When she woke, she groaned at the pain in her head and moved to cradle it in her hands. Her arms didn’t move. Sensation was present in her fingers, and she could feel the dirt under the tips. Everything seemed to be in working order, except they just wouldn’t move. As she became more lucid, she noticed the pinching pain in her upper arms and realized they’d been tied to her torso.
With a groan, she dropped her head to her chest and sighed. It was no use calling for help. Her eyes had adjusted enough to the dark to see she was in the middle of the woods with only a madman for company.
The hiss of a sparked match set her nerves on edge, and she looked toward the new flame with interest. The glow from the fire lit O’Brien’s face, and where she expected to see glee or even malice, she instead saw sadness.
“I don’t want to kill ye, Sara. You have to know that. It’s in my blood and bones to hunt the banshee, to drive a stake through her body and set her aflame like the witch she is. I have to kill you all before the next generation of banshees is born to break the curse. But I’d never met one before you.
“I’ve been watching for an opportunity. The first night I found you in Asheville, you were with your friends. The night at the diner, when I almost had you, your boyfriend rode in to save the day. I could have gotten you that day in the woods, but your da was watching. You seem like a normal girl. But I have to do it to save my family line, you see.”
Of everything he’d said, the only thing Sara could think to take exception to was the description of Ridley as her boyfriend. She wondered if he’d take exception, too.
“I know you shrieked last night. Your spirit is weak tonight.” Sealgair let the match die and reached for another.
Why, oh why hadn’t she swallowed her pride and called Ridley? He’d have come to see her home.
Keep him talking, she thought. The longer he talks, the longer she’d live.
“Is there a hunter from every family?”
A good question, really. Was he the only one out there bent on killing her, Fiona, Brenna, and the two other unsuspecting girls she hadn’t met yet?
“It’s just me, as far as I know. Every other generation, an O’Brien trains to kill the banshees. It could have been my brother, but he didn’t have the stomach for it.”
“You don’t seem to have the stomach for it either.”
Sara meant to appeal to his better nature, but that was the wrong thing to say. Instead of agreeing and setting her free, Sealgair instead sucked in a bracing breath and straightened.
“Stomach or not, I must.”
Shit, shit, shit. Now he was back on task, lighting yet another match and stepping toward the pile of kindling he’d prepared.
“But,” she started again, thoughts rushing but no words forming. “But why is the O’Brien family the only one hunting us? Don’t the others care?”
O’Brien stared at the lit match, letting it burn down to his fingers once more. “My family started this fifteen hundred years ago. We’re the only ones who can stop it.”
Sara’s head jerked in surprise and slammed against whatever she was tied to. A pole? A tree trunk? What did he mean the O’Brien’s had started it? God, she had way too many questions.
“Your family—”
“Enough. You’ll not talk your way out of this. I have four others to kill after you.”
As she contemplated the killing part, she remembered his words about driving a stake through her body.
“Will I be alive when you…you know. Drive a stake through me?” She shuddered at the thought.
The leather around her chest gave with her movement, and she pushed again. Her arms still didn’t want to cooperate, but she focused all her energy on leaning forward against the binding. Could she break it? Was there even a point, with her hands tied and her feet like rubber from the drugs?
“You will, yeah. That’s a part of the ritual. I’m not exactly happy about it. It’s not like I’ve practiced this on other people before or anything. You’ll be the first person I kill.”
He cringed at the word, as though the gravity of what he was about to do had just settled in. Sara looked around the small clearing and saw the makings of a bonfire. O’Brien dropped the match he’d lit into the center of the kindling and the wood went up with a whoosh, the accelerant he’d used lighting quickly.
Sara bit her lip, knowing she wouldn’t have the benefit of waiting for a fire to get started since he’d thought ahead. If he really wanted to get things over with, she’d be dead within minutes. That didn’t give her much time to think or make plans. Without an ounce of hope, she struggled against the bindings, forcing her expression into one of fear rather than pain as the leather cut into her skin.
