Always Be My Banshee

by Molly White

  She’d spent too many years with someone who let her know that she was only useful for her gift, she wasn’t about to consign herself to that again.

  “I would appreciate more of an effort on your part, is all I’m saying,” he said. “There’s no harm in pushing yourself. The League expects results.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I’m inconveniencing you with my refusal to let my vascular system explode,” she snapped.

  “You know that’s not what I meant,” he said. “Be reasonable, Cordelia.”

  “I don’t know who gives you advice about women, but they should have told you the worst thing you can do is tell her to be ‘reasonable,’” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

  To her immense relief, he didn’t follow.

  Cordelia wasn’t even sure where she was headed. She just wanted to be somewhere far from Brendan and his confusing mood swings. She strode down Main Street, inhaling the scent of geraniums and fresh paint in her indignant fury. She barely saw the signs or contents of the buildings, until her eye caught on a familiar face through the window painted with THE ICE CREAM DEPOT in crisp white block lettering.

  Cordelia pushed through the door, shivering a bit in the powerful air-conditioning. The Ice Cream Depot was an adorable little creamery with a strange postal-themed interior that shouldn’t have worked but did. Enormous tubs of ice cream were displayed in a sparkling clean glass case, the flavor plaques showing clever little names like Fairy-Made Fudge Pecan and Moooocha Java Chip. On the far wall, next to a bank of operating post office boxes that customers were invited to unlock to find prizes, they’d hung a “Cow of the Week” poster. This week’s lauded bovine employee was named Belinda the Brown Swiss and her poster stated she “enjoys the music of the band Styx and insists that Val Kilmer was her favorite Batman.”

  When Cordelia burst out laughing, a voice behind her scoffed. “My Rob wrote that one. I don’t understand why it is funny. But the customers seem to love reading funny little stories about my girls.”

  The blonde behind the counter was breathtakingly stunning, all high Nordic cheekbones and eyes as blue as a frozen, bottomless lake. All Cordelia could do was stand there and blink at her for a long silent moment while her self-esteem remained in the fetal position, hyperventilating.

  “Are you all right?” the woman asked.

  Cordelia nodded dumbly.

  “Oh, Ingrid, you know that happens to most people the first time they see you,” Bonita said, nudging Cordelia out of her stupor. Bonita was seated at a small wrought iron table, enjoying what looked like a banana split.

  “Hi, Miss Bonita, I had a feeling you might be in here,” said Cordelia.

  Miss Bonita grinned, her cherubic cheeks nearly over-taking her eyes. “You had a vision?”

  “No, I saw you through the window,” Cordelia said.

  Bonita threw her head back and laughed. She stood and wrapped her arms around Cordelia, who couldn’t help but freeze up just a little bit. Bonita’s filmy blue and gray scarf brushed her bare arm and a memory fluttered into Cordelia’s mind’s eye—Bonita standing in front of her dresser, winding the scarf around her neck, sighing at her reflection. “You’re gonna have to accept it, you’re getting old.” It might not be so bad, Bonita admitted, if she had someone to share this whole aging process with. But she’d been alone since her Hank had passed, and she supposed that would be the way it stayed. Cordelia pulled herself out of the vision like she was breaking the surface of a pool, drawing in a deep breath.

  “You see anything good?” Bonita asked.

  “Nope, nothing,” Cordelia said, smiling blithely. She glanced at her phone. It was eleven a.m., surely that was within the acceptable ice cream-eating hours.

  “So can I order my own ice cream here, or does the proprietress order for me?” Cordelia asked.

  “You pick your own,” Bonita said. “But you can’t go wrong with Sonja’s Always Right Strawberry Shortcake.”

  “She made one suggestion for the recipe,” Ingrid grumbled. “I never should have made that bet.”

  “You bet against Sonja?” Cordelia gasped.

  Ingrid glowered back at her. “Do you want ice cream?”

  “Don’t endanger your access to this ice cream, hon.” Bonita raised her half-empty cup. “I ordered mine with bananas, so it’s technically a salad.”

