Hazards of Being a Banshee:
Fae Issues
“ I ’ll see you for lunch.” I kiss Jared goodbye for the tenth time. This is our second attempt at leaving each other—for all of five hours.
“Mm. Lunch. We can drive around and find a place.”
“How far do you want to go?”
“All the way,” he whispers, hands rubbing my back.
How can such a tender, soothing touch make me feel like someone spiked my lady bits with aphrodisiac lube? “I find the best things in random places. I have a sixth sense.”
“You found me right next door.”
We giggle, and there’s another kiss in the doorway as I inch away one second, then cling to him the next. I tell myself I’m only going across the alley, but it feels like one of my organs is being ripped out at the thought of putting distance between us.
“I know you probably want space, otherwise, I’d offer to come over and meet the cat. Dust the shelves. Water the plants,” he offers. I know he’s trying to joke—while being dead serious. After last night, I’d offer to rearrange my schedule to be near him, too.
Be smart. You need space. I’m sure it always feels like this the morning after.
I check my past experiences.
Nope. Never.
Shit.
“I’ll see you at one, and then we’ll drive out into the little towns up and down the Endless Mountain, into Pennsylvania, and search a couple of junk shops I love between here and Antonia. We’ll find a place to eat out on the way.”
Jared nods, but his eyes are glazed. When I look right into them, I see flashes, little hints, like I did last night, of the woman with the red hair.
Now I see us pulled over on a deserted, winding road, me in the backseat, legs hanging out the open door, and Jared kneeling over me, mouth fastened to my swollen pussy, his fingers stroking in and out of me.
I squeak. “Jared!”
“What?” He jumps guiltily.
“Were you just thinking about...” I pause. “Us pulled over on the side of the road?”
He’s so adorable when he looks guilty. He even ducks his head. “I like that it makes you feel so good. You’re so powerful, and when I make you feel good, I feel... worthy of you.”
The hell with it. The shop can wait another hour. I do a full-on swoon, the kind where I collapse into his big, burly arms like a damsel with her corsets laced too tight. “You are worthy. So worthy. You don’t have to do that just to please me.”
“I also think it’s so hot, being so close. And you glow in the dark—in a gentle way, not like a glowstick way, and I can see everything up close and... Is that a pervy thing to think it’s hot to see you, taste you, and touch you all at once? Down there? Patsy said—”
I let out a little shriek that would probably put Patsy on the floor. “I don’t care what she said. It’s hot as fuck. Now, take your robe back off.”
“Honey, you said you had to—”
“I wanna suck your cock like you’ve been sucking on me.
Do it, or the roses die.” I threaten, one eyebrow arched high as I channel my inner sinister banshee bitch.
I whisper, “I’m only kidding. I wouldn’t hurt my bouquet.
I love my bouquet.” I love him, too. I want to be close to him like he’s close to me.
And by the sudden hardness I feel against my rear, he doesn't mind.
“The shop can wait,” he agrees, and kicks the door shut.
THE SHOP HAS BEEN PRETTY dead, and I’m glad.
I’ve been humming and dancing around between my apartment and the register, showering (again), playing with Marmalade, getting ready, texting my best friends in town—Georgia and Gloria, who have both recently gotten married, and ask if they felt like their hearts were superglued together after just one time.
And after the squealing, Georgia says yes, and Gloria says sort of, and I have to remember that Gloria is a ghost, and she died before superglue was even a thing.
It’s time to face the ultimate test.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Hello, love! If you want your father, he’s out with Ewan looking at a tractor.”
“No, Mum, I don’t want Dad. I want you. When you... When you met Dad at that festival—”
“It was a Druidian Festival at Stonehenge.”
That was basically the same thing. My mother’s perfectionistic streak is probably the direct reason I love clutter, and treasures, and little bits of life and nature scattered about me at all times.
“How did you sing your betrothal song if there were all those humans around?”
“I didn’t sing it then, silly. We dated for a while, then your father asked me to marry him, and I gave him my song. That’s how a proper young lady should do it.”
“But... But you told me when I sang the song, it would bind the man who heard it to me, make him my soulmate.”
“Of course, so you don’t go singing it to just anybody! You’d end up with—Chloe O’Neill. What have you done?”
