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

Chapter Three

     Taking a deep breath, I ripped the envelope open and pulled the folded piece of paper out.

Dear Jemma Josephine Niks,

     Do you realize how long it's been since I've seen or written those three words? My God, eleven years have gone by since the last time we've encountered each other. Or well, I encountered your parents, that is. You've been more difficult to find.

     My eyebrows pulled down. Was this guy for real? Who was he? As if reading my mind, the next sentence I read said:

     You know, I wish I could tell you who I am. I'm sure you'd be exceptionally surprised to find out who I am. I would love to see your face when you do. But, alas, I cannot. My identity must remain hidden for the time being. Don't worry, though, we'll meet soon enough. I'll make sure of it.

     Did you know Ancient Egyptian women were only expected to live to around thirty years of age? My Lord, doesn't seem like very long, does it? And you're, how old now, sixteen? Based off their standards, you're almost ancient! And you've spent most of it at this God forsaken orphanage. You poor child, such a meager, unsatisfactory life.

     I frowned. First he said he couldn't tell me who he was and now he was insulting my life? What the heck?

     Such a shame, really. The Niks family line is relying on a sixteen year old girl to carry it on. Oh, your parents were very, very smart—I'll give them that. Using a witch to hide you from me, clever. I've been searching for you for eleven years now, and this whole time you were right under my nose! I would've taken your life when you were five, but your parents were much more cunning than I gave them credit for.

     Wait, what? Witch? Taken my life? I swallowed, leaning away from the letter slightly as I continued to read.

     You've probably guessed by now, but I'll say—or write—it anyway. I'm your parents' murderer. Oh, it's good to get that out in the open. Was really weighing down on my shoulders, that was. Glad to finally get it off my chest. Telling the truth is always an enlightening experience.

     Maybe I've said too much, I don't know. It's not like you know my identity, so this letter won't mean much to the authorities. There'd be no point taking it to them, especially after eleven years of inactivity. They'll never believe you. And it's not like you'll be alive much longer to even convince them. That's right, Jemma: You're next.

Sweet dreams,

The Secret Admirer

     What the heck? I sucked in a breath sharply and stared at the letter with wide, scared eyes. My parents' murderer had just contacted me? My heart pounded against my ribcage, almost painfully. I swallowed and flipped the letter over and over, trying to find some sort of thing that could possibly identify the writer. Something below the sign-off caught my eye.

     Oh, and I suggest you start running now, little red. I do love a good chase.

     My jaw clenched and my heart slowed before starting to pound again. This time I wasn't scared. No, this time I was angry. All that talk about him not wanting me to know who he was, and then he went and wrote that? Either he was just an idiot, or he really did want me to know. I opted for the latter and jumped to my feet, storming for the door.

     When the elevator doors reopened, I was on the first floor. The moment they opened, my eyes locked on Lyle and I stormed over to him. “Who do you think you are?” I shouted at him. I threw the letter at him. “Do you think this is funny?”