  “I’ve told you before, that’s not how it works,” Ingrid replied.

  “I think I’ll go with the Fairy-Made Fudge Pecan,” Cordelia said.

  “Thank you. Otherwise, I have to put a quarter in the ‘Sonja is always right’ jar,” Ingrid said, scooping up Cordelia’s order.

  Bonita motioned for her to sit with her. Cordelia dipped her spoon into the soft, creamy dessert. She groaned, letting the sweet, nutty flavor melt over her tongue. “What is it with this town and desserts?”

  “Wait until the mamas start baking competitively for your attention,” Bonita said, scraping the side of her own cup. “So, it’s not that I mind company on my morning ice cream break, but I suspect there’s a reason you came looking for me.”

  “Well, not really, I just happened to spot you, which is a wonderful coincidence, because I do happen to have a touch-know question for you, if you don’t mind.”

  Bonita’s expression was pleased. “I have always wanted someone to have this sort of girl-talk with, but I only had boys. Don’t get me wrong. I love them and all, but not one of them has the touch. I am open to all questions, shoot.”

  “Have you ever had a vision that showed up outside of your head?” Cordelia asked.

  Bonita pursed her lips and after much consideration, replied, “No, can’t say that I have.”

  Cordelia’s shoulders slumped. She’d hoped that Bonita would be able to provide some reasonable alternative explanation to “your mother is haunting your backyard.” She really wanted to believe her backyard was Bernadette-free.

  “Care to give me a little more detail?” Bonita waved her hand in a prompting manner.

  “I saw something that shouldn’t be possible. Someone I haven’t seen in years and shouldn’t be anywhere near Mystic Bayou. But I saw them, standing outside my window, staring at me,” Cordelia said.

  “Well, have you seen this person before in ‘real life,’ or have you only seen them in a vision?” Bonita asked.

  “I knew her extensively in ‘real life,’ unfortunately for me,” Cordelia muttered. “And I’d have a vision of her every once in a while, when I was a kid, but I haven’t for years. I haven’t seen her in person in ten years. Does it make any sense for an old vision to pop up, outside of my head?”

  “It can, if you’re in a state of emotional turmoil. It’s never happened before?” Bonita asked.

  Cordelia shook her head. “Generally, all of my visions stay in my head, where they belong. I thought maybe it could have something to do with me getting too close to the rift?”

  Bonita frowned, gray brows slanting together. “That could be it. I stay as far away from Afarpiece Swamp as I can get.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’m going to do the same,” Cordelia sighed into her ice cream. “Professional obligations and all that.”

  “I suppose that would be a problem,” Bonita said, nodding. “If it happens again, take note of the time, the conditions, what happened right before, etc. We’ll try to figure out if there are patterns. And remember your mind palace. I want you to start working on that as soon as you can. Maybe if you tuck all those visions away in their little apartments, they won’t be popping up where you don’t want them.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that,” Cordelia said.

  It meant a lot to her, that Bonita was willing to help. She’d never had that before, any sort of mentorship with her gift. It was the least alone she’d felt in years.

  Cordelia glanced out the window and saw Zed jogging toward the ice cream shop. She had no idea how he managed to run with those huge strides in blue jeans and motorcycle boots. His long dark hair was fl
owing in the wind like a romance novel cover model.

  “Oh, man, if I hadn’t seen him up to his chin in candy-scented bubbles with his tubby toys, I would be in so much trouble,” she murmured to herself.

  “Tell me about it,” Bonita murmured. “I used to babysit him. It makes me feel old…and dirty.”

  Bonita shuddered, making Cordelia laugh. From behind the counter, Ingrid said, “If I were not so contented with my Rob, I would mount that man many times over.”

  Cordelia did not, in fact, spit a mouthful of ice cream back into her bowl, but it was a near thing.

  “That’s just her manner of speaking,” Bonita told her. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Will I?” Cordelia asked, just as Zed burst through the door.

