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

Chapter Nine

     “No.” He glanced away from my eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you didn't even know where you were going and you left the academy?”

     I shrugged and turned to start down the sidewalk. “Yeah,” I muttered, watching the streetlights flicker on one by one. Cars drove back and forth down the street, still too early in the evening for people to be at home asleep. “I was planning on wandering around for a while until I could figure out where a good place to hunker down and get a job would be.”

     “Were you planning on becoming a truck stop waitress or something? 'Cause I think that's the only thing a high school dropout can get nowadays.”

     I glared at him from the corner of my eye. “Probably not even that,” I relented, sighing. “But I figure the guy after me would eventually leave me alone now that I've left the academy.”

     “That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

     “Shut up.”

     “I'm just saying. He murdered your family, Jemma. Figuring he'll leave you alone now that you've left your only safe haven is a bit stupid.”

     “I said shut up.”

     “I'm just saying.”

     “Please—”

     “No.”

     “Fine.”

     I let out a groan and buried my face in my hands. The stupid jerk was as stubborn as I was. How did I not know this sooner? Why'd I tell him I was leaving in the first place? Not telling him would've saved me a whole lot of trouble. I sighed and dropped my hands finally, turning my eyes up to glare at him. Only, my eyes didn't make it that far.

     On the opposite side of the street stood a guy around my age, probably nineteen or so. Normally I wouldn't have noticed him since he didn't have anything that would make him stand out. He looked to be my height, maybe a little taller, with light brown hair that was sticking up thanks to the wind blowing ever so helpfully. His attire consisted of a hoodie and jeans with sneakers. The complete definition of normal—except for the fact that he was staring.

     At me.

     Chills splintered ice shards down my spine and I cupped my elbows in my hands. Something was off about this guy, but I couldn't tell what. Heck, the simple fact that he was staring at me should've been enough to give me the creeps, but that wasn't it. He could've simply overheard the argument Lyle and I was having and looked over, at the exact same time I'd dropped my hands and caught him watching. Except for the fact that when he noticed that I was staring back, he didn't look away quickly in chagrin. He just kept staring.

     I was starting to feel queasy and my knees were starting to weaken. I grabbed onto Lyle's arm and held on for dear life, never removing my gaze from the guy's across the street. When I clutched at Lyle's arm, though, the strange guy followed my movement and broke our little game of who could stare at the other the longest. Which effectively broke whatever spell that he'd had over me. It returned, however, when he returned his eyes to my own a moment later.

     He raised an eyebrow, a small twitch of the lips indicating he found my current predicament amusing. He took one hand out of his hoodie pocket and extended an index finger, pressing it against his lips. The whole time, his eyes told me he was silently laughing at me. Then he dropped his hands, and his eyes, and proceeded down the street in the opposite direction. Not once looking back.

     As he walked away, I was finally able to suck in the breath I hadn't noticed I'd been holding. My heart beat rapidly against my ribcage, reprimanding me for withholding oxygen from it for so long. I loosened my grip on Lyle's arm, wincing when I realized that I'd left marks on the sleeve of his shirt—which meant his skin probably had it a bit worse.