by LeAnn Mason
The descent was so steep that it could only be described as a nosedive, making my legs’ stilted movement toward the tail nearly impossible. Debris littered the narrow aisleway. Many of the overhead bins were agape, luggage strewn this way and that. In many cases, they were missing from the storage area, having escaped to strike a nearby passenger.
I saw numerous spots and lines of red that I didn’t want to investigate the origins of as I continued to be towed through the meleé.
Little yellow masks bounced around violently on cords hanging from the ceiling above the empty seats. Although they might be providing oxygen to those who weren’t being pushed around the cabin, the masks didn’t quiet the screams. Fear was a thick and tangible thing among the passengers of Flight 380 to Fort Lauderdale this day, the feeling heavy and smothering like a wool blanket in July.
No one seemed to notice or care, at least, about the crazy emo chick being tugged along behind the stocky Native American — or maybe Latino — man whose hair was just as long as and possibly shinier than my own.
Dave had apparently prepared for this eventuality though and tied the black mass at the base of his neck so it didn’t whip around. My skin stung where loose tendrils of my own silver strands slapped my face and neck like the crack of a whip, and as if it all wasn’t bad enough, my hair tried to act like a curtain, obscuring my vision with every step.
Maybe it was better not to see the disaster I was currently embroiled in. The terror was a tangible thing. I hadn’t realized an emotion could have a scent, but there was more than sweat, blood, and piss wafting in the air that assaulted my nostrils.
“Fuuuck.”
“What?” Dave yelled back at me.
There was way too much noise for my words to carry, so I just shook my head.
“All right, we’re the last ones out.”
He meant the last ones of the team. The passengers got to stay and brace for a crash landing. I’d watched, aghast, as my new teammates shifted into various avian species or sprouted hidden wings, yelled various forms of “see you there” to Dave, and abandoned the impending disaster without a backward glance at their new, flightless “miracle” of a clairvoyant.
“You ready?” Dave had leaned in close so I could make out his instructions.
“Ready for what? What do you mean out?” I shouted back, dreading that I already knew the answer.
“We’ve got to jump!” His grin was way too excited. He was clearly deranged.
I stepped back, a move that was easy with the angle of the plane’s trajectory, shaking my head violently enough to give myself whiplash.
“Nope. No, thank you.” If I ever saw Seke again, I was going to strangle him. This was just plain fucked up. Pun intended.
When Dave mirrored my step, I pushed my hands out, hoping to deter his advance. Instead, he walked until my palms made contact with his chest, reached out, and pulled me to him as he swiveled, leaning toward the impromptu exit.
“No!”
Then, we were falling.
I screamed, hard and long. Not a banshee scream, just that of a bat-shit scared woman who’d been hurtled from a crashing airplane without a parachute. “If I survive this, I’m going to kill you!” The wind stole my threatening words, tearing them back toward the descending plane without a care for my plight.
“Wooo!” The crazy bastard I was currently wrapped around was grinning like an idiot, one arm out to the side while the other held me to him. The guy didn’t even have two hands on me!
What the actual fuck?!
I didn’t dare remove one of my own arms in hopes of retrieving his stray appendage.
Without warning, I was distracted from my distress as the ground neared by a feeling I knew all too well of late. My lungs were taking in as much air as they could. A new kind of scream scratching and clawing its way from my diaphragm and scaling up my throat to launch itself from between my lips like the kamikaze I now believed myself to be.
Am I announcing my own death?
7
I rushed to the railing of the small Coast Guard vessel just in time to heave up the last vestiges of the meal I’d consumed while at the dock. The ocean and I didn’t get along any better than I and the sky did, it seemed.
Thank the gods the oversized owl shifter hadn’t dropped me to splat on the debris-strewn plains, but that whole experience made it pretty clear that I was not the best harbinger for the Air Unit.
One: I didn’t have wings.