“If you’re hoping for your boyfriend to come save you, don’t bother. We’re miles away. That drug works quickly and lasts quite a while. I hope you’re happy with your last words to him.”
Sara thought back to what she’d said and tears pricked at her eyes. The idea that she might die without him knowing tore her to pieces inside. Though the chances were slim, she promised herself she would tell him she loved him if she managed to survive.
To live through it, she’d have to get past the staking first. That seemed like a long shot. Pictures from her world civilization studies in high school flooded her mind. If O’Brien planned to use the ancient ritual for burning witches, she had quite a night ahead of her. The stake wouldn’t just go through her heart, though that was painful and lethal enough as it was. No. The large wooden pole would be driven through her body from bottom to top, piercing every major organ on the way.
If by some miracle she managed to live through something like that, there was the fire.
“Ridley,” she whispered, wishing more than anything he could hear her. “Ridley, I’m sorry.”
O’Brien had the fire roaring, and he turned to Sara to make the next step in his plans. That involved loosening her ties, but he was ready for that. Before he took his blade to the binding, he tied her ankles and knees together with leather bands. They were even more unforgiving than the leather on her chest had been.
She wanted to sigh with relief as the blood rushed back into her hands, leaving a prickling sensation at the tips of her fingers. The man in black allowed her to stretch her arms over her head, watching carefully to be sure she didn’t attempt to harm him. Sara didn’t even have a thought of hurting him. With her legs bound, she wouldn’t have gotten very far before he could catch up.
“Now, you’ll have to forgive me. As I said, I’ve never actually impaled anyone before. This could get a little messy and probably hurt a lot before I get it right.”
Again, sadness filled his eyes as he gazed at the long, sharpened pole standing nearby. For a split second, Sara thought he might back out and let her free, but a determined, stony expression overtook the melancholy.
“Right, so. What I think I’ll have to do, since I’m by myself here, is pick you up and drop you on it.”
Until he’d spoken those words, the reality of the situation hadn’t really sunk in for Sara. The thought of being dropped, impaled upon the sharpened spike froze her veins and sent an unpleasant heat through her belly. Sweat bloomed on her lip and temples as nausea turned her stomach. For the first time since she’d learned of her heritage, she wanted to scream, and nothing happened.
Sara’s throat worked furiously, desperate to let loose a pealing shriek. Blood roared in her ears and surged through her, thawing the freeze and setting her body aflame. She and O’Brien stared, dumbfounded, as her legs straightened and stretched against the bindings. The leather pulled taut and then snapped at the strain.
As if controlled by strings, she rose on unsteady legs, her limbs flailing and jerking like a marionette’s. Her knees straightened, hips thrust forward, and shoulders settled back. Just before her feet left the ground, O’Brien realized he was about to lose his quarry and lunged. Without thought, Sara kicked viciously at his jaw.
“I’m sorry,” she s
hrieked, as the man reeled backward from the blow.
O’Brien stumbled several feet before landing on his backside. He could only stare as she rose slowly into the air. Sara’s head rolled back so she could see the stars during her ascent. The moment her toes cleared the tops of the trees, she was whisked sideways, and the man who would have been her murderer disappeared as her mind went dark.
When her eyes opened again, she stood in front of Ridley’s house.
19
“Now is the time for keening.”
The Cailleach spoke, and Sara’s brain exploded. Clutching her hands to her ears, Sara crouched down and folded herself into the fetal position. The wind kicked up, whirling the sunbaked leaves into a frenzy on the branches above her. The rushing roar was blocked by her fists, but the voice was still clear inside her head.
“Sing with me, my child, my daughter. We’ll watch him die and dance on his grave.”
“Not for him,” Sara shouted into the air. “Not this one.”