There’s ice in her tone, and even across the ocean, I feel the power throbbing in my temples. I’m glad my parents’ house isn’t in a development, or their neighbors would have all lost their fillings.
“I met a nice guy. A wonderful man. I sang—”
“What is he?”
“A research scientist.” I think.
“No, no. What is he? Pure fae? Elf, sprite, pooka? Tell me he’s not a Leprechaun. They make terrible husbands.”
“He’s not.”
“That’s something. Well? Oh, for pity’s sake, not an Orc? Saints preserve us, not a vampire? Or a proper monster?”
I draw myself up. “Stop that bigoted talk, Mother.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just... Well, go on. Tell me.”
“He’s a human. All human, and considering I’m part-human, you’d better mind what you say.”
“Don’t tell me how to talk, my girl! There’s a very big difference between a halfling and a human, as you well know!”
“Not in Pine Ridge!”
“Town is a madhouse,” she mutters, but I ignore her, worry growing in my stomach.
“Mom, you’ve been after me to get married forever! I’m going to. I think.”
“You think? Did you ask him, or did he ask you?”
“Well, I sang to him, so—”
“Mary and the wee donkey! That’s an accidental engagement, Chloe! Easy to break, you silly wee thing. Have him deny your offer, and then you come home for a proper visit. There’s another Druidian Festival in June. The perfect time to meet yourself a fine young fae.”
“I don’t want—” I don’t want them. I want Jared. But I feel like now might not be the best time to tell her that. “Mum, I told him how to exit the bargain, and he refused.”
“What did you offer? Maybe your price wasn’t high enough.”
“Price? Offer?”
“Oh, when your father gets in! He taught you nothing about his side of the family other than to pick up every bit of rubbish you see! You’re part-fae!
But you know as much about the Fair Folk as some stupid American on a week-long trip to Knocknashee!
You must offer him something to release you from the bargain.
Otherwise, his choices are you, a beautiful young banshee bride—though not so young as you could be—or nothing.
Of course any man would pick you! Lookin’ to get his leg over, more than likely! ”
“I... I don’t even know what I could offer that he’d...”
“Think. You’ll know. The Fair Folk always know.”
“Well, I don’t!” I shout.
But I do.
We talked for hours last night. It was the most perfect first, second, and third date rolled into one, from dinner until breakfast, and then several encores.
He told me about his parents, about his being the first-born grandson and his grandmothers fighting over who could steal him for more hours in the kitchen, about warring Slavic and Italian cuisine, about his love of science and history, and about his life before moving here.
About Patsy. About Kep, the little Australian Shepherd he bought for them last Christmas, their “practice baby.” Kep is short for Kepler, like the scientist Kepler. And Patsy kept the dog.
He loved it. It was his little buddy, his best friend. Patsy kept it out of spite more than love.
And I know I can get it back.
A dog over me? No way.
Unless everything between us, everything last night and this morning, is just the banshee’s power dominating a sensitive.
“If he’s only enslaved by your song, the offer will open his ears, pet, and he’ll be free. Problem solved. Thank goodness you called. You should really call more often, Chloe.”
“Yeah. Okay, Mom. Gotta go.”
THE NEXT HOURS ARE a hollow mockery of the joy I had. I fight between elation and hope, then misery and shame. I’ve never opened up like that with a guy, physically or emotionally. It felt so right.
Magic is so stupid sometimes.
There are customers to distract me, but only a few. I do better business at the Night Market and when the college students are around. They always come in to find something quirky or vintage to take away the sterility of their dorms or furnish their first apartments for cheap.
When Jared arrives as I’m showing the last customers out, he is beaming and dressed for the day in khakis and a light blue sweater.
I use this word all the time when I see him, but I can’t help it. He genuinely is adorable, the kind of man you’d want to run to immediately and hug.
“Hey, gorgeous!” He opens his arms wide, and I run to them, unable to stop myself in time.
One last hug before I break the spell.
One last kiss...
He handles that, slow and sweet, but hungry. Hinting.
“How sturdy are those counters?” he asks, and suddenly, all I can picture are my bare bottom marks being scrubbed off the glass top counter by the register.
No. That’s too far. “Not very sturdy,” I fib and back away, looking down.
