That Makes Three

Chapter Eighteen

I looked up when Roman closed the door. The wind somehow blew into the room and made a violent shiver pass threw me.

"Here." Peter said, immediately draping a blanket over me. I was relived to find that the material didn't hurt. Flexing my fingers and toes I was glad to find they didn't hurt. I sighed, letting my eyes flutter closed. As soon as I did I saw blood. Pools of it on the floor - splatters of it across the walls. Then peters face without any skin and Romans lifeless body. I quickly opened them again and got up. Banshee? Really? Out of all the things i could be, like a witch - I was the bringer of death. Did that seem right? Did it fit? Realising i didn't know where I was going I sat down again.

"Banshee?" I asked, no one in particular.

"Yeah." Peter said softly, his head resting on my leg. Roman took the bottle and sipped at it. I shook my head.

"It doesn't make any sense." I mumbled, taking the bottle from Romans lips and pressing it against my own.

"Well, maybe not right away. Humans aren't sure what to do when they see you because in old folk lore, you dreaded seeing banshee's. As soon as you did, it meant someone you loved was going to die. Fast forward a couple thousand years, supernatural creatures can blend in now - their blood has been watered down. You don't have black hair or live under a bridge. People are also, if you can believe it, less superstitious. It's just the basic human instinct for survival that's been there for... well, since the beginning of time that keeps them alert. It's how they knew I was a predator." Peter said, taking the bottle from me. I breathed in slowly as the liquid burned its way down my throat.

"Sheeeeeit." Roman said, running a hand through his hair.

"Sheeeit." Peter agreed.

"But if it makes you feel any better, Banshees are a type of fairy. Technically. They are telekinetic and they don't bring death - they're only associated with it because their piecing screams meant death was coming." I took the bottle back and chucked a couple shots. That made sense. Too much sense if you asked me. It certainly explained what I had done to Clementine. Or what I was going to do.

"Which reminds me." Roman said slowly, turning to me.

"What did you see?" My chest tightened at this question and I had too look away from both of them, my eyes welling up. It was too soon.

"I don't want to talk about it. Not yet." I said slowly. Peter held his hands up in surrender and nudged Roman.

"Then we don't have to talk. We'll just sit here quietly - with you." Peter said, snatching the television remote from the table and switching it on.