ShadowSong [Book 3]

Chapter 4 - Shadow Stalking

Banshee resisted the urge to glance at Cryo and instead focused on the man standing on her pedestal.

The buzz-cut, dark haired, middle-aged man was the second-last person in her line, but it didn't feel like it. She'd asked her Shadowspeakers not to let as many people in today, anticipating the appearance of Cryo's stranger, but it was starting to look like the precaution was for nothing. Cryo only had five or six people left in his line, and none of them matched the description she'd scoured the courtyards for earlier.

Maybe the guy just didn't rock up today, mused Banshee, her eyes wandering in Cryo's direction, where he had a young woman speaking with him. Maybe--

"Banshee?"

Starlight. She'd let herself drift off again.

Banshee snapped her attention back to the man in front of her. "Sorry. Was lost in thought."

"I see." The man, Alfred, cleared his throat. "I respect you a lot, Banshee. I respect your complex attitude towards all of this."

It didn't sound like it. He used the same kind of tone that an adult would use for a five-year-old that had just smeared their first finger painting across the wall, but Banshee smiled at him as he swept across the room.

With his straight-backed shoulders and his stiff mouth, she thought he looked a bit like Jason. Or at least, he would have looked like Jason, had Jason been twenty years older, lacked a ponytail, and was still crushed beneath his mother's heel.

Grief suddenly felt heavier in its scabbard.

"There isn't anything complex about it," said Banshee with a sigh, reaching to wrap her palm around Joy's hilt. She left the dagger sheathed, but something about the action, just having her hand resting on the hilt felt... familiar. Like she'd done it a million times before, though it was only a recent habit she'd picked up. "I just care about people. Doesn't matter how old you are or where you live, if I can help then I want to."

Alfred inclined his head. "From the smallest to the biggest things. From one of the worst Manifested this city has ever seen to a box of crayons."

"All the Manifested are equal to me," said Banshee with a shrug. What did this guy want? If she'd been focused, she probably could have worked out his angle, but with her current distraction level it wasn't happening. "Most of them just want to be heard. Even the corrupted ones, though they can't speak and they're drowned under their baser instincts, they still want to be saved."

"How do you figure that?" asked Alfred. "Do they tell you afterwards?"

"Well, most of the time, assuming they know what happened, yes," said Banshee. "But it's mainly the way they move during the fight. They never protect their fragments. They always leave them open, in plain sight, like they want them to be seen and saved. I dunno. It's just what I've always figured. Don't take my word for truth."

Alfred inclined his head a second time. The motion was becoming so repetitive that Banshee could have mistaken him for one of those see-saw drinking birdies that Ericka bought a new one of every few months.

"I will take your words under advisement, Banshee."

"Appreciated," said Banshee, dragging her gaze down from the ceiling. If Cryo hadn't signalled by now, he likely wasn't going to. She straightened and gave Alfred her full attention. "Is there anything else I can help you with? You're second last in line and I've got a fair bit of time left sooo?"

"Well, given that we have time, what would you consider to be the most important quality of a Luminary?"

Banshee gave it a moment of thought. "I guess it'd be that they--"