Surely his attraction to the girl was merely a response to a long period of dormant appetites.
“Come on,” she demanded.
He certainly wasn’t used to being ordered around by underlings.
Somehow, he couldn’t find it in his heart to resent her though.
It was good to be on his toes for once.
They headed for her car.
“Where is the monster?” he asked her.
“We have a tiny grocery store here in town,” Tabitha explained. “It’s there now. Hopefully, we can all get there in time to corner it.”
Tristan nodded.
“Have you seen this thing before?” she asked. “Do you know what we’re up against? I’ve only seen it in my books.”
“My brother showed mercy to many monsters, but the banshee is particularly vicious,” Tristan told her. “It is in constant mourning, a harbinger of death. It can drive you mad with its cries.”
“Sounds like fun,” Tabitha said. “How do we capture it?”
“No idea,” Tristan said. “But whatever you do, don’t listen to its song.”
“Will Dorian know to tell Sara that?” Tabitha asked, amazing him by instinctively thinking of her friend first.
She has the bearing of a queen, attuned to her subjects.
The thought had come unbidden. He tamped it down in horror.
“He’ll know,” he managed to choke out.
“You okay?” she asked, glancing over at him.
He nodded, unable to speak.
She was beautiful, even in the dim flash of the street lamps, though he could not identify a single feature that was unusually perfect. Her hair was tidy and dark, but not overly shiny or long. Her features were balanced but unremarkable in their beauty. Her clothing was more elegant than that of her friend, but still impetuously casual, like that of all humans in this realm.
He wished he could isolate the part of her that most intrigued him, so that he could drink his fill of it and let her go.
“Here we are,” she said, pulling her horseless carriage into a small parking lot.
They got out and walked together to meet Sara and Dorian, who were already waiting just outside the glass door of the darkened shop.
“Is she still in there?” Tabitha asked.
Tristan didn’t have to ask, his acute sense of hearing told him that the wailing of the banshee was present somewhere in the structure.
“She’s in there,” he told her. “Before we go in, do you have anything to wrap your ears with?”
“Good thinking, brother,” Dorian said at once.
Tristan glared at him.
His idiot brother and his mercy for these junk fae was the only reason Tristan himself had been ejected from the realm and frozen these many centuries.
Of course, when Dorian had been captured, Tristan had done nothing to save him while he was accused and convicted in one fell swoop.
But Tristan refused to feel any guilt over that.
Sara was already digging through the storage area in the rear of her car.
“I’ve got a couple of scarves,” she said, popping up with a handful of bright fabric.
“It won’t help me or Tristan,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “But give one to Tabitha.”
“Oh this is nice,” Tabitha said, taking a violet colored one. “Why is this crammed in your trunk?”
“To dress up a casual outfit if I get a call to show a house when I’m out,” Sara replied, tying a scarlet scarf around her head, covering her ears.
“Ready?” Dorian asked. “Did you tell her not to listen?”
“Of course,” Tristan said, striding up to the door and passing his hand in front of the knob.
This was a modern human lock with two areas of closure. Each of them popped open quickly for him, one after the other.
As soon as he opened the door, the sound of the banshee increased.
“Come in,” he hissed. “And pull the door shut so no one else hears it.”
He moved in without waiting for a response, but he could sense the others following him.
A glance around the darkened space told him that Tabitha had named the place accurately as a shop, though he wasn’t sure he would call it small.
The center was lined with full bins of fresh fruit and produce of incredible size. There were blueberries as big as marbles, and apples the size of a changeling’s head.
Along one wall, stacks of preserved provisions in tin cans were lined up like soldiers. Along the opposite wall, a false light illuminated a low bin of packages of raw fowl of some sort.
He spotted the banshee, crouched in the back corner near the meats. Electric light shone up from below her pale, angular face, casting shadows that made her bony features look even more emaciated. A midnight black robe hung from her gaunt frame, perfectly matching her inky black hair.
When she saw him, she lifted her chin and howled.
It was a high, throaty wail that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.
He turned back to Tabitha, instinctively moving to protect her.
Though his powers were strong, the sound was still agony to Tristan, he could only imagine what it was doing to the mortal girl.
Her chin was set at a defiant angle, but he could see the pain in her eyes.
He called to the light, pulling it around them like a cloak.
“Calm yourself, hag,” Dorian said, his voice dark as night.
The banshee merely groaned at him and gnashed her too-white teeth.
Dorian’s mortal queen approached the display of meats.
Tristan was taken aback at her expression. Sara was as fearless as her friend.
“To this world, your sorrow brought you,
Sadness called you, agony wrought you," Sara sang.
Tristan was further stunned.
The girl really was a bard. Dorian had said as much, but it made no sense. There was no fae in her that Tristan could sense. Her words were simple.
Yet her voice stirred his blood.
The banshee tilted her head to the side, observing the girl.
“But relief here found you none,
Harshest moon and hottest sun,
Hearts so cold and minds so lame,
You long for home to whence you— “
The banshee threw her head back again and unleashed a cry so sorrowful it penetrated Tristan’s light, so loud it echoed among the cans on the opposite wall.
Sara’s song broke off instantly and she half collapsed into Dorian’s arms.
“No,” Tabitha cried, smashing her way out of Tristan’s light to go to her friend.
The banshee must have sensed the girl’s ruthlessness.
She shot through the air to the other side of the store, crashing into a tower of something called creamed corn. The cans hit the floor like blasts from a shot gun and rolled in every direction.
The banshee sang out another horrid cry, stretching it in to a murderous dirge. The song reverberated in Tristan’s organs as he called the light to himself once more.
The banshee seemed to be drawing fresh energy from this new realm.
But Tristan’s own light was not as strong as before.
The terrible thought that they might actually be defeated began to occur to him.
Then Sara’s voice rose from the din.
She sang a song without words, her voice low and clear.
The pain from the banshee’s song receded.
“What’s happening?” Tabitha murmured.