“Hello, Bettina.”
Bettina pressed her hands to the sides of her face and her mouth dropped open, ready to let out another earsplitting howl.
“No!” I said, jumping forward and slapping my own hand against her mouth. “Sorry.” I rubbed my palm against my thigh. “You’ll just need not to do that here, please.”
Though my new station as head of the Fallen Angel Division meant that I didn’t work with the general demon population any longer, there were a few members—and demon breeds—I kept tabs on. Either because our staffers had issues (Nina, being non–fire retardant in the face of dragons) or the demons themselves had certain powers that made general fraternization difficult.
Bettina was one of those demons.
You see, Bettina Jacova is a banshee. And though people are generally aware of the banshee yell—as in, “Those kids have been screaming like banshees all day”—they fail to realize the seriousness of it. The banshee scream signifies death.
Generally, yours.
Some demons are immune, but others are not.
The UDA found it prudent not to take the chance after we lost half the finance department to our Romanian intern, who failed to mark the box “banshee—deadly” on her intake form. My magical immunity super power allowed me to work with fire-breathing dragons and Bettina with her murderous screams.
Just another perk of being the only nearly normal at the Underworld Detection Agency.
Lucky me.
I sat down across from Bettina, who eyed me nervously. I offered her my most reassuring smile, praying to Buddha, God, and Oprah that she wouldn’t let loose another scream. It was hard enough to cover our clients when two of our staffers went on vacation simultaneously; should the entire group drop dead from banshee screams, well, then the Underworld Detection Agency would be in deep trouble.
“So, Bettina, how may I help you?”
“Well,” Bettina started to say, kneading her fingers in her lap. “I need help. I mean, I think we all might need help.”
I’ll say.
“‘We all,’ as in all the banshees?” I mentally started to scan my inner Rolodex. From my recollection there were only six banshees total in the Greater San Francisco Bay Area. “I suppose we could get some sort of soundproofed bus for—”
“No, not just banshees.” Bettina’s eyes shifted uneasily. “Everyone.” She paused, sucked in a sharp little breath, and cleared her throat. “Ms. Lawson, I was attacked last night.”
I felt my eyebrows rise, and felt the prick of heat wash through my body. “Attacked? By whom—or what?”
Bettina’s eyes started to water; her lower lip trembled. I snatched a few Kleenex from the box and pushed them into Bettina’s hands. “It’s okay, Bettina, you’re safe here. Now, can you tell me exactly what happened?”
“Well, I was leaving my apartment. I live by the ballpark, you know. It’s very loud and”—a twinge of pink bloomed in Bettina’s cheeks—“there’s a lot of general screams, so ...”
So the death-signifying screams of a banshee could be drowned out before entire subsections of San Francisco mysteriously dropped dead. Smart.
“Go on.”
“Well, I was going to get some groceries, and I was walking toward the bus stop. I wasn’t alone, because there was a Giants game going on, so there were tons of breathers.” Bettina blushed and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I meant there were lots of other people around, at first. Most of them went into the stadium so the street emptied out pretty quickly. Even so, I felt like I was being followed.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“That’s the thing. Before I left, I looked out the window to check the weather. I thought I saw someone on the sidewalk looking up into my window, but then the bus came and I guess he got on. I went downstairs and walked to the bus stop myself, and I got that weird feeling again.”
“Like you were being watched?” I supplied, feeling the hairs on my arms prickle.
Bettina nodded. “I was walking and I looked over my shoulder, and no one was there. Then I turned back and someone hit me. Hard.” Bettina’s graying fingers shakily pushed aside her bangs, showing off an impressive gash just over her left eyebrow.
I sucked in a stunned breath. “Oh my. Bettina, I’m—”
“I was down on the ground, and he kicked me, too, right here.” Bettina gingerly rubbed her lower belly. “I was going to scream—I would have, but he caught me by surprise—and he hit me again.”
“Do you know what he hit you with?”
Bettina wagged her head. “I’m not sure. It looked like some sort of pipe.”
“Like a tire iron, maybe?”
Bettina shrugged. “I’m not really sure what those look like.”