Sara’s body unfolded against her will, stretched upright with chest forward and arms behind her. The keening was about to begin. She began to rise, to levitate. The ground beneath her shook with the Cailleach’s mighty power, and Sara was dragged like a ragdoll into the air, where she hung just below the branches that ripped through the air in fury. The spirit took over, exerting its control, and she allowed it to happen. Cailleah could have her, could take everything except her voice.
Sara’s ascent stopped just outside Ridley’s second-floor window. He didn’t stir, completely oblivious to the war going on outside his window. His face was even more beautiful in sleep, free of the cynical lines and tired bruises.
The muscles in Sara’s jaw stretched and popped, but she clenched her teeth even tighter. Her vocal cords strained, the shriek desperate to break free, but she held her throat still. Nothing escaped but weak whimpers that shredded the delicate tissue as they ripped from her.
“You will sing for me.”
Sara was beginning to lose the fight when Ridley’s window slammed open. He stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open, before attempting to crawl through. Sara saw what would happen, saw him falling, crashing to the ground with unnatural force, his neck snapping. Her head whipped back and forth, warning him and fighting the spirit.
He stopped, his face relaxing as he watched her struggle against something neither of them could see. But Sara could hear it.
“Damn you! This is your calling, your destiny. Sing.”
Pitching and rolling, Sara fought against the scream of fear, knowing the spirit would use her voice for its own. Wind howled around her, whipping her hair into a frenzy. She ignored it all, giving the spirit nothing. She would not celebrate his death. She would not.
Fingers grappled at her toes, and Sara kicked them away viciously. Again, the shriek begged to be released, but she covered her mouth with her hands. That small amount of concentration given up for the sake of movement was nearly Sara’s undoing, but then she heard him.
“Sara!”
She heard her name over the roaring and screaming in her head and looked down to see Ridley’s hands at her ankles. And the look on his face was…beautiful. He was breathtaking in his terror, not because of the fear but rather the pure emotion shining from his wide, blue eyes. He wasn’t scared for himself, but for her.
“Fight it, Sara! I won’t let you go. I love you!”
Ridley struggled against the power that held Sara suspended, pulling her toward him inch by inch. She was aware of too many things at once—the increasing desire to unleash an unholy lament, the strength in his hands as they slipped up her legs to pull her closer, the pure wrath of the spirit who tried to control her. When his firm grasp reached her thighs, the battle was lost.
Sara’s jaw dropped, larynx unlocked, and the sound poured forth.
“I can’t. I love him!” The words were a piercing shriek through the thundering, roiling rage stirring the air.
A rush of wind circled, dragging leaves into a spinning vortex, like the mini tornado from the cave in Ireland. The whirling air spun faster and faster, adding to the roar in her ears.
Sara reached for Ridley, found his hand and held tight as the cyclone exploded toward the sky.
Then, silence.
The tension drained from her muscles, the relief both welcome and painful. Before Sara could enjoy the sensation, she hit the ground with a thud, protected in part by Ridley’s warm, solid body beneath her.
“You okay?” His voice was hoarse with worry as he stroked her back softly.
Again, her voice was lost. He held her, his touch moving from the fabric of her shirt to the hyper-aware skin on her arms. He examined her carefully, searching for any injuries, before meeting her startled stare.
Sara still tingled and trembled, unable to say a word, wishing he would just touch her again and erase the horror.
“Is it gone?”
Her whisper grated across raw vocal cords, bringing tears to her eyes.
Before he could answer, headlights cut across the yard. A dark sedan screeched to a halt in the driveway, and a figure in black burst from the front door.
“I knew you’d be here,” O’Brien called.
Sara didn’t have the strength to run. She lay in Ridley’s embrace and prayed that the Cailleach would come back to save her again.
But she wouldn’t. The spirit was gone, beaten once again by Sara’s love for Ridley.
“Don’t take another step,” Ridley growled.
He unwrapped one arm from around her waist and pulled a pistol from his ankle holster. Without a single tremor, he pointed the weapon at O’Brien and held it steady.
