The Banshee's Desire (8 page)

"I'm hardly the end all be all, no matter what the storybooks might say. I don't have a paper scroll that I carry around with the names of people on it about to die. Not anymore anyway. Now I just use my iPad. So much faster," Death laughed before her features grew serious. "Jacqueline, there's always someone above you in the chain of death."

"God? Is He your boss?" Jacqueline felt herself flush with excitement. To think that she might get an answer to a question everyone wanted to know about!
"She. Not He! And while there is a higher power, that's still not who I answer to," Death said. "I'm just the Irish Death. There's other Death's out there, all assigned to different regions. Actually, this
Galesburg
Falls
place is out of my zone. But since you are a special case, adjustments must be made."

"So who is your boss?"

"Ever heard of the goddess Morrigan?"

"Maybe. She sounds kind of familiar."

"She's in charge of all things Irish, Celtic, and Welsh. It's quite a little enterprise actually and she's been running it successfully for thousands of years," Death said. "But I digress. I didn't come here to explain the mysteries of the world to you."
"Then why are you here? How did I even get on the astral plane?"

"You did that yourself. You've been repressing your banshee nature here in the hospital, haven't you? But your subconscious knew what to do. It allowed you to walk the astral plane and reap souls as you would if you were really dead. Albert O' Hara was one of your countrymen, one of your charges."

"So if he'd been Jewish or Korean, I wouldn't have reaped his soul?"

"Ah, that's the thing. See, you're drawn to those from Morrigan's Celtic line. That's normal and as it should be.  But for some reason, you're also able to reap any soul you choose. That makes you unique, an abnormality." Death leaned closer. "I thought this might be a nice opportunity to warn you that I'm watching you too. So are the other reapers. You're not making any friends with them, my dear."

Jacqueline drew back as the stale smell of mold and mildew came from Death.

"What do you mean?"

"For one thing, you take souls without the body being ready to let go. That's bad business. It throws off the balance of nature. And you reap what doesn't belong to you, souls that should be taken by the reaper assigned to them." Death said. "I can't have that."

"Alright, I'll be more careful," Jacqueline said, nervously.

"You better be, but I think you'll find it difficult."

"Why?"

"Because on the astral plane, you are whole and doing what you are meant to do. On the mortal plane, your human feelings blind you. They cause you to feel things like revenge, anger, desire. Emotion clouds your judgment, makes you do things with the heart rather than the mind." Death stood up. "I know you've been conflicted. I know you've been torn with a need to reap, to kill without discretion."

"No, that's not true." But even to Jacqueline's ears, the words sounded like the lie they were. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do," Death's voice grew soft as she moved even closer to Jacqueline. "I've been testing you, making sure you can see my mark. You did well until the other night. You had the option to leave Jacob Fortensky alone or to be an instrument of death. We both know the choice you made was based on human emotion, on human desire. The pleas of those spirits got to you. You can't let that happen. You must ignore such things, no matter how much they tug at the proverbial heart strings."

"He deserved to die."

"Did he? Perhaps," Death nodded. "Perhaps. But that's not your call to make."

Death's black eyes stared into Jacqueline's. A prickle of pain ran through her and she found herself unable to breathe. A slow smile lifted the corners of Death's lips.

"Yes, in here, on this plane, you are mine. And you will behave. Reap only what belongs to you," Death whispered. "Or else, I will be forced to extinguish your light. Do you understand?"

Jacqueline nodded, still unable to breathe.

Death stepped back and the spell was broken.

"Of course, there is a way to no longer have to worry over these things at all," Death said. "You could let me kill your mortality now. Then you'd live here, doing the job destined for you."

Die?

It wasn't the first time Jacqueline had considered the possibility. It was what Toby had planned to do to her originally, not because he wanted to kill her, but because he'd known that it was the one way to ensure her safety. Being dead did have its advantages.

But she'd fallen in love with Toby.

Leaving him, never being near him again…even on the astral plane where her feelings were muted, the thought wasn't one she wanted to consider.

Death watched her carefully.

"I see," Death said, as if she'd heard Jacqueline's internal battle. "I see. Very well then. Just remember what I've said."

Death glanced at Matilda.

"Shame about this one," Death said. "I started to mark her earlier, but then decided to wait until I spoke with you. Since you aren't willing to die, a trade must be made. You took a life that wasn't ready. Now I take one to punish you and balance the scales."

"Wait!" Jacqueline cried, knowing what was about to happen.

To her horror, Death curled her hand and with one sweeping motion ripped Matilda's soul free.

"No!" Jacqueline watched as Matilda's essence floated free before dissolving into nothing.

"Take care of yourself, Jacqueline. Be careful with your power. I'll be in touch soon."

With a small nod, Death disappeared.

Toby poured another glass of whiskey, loosened his tie, and leaned back in his office chair. Taking a long sip, he let the liquid coat his throat, enjoying the slight burn it brought. Any pain was better than what he'd experienced that day.

Matilda's funeral had been long and draining.

Who knew that she had so many friends? And they all wanted to share a personal story or two with him about her. Some he'd heard before. Others were new, but they all conveyed the affection that people felt for his crass, sharp tongued mother.

He sipped again, trying hard to ignore the lump in his throat that he couldn't seem to get rid of. No amount of alcohol would dissolve it and he'd tried. Oh, how he'd tried. Bottle after bottle, glass after glass.

