"Someone's going to die!" she said. "The banshee ... it told me. Someone in my family is going to die!"
Hellboy sighed, kissed Liz on the forehead. There was nothing he could say.
"Bitch!" Liz spat. "That bitch! It knows, it knows about my family, and it's teasing me!"
Hellboy looked up at the flaming thing a few feet above them. The banshee spun in the air, twisting and thrashing as the flames ate into its ghostly self, and he could feel no pity. "Yeah, I think it was," he said. "But now it's time to ask it a question or two."
He set Liz down and delved into his belt pouches.
"What are you looking for?" Liz asked. She stayed close to Hellboy, reluctant to lose contact with him. He could feel her fingers around his arm, her skin hot against his.
"I've got it here somewhere." Hellboy did not need to check to see if the ghost was still there; he could hear its cry, see the flames flickering across the ground, and he could even smell it. He had never smelled a ghost before. That's one of the things he liked about his job: no two days were the same.
"Er ... HB?"
Liz's voice told him there was something terribly wrong. He looked up.
The banshee had stopped screaming and was now smiling. It was a grotesque expression; the grimace had suited it more. Its melted eyes were sliding down its cheeks, bloody sockets aflame, and fire curled from its ears and nostrils. The few teeth that remained in its mouth dripped flame like thick saliva.
"Oh crap," Hellboy said.
The banshee came at him. Air rushed into its mouth and through its hair, agitating the flames and giving it a whole new roar. Hellboy turned and ran away from Liz, hoping to lure the spirit after him. He still dug in his belt, looking for the binding charm given to him by the African witch doctor back in the '70s. He was sure he still had it — couldn't remember using it, at least — but each pocket he delved into gave him nothing.
He could still hear the banshee behind him, so he ran hard. He left the path and clomped across the damp grass, heading for a huddle of large rocks that shone with reflected moonlight. He was glad the park was abandoned. That meant he could do whatever he wanted to the spirit bitch.
"Come on," he whispered. "Come to Hellboy, come on, you flaming old hag, come — "
The banshee struck him between the shoulders, driving hot fingers into his skin. He felt nails puncture his flesh, pretty sharp for an apparition. He pretended to fall, cried out in false pain, and as he rolled across the grass he brought up his hand. The eyes were resting in his palm. The old witch doctor had told him they were from a river demon, gouged out a century ago and fossilized from being buried with the bodies of a mother and her stillborn child. They bound spirits, the witch doctor said, and they held that power between them, an overwhelming magnetism. Hellboy dropped one under his tongue and readied the other.
The banshee came at him again, wailing through its terrible smile. With his sidearm Hellboy was a terrible shot. With the fossilized eye of an African river demon, he was spot on. He lobbed the eye, and it sailed straight into the banshee's throat. Its screech was cut off into a cough, its burning eye sockets went wide, and it clasped its hand to its neck. It gulped and swallowed.
"That's it for you," Hellboy said. He stood, reached for the banshee, and threw it down at his feet.
It tried to escape, and he let it. Still flaming, the banshee rose and scurried off across the grass, fast at first, then slowing, then coming to a stop before tumbling back to Hellboy's feet. It took off and rose into the air, streaming fire behind it, but it fell back down. Left or right, however hard it ran or flew, it would roll or fall back against Hellboy's steady legs.
The banshee turned to him at last, and although its eyes were ruined, he could see the fear that had appeared on its face.