The Key Chased the Blade

"So, since when have you seen this lady?" Simon asked.

I clicked onto Google and tapped the keyboard lightly with my fingertips. God, what was I supposed to write anyway? Washing woman? Well, that'd have to work. I typed in "washing woman" and waited for the search to pop up.

"I saw her at Sadie Amala's house before she died," I said. "I also saw her the time when we went to the police to go report the dead birds. I didn't tell you because I thought you would freak out." I swallowed. "I'm sorry for not telling you about that either."

Simon just nodded. He looked a little worried, but also guilty. "I'm sorry for not telling you about having dreams about her. I didn't think they'd be important until this happened."

There was nothing in the Google search relatively interesting; most of the stuff was about women in Washington, but one caught my interest. It was a Wikipedia article on a Scottish fairy. Bean nighe. The washer woman.

I clicked on it.

"Noah, I really didn't think something like this was much of anything," Simon said. I turned my head to look at him. He was worried. "I mean, I don't want to start anything strange, but it is well, a little strange for us both to see her and not really know what it is about."

"I didn't think of you to be the superstitious type anyway," I said. "If you're actually worried about something, this must be legit."

The article was up and we read it.

As the "Washer at the Ford" she wanders near deserted streams where she washes the blood from the grave-clothes of those who are about to die.

"Jesus," I said.

The rest of the article wasn't relevant. It was basically describing the apparition, and it didn't fit the description of what we had both seen. My hands were trembling, so Simon took the mouse and clicked on a link below the article. He clicked Banshee.

"I think I know what this is," he said quietly. "Look at this."

He highlighted "In legend, a banshee is a fairy woman who begins to wail if someone is about to die. In Scottish Gaelic mythology she is known as the bean sìth or bean-nighe and is seen washing the blood-stained clothes or armour of those who are about to die. Alleged sightings of banshees have been reported as recently as 1948" and he also highlighted "In some parts of Leinster, she is referred to as the bean chaointe (keening woman) whose wail can be so piercing that it shatters glass. In Kerry in the southwest of Ireland, her keen is experienced as a "low, pleasant singing"; in Tyrone in the north, as "the sound of two boards being struck together"; and on Rathlin Island as "a thin, screeching sound somewhere between the wail of a woman and the moan of an owl"."

After that I read over the whole thing and discarded the things that were not relevant. Obviously, this banshee appeared in multiple ways. I had seen an old woman, not a young one like the article said it could be, and it hadn't appeared in any other form. But something bothered me when I read that it sometimes took the form of a hooded crow.

"Wait, Noah, look at this," Simon said, and he highlighted another sentence.

" Legend has it that for five great Gaelic families — the O'Gradys, the O'Neills, the Ó Briains, the Ó Conchobhairs, and the Caomhánachs — the lament would be sung by a fairy woman..."

"What does that mean?" I demanded. "Your last name is O'Neill."

"It says that she just sings when a family member of mine dies. I don't really know," Simon said. "I hadn't heard her singing until that one night I went out."

A sudden chill struck me. "Do you think she was predicting your death?"

"Well, if she was, it didn't happen." Simon closed down the windows. "In my dreams, she's always washing my bloodstained clothes, so there couldn't have been a bigger prediction than that, but if I'm going to die, I haven't done so yet."

I jerked my head around to look at him. Simon's face was blank. "What the hell are you saying? You're not going to die, so shut up!"

An uncharacteristically wry grin stretched onto his face, but he said nothing to that. I punched him in the arm. Simon had better not be cracking. I was already cracking.

"We might just have to ask the banshee who's going to die," I said, "like it said in the first article. We should go up to her and ask her who's going to die next, and then maybe we can stop the next murder. Or at least catch the murderer."

Simon frowned. "Do we... really need to though?"

I didn't say anything. I knew what he was hinting at and I didn't like it. He didn't like it either. His expression went so sad I didn't even want to look at him anymore, but I did anyway. He was thinking that if John was really the murderer, we wouldn't have to ask the banshee anything. But he didn't want to say it. He knew it would hurt me and he didn't want to hurt me, but it was too late for that. I was already hurt.

"It's better safe than sorry," I said.

"Where do you think we could find her, then?" Simon asked.

"I don't know," I said. My heart ached, but I pushed it away and focused on the problem. "She can't be too far, though. I had seen her twice at Sadie's house when she and her mom died. We could start there."

"That's a good idea. Do you think we should go out at night?"

"If Dad or Rico will let me stay over for another day." And just as I said that, I heard my phone buzz loudly from the guest room. "Speak of the devil," I said.

I went and grabbed it, and I returned before I opened the message. It was from Dad. I flipped my phone open and looked at the message.

hey, can u stay another nite at simons?

I closed my phone. "Looks like we're going banshee hunting tonight," I said.