I looked so cute today, too. My favorite chunky brown suede boots, and my denim skirt with the big pockets, and my white shirt that flows and billows like some old-timey poet’s... and now it won’t matter. “I forgot to do something the other night. See, I’m not all banshee.”
“I know. Your dad was half human, half... Fae folk? Or do I say fairy?” he asks, face serious. He wants to get this right. He’s a scientist, learning about new (new to him, anyway) beings.
It melts my heart how eager and open he is, to anything, to everything.
For a pretty girl who can make herself truly terrifying, you’d be surprised how a simple lack of fear is a big turn-on.
“You can deny my offer if I offer you a trade. Instead of marrying me, I can do something for you. Fame. Fortune.” I bite my lip. I can’t really do that, not exactly, not without some dark magic, and I won’t touch that.
But I know Jared. He won’t say yes.
He doesn’t disappoint. He laughs, then his smile dies. “You’re serious? No! No, honey, that’s crazy. Chloe, I’d never pick money or fame over you. I want you. Come on, lunch at the first greasy spoon over the state border?” he asks, tugging my hand.
I stay firm, trying not to smile, not to let tears fall. Trying to be a statue.
Broken-hearted Banshee, they could call it.
“What about Kep?” I whisper. “If I could get Kep back for you?”
Jared jerks away from me, head cocked in surprise. But then his face squishes up in a frown that I can’t read. Disgust? Disbelief?
“I love animals, Chloe. I loved my dog. But I’m sure he’s happy enough with Patsy, and I just have this little apartment. Sometimes you have to do what’s best for your family, four-legged or two-legged.” The frown fades. “Did you... Do you want me to break this off?”
“No!” I burst out, a shaking, gasping sob in a voice I barely recognize.
“But my mother told me it wasn’t real unless I’d offered you an out, and out you couldn’t resist. What lonely, single man would say no if the choice was a beautiful woman or nothing?
Her words!” I wipe at my eyes, shaking my head.
“This man says yes. Yes, to you, or nothing. You can’t buy me off. Doesn’t your mom know love is a choice? You have to make it every day. Even if it starts with a spell, it keeps going with the people who choose to love each other every day after.” Jared frowns. “Jesus, are all fae moms like that?”
I have to laugh, but it comes out like a goose’s hiccup. “Not all of them. Just mine, maybe.”
“I don’t want to deny this. And hey, if I have a super hot, super powerful wife like you, wouldn’t that mean I could get all those things I want anyway?” He arches an eyebrow, challenging my logic, and by extension, my mother.
Brave man.
“It depends on what you want?”
“Wife. Kids. Happy home. Cat. Dog.”
It’s a simple list. One I could share. As if on cue, Marmalade comes out of hiding and winds herself around Jared’s ankles. He scoops her and pets her, and she rubs her jaw along his shoulder, buzzsaw purr starting up.
“This cat seems like a keeper. Just like her owner,” he hints.
“That sounds good,” I whisper. “She’s a friendly cat, but she really seems to like you.”
“Is she a good judge of character? They say animals are.”
I think back, and even though Marmalade isn’t the most aloof cat, she isn’t usually curling up on strangers. (Then again, neither am I, and I was ten kinds of curled up on my hunky teddy bear hubby-to-be last night.) “She’s a really good judge of character today,” I decide.
“And snuggly.”
“I think that might just be you.” I lean myself against him and close my arms. “I want to do this all day.”
“I’ll drive, and you can do that. All day. In fact, I assist.”
I grab my purse, pry Marmalade off, and lock up. As we head down the stairs, I ask, “Did you say kids?”
“One to start. Why?”
“Not everyone wants kids, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Jared’s face is still, his eyes on the steps. “Well—”
“But I do. At least a couple.”
“Okay. Not to rush you or anything,” Jared crosses his arms at the bottom of the steps and gives me what I can best describe as a sassy grin, “I’m not getting any younger. I’m thirty-eight.”
“That’s my line!” I laugh. “My biological clock rings every five minutes, and I can’t find the snooze button.”
“Hm.” Jared kisses my neck as I sashay past him. “Maybe I could help with that?”
My mother’s words slowly vanish from my brain. Peace and happy excitement start to recover territory. “Maybe.”