A firm knock on the door got his attention.

"Go away," he grumbled. "Don't feel like talking right now."

There was a buzzing sound outside the door, followed by a pop as Gabe materialized in the room.

"Neat trick." Toby's voice was thick with alcohol and it took every ounce of effort he had to speak clearly. "Something your uncle taught you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Gabe stared at his father, his dark eyes showing Toby far better than any mirror what he looked like right now. His son was disapproving, and that galled Toby.

"What do you want?"

"To talk."

"Not in the mood, right now."

"Tough."

"Tough?" Toby grunted. "Get out."

He drank down the rest of the whiskey and poured another glass.

Undaunted, Gabe sat in the chair opposite Toby.

"Glass," he said, and one appeared in his hand.

"Smooth," Toby sneered. "Bet the ladies love that."

Gabe picked up the bottle and poured himself a drink.

"No one's complained yet," he said.

"Look, I'm not in the mood to bond," Toby said. "I just want to be left alone."

"So Jacqueline told me." Gabe made a face of disgust. "She wasn't too happy."

"What else did she say?"

"That you were being an unbearable asshole and I should go check on you before she decided to burn this fucking bar down." Gabe smiled. "Her words. Not mine."

"She's such a lady."

"Some might call her that."

"You don't like Jacqueline much." Toby peered at his son. "Why?"

"She has too much power."

"She could argue the same about you."

"True." Gabe nodded. "But I think it's something more with her. I think me killing Eric has more to do with her dislike of me than the power I hold."

"And I have to live with you both."

Gabe's eyes narrowed.

"I haven't asked for your help."

"But you need it. Shut up," Toby said as Gabe opened his mouth in denial. "You know it's true. You got no place to go. Your mother's family won't ever accept you."

"And you?" Gabe sipped the whiskey slowly, but Toby could see that the answer was important to his son.

"I've always accepted you. Even when I thought you were dead."

Gabe fell silent, his dark eyes contemplative.

"I just wish I knew what was really going on in that brain of yours. What are your intentions? Will you stay around here antagonizing the woman I love or do you have other ambitions I don't know about? I think that's it. You have plans that you aren't ready to share," Toby said. "You and Jacqueline are both good at keeping secrets. You think I don't notice, that I'm too blind to see or something. But I see more than you know."

"Maybe we keep secrets to protect you."

"Bullshit. Secrets are always harmful. I've had enough of them."

"What secret do you think Jacqueline is keeping from you?"

"That's the problem. I don't know. But I can feel it. Something has happened. And I'm worried that--" Toby stopped speaking, catching the words, catching his fears before they slipped out.

"Worried that what?" Gabe pressed.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Are you worried she might have something to do with Matilda's death?"

And there it was. The thought that he hadn't been able to articulate, not even to himself. It was just too awful to think about.

But was it possible?

That was the real question. Toby mulled it over, only half aware of his son's presence. The alcohol had finally wormed its way into his brain, clouding his judgment, loosening his tongue.

"What could she have done?" Toby muttered.

"Anything," Gabe said, his voice soft. "She's a banshee."

"If she helped Matilda pass over, she would have told me. But she hasn't. And I know she spent the night in the hospital room."

"The call for a banshee is strong. She would have been attracted to Matilda's soul."

"But why wouldn't she tell me if that was the case?"

"Good question." Gabe poured more whiskey. "Unless there was something about the passing that was unnatural."

"Unnatural?"

"I'm just thinking out loud."

"Hmm…" Toby murmured. "Unnatural."

"What if she couldn't control herself?"

Toby's temper flared.

"Are you suggesting that she murdered my mother?" He slammed the drink down. "You should go!"

Gabe stood slowly, unperturbed by his father's temper. He kept his gaze cool and level.

"Let me know when you're ready to talk rationally," Gabe said. "There are things you should know."

Without another word, Gabe snapped his fingers and disappeared.

****

A few seconds later Gabe reappeared in the hallway leading to the front room of the bar. He paused a moment, thinking about the conversation with Toby. He wasn't sure what he'd really hoped to accomplish with it, but now he had some valuable information regarding the path of Toby's thoughts.

Daddy dearest wasn't quite sure of his supposed true love, Jacqueline.

The seeds of distrust were already sown and it was up to Gabe to determine whether or not it would be smart to water them. He wasn't worried about retaliation from Jacqueline. His powers would protect him.

Jacqueline may be strong, he reasoned. But I'm stronger. So much stronger.

He squared his shoulders and went into the main room.

People were packed in the place, but the mood was somber, broken only occasionally by a boisterous laugh. Candles were lit around the bar and someone had placed Matilda's picture on the bar stool where she often sat. Flowers cascaded off the stool, streaming down to the floor.

Gabe looked around, observing the sad eyed regulars who'd come to pay tribute to Matilda. He'd not gotten the chance to really get to know her; yet, he couldn't deny that he felt some sadness at the old shape shifter's sudden passing.

His gaze flicked towards Jacqueline standing near the bar, a bottle of beer in her hand. What had she done to Matilda? He didn't really believe that Jacqueline had killed her.

But something had happened.

As he watched, Jacqueline's gaze lit up as someone walked in the door. Glancing over, Gabe took a deep breath at the sight of Angela. The long bandage running down her face made her look fragile and he fought the urge to go over and chastise her for being there. She should be home, resting.