Fine, we knew that going in. They’d trusted my team to look out for me. And I guess they had. I wasn’t escorted across the veil along with our targets. But I hadn’t been much help as it turned out either, which was the second reason I was quickly shuttled to my next gig.
Two: there was far too much screaming and fear of imminent death… for myself.
Do not overstay an untenable situation. If your gut tells you to walk away, do it. Trying to force success will almost guarantee a bad outcome.
Seke’s words echoed in my head all too often, especially now that he’d divested himself of me. I hated that his teachings made sense, that they stuck with me. Everything about that aloof god had stuck with me though.
Bastard.
I had, however, taken his advice on that one and peaced out the moment my feet hit the ground. Well, after I’d emptied my stomach of its contents and the dizziness dissipated enough for me to stagger away. They didn’t really need me anyway. Such a violent means of death would have obvious collections.
Would they all be like that? Probably not. But enough would that I’d rather jab out my eyes with a hot poker than endure it again. The team had seemed nice, but they were definitely adrenaline junkies, which I was not. I was raised to live carefully.
I’m not sure my situation has improved…
“Whoa, there, newbie. You’re supposed to keep that stuff inside,” a rough voice cajoled, clapping a heavy hand to my back where I bent over the surf, spitting to clear the vile remnants from my mouth.
A bottle of water appeared beneath my face, and I took it gratefully.
“Thanks.” I swished a mouthful and spit the contents out to join the rest of the undulating water below. Looking out over the dark blue waves curling to tips of white had my stomach threatening to unload again, my head throbbing.
The recruiting team should think about adding a wave simulator to their testing courses. There was nothing in what I went through in that grueling week to prepare my stomach for this constant motion. I’d visited the beach a time or two, but I’d never been on a boat. We stuck to the same country, my parents and I, for the same reasons we didn’t fly — too much of a trail left behind when you had to pass through customs and get documentation to be in a foreign place. Coasts had made Dad twitchy anyway.
Never put your back to a wall unless you can be sure of its solidity.
Damn, that’s not my dad’s advice. That’s a Seke phrase.
Both my dad and former captain were no longer a part of my life, but their voices continued to ring loud and clear, directing my life even though they’d left me on my own.
“Best to look out at the horizon for seasickness. That steady line tends to help, or so they say. I’ve never been bothered by the motion, so I couldn’t tell you if it really works.” The advice was spoken with sage wisdom and the shrug of a beefy shoulder. With a scruffy beard, curly hair, and a mat of chest hair peeking around his loose, off-white tank top, the older man looked like all the crazy fishermen I’d seen on TV, working in insane conditions and death-defying waves.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t met you yet. I’m Aria.” After giving the man a once over, noticing that his sea legs were sturdy, keeping him upright as the ship teetered, I decided to take his advice and cast my gaze out to the horizon.
“Ah, yes, the banshee. So few of you to start with, though I have heard of your kind. Never thought I’d meet one. I’m Charon, and this is my vessel.” My head was pulled back to him as he swept an arm out to depict the gran
deur, or lack thereof, of his domain.
“The Ferryman?” I asked incredulously. “Forgive me, but I never thought I’d meet you either. It’s still trippy to think that all of these beings people tell stories about… actually exist.” I shook my head then quickly angled my face back toward the looming depths when a wave triggered another bout of nausea.
Seke’s lesson about realizing untenable situations roared to the front of my mind again. Except, there was literally nowhere for me to go other than straight to the bottom of the ocean.
I didn’t want to end it all — just the horribly uncomfortable situation I found myself in. Again. Prison was looking like a pretty sweet gig after free-falling from thousands of feet in the air and getting tossed around like a ragdoll against monster waves.
Wait… “Is that a mermaid?”
Charon leaned his large frame over the railing so he could better see the waters near the hull. I contorted backward to avoid being knocked aside. “Ah, yes. It is. Did you meet Sena? She always chooses to be in the water once we’re out on task. Especially when there’s weather.” Charon jerked his chin toward the tumultuous sea. This close to him, I could smell all the decaying scents I associated with the ocean, giving me further incentive to back away.
