The Banshee Cries

7. SAMHAIN

"Shiobban?" I take an uncertain step.

I don't know why I'm afraid to move closer. Besides the usual tingling in my stomach, I feel whenever something strange happens around me I see no signs of danger.

"It's Melissa. It's okay, I think Aiden is..." I look back to where I came from, unsure if I should say dead. "...unconscious," I say instead. "We can go home now."

The humming and self-soothing stops and she starts to raise her head. The torches around us lit themselves as she does. I look around startled that Aiden has found us again but we're alone. I look at my roommate, who is now standing tall, holding a creepy expressionless doll smeared in blood by the hair.

There is another altar behind her but, unlike the empty one from the entrance, this one is full of old books, bones and plants. There is a strong smell of herbs and incense in the room.

Shiobban doesn't look frightened though. Her lips are curling on a lopsided smile and she stares at me intensely.

"Shiobban, what are you doing?"

"Your supernatural sensitive brain hasn't figured it out yet?" Her voice is icy.

I'm not sure what is it that I'm supposed to figure out. But I have a bad feeling I fell into the trap after all. It doesn't look like Shiobban was in any danger.

"Figure out what?"

"That poor bloke you left for dead, he is not the killer."

Oh god, have I killed the wrong person?

"What are you saying?" My voice is shaky and I have a hard time breathing.

"Argh," she rolls her eyes and groans. "For a human like you, you sure are stupid. I don't know why the witches want you so bad."

In blink. "The witches?"

"Yes. Cara's family doesn't own a church. Or at least not this one. I told that to that blithering knob in the hopes you would come rescue me in my sad, sad moment." She pouts.

"So you... you...?" I can't think straight. She disappeared so I would worry. She counted on me to fear for her because I already feel guilty for losing one friend. But for what? Witches? I don't know if she means it literally or if she means it like a religion.

"Blimey! You really are slow. But I guess it's your blood that has its perks not your brain." Shiobban circles the altar and stands in front of the table, flicking through the tick pages of a large book.

"What is so special about my blood."

"Does it matter?" She lifts her chin from the book and I notice the tightness in around her eyes. I can't believe I never noticed before how much disdain her expression held. "You will be dead anyway."

It did matter. It mattered to me. It mattered why I've been led to believe she was my friend. Why there is some sort of cult after my blood? And it matters if it has anything to do with the things happening to me all my life. But I don't ask those questions because, I don't think I'll get the answer. Instead, I circle around smaller questions in the hopes she will answer them, until I can put the pieces together.

"Why Cara? She was your friend."

Her eyes avert mine.

"She was a necessary sacrifice," her voice is barely a whisper. For a second, I think I see sorrow, but her expression changes so quickly I have the feeling I imagined it. I must be trying to humanise a serial-killer is after my blood. "I must have skipped that part on our introduction," she continues in a more cheerful tone. "My family is part of a witch coven. In order to prove my commitment to the order, I need to pass through an initiation. I was supposed to bring souls to Aillén, in preparation for the Samhain eve—"