The Banshee's Revenge

The Banshee's Revenge - By Victoria Richards

Prologue

The Celtic goddess Morrigan had never understood human behavior.

In truth, she'd never really tried. After all, she wasn't the one who created them. She'd been perfectly content all those thousands of years ago with things being the way they were--simple, uncomplicated, and human free.

But her wishes and desires were ignored, and when the gods and goddesses had argued over which sections of the world they wanted for themselves, she'd picked the one with the least amount of creatures on it.

It didn't stay that way for long.

Ireland and the surrounding areas had flourished.

There were times when Morrigan felt a deep love for those in her care, times when she'd made short appearances on the mortal plain just to allow them the pleasure of seeing her, or to sort out some trifling problem they had. It had thrilled her when people referred to her as Morrigan, The Goddess of War and Strife. Occasionally, she'd even found one or two of the male warriors attractive enough to bestow her kiss on.

But as times changed and people evolved, she made less frequent trips to the mortal world. It wasn't worth the hassle, and they were always so keen to fight or bicker or blow each other up. Only in cases of great hardship did Morrigan interfere.

Mostly, the goddess slept and listened to the murmurings of the world below her.

Until now.

Something had changed in the small kingdom that was hers to watch over. The whispers of those in her dimension who acted as her servants--Reapers, elves, fae, and the mighty family members of Death clouded her dreams, causing her to toss and turn. Two names were being chattered about constantly: Toby Williams and Jacqueline Huston. Word of their exploits as a wizard and half banshee rolled through her slumber, and she processed them, understanding that the wizards were about to wage a war against the woman who appeared to have more power than any of them.

Yes, it was disturbing, but not worth waking up over.

Then the whispers in her dreams had become louder, and the cries of outrage from the Reapers echoed in the dark corridors of her palace leading to her bed chamber. The problems being caused by this half banshee were growing and throwing the balance of life and death out of balance. Jacqueline Huston was out of control and had killed one of the members of the family of Death.

Unfortunately, this particular Death was one of Morrigan's charges.

A second problem arose, striking a fretting chord with the Reapers. A few humans whose time on Earth was at an end were not dying. The moment of expiration would occur, but their life essence languished inside the mortal shell, not providing them the peaceful release of death. In human terms, these pitiful creatures that could not die were nothing more than zombies.

What did it all mean?

The answers were unclear but everyone seemed to think the new problem was somehow related to Jacqueline Huston, too. And where was their goddess, their beloved Morrigan?

It fell to Azreal, her fairy hand maiden, to awaken Morrigan from her four hundred year sleep.

"Something is wrong, my lady." Azreal twisted her hands together, nervous about waking the goddess whom she both feared and revered. "You must attend to the needs of your domain."

"I know, Azreal. Rest your mind," Morrigan said, arising from her bed. Her waist length brown hair swung loose and free, and she pushed a strand of it back as she addressed the timid hand maiden. "I would have woken soon anyway. Frantic voices keep disturbing my sleep."

Azreal bowed her head as Morrigan glided past. The goddess's dressing gown was a fine, silver material that fit her like a second skin, showing off her slim figure. The dress caught the light of the sun as Morrigan pushed open the doors leading out to her courtyard. She ignored the beauty of the garden and headed straight for the small scrying pond in the courtyard's center.

"Reveal," she whispered, looking into the still water.

Immediately, the pond bubbled and images flickered on its surface. She observed them a moment, a slight frown on her pale face.

"I thought I'd taken care of this half-banshee thing four hundred years ago." Morrigan stood and paced, her hair swirling about her. "But I suppose nature always finds a way to provide us with some new form of chaotic entertainment."

"Is it true? What the others are saying?" Azreal dared a quick look at the goddess. "Did this woman really steal the essence of one of the Deaths?"

"Indeed she did. She has incredible strength."

"But how is that possible?"

"Ah, now that is the puzzle, isn't it?" Morrigan sat on the marble bench next to the pond. "What are your thoughts on it, Azreal?"

