Banshee Blues (Bones and Bounties Book 1)

by Bilinda Sheehan

  “Why won't you just leave him alone? Why couldn't she just leave him to me? Why did she do this to us?”

  “I don't know.” It was an honest answer. From what I could see, the half-breed hadn’t been cruel for any particular reason… but just because she could.

  “I don't want to lose him,” she said, the tears in her eyes sparkling in the dim light from the bedside lamp.

  “But you don't want him to suffer, either. Not anymore.” I moved farther into the room. The heavy drapes were shut, deliberately blocking out the rest of the world. I had also tried to hide, but the world had found me anyway. At least the Faerie Court had, and they weren't the type to be ignored.

  Mrs Archer buried her face against the duvet, clutching her husband's hand. I could tell from her white knuckles that she had a death grip on him and wouldn't let go easily.

  “Let me help him. I can bring him peace.” It was the truth. He would die, anyway; nobody, not even the half-breed, could change that outcome. But his death would be agonising, slow and painful not just for him, but also for those who were forced to watch but were unable to intercede.

  “Why do this?” Such a simple question, but not one I was entirely sure I had the answer to.

  “Because this is what I do, it's who I am, and we don't get to choose who we are when we are born.” It was the best answer I could come up with, and the closest thing to an explanation she would get from me.

  She shook her head. “Will it hurt?”

  “Not like this. I'll make sure it's easy.”

  Her whole body trembled as she lifted his lifeless hand from the bed and pressed it to her lips. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this—”

  “He can't hear you,” I said. Part of me felt guilty for telling her the truth. He couldn't hear her, but I could hear him—and it was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

  “Why can't he hear me?” she asked, the sharpness to her voice suggesting she was close to tipping over the edge.

  “He just can't. It's better if you don't know the truth.” I wasn't going to lie to her, but I also didn't need to say the truth out loud. Enough pain had already been caused.

  “All right, just do it.”

  Without waiting for further invitation, I crossed the room to the bed and laid my hands upon Henry Archer's chest. There was a fine tremor running through his entire body, and his nightshirt clung to his cold, clammy skin. He had been left like this for too long already; I was as much to blame as the half-breed.

  Lifting the Bone Blade from the sheath at my hip, I pressed its tip over Henry's heart.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she screamed. “You said you would bring him peace, not stab him to death.”

  “This is what I have to do.” I could already feel the Bone Blade’s power singing in my veins; it had a life of its own, and now it wanted Henry's life. The blade would drink him down like a cool glass of water.

  Nancy's hand closed around the top of my arm, and I jumped against the tightening grip. I fought to shrug her off, but she wouldn't budge as I lowered the blade and pressed it to Henry's skin. The air in the room became denser and more difficult to breathe as the blade did what it was born to do.

  Nancy fell away from me, dropping to her knees as she clutched her throat. I was used to it, used to the discomfort, and as such didn't notice the lack of oxygen as much as she did. The tremor in Henry's body stopped and his breath left his lungs in one final rattle. The silence that followed brought a kind of bliss that was quickly broken by Nancy's heart-wrenching sobs. She crawled toward the bed, dragging herself onto it and curling her body around his.

  The ice in my chest cracked, and I threw back my head without warning as a mourning keen tore from my lips. The sound echoed in the room, the glass of the window panes shattering and the power driving me to my knees. I felt the warmth of my blood as it trickled from my nose and I gasped as though something had punched a fist-sized hole through my chest.

  Locking Manann away all those years ago might have depleted my power, but I still couldn't ignore my true calling. Whatever the Mother of the Hunt had done to me had come too close to destroying what little power I had left.

  Turning toward the door, I left Nancy to mourn for the loss of her husband alone. The moment was far too private to intrude upon, and there was nothing left for me to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Exhaustion made it almost impossible for me to concentrate on the road ahead; how I managed to stay on the bike was beyond me. When I rounded the corner at the top of the street, I caught sight of Samira standing on the curb, her arms folded across her chest.

  Letting the bike come to a halt, I waited for her to say something, but she dragged her helmet on in silence before climbing onto the back of the bike.

  “And you're standing out here why?” I asked, glancing at her over my shoulder.

  “Because that witch kicked me out after you rang up,”

  Anger tightened my shoulders. I'd known Noree to be petty, but we had had a deal. Discovering she had reneged on it both surprised and angered me.

  “Forget about it, Darcey. She’s not worth it, and, anyway, you're not strong enough to take her on by yourself.”

  Samira was right, but that didn't piss me off any less. I let my anger pour down into the bike, and the engine roared in response. Peeling away from the curb, I let the feel of the rough road soothe my emotions. What was the point of being angry? It wouldn't solve anything, and Noree needed to understand why things had worked out the way they had. Of course, she could always decide to believe I had deliberately killed MacNa, but there was nothing I could do about that.

  It didn't take long for us to reach my building. The place was bathed in darkness, and the familiarity of home brought me a sense of calm I hadn't even known I was missing. Samira hopped from the bike and carried her helmet into the dark entryway, her anger palpable. Clearly she wasn’t telling me the whole story, and I had a feeling if I pushed her I would never get the truth. She was probably experiencing reactions similar to those other trauma victims: if I was lucky, I would gain her trust, but I would likely never get beyond the wall she had built to protect herself from pain.