“No one has to die tonight,” he said. “But if you move even a muscle in this direction, I will pull the trigger.”
“You stupid ass,” O’Brien said, but he didn’t move. He believed every word Ridley said. “Don’t you realize you’ll die if she lives?”
“Worth the risk,” Ridley said.
She wanted to see his face when he said that, but his eyes were still trained on Sealgair. But he’d said the words, and she knew them to be true. He loved her, just as she loved him. Together, they’d beat whatever came after them.
“I beat it,” she whispered. Then she said it louder, so Sealgair would hear. “I beat it, O’Brien. The Cailleach couldn’t make me shriek for Ridley because I love him. And he loves me. I beat it. I won.”
Silhouetted in the headlights of his car, O’Brien’s body slumped. He was quiet for a moment, but then lifted his head. “Do you think you can beat her every time she comes for you?”
Sara didn’t answer. Maybe one day Cailleach would try again, maybe even for Ridley. But Sara had overpowered the witch at its strongest and survived. She knew she’d win every time.
“Good luck, O’Neill,” he called. “You’ll probably need it.”
O’Brien eyed the gun one more time and then backed away to the waiting car. With a shower of stones, he peeled away.
Ridley rolled away from her and onto his back. Sara, missing his heat, reached for his hand. Their fingers twined together as they stared at the stars above.
“I meant it, you know. I didn’t just say that in the heat of the moment, or because I was afraid. I mean, I was afraid. I was scared shitless that I’d die before I could tell you.”
Sara turned to her side and propped her head on her hand. “Tell me what, Mr. O’Neill?”
Her lips curved into a knowing smile, but the blood buzzing through her veins as she awaited the words once more gave away her apprehension.
“I love you, Sara. And I want to do this couple thing right.”
She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You already do. And I love you, too.”
Seriously, Fee. Sara typed away on her phone while waiting for the barista to finish her peppermint mocha.
It’s been almost five months and nothing. I don’t think she’s coming back for me. O’Brien even gave up on me. I
really think I managed to beat her somehow.
She looked at Ridley and smiled as he wiped away a foam mustache from his cappuccino. Had it been her love for him that broke the curse, or his love for her? She may never know.
As she paid for her drink, the phone buzzed, letting her know Fiona had answered. She grinned at the irritation dripping from the words.
well, bloody good 4 u. cailleach is wreaking holy havoc here. u must’ve pissed her off right good. she’s got myself an Bren screaming every other nite. got more of the ogham translated. tell u bout it later. feck off wit yer boyfriend.
Her mother and father waited with Ridley at the door, ready to see more of New York City for Christmas. Snow whirled through the air just outside the window. The trip had been her mother’s unspoken concession that the relationship was happening, and would continue to happen. Sara guessed she couldn’t ask for more than that.
Life had been much easier without Cailleach dogging her every step. Her mom had even lightened up once Sara went to college. Turned out Knoxville, Tennessee, was far enough away. The hardest thing she faced now was figuring out how to see Ridley often enough, but a two-hour drive didn’t discourage him in the slightest.
She and Kristen had patched things up, too, which was a good thing since Kris had decided on the University of Tennessee, too. She’d probably never stop running from her father. Sara’s grasp on her friend’s reasoning had made the conversations easier, and a hell of a lot more open and honest.
“Come on, Sara.” Her mother’s bark ripped through her reverie.
Sara sighed. Baby steps, Mom.
She moved to join them and bumped into someone just before reaching the door. A shiver stole through her, the unsettling jolt of recognition. Sealgair? She looked up and her gaze met a pair of dark brown eyes under a fringe of black hair.
“S-sorry,” she stuttered, but she couldn’t stop staring.
The girl stared back.
Sara gestured for the stranger to go ahead, but she didn’t move. After another tense moment, the girl finally shook herself from her thoughts and held out a hand.
Shriek: Legend of the Bean Sídhe Page 20