"I understand why she is half banshee and half human. She died for an instant, and her wizard husband saved her, though it cost him his life. Coming back from death is what caused the banshee part of her to surface and her husband's act of love also endowed her with extra magical powers." Azreal twisted her hands again. "If she had just stayed dead, she would have completed the assignment that is part of her family's legacy. She would have become a full banshee whose job it is to reap the souls of her kinsman when their time comes. But as a half banshee, she's in between worlds."

"All that you say is true, but it doesn't explain how this woman could take on one of the Deaths and absorb its essence. Reapers aren't able to do that," Morrigan pointed out. "There is something more with this woman, something more that gives her extra power."

"That's unheard of!"

"It is an oddity."

"There are whispers, my lady," Azreal said, bowing her head, "that perhaps the woman is as strong as you. Members of the family of Deaths are worried that they will be taken over just as the Irish Death was."

"I am a goddess!" Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Jacqueline Huston is still a bug under my thumb, and the Deaths have nothing to fear. I will address this problem."

"As you say," Azreal nodded. "My loyalty to you shall not waver."

The hand maiden fell silent and Morrigan turned her attention back to the pond.

A familiar face surfaced in the water. She couldn't hold back a small snort of disgust at seeing it. Gwydion. The oldest and cruelest of the wizards, his heart was full of rage, darkness, and…to her surprise, something new. Fear. For the first time in his long life, Gwydion was afraid of something.

Good. It's about time!

Curious, Morrigan watched the image in the pond change, revealing another wizard. He was much younger than Gwydion, but there was strength and resolve in his face which made the goddess's heart beat faster. She leaned closer to see his features, pleased at how handsome he was and struck by a certain familiarity. Once upon a time this man would have tempted her to bestow a kiss on him, but she sensed his heart belonged to another.

The half banshee.

The wizard's love for Jacqueline emanated from the pond and with it came the hint of old magic.

"Ah," Morrigan breathed softly, her heart tripping with excitement. "I remember now. I bestowed the kiss of the goddess on your line long ago, wizard."

The image changed again.

"There you are my little banshee," Morrigan whispered as Jacqueline's face came into view. "Let's see where your extra powers come from."

The goddess placed her delicate finger on the image in the water and closed her eyes. She listened to the hum of energy filling her mind with Jacqueline's secrets.

"That explains it." Morrigan's blue eyes snapped open in surprise. "Now I understand Nature's plan."

"Plan?" Azreal asked.

"This is truly an anomaly that has never occurred. It's extraordinary actually."

"What do you mean? You've dealt with a half banshee before. Why is this one different? And why are the souls of some humans not dying?"

"Because she isn't collecting them. They have no place to go but back into the body. But there is more to it, more to her powers…" Morrigan trailed off, knowing Azreal sometimes talked a little too freely. It wouldn't do for the other Reapers to know what was going on just yet. They might take action before she was ready for them to. Not to mention that another problem had just been revealed to Morrigan, one that definitely was for no one's eyes but her own. "Azreal, I will be traveling to the human realm. Please let the others know that I am awake and taking control of the situation."

Azreal scurried out of the room, leaving the goddess to her thoughts.

"A most interesting problem," Morrigan murmured to herself. "I only hope this banshee's lover can save her."

She ran a hand across the image of Jacqueline's face in the pond.

"Because prophecy or not, I would hate to kill you."

Morrigan glanced over her shoulder, making sure Azreal was still out of sight. Then she turned her attention back to the scrying pond.

"Show me him," she said, the coldness in her voice a reflection of her feelings toward the one she sought.

The pond obliged by showing a cave cut deep into a rocky cliff overlooking the sea. This she expected to see, but what was unexpected, what heated her blood in anger was the sight of the huge boulder she'd had placed in front of the cave lying on the beach below, waves crashing all around it. Her enchantment had been broken.

"Damn him," she whispered. "What have you been up to, you old fool?"

She ran a hand through the image, distorting its features so no one else could view it, and contemplated what to do next. This explained so much.

Merlin was free.