Page 6 of Echoes of the Banshee

With one last ragged swing, the blade bites deep. The shackle gives a shrill protest before crumbling apart with a deafening crack. The severed pieces clatter against the rock, striking with a weight that seems to reverberate in the very marrow of my bones.

The fight is over.

I slump against the ground, gasping for air as the night spins around me. My stomach lurches with a panic so sharp I don’t realize what’s happening until I’m retching into the grass. Bile sears my throat as I convulse, gagging and spitting into the dirt. It tastes like decay. My stomach tightens as it’s purged. My body rejecting whatever that shackle held.

When it’s over, I wipe my mouth with a trembling hand, my whole body shivering as I stare at the ground, ashamed, furious, and breathless. I barely recognize myself. Magic surges in to fill the void inside of me, feral and relentless, flooding my veins until I’m shaking with its force.

I thought I was weak. I was not.

A sudden chill prickles along my wrist, and I rub at the skin, expecting warmth. But it’s cold. Unnaturally so. My attention locks onto it and the truth stares back at me. Etched into the soft skin of my inner wrist like a brand, the shape is unmistakable. A long, curved blade arcing over a thin handle. The scythe. Death’s signature. The mark of someone who’s cheated the grave.

Most people think it’s just myth. An old ghost tale whispered around campfires. But it isn’t a story. Not this time. It’s real. I died.

And if I died, Lazlo did too.

I heard his neck break.

The thought of him hits me like a thunderclap, dread crashing in so hard it feels like the ground tilts beneath me. I reach for the mate bond that tied us together. Hoping, against all reason, that it will still be there. But there’s nothing. Only the steady, traitorous pulse of life where there should be none.

Doubt crashes in. If I’m alive and he’s not beside me, what did it cost him? Did he trade himself to bring me back? Did something go wrong? We both go to Thornfell University. Maybe he came back too. So why does it feel like I’ve lost him?

The terror builds inside me until a primal scream tears free, jagged and thunderous. The cry for what I lost echoes into the night. My body seizes from the force of it. A burst of magic erupts from my core, violent and unstoppable, slamming into the world around me. Trees bend away. The air distorts.

I gasp as the power surges higher, wild, raw and completely out of my control. My hands clench, nails digging into my palms with the effort to hold it in. But it’s too much. Too powerful.

I give in, letting it pour out of me in waves until it finally runs dry. When the last remnants fade, a strange calm settles in their place. I’m shaking, terrified by the storm I’ve unleashed. The fury inside me is a living thing, and I have no control over it. No way to rein it in. I’ll never let them control me again — not Vivien, not Anita, not anyone.

No apologies, no playing it safe. From now on I’m going to be the real me. The version I found in that dungeon.

“Excuse me, miss,” a man’s voice makes me jump. A security guard stands there, eyes narrowing as he surveys the wreckage around us. Spiritborne, maybe a shifter. Definitely someone who can sense magic. Crap. I unleashed a ton of it. All my resolve crumbles as the magnitude of what I did hits me. “Are you alright?”

I glance around at the devastation. The trees are bent and twisted into grotesque knots. The grass has been torn up, displaced like a carpet ripped from the floor. Flowers, unnaturally large, bloom with vibrant, feverish color.

“I’m sorry, officer.” I swallow hard, trying to keep the panic from creeping up my throat. This is bad. Really bad. “I—I lost control.”

He stares at me with a predator’s eyes for a long moment before taking a step closer.

“Ollin,” he says, offering me a hand. His voice is warm, touched by a low, steady accent that somehow makes everything feel a little less broken.

“Ad—” I begin, but quickly catch myself. “Thea,” I declare, my voice steady now as I take his hand, letting him help me to my feet.

He inspects the mess around us then at me. His eyes turn gentle.

“You look like you’ve had a rough night. Maybe you should head inside while I take care of this. We only have a few hours till the nightblind wake up.” His smile is small, tender, and almost rueful before he releases my hand.

“I—I.” The words catching in my throat. “Are you sure?” Suddenly overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation. I know he should be keeping me here. This was a huge error, magical destruction on the nightblind side of the school. I don’t know what kind of trouble I’m in, but I’m sure it involves paperwork, magical probation, or worse, a call to Vivien.

He lets out a soft, understanding sigh. “I think whatever caused you to do this amount of destruction was punishment enough.”

“You have no idea,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He cocks an eyebrow, then winks. “Looks like a prank to me. Damn fairies again.”

I’m surprised by the lightness in his tone, as if he’s trying to make me feel better. He gives me a small smile before stepping back to assess the damage, his hand already reaching for the phone on his belt, no doubt to call in backup.

“Thank you, Ollin.”

“Get that hand fixed,” he tells me. I glance down and see I have a death grip on the knife, the blood trickling down between my fingers. The pain strikes as soon as I see it, but I bury it where I’ve been burying pain for months.