Yeah, well, if we ever get out of here, I’m ordering the never-ending waffles and breaking the record,” I shoot back.

He pauses for a second before asking, “Are you saying waffles with no beginning and no end?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Once upon a time,” he tells me with a smile in his voice. “There was a woman who loved waffles…”

“You’re ridiculous,” I remind him.

A sound cuts through the quiet. The heavy clank of boots on stone, the faint jingle of keys. The guards. They’re here. So much for dying in peace.

“Guess they aren’t going to let us die,” Lazlo mutters under his breath, the lightness of our moment vanishing as quickly as it had come.

The footsteps grow louder.

I slump against the wall, letting the moment slip away.

“Unfortunately, no,” I say softly, resigned.

“Think they brought us waffles?” Lazlo chuckles bitterly.

I hear the scrape of metal as they toss his food into the cell. He won’t touch it until they leave. Won’t give them the satisfaction of watching him eat like the monster they think he is.

“Is it goon one or goon two?” I ask with false bravado.

“Which is the one that stinks like dog feet?” he asks.

“That would be goon two,” I tell him as the goon in question comes to my door, shackles in his hand. Guess no food for me.

“Seems it’s time for the main event,” he says with a smug smile.