A Banshee's Wail (The Banshee Curse #1)

Chapter Two

SLEEPING AND I, we had an agreement. See, it agreed to come to me for about half the night, and then when the end of my nightmare came around, it would leave. This time, however, it left the tears with me. I woke up much the same as the day before, but this time my cheeks were still damp with the saltiness of the stupid tears. I wiped the salty water away angrily and glanced around the still-dark room. Everyone else was sound asleep, and me? Well, I was as awake as a kid hyped up on sugar.

     Throwing the sheets off, I sat up and squinted at the alarm clock tiredly. I had well over an hour until the others were going to wake up, which left me to either stare at the ceiling until it was suitable for me to actually be up, or I could get ready now and just wait downstairs for Sam. I opted for the latter and made my way to the bathroom as silently as I could, cringing when the door squeaked its way closed. I needed to remind the Head Mistress that our hinges needed to be oiled.

     About ten minutes later, I was towel drying my hair and wiping the steam away from the mirror so that I could get a good look at myself. My eyes were still red, but at least my irises didn't look like green Christmas ornaments anymore. The shower had actually given my really pale skin some pink color, but the only thing it had done for my hair was make it look dark and straight. I huffed and yanked a brush through the tangles as best I could before I pulled the damp red strands into a high ponytail and readjusted my half-sleeved shirt.

     Then I was slipping on my flats and making my way to the first floor lobby, the book my English class was reading in one hand and my bag on my shoulder. I dropped my bag next to the chair Lyle had been occupying last night and grabbed the remote to turn on the news—you know, for background noise—before settling into the seat and opening the book. I wasn't behind or anything, I just figured I might as well get ahead while I still could. A few minutes later, though, the news distracted me.

     “Today marks the eleven year anniversary of Grant and Dianna Niks's deaths,” the news anchor was saying. His words tugged my eyes from the book to stare up at him, my mouth slightly open. I couldn't remember, but judging from the way the news talked about my parents' murder every year, I figured my parents had been important people. Just not important enough for me to not be in an orphanage. “Eleven years and they still haven't found their killer. Can you believe it, Hillary?”

     “Actually, I can't, Robert,” Hillary responded, the camera panning out the show her as well. “Can you imagine what their daughter, Jemma Niks, must be going through, though?”

     I didn't catch Robert's reply, though, because I was too busy rifling through my bag for my agenda. When I found it, I flipped it open to today's date and paused, eyes wide. January 15th, I read, swallowing hard. It suddenly occurred to me why I'd been having my nightmare more often than usual. My subconscious had been watching the date slowly crawl closer and closer until it'd finally arrived, trying to alert my consciousness. Of course, I hadn't even thought to connect the dots.

     I leaned back in my seat and pressed my hand to my mouth, horrified. I'd forgotten the anniversary of my parents' murder. Who did that? Me, apparently. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, forcing back the tears that wanted to fall so badly. I'd already woken up crying this morning, I didn't need to make my eyes any puffier than they already were. I heard the springs on the couch groan as someone sat down, but didn't open my eyes.

     “Something the matter, Jem?”

     I opened my eyes, revealing Derrick lounging on the couch. I debated on whether I should tell him what was bothering me or not, but figured it couldn't hurt anything. I mean, it was Derrick we were talking about—not his brother Lyle. “I forgot about the anniversary of my parents' murder,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from trying not to cry.