“Nah. I doubt I’ll have it long. They’re annoying. So. About the opponent.” She dropped to a whisper as she slowly worked her way along the side of the house, keeping as close to the house as the shrubbery would allow. “Do you know what a banshee is?”

“Something that wails. And has to do with death.”

“In essence, it’s the red-headed stepchild of the fairies. Do you know what they are?”

“Like Tinker Bell?”

“Right…” She drew the word out, not agreeing with me so much as bemoaning my lack of magical knowledge.

“I’m new to all this,” I said apologetically.

“Clearly. Right, so usually a banshee isn’t a bad thing. Annoying as all get-out, with their loud, obnoxious wailing at all hours of the night, but usually they don’t do any killing. Their cries are basically a forewarning someone’s about to die. Think of them as Seers. When the person dies, the banshee helps them into Death’s chariot, or so the myths say—I’ve never seen this fabled chariot—and wishes them farewell. So that’s pretty nice.

“Banshees can also use their power to help ease the transition from life to death. This might happen, say, if someone is very sick, won’t ever get better, and is suffering. The banshee will cradle them into the afterlife and onto the chariot. She’s a rather nice lady in times of strife, with a fiercely bad, and mostly undeserved, reputation as a bringer of death. Welcome to being a woman—always blamed for shit going wrong whether it’s our fault or not.”

“So banshees aren’t actually harmful.”

“Usually, no. Once the person dies, the banshee moves on.”

“But this one hasn’t.”

“Look at you, noticing the extreme obvious.”

I opened my mouth, willing a witty comeback, but came up dry.

“Banshees, like anything, can go bad,” Reagan whispered, slowing to a stop as she neared the rear corner of the house. She crouched and waited for me to crouch with her. “They have the power to kill. They can force someone into the afterlife. They don’t even have to put the poor sod on the chariot—they can let the soul they’ve released wander aimlessly. So, she can be a lovely lady, or serious asshole.”

“How does she kill?”

“There you go. Now you’re asking intelligent questions.” Reagan looked out across the grounds. Most of it was wide open, but beyond the back corner of the house, various bushes, trees, and shrubs cut into our visibility. “The easiest way is to don the form of a young woman and lure men to her side. That’s quite easy, as I’m sure you can guess. Once they’re within striking distance, she embraces them, and wrestles them across the line between living and dead.”

“So don’t let her hug you.”

“Yes, obviously. You’re not a hugger anyway, right?”

“I’m socially awkward.”

“Excellent. See? You were made for this gig.”

I got the feeling she was making fun of me, but she was so deadpan that I couldn’t really say.

“She has a couple forms, and she has her wail. The wail cannot hurt you. The creature cannot hurt you from a distance. But she is a glider. A fast glider. Not as fast as a vampire, but faster than you. She’ll launch herself at you, wrap her hands around your head, and muscle you out of this life.”

A shiver skittered across my skin before punching cold through my middle. “What other forms does she take?”

“Young woman, stately middle-aged woman, and an old crone. She’ll be in a lovely dress, twisted sheets that have no place in this century, or some sort of robe. Oh, and occasionally she poses as a washerwoman trying to get stains out of bloody clothes.”

“Uh-huh.” Adrenaline pumped through me. “How do we kill it?”

“How do you kill it? I have no idea. Magic, is my guess. As for me, I will stab my sword through its middle. Or yank its head off and set it on magical fire. Or maybe crush it. I haven’t tried to use my other form of magic on one of these, so that might be fun. I’m anxious to try it out. But worst case, my sword. Ol’ trusty.”

She fell into silence, clearly thinking about the battle to come. I blinked at her.

“So.” She slapped my knee and I jumped. “Ready?”

“But…”

Reagan was up and walking again. “She apparently likes to hang out around the fountain back here. If she’s in the world of the living, she will be visible. But she can cross over, so be prepared for her to wink out. Oh, and keep moving around. I don’t think the crossing is a quick, easy affair, but just in case, you don’t want her disappearing from one spot and popping up right next to you. That’s a sure way to die.”

Adrenaline soaked my body and set my heart to beating at unnatural speeds. Sweat covered my forehead and upper lip, giving me a chill in the nighttime air. Tremors and tingles and all manner of fear-induced issues racked my body.

“Why did you let me come?” I asked with numb lips.

Reagan was a badass powerhouse who’d lived this life for a very long time. I was a goober who bumped around blindly, swimming in the deep end when I wasn’t prepared.

What had possessed me to think I could hang out on the same playing field? To think I could actually help her if we came face to face with danger?

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” she said, blasé. “I’ve dealt with ten times worse. Remind me to tell you about the aswang one day.”

We finally reached the rear corner of the house and got a view of the large, circular fountain, currently turned off. Little patches of trees and shrubs marked the corners of the larger concert area, surrounded by a series of smaller trees and bushes. Beyond those lay the wilder grounds. No other houses or establishments existed for miles.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Reagan said quietly, pulling out her sword.

I collected magic and half wished I had a sword of my own. If nothing else, it would be a great prop to let the creature know I meant business.

“Don’t think about which spell you’ll use,” she said quietly, walking to the center of the concrete area. The back door was behind us, the fountain directly in front of us.

My mental Rolodex stopped spinning.

“Do that balance thing,” she said. “You know, the witch thing.”

My legs trembled and my chest felt strange, heavy and anxious but also desperate to expand. It was like waiting in line to enter a horror house on Halloween, only the horror house had real haunts.

“Training exists to commit spells and combat into your muscle memory,” she said, even now training. How did she have the mental capacity?

Leaves rustling to the right stopped our forward movement.

Reagan didn’t brace herself like I expected she would. Like I had. Her body stayed loose and at ease, holding her sword a little drooped. She didn’t even clench her teeth in anticipation of an attack.

I pried my jaw open.

Silence lay over the scene like a heavy film, suspending us in time, keeping us put while the banshee circled her prey, licking her chops and clicking her claws.

My imagination was in overdrive again. Nothing had happened but a little rustling.

I took a shaky breath as Reagan started forward, each step soft and strategic. Her knees bent. Her eyes darting this way and that. Totally calm.

Next to her, my feet scraped the concrete. My legs moved in jerky fits and surges and my nails were picked to nubs.

The oppressive darkness pressed on us, crushing us to the ground. Pushing against us.

A soft sound, like a footfall, had Reagan stopping again.

“Are you doing that balance thing?” she asked softly, her hand drifting through the air toward me.

I collected my ingredients, stuffing them in the air around me. That part was extremely easy. I did it constantly, often without intending to. But the soft feeling of the world around me was interrupted by my heightened senses, screaming at me that something was here. Watching our progress from the shadows. Her eyes itched the skin between my shoulder blades, and I imagined her poking my temple with a long, pointed claw.

Was that my intuition or my imagination? In times like this, I could never tell.