Hazards of Being A Banshee:
Issues with Neighbors
“ T his is a perfect anniversary gift. Wrap it up, Chloe.”
Alban Wymark puts a little jade statuette down on my counter at Chloe’s Curiosities.
I stare at it for a moment. I’m single. Far be it from me, a single half-banshee who can never even utilize her powers, to critique a happily married man who also happens to be the most powerful warlock in town. Not that Alban would ever “pull rank” on me.
“Stop thinking so hard; you’re going to set me on fire,” Alban chuckles. “No, this isn’t the only thing I’m getting her. I’m getting my mom to watch the kids, and I’m taking her to Vermont this weekend.”
“That’s what I’m talking about! Hey, what about the new guy? Any word about him... I don’t know. Finding a house?”
Alban immediately knows I mean the neighbor who lives in the apartment he rents out next door.
I live on one of the three main “downtown” streets of Pine Ridge.
All the houses on my block are old red brick three-story jobs separated by tiny brick lanes, so they’re not joined together like row homes.
Mad Hatter Music is underneath my second-hand store.
The shop is on the second floor, and my tiny attic apartment is above.
From the attic, I look down on Alban’s rental property.
Oh, he doesn’t own the whole building, but he owns an apartment and sublets it—usually to humans.
No, it’s always humans.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m one-quarter human on my dad’s side, but living and working so close to humans is hard on a banshee.
Alban sighs. “Look, I can’t only rent to supernatural types. What am I supposed to do? ‘Only apply if you aren’t human’ would get me a lot of wacky emails, not to mention investigated by the Better Business Bureau.”
“I know!”
“What about you? Why don’t you buy a house? You’re successful. I bet there’s something you could—”
“I know, I know.” I don’t want to move out of my attic apartment and buy a house on my own. Sure, it’s small, but it’s full of plants, and my cat, Marmalade, has every sunny spot in the place memorized. It’s perfect for one cat and one person.
And some little part of me says buying a house with two or three bedrooms just to fill it up with more junk is wasteful. I might deprive some family who needs space for a growing family. I’d feel selfish, damn it.
“I did see Jared at the store the other day, and he was excited about being part of the biology team going to a conference in Denver—I think it was Denver—during Spring Break. So, no, I don’t think he’ll be moving out anytime soon, but you’ll have a couple of weeks without him.”
I hand Alban his purchase, now wrapped in tissue paper and put in a cute brown bag with my logo stamped on it.
“Is Jared bothering you? He seemed like a good risk. He’s nice and quiet.
.. but I mean, so were notorious serial killers.
” Alban suddenly goes pale—almost as pale as me, and I’m a rather delicate shade of almost green, or as I like to think of it, where cream and green meet.
“I always put out protective charms and wards on the apartment; I would know if someone evil—”
“It’s nothing like that.” I lean forward. “I’d like to be able to sing without worrying I’ll put someone in a coma or bespell them. It’s nice weather, and he always has his windows open—even in the middle of February, he has his windows open.”
“He pays the heating bill, so...”
“It’s nothing, Alban. Here. Have a happy anniversary weekend!”
Alban leaves, and I close up shop. I water the ferns in the window—and there he is. Jared Lochenko, tall, broad, bespectacled, and continually carrying his laptop around.
But not today. Today, he’s got a suitcase. A suitcase that he packs as I take a very long time to water my ferns and the stubborn African violet that will never produce its trademark purple flowers, even when I push my magic onto it.
Jared’s going away for at least a week or two.
The other apartments in the red brick building that almost kiss mine are currently vacant, and work crews have been in and out, painting, replastering, and carrying in new bathroom fixtures, but only during the day.
Mad Hatter Music will be closed at night. ..
I can’t wait until I see him load up his car and pull away. It’ll be nice to stop putting a cork in my true source of power.
But tonight... Tonight is not that night. I usually run a stall at the Night Market, the town’s open-air market that sets up just down the street from me.
I can’t go tonight. The pull of spring and night air and mountain breezes is just too strong for a banshee-fae-human mutt like me to resist. I hop in my car and head out of town, up into the mountains.
One of the hazards of being a banshee is that your voice, something most people take for granted, is a powerful tool—whether used for good or evil. But a banshee’s song? That’s always dangerous.
Living above a music store means I’m always hearing songs but can never sing.
Tonight, the stars and the peaks will be my audience. I have to let something out of me, or I’ll go mad.