“Most of my relatives spend their lives alone, outside of a village, waiting for the call to sing,” he said. “A lucky few find mates and end up moving back to the farm, because again, who else would understand? We never know who’s going to be born a banshee. It skips around, I suppose. My mother’s as human as they come, but my sister Colleen and I both have the voice.”
“Was your mother angry that she isn’t a banshee?” Cordelia asked.
His brows furrowed, as if she’d asked an odd question. “No, it was a bit of a relief for her. She wanted a normal human lifespan with my da. She didn’t want to go on living without him.”
“That’s sweet. Are you the only banshee working for the League?” Cordelia asked.
“I have no way of knowing,” he said. “It says something, though, that they sought me out for this job. Means there can’t be that many creatures like me on the roster.”
Cordelia tilted her head. “And why did you take a job like this?”
“My sister, Colleen, she only just screamed her first death earlier this year. Normally, the family would help her find some spit of land for herself, but things have been a little tight lately. Just a lot of little things that have added up—taxes, my Uncle Fergus wrecked my mam’s van, Da’s been sick and hasn’t been able to work.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This sounds so pathetic coming out of my mouth.”
The corner of Cordelia’s mouth lifted into a sympathetic expression, even as she teased. “All that’s missing is your dog getting sick and your life would be a country-western song. No, wait, your woman would have to cheat on you, too.”
“First, I would have to have a woman,” Brendan said.
Cordelia pursed her lips. “This is a very sad country song.”
He burst out laughing. “Colleen’s desperate to leave. It’s not that she doesn’t love the family, but she’s always been a bit more of a loner, and living in such cramped quarters is downright miserable for her. She needs solitude like other people need oxygen. Well, with Colleen needing to strike out on her own, and money running low, this seemed like the right chance at the right time to step in and help her. Colleen and I have always been thick as thieves. It was hard on her when I left, and I’ve never felt right about it.”
“And now, you’re deeply, deeply regretting your decision?” Cordelia asked.
He nodded. “Precisely.”
There was a soft knock at the door and Dr. Carmody poked his head through the opening. “Hi there, just wanted to check on the patient. Hi, Cordelia. I’m Dr. Carmody, Sonja’s man-friend.” At Brendan’s raised eyebrows, he added, “Sonja says we’re too old for the word ‘boyfriend.’”
Dr. Carmody was just as big as all the men in this town seemed to be, with reddish hair and a strange polished gray stone bracelet that clashed with his sharply tailored dress pants and shirt.
“Nice to meet you. When can I get out of here?” Cordelia asked.
“Right to business, I see,” Will muttered. “I respect that. I don’t see why you can’t leave, as long as your vitals are normal.”
Will paused to slide on a pair of exam gloves. Brendan watched as Will checked Cordelia over with detached professionalism…and he still wanted to slap his hands away from her. He slipped his fingers away from Cordelia’s and sat back in his chair. It couldn’t be healthy for him to feel that way for a woman he’d known for maybe twenty-four hours. And if she was anything like his mam or his aunts, it definitely wouldn’t be healthy telling her he felt all possessive of her, because she’d kick his arse.
“Well, Ms. Canton, you are hereby released on your own recognizance. Get a good meal into you, get a good night’s sleep tonight, and you should be fine tomorrow. If this happens again, I release you into Sonja’s supervision. She will feed you nothing but vegetables and make you watch reality TV in a punitive fashion. And as funny as I would find that, I don’t think that’s what you want. Also, you should know I have told Jillian, Sonja, and your partner that you are not to return to work for at least a week. You need to let your brain and your vascular system recover before you try again. Trust me, I’ve been close to the rift and to that cursed casket. You need to give your body a break.”
Cordelia threw aside the thin, gray hospital blanket. “Has everybody in town been out to the rift site? I thought the place was supposed to be a secret.”
“No, you’ve just spent a lot of time in the company of the biggest idiots in town,” Will told her as she stood up.
The back of her hospital gown was open, revealing a tiny pair of lacy panties as red as sin. Brendan’s mouth dropped open at the sight of her little heart-shaped bum. He should look away. He knew that, but he just couldn’t seem to force his eyes from the curve of her back and the way her waist tapered down at her hips. And saints help him, she had tiny dimples just above her ass. He adored tiny dimples just above a woman’s ass.
Cordelia, on the other hand, seemed to feel the draft and squeaked, her hands going for the flaps of her gown to close it.
“Uh, sorry about that,” Will muttered.
Brendan clapped his hand over his eyes.
He was going straight to hell.
Cordelia was shuffling down Main Street with a determined air, passing a gray and navy building labeled The Ice Cream Depot. She was wearing pants again, which Brendan mourned privately, though he would never tell her so.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked her, hovering at her elbow because he couldn’t shake the feeling she was going to collapse again.
“Yes, Will said to get a good meal,” she insisted. “I don’t think I have it in me to even warm up the food in my fridge. And I didn’t get to finish my pie earlier, so right now, I’m going to make a meal out of some pie.”
Brendan’s eyes narrowed. “And then you’ll go get some sleep?”
“I just took a nap!” Cordelia exclaimed
“A small coma does not constitute a nap, woman.”
“What part of ‘released on my own recognizance’ don’t you understand?” Cordelia demanded.
“I think I miss you being unconscious,” Brendan mused.
Cordelia snorted. As they reached Bathtilda’s, he opened the door and was nearly bowled over by the sheer wall of noise that poured out of the building. The pre-Civil War structure was a bit worn, but sparkling clean from its black and white checkered tile floor to the emerald green pressed tin roof. Mismatched glass cake stands displayed an array of pies on the counter. The crowded booths were close together and lined with cracked green vinyl. A strange mishmash of paintings decorated the walls—a desert landscape, a painting of a gray kitten, an old icon of a Russian Orthodox saint. They had nothing in common aside from each of them involving gold foil.
Cordelia paused at the door. “That is a lot of people.”
“Yes, it is. You sure you’re up for this?” Brendan asked.
Cordelia huffed out a breath, pulling a pair of white cotton gloves from her pocket. “Please stop asking me that.”
“Cordelia, Brendan, hey there!” a voice boomed from across the dining room. Cordelia’s shoulders jerked as Zed Berend jumped up from his booth full of people. The mayor was fully dressed this time, but Brendan couldn’t help but be a little jealous when Cordelia wrapped her arms around his waist.