  Stepping onto the pavement, I pulled my own helmet free and hung it from the closest handlebar before guiding the bike onto the pavement. I pushed it toward the heavy roller door that sat on the other side of my building and pressed the button, waiting as it rumbled open.

  An icy shiver crawled along the back of my neck as I stepped into the liquid darkness. The small voice in the back of my head told me to run; it was the same voice that had kept me safe for all of these years, and I had learned that ignoring it usually ended badly. The bike rolled away of its own accord into the darkness; it would find the corner I had picked out for it and rest there until I needed it again. I took a step backwards, but it was already too late—something heavy slammed into my body, knocking me to the grease-covered ground.

  Rolling with the blow, I tried to get the upper hand on my assailant, but a pair of legs locked around my waist and pinned me in place. The second I felt the cold iron against my throat, I ceased my struggles and lay panting on the cement floor.

  “I don't know what he sees in you,” the half-breed said, her voice little more than a whispered breath against my ear.

  “He loved me.” The moment the words left my mouth, I felt her stiffen against me. She pressed the iron a little harder against my skin, causing it to burn.

  “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?” I asked in confusion.

  “How did you make him love you?” Her desperation beat against my skin like a caged bird.

  How was I supposed to explain that? It wasn't something that really had an answer; it had just happened, and though I regretted it now I couldn't change the past.

  “I don't know,” I said. “We just did. We fell in love. It wasn't planned, and I don't think it's the kind of thing that can be engineered.”

  “You're lying,�
�� she said, lifting the blade from my neck. Before I could react, she brought it down forcefully against my shoulder, burying it up to the tip. A scream ripped from my throat and I jerked against the force of the blow. Pain spiralled outward, spreading from my shoulder into my chest. If the blade stayed in my body for enough time, the iron would slowly leach out into my bloodstream. It might not kill me, but it would hurt like hell. And, worse than that, it would weaken me even further.

  Drawing up my free arm, I balled my hand into a fist. The crunch as it connected with the half-breed's jaw brought me great satisfaction. The blow was enough to startle her, and she reared up, losing her grip on the iron blade. Jerking to the side, I used my momentum to knock her sideways before grabbing the hilt of the iron blade with my free hand. I screamed again as I ripped it free, a cathartic cry that left my throat raw.

  The time it took to pull the blade free left me vulnerable, and I had only made it to my knees when the half-breed’s first blow came. Drawing my uninjured arm up to cover my head, I gripped the iron blade in my other hand and lashed out in her general direction. Her cry of pain told me I'd succeeded, and the moment’s reprieve allowed me to hop to my feet.

  She came at me again, rage etched into her face. Blocking her first punch, I wrapped my hand in her hair and drew my knee up toward her face. She spun to the side, and my blow only glanced her shoulder. Her hand latched onto my wrist, twisting it violently and forcing me to release my grip on her hair or risk having my bones crushed beneath her hold.

  Before I could escape, her fist connected with my jaw and sparks flew in my vision as my head snapped violently backwards. I tried to slash her with the knife once more, but she knocked it from my hand. Her foot connected with my abdomen, sending me sprawling backwards into the darkness. The force of her blow caused me to collapse to my knees and retch, but still she came for me. She fisted my braid and jerked up my head, pulling it back until the vulnerable column of my neck was exposed. I saw the dull glint of her own Bone Blade as she pressed it against my neck and prepared to slit my throat.

  I felt the edge of my own Bone Blade, still in the sheath on my hip, and curled my fingers around the hilt.

  “Wait,” Samira said, her voice carrying across the space and through the darkness.

  The half-breed jerked in surprise, and the Bone Blade slid against my skin enough to make me wince. The movement caused my life essence to shudder to the surface, and I fought against the call of the blade to spill my life out across its dull surface.

  Samira’s shout was all the distraction I needed. Gripping the hilt of my own Bone Blade a little firmer, I ripped it from its sheath and brought it up at the only angle I could manage. I sighed as it sank through skin and grated against bone as I buried it in the half-breed’s thigh as she stood behind me.

  She screamed, the sound reverberating off the walls, and loosened her grip on my hair, allowing me to turn and duck from beneath the blade pressed to my throat. I ground the blade into her thigh a little harder, and she stumbled backwards and out of my reach. I watched as her bloodied hands wrapped around the hilt of the knife, and she pulled it free before dropping to her knees.

  Samira muttered something to herself, and magic stirred across my skin like a whispered breath.

  I raised my hand in her direction. “Don't.”

  I couldn't believe what I was saying. I felt like a traitor to Clary, but I knew that if we killed the half-breed I would be just as bad as she was. I would be just as bad as the Mother of the Hunt. I wouldn't allow myself to stoop to their level, not for anything or anyone.

  As much as I wanted to see her dead, I wouldn't allow my thirst for vengeance to overwhelm my sense of what was right. She needed to pay for her crimes, and I knew exactly how to make that happen. Samira glanced at me with a defiant expression that told me she was on the verge of disobeying my orders.

