He turned away and looked out the window. We sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. "There has never been a healer-turned-death dealer. At least, I've never heard of any." He looked back at me. "I knew that you had some magic of your own—that you could heal—but I never imagined what your natural abilities combined with the power you got from the rituals might create." He let go of my hand.

"You think I can raise zombies?" If I can raise them, does that mean I can destroy them?

"The people in my family I could ask are at the retreat." He shook his head slowly back and forth. "I should never have tried to teach you. Maybe when I did the rituals, I messed them up. Maybe I did something wrong."

He looked so distraught that I put my hand on his shoulder. "You didn't mess up—I survived, didn't I?"

"You did." He leaned forward until his face was inches from mine. His dark eyes were staring at me with smoldering intensity. "And for that, I'm very thankful." He leaned back and his fingers reached out and caressed my cheek. "But..." He left the thought hanging.

Suddenly I could read what he was thinking on his face. "But what if you turned me into some kind of...monster? Some kind of abomination?" I moved back away from him.

"That's not what I was going to say." His voice was soft.

"And what if you did?" I demanded. I looked down at my hands. "I did it, didn't I? I touched the body, and Wanda somehow jumped into it."

"You're not a monster," he said, pulling me into his arms. "You came back to help me find Darla, a girl you barely know. You're brave and, I think, pretty wonderful."

I pulled back and looked into his eyes. He glanced away at first, embarrassed, but then looked directly at me and gave me a reassuring smile. "You're strong and resourceful. We'll get through this together."

I rested my cheek against his chest. The way he looked at me as he said those amazing things made my pulse quicken. No one had ever said such nice things about me. I closed my eyes, trying to savor the moment, but my thoughts kept swinging back to the whole crazy situation we now found ourselves in. If Wanda jumped into the dead man, what jumped into the woman? She screamed like a banshee. "Tell me more about banshees."

Luke's hand came up and stroked my hair. "The spirits we bind for banshees are spirits who have been around a long time. People who were murdered, died tragically, or died suddenly. Their spirits are unable to come to terms with their deaths. They can't move to the other side. After years of roaming the in between, they go a bit mad."

"You only bind spirits of the dead who have been around for a long time?" I asked.

"It would be wrong to take someone who just died. They need a chance to come to terms with their death. They need a chance to move into the light and over to the other side."

"If my mother...if she stays like she is—" My voice choked up.

He pulled away from me and looked into my eyes. "She won't stay like that. She'll eventually get over her grief. One day she'll find her way to the light. I'm sure of it."

How could he be so sure? He told me that many spirits he came across never found the light. My mother was out there now, wandering the in between, mourning the loss of her family. When this was all over—when Darla was safe, and we found Macaven and rest of the men who killed my family, and I'd avenged their deaths—hopefully my mother would be able to move on. If that didn't give her enough peace to cross over, I'd try to find her, communicate with her...maybe I could help her find the light.

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