  “Hey there, cher,” he said, opening his arms as she stood. He was giving her the option to accept a hug, instead of assuming, and she adored him all the more for it. For the first time in her memory, she threw herself into someone’s arms.

  Zed chuckled enclosing her in a long, tight squeeze. With her face pressed to his black t-shirt, she saw him kissing Dani goodbye this morning, which he saw as the best part of his day—other than kissing her when he got home in the evenings. She saw him having pie with Bael, having a long, manly talk about Bael’s fears about the upcoming baby, and whether he would be a good daddy. She laughed when Zed laid an enormous hand on Bael’s shoulder and told him, “I love you more than any brother could, but man the fuck up. You’re going to be a good daddy because you want to be. Everything else is finding the right YouTube how-to videos.”

  “Which part of my day made you giggle-snort?” he asked.

  “You are a very good surrogate brother to Bael,” she said. “And I won’t say a thing. I think it’s sweet that he’s so worried. It would be nice if more men thought that way.”

  “Speaking from experience?” he asked as she sat back down. Zed pulled a chair from another table and set it next to their table.

  “I don’t even know who my dad is,” she said. “He probably doesn’t even know I exist. I get the feeling my mom just woke up one day, decided to have a baby and went out to find a donor.”

  Zed gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Not much in the way of family, huh?”

  Cordelia shook her head and counted her blessings. She wasn’t even sure Bernadette knew who Cordelia’s father was. Bernadette talked about fathers as if they were a strange luxury that children didn’t need. She’d wanted a child, not necessarily because she craved motherhood, but because she was hoping for someone who would inherit the gift to keep Bernadette in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. Cordelia could only thank her mother for not going for a sibling or two, which might have prevented Cordelia from leaving for years.

  “Well, maman wanted me to check on you, see if you needed any more dinners made for you,” Zed told her. “She’s loving having more people to cook for.”

  Ingrid emerged with an enormous dish of ice cream, stacked with many flavors, whipped cream, bananas, and sprinkles.

  “Good gravy,” Cordelia marveled.

  “We call it the Mayoral Special,” Ingrid told her. “If anyone else can finish it alone, we immediately rush them to the clinic.”

  Zed tied his hair back and dug in. “I regret nothing.”

  Cordelia spent a pleasant hour in the shop, chatting with Bonita and Zed over ice cream. Zed did in fact, finish his Mayoral Special without having to seek medical attention. By the time Zed needed to leave for a meeting with Bael, she felt much better about her weird interaction with Brendan and mankind in general.

  With her stomach full and her mind at ease, Cordelia walked back toward the research village. She needed to check in with Jillian, avoid Brendan, maybe go to the library. Zed said they had a heck of a collection of books on the paranormal. But he wasn’t allowed in the building anymore, for reasons.

  Passing the grocery store, she eyed the stately brick library building across the street, wondering if she should stop there first. Probably not. She hadn’t brought a set of gloves to protect her from those highly circulated books, no matter how lovely. She turned back towards the village, nearly bumping into a large body. She jumped back before any sort of vision could form in her head.

  “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, recognizing one of the men she’d met at the pie shop. The man with the walrus mustache, who had pothole problems. Waylon? Whit? Walt!

  “That’s all right,” he said, shuffling the bags of groceries he was carrying. “I should have watched where I was going.”

  “Do you need help carrying those, Walt?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nah, it’s not that much with me shopping for one. Still getting used to that.”

  She seemed to recall that he mentioned his wife, Lettie, passing before he moved to Mystic Bayou. “How long since your wife passed?”

  She could have laid hands on him and figured it out herself, but she figured this was more polite.

  “About a year now,” he said. “I thought maybe a change of scenery would do me some good, but I miss her just as much here as I did back home. It’s not something you plan for, being alone. Hard to make the adjustment.”

  Cordelia wondered if Walt and Bonita might get along. They were both lonely and…well, she didn’t have much more to go on, besides that, but she’d seen relationships built on less.