  She was strong, but no matter what happened I couldn’t allow the half-breed to die. Not yet, anyway.

  I moved across the floor and planted myself firmly in front of the half-breed, pressing my hands to my hips and meeting Samira’s gaze with a heavy one of my own.

  “We can't kill her,” I said. “She will face justice, but not at our hands and not like this.”

  “I don't understand you,” Samira said. Her face was a mask of confusion, and I couldn't blame her for that. Perhaps I was mad for allowing someone so dangerous to continue living? But the thought of ending her life now, like this, when she was on her knees… well, that just didn't sit right with me.

  I wasn't a murderer, no matter what the Faerie Court thought or believed. I wasn't a murderer. I had never been one, despite Manann’s best efforts to the contrary.

  “Samira, I don't expect you to understand. Your life has been nothing but a series of traumatic events, one after the other. The people who held you captive for all those years…what they did to you…” I stopped speaking when I saw Samira's face begin to fall.

  I didn't want to upset her, or remind her of the horrors of her past. It was the very last thing she needed, and I had promised to protect her from it.

  Christ, I was making a mess of this, a mess of everything, which was totally normal. The sooner I could get the half-breed to where she belonged, the better.

  “I'm going to take to her to the Elite. There’s still an unsolved murder on the books that she tried to frame on me, so the least I can do in return is pass her over to those who will see her tried fairly. I won’t have somebody accuse me of something I haven’t done, especially something so heinous.”

  I sighed. Samira continued to look unconvinced, but I knew deep down that I was right. I’d locked Manann away to stop him from corrupting Faerie, to prevent him from spreading his own special brand of evil assholery. I would never give up on everything I had fought for and let the darkness win.

  “I can't kill her. Not here, not in cold blood. I'm not the monster Manann thought I was, or the monster he wanted me to be.” As I spoke, I glanced over at the half-breed. She lifted her face and stared at me like she wanted me dead. I knew she did, since she had just tried to end me and her expression was still filled with rage, but her eyes also held sorrow that tugged at my heart.

  Had he twisted her, too? Had there been a time when she was good, when she’d wanted to help other Fae? Perhaps she had been like me. Perhaps he had gotten to her, and then…

  I couldn't think like that. Allowing myself to pity her would only give her room to wriggle out of everything she’d done. She had killed Clary, and while I wasn’t into the whole “an eye for an eye” thing, I still wanted to see her get her just deserts.

  “Why help me?” she asked, her voice strained with pain. The Bone Blade had sapped some of her life essence. I could practically feel the power singing to me from where it lay on the floor, but I needed to remember that she was still stronger than I was, despite her injury. If she escaped now, I really would have to kill her the next time we met.

  “I’m not helping you,” I said. “I will hand you over to the Elite, and they will deal with you.”

  The half-breed smiled, but it was watery. “That is helping me. They won’t hold me. When he wants me free, he will release me.”

  I shrugged and shook my head. “He can’t do that when he’s also locked away.”

  The half-breed’s smile widened. “Interesting. Even though it is your power, you cannot feel that it has weakened with the death of your other…”

  Her words sent a shiver of fear down my spine. I hadn’t checked the cage, and I certainly hadn’t felt anything change, but she seemed so sure of herself.

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  The half-breed grinned back at me. “That might be true, but you won’t know until it is too late.”

  “Samira, call the Elite,” I said, tightening my hands into fists. She was goading me, and I wasn’t going to give in to her.

  “You know this is weakness,” Samira said.

  I shook my head and smiled as I let th
e tension melt from my shoulders. “You know what? For the first time, I actually think this is me being strong.”

  Samira shot me a look suggesting I’d lost my mind.

  I scooped the Bone Blade from the floor and replaced it in the sheath on my belt. “Killing is easy,” I said. “It's facing the music that's hard.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I was covered in bruises from head to toe. Going up against the half-breed for a second time hadn’t been a good idea, not that it had been my choice. But none of that mattered now. The Elite had picked her up as soon as Samira called. Apparently, they’d already been looking for her, having found enough evidence in what remained of her apartment to charge her with murder. I wanted to see if they could get her name, but she refused to talk.

  The cuffs they put on her bit into her skin—the Elite were obviously not in the mood for messing around—and part of me once more felt sorry for her. And while she didn’t deserve my pity, I couldn’t help but give it.

  However she had managed to get tied up with Manann wasn't something I would wish on my worst enemy. But that still didn’t make it my problem.

  Clutching Clary's vial of life essence in my hands, I stood at the mouth of the Between. A fine tremor ran through my body as I contemplated what I was about to do.

  Questions swirled in my head, making it almost impossible for me to concentrate. What if it went wrong? What if I failed to do the very thing, the only thing, Clary had asked of me in the moments before her death? What if I failed her again? How would I live with myself?

  As I stepped into the Between, I wasn't sure what to expect.

  That wasn’t entirely true. Everything was exactly as I had left it. The weeping hawthorn still stretched into the sky above my head, its shiny green leaves glinting in the light of the Between. It was truly a sight to behold, and one that always took my breath away.