If I learned only two things from this mission — this team — it would be that one: I was definitely not suited to be in a constant-motion situation; and two: I would never eat seafood again.
“Charon, I see you met the new girl. What do you think of her look?” A thick arm fell heavily across my shoulders, the hand dangling dangerously close to my twin peaks as the speaker interjected himself familiarly into my space. His unoccupied hand reached to grasp the now-teal tips of my long, silver hair, giving the strands a rather thorough inspection before dropping them to reach for my eyebrow ring.
Raising said eyebrow at the dude’s audacity, I shrugged out from under his appendage before his hand could get twitchy. It would probably be bad if I kneed a team member in the balls on the first day. People might start thinking I was trouble.
My old team certainly did.
“Who and what are you?” I asked the interloper as a means to dispel the unwanted thoughts pinging around my head. I wasn’t sure I cared to know anything about this team, seeing as I wouldn’t be staying with them. I couldn’t. Not without being in a fucked-up state the entire time. There was probably something I could take to help with the nausea, but that wouldn’t keep. It wasn’t a realistic expectation for every day.
“I’m Stone,” the man responded, unfazed by my rejection. “Hellhound. At your service.” As he bowed with an exaggerated flourish, I took note of his appearance.
Now that I knew his type, I actually saw some resemblance to Cole: solid; muscled; lean-waisted; tall. He even had dreads, though his were much longer and dirty blond with a few beads and colored threads worked in. It was like they were opposite sides of the same coin. Light versus dark. Ostentatious versus broody. But the burning red irises that met mine as Stone regained his height were the clincher.
“I’ve always wanted to meet a banshee,” Stone tried again, delivering the line with a charming smile that I was sure attracted all sorts of women — and probably men — causing them to drop their panties at the sight.
But for me, it was… smarmy — oily. I didn’t believe a word coming out of this guy’s mouth. Everything he said would have an agenda.
“Seems to be a theme,” I retorted, choosing to turn back to look at the undulating sea.
Clouds were gathering steadily, dark ones, and the wind picked up, pounding at my head, whipping my hair around my face and shoulders. I really needed to invest in some hair ties; getting attacked by my tresses was getting old.
“The weather’s turning. I should return to the helm. Play nice, children,” Charon admonished before he meandered back toward the glassed-in section of the boat that sat above the deck at the stern.
I assumed that was the boat’s “Captain’s Area”. Did that make Charon the captain of this team?
“So, why all the hardware?” Stone tried again to push past the “fuck-off” vibe I projected. His hand rose, heading for my nose where a small horseshoe ring, bookended by tiny metal spikes, glinted in the fading sunlight.
I pulled back, delivering my best resting bitch face, channeling Raven. “What makes you think you can simply waltz up and just start touching me?” Without pausing, I added, “Don’t.”
Blondie’s hands went up in surrender, and a dark chuckle left his clean-shaven mouth. “No harm done. Just trying to get to know my new teammate,” he purred. “I’ve always wanted to snag a banshee.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Did he just...?
“I’ve never had a banshee. They’re so rare. Honestly, I thought your kind were extinct.” Stone leaned in close, forcing me to arch backward over the railing to keep away. “I bet you’re a real… screamer, aren’t you?” the creeper jeered, biting his lower lip as he looked me up and down.
I had some strong advice for those recruiters after my experiences in the HD so far: forget finding a field that fits. It was turning out nearly impossible to find teammates with whom I fit.
“Back off, buddy. You don’t want me to show you my capabilities. I promise.” At least, telling off this asshat had diverted my mind from the nausea rolling through my unsettled innards. Until…
There goes the rest of lunch.
“What the fuck?” Stone huffed, disgusted, trying to relieve himself of the liquid bile newly adorning his skin-hugging black t-shirt. His arms lifted as if he could escape the yellow splatter reeking of acidic juices and phlegm as it wafted from his person in the ocean gales.
