Page 19 of Echoes of the Banshee

If only he was a banshee.

Inside the girls’ dorm, I head up the side stairs to my room. I was upset last time, when my room wasn’t next to Anita’s. Now I’m glad it’s not.

I shut the door behind me and slump against it. The weight of the day finally catches up. I lock it and flop onto the bed, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Too much has happened.

I think of Lazlo. I hear his laugh. The way his words always tethered me. How his love felt. How it made me feel.

I start a mental list of make-or-break questions.

An embarrassing number are food-related.

Some are easy. Does he like to travel? Does he like soccer?

Zair plays soccer.

No. There’s no way Lazlo could hide the fact that he’s Zair Brennan — star forward, campus golden boy.

Maybe I’ll ask about siblings. Lazlo had two sisters. That’s rare.

I count down the days until he’s taken.

Look up the girl who dies when they catch him. God, she’s only nineteen. Lazlo said it was her time. I think I understand now. Why he hated his fate. Why being a banshee felt like a curse.

I fall asleep to the memories of him.

When I wake the next morning, I take a Sharpie and draw a tally on the wall.

Day one, done.

Ninety-seven to go.

Zair

Just My Fate, Stitched Together with Misfortune

The silence of my room feels louder after a night with Thea. I stretch out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but my thoughts keep circling her; her voice, her fire, her damn sarcasm. It’s sticking with me more than I’d care to admit. I don’t date witches. I don’t even know if I want to date her, but there’s something about her. I want to be around her.

Then I remember her mutilated soul. It haunts me as I try to sleep.

The next morning I get up a little early. I slip off my enchanted lip ring and set it on the bedside table. The charm has been a constant for years, masking my Irish accent with a crisp, nondescript American one. It’s a layer of protection, a small deception I wear daily to keep my past and my true self hidden. But my Ma hates it.

I press the call button, and her face fills the screen after a few rings. The tension in my chest loosens at the sight of her.

“Ma,” I greet, my natural brogue slipping easily into place. “How are ya?”

“Good, good, my boy,” she replies, her voice rich with comfort, like a lullaby I’ve missed. “And yourself? What’s got ya up so early?” She knows me too well to believe I’d call at this hour for no reason.

“Aye,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Couldn’t sleep. Had a bad one.” I don’t bother with small talk. I take a breath, steadying myself. “Can ya scream?”

Her brow furrows for a moment, but she nods. “Aye, my boy. I can. What’s troublin’ ya?”

“Two strange things happened yesterday. First, I was woken by a scream. But it wasn’t a banshee’s scream. It was… guttural, Ma. Felt like it ripped right through me, tore at my soul. It was inside me, like.”

“Inside ya? And ya were asleep when it happened?” she asks.

“Aye,” I say, nodding. “But it didn’t feel like a dream. It stuck with me half the day, echoing in me head. Couldn’t shake it.”

She sighs, rubbing her temple as she thinks. “That’s not somethin’ I’ve heard of before. Zair, it’s troublin’, that.”