Page 2 of Backwoods Banshee

Cole was the group member Adam liked the least. The feeling was mutual, but he’d promised Vic he’d play nice. Cole was a bigger guy. He usually carried a faint odor of pot and his hair was never the same color two times in a row. Tonight he wore a shirt that read Don’t Be a Dick and he’d dyed his hair a bright aqua green. Feeling Adam’s gaze, Cole turned, shot Adam a grudging nod of respect, then went back to watching the stage.

Vic was bobbing along to the music, and Adam wondered if it would be rude to put his earbuds in. They were noise-canceling; he’d brought them as a contingency, just in case the crowd got to him.

Cathedra was miles better than MUD, and people packed the space, dancing and swaying along. The lights, a combination of strobes and beams, lit the details like silent lightning strikes. The bar at the back of the space was doing a brisk business.

The smell held a blend of bodies in motion, booze, and the occasionally sweet dose of a vape pen. Something harsher occasionally floated through the air, the acrid taste of a drug Adam didn’t recognize.

A fresh tremor started at the edge of his senses, a buckling in his psychic defenses. Being in the crowd was like standing in the middle of several shouting matches. He wanted to hear just the music but couldn’t tune out the other sensations.

He poured more of his will into his wards and resisted the urge to hug himself or run the tip of his thumb over one of the scars on his arms. Recently made by a knife and knit by magic, they were fine lines, but they pulled when he flexed. The need to scratch them was a new tick, something he tried to keep from doing in public or when Vic could see.

The music ground on, a mix of guitar and ethereal vocals. It might be Adam’s style, if he gave it a chance, but he knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t, since he’d forever associate it with what he was trying not to feel.

He concentrated on Vic, who looked unburdened.

Adam felt a pang of something spiky and warm, a bit of jealousy, but knew it wasn’t fair.

This was what Adam deserved, not because of what had happened to him, but because of what he’d done.

With a smile, Vic turned toward him. He leaned in, close enough to kiss, and said in Adam’s ear, “You said you’d be okay.”

“I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

They were practically shouting.

Vic put his arms around Adam and reached into his back pocket. He almost blushed with the intimacy of it. Vic tucked the earbuds into Adam’s ears. He kissed Adam’s cheek and went back to enjoying the show.

Adam smiled.

He could still hear the music, but now dampened, it didn’t press in. He could push the feelings and sensations of the crowd away.

Another song, this one with more guitar, a little closer to the rock or metalcore he loved, began. He was just starting to get into it when a guy stumbled onto the stage. He didn’t seem dangerous or different, maybe just drunk or stoned by the way he shambled.

The crowd gaped. Like them, Adam couldn’t tell if it was part of the show. Cathedra didn’t seem to notice him until the rest of the band stopped playing. The drummer stood up, ready to intervene.

A security guard made his way toward the stage.

The guy opened his mouth and screamed.

Cathedra looked terrified.

The noise went on. It wasn’t music, not exactly, but still, it was a song, something jagged and broken that scraped along Adam’s nerves. It shrieked through his bones, like a train stopping too hard. He’d heard this before, but never up close. It was always at a distance, in his dreams.

The song of the Between.

Across the theater, people fell in waves.

Adam turned to Vic, who was already slumping. Catching him with a grunt, Adam lowered him to the ground.

Vic didn’t stir, not even when Adam pinched him.

At least he was breathing.

Jodi and the others were also down.

He could feel the song trying to press in, to overcome his wards and the meager protection offered by the earbuds.

Adam was the only one still standing. Even the bartender, his till open, had slumped to the floor.