“Sorry about that. Guess you can tell your friends that a banshee got seasick on you. Maybe the shirt could be a collector’s item. A trophy,” I said brightly after wiping and rinsing my mouth with the bottled water still in my grasp, spitting the resultant liquid out into the ocean.
I thought about spitting it on Stone to “help” wash him down but decided to leave him to handle my gift how he chose.
When fiery scarlet irises burned into me, morphing within the rapidly de-humanizing face, I realized it probably wasn’t a bright idea to goad a hellhound. He could hide his retaliation from view with those cloaking powers... among other skills I had zero clue about.
Shit. Guess I’m just not a dog person.
I waited with bated breath while I watched Stone grapple with his canine nature, which definitely wanted to take a bite out of me for that stunt.
He pushed into my space again, bending me over the railing. Again. The smell of my sick burned in my nose as my face was practically shoved into the mess. “You’re mine, banshee,” he whispered, his breath hot on my ear, which added another layer of shiver-inducing creepiness to the words.
My stomach heaved again, bubbling and crawling to escape. Only this time, it wasn’t vomit.
My banshee scream erupted from my body like lava from a volcano. There was no stopping it, and I rejoiced internally when Stone flinched, clapping his hands over his sensitive canine ears and stumbling backward across the deck in a hasty retreat.
Banshee scream for the win.
8
“Put your teeth near my ass again, and you’ll get them punched out of your mouth.”
Seke sighed. “Brenna.”
Normally, the admonition and a simple look from her captain would quell the raven shifter. But tensions were high. His subsidiaries were reacting to the grief in various ways — such as anger, lashing out at those around. He didn’t blame them. He too was struggling with the monumental loss of Jessica… and Aria.
The team might not admit to it, but both were affecting them all. Aria had been new, but she’d been working her way into all of their hearts... especially the god’s.
Seke hadn’t expected that pang deep in his chest. He’d grown aloof, apathetic over his long existence. And he certainly hadn’t thought he’d grown that close to Aria, but distance makes
the heart grow fonder. It was only once she was gone that he noticed the differences she’d made in his life, the improvements.
“He started it! Tell him not to bite my ass.”
Cole must have resumed human form because he responded. “There’s nothing in the rules preventing me from doing so. You can’t call uncle on a real mission.”
“On a real mission, no one turns into a fucking hellhound.”
Seke’s eyes drifted closed, and his fingers rose to massage his temples. The bickering had picked up recently. With his team at each other’s throats, there was no reprieve. Feelings got hurt, and training sessions had to be broken up.
Before, they’d picked on Aria, but she’d been able to take it… and dish it right back. She’d let it fuel her, and in the time he’d spent working with her, she’d learned to channel it with control instead of letting it snap back in a heated uppercut or knee jab.
With the stress, he’d been sleeping poorly, worried as he was about whether letting Aria go had been the right choice... worried about how she might be fitting in with her new unit. The director had told him her first switch didn’t go well. He knew she’d struggled with the HDPU, but perhaps they could have worked through the kinks. It wasn’t her fault what had happened to Jessica.
And then, there were the dreams Aria haunted in an entirely different capacity...
“Want me to knock their heads together, boss?” said a throaty voice near his elbow. “See if I can smack some sense into them?”
“No. Thank you, Ember.” Seke took a deep breath, lifting his head. “I’ll handle this.” He was captain. If his team was in disarray, it was up to him to soothe their ruffled feathers and quiet their angry barks.
“You have to be ready for anything,” Cole was snapping at Raven, pushing into her space. The two were chest to chest, eyes flashing at each other. Fists weren’t flying yet, but they would, and Seke feared that it would be more than a friendly spar.
“Enough!” The shadows responded to his emotions, slithering from the corners and swirling around the pair of bickering teammates. Maybe they’d pay attention to his direction now. “I will not have you acting like children. We will conduct ourselves like professionals, like a team, working together.”