  “Forgive a nosy old man, but you and that young man at the pie shop the other day. The Irish fella. Are you an item?” he asked. She burst out laughing, because apparently, Walt’s thoughts were also running towards matchmaking.

  “Oh, no, Brendan’s just my neighbor. And my coworker. Partners on a project together, actually.”

  “So, clearly, you have nothing in common,” Walt scoffed.

  “I don’t really date,” she said. “Difficult history.”

  “Sweetie, you’re too young to have a difficult history,” he said, waving her off dismissively. “I’ve spent a lot of time alone and let me tell you. Life is better when you’ve got somebody.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” she promised.

  “Well, if your tastes run toward older men who can cook for themselves, let me know.” He raised his grocery bags and gave her a wink, making her laugh again. “Can I walk you back to your trailer?”

  “Thanks, but no, I have to make a stop first,” she said. “Nice to see you, Walt.”

  “Have a good day, sweetheart,” Walt called.

  As she walked toward Jillian’s trailer, it occurred to her that she’d had more conversations that day than she’d had over the span of weeks when she was in DC. She’d expected herself to be exhausted, drained to the point of needing to nap, but instead…she felt fine. Cheered up, even. Maybe she was becoming a more social creature? Maybe she would emerge from this bayou as less of a hermit.

  Probably not.

  She walked into the lobby to find an affable young man behind the welcome desk. Before she could introduce herself, “Leonard” waved her in.

  “Hello, Ms. Canton. Jillian said you could stop in anytime, no questions asked.”

  She laughed. “Well, that is a liberal policy.”

  “Oh, trust me it is,” he insisted. “She’s not that way with just anyone. That should tell you how important she thinks your work is.”

  Cordelia poised her hand to knock on Jillian’s door, only for it to swing open. Jillian beamed at her, putting her arms forward as if to pull Cordelia into the office. But she stopped herself. “Hi! I’m so glad you stopped by. I’ve been so worried, but Brendan assured me that he sensed regular movement inside the trailer.”

  Jillian motioned for Cordelia to sit in one of the comfy chairs in front of her desk and she took her own seat.

  “I was, I am. Honestly, I was probably more embarrassed than anything else. I’m so sorry, Jillian. The artifact just overwhelmed me,” Cordelia said. “I appreciate all of the time you’re giving me to recover…and the daily reminder emails. I feel very protected h
ere. Not all League supervisors treat their employees this way.”

  “Honestly, I would have been shocked if something like this didn’t happen,” Jillian assured her. “It was an experiment. And now we know how much the casket affects you. Just rest up and try again.” She pulled a notebook from a pile on her desk and poised a pen over. “But I can’t help but notice that your report is a little sparse on the detail, other than ‘I passed out.’ Can you tell me anything about what you saw when you made contact with the casket?”

  “I didn’t see anything, to be honest,” Cordelia confessed. “All I felt was this longing. It’s really strange. It’s like no one has ever touched this thing. I couldn’t feel any human emotion coming off of it. I only felt the thing inside it because its emotions are so strong. It’s nothing but pure want. I’m not sure it is human or shifter or anything we’ve ever seen.”

  Jillian frowned. “That lines up with what Dani said. Any thoughts as to what it could be?”

  “Old. It’s been this sad and this strong for a very long time. And it’s getting impatient.”

  “I want you to be careful,” Jillian told her. “Even more careful than you have been. Treat the casket like a hostile witness, as it were.”

  “No problem,” said Cordelia.

  Jillian’s expression softened. “And Brendan? How’s your working relationship with him? He seemed very concerned about your well-being.”

  Only years of practice kept Cordelia’s facial response in check. What sort of game was Brendan pulling, pretending to care about her to Jillian while pushing her to return to work? Her disappointment with Brendan fell even deeper. Being pushy with Cordelia was one thing. He wasn’t the first and she doubted he would be the last. But sucking up to their superiors by singing the song of the oh, so very concerned? That was just sneaky and dishonest.