13. Thirteen #2
“Yeah, yeah.” Ofelia focused on the front of the book. “This first entry was in 1798. That would have been during the big Haitian slave relocation. After that, starting in 1809, refugees voluntarily moved here. This page is dated during a time when relocation would have been against their will.”
“Can you read the name?” Sully pointed toward the top of the page, to where the writing was faded.
Ofelia shook her head. “No, but if I take the book, I have some stuff at home that will allow me to read it more easily.”
“If you take the book?” Sully shifted on the couch. “Does that mean you’re going to steal it?”
Ofelia could have lied. She could have bought herself time to come up with a way to make stealing the book his idea. Instead, she just shrugged. “If I need the book, I’m going to take the book.”
Sully’s lips quirked. “Fair enough.”
She went back to reading and flipped a few more pages.
“This is interesting,” she said after a beat.
“If I’m reading this correctly — and the language is a bit more antiquated than what I’m used to — whoever started writing this journal saw her first banshee here in the city about six months after she arrived. ”
“Does she refer to it as a banshee?”
“No, a wailing woman.” Ofelia lifted her chin, going thoughtful.
“A lot of times, there are different words for paranormal creatures depending on who is speaking about them. Like Bigfoot has been called four or five things. Vampires are still referred to as strigoi in parts of Europe, even though the strigoi and vampires have a lot of differences. They were, of course, born from the same place, however.”
“So, she saw a wailing woman just hanging out downtown?” Sully asked.
“That’s just it.” Ofelia shook her head. “She heard wailing for several nights before seeing the woman. It was outside the house where she was sleeping.”
“You mean the slave quarters.”
Ofelia scowled. Talking about the city’s diabolical relationship with slavery always made her uncomfortable.
The fact that most real estate agents had rebranded slave quarters as guest quarters to make them more palatable in the current climate irritated her to no end.
“I believe that’s what I meant,” she said curtly.
Sully poked her side. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to irritate you.”
“That’s exactly what you meant to do.” Ofelia went back to reading. “She says that she saw wailing women in Haiti and that they were mindless souls who went on rampages and killed people until they themselves were killed. This banshee was different.”
“Different as in she was in control of her thoughts and actions?”
Ofelia nodded. She appreciated it when she didn’t have to lay things out for him. “Which, if true, would mean this isn’t a new occurrence.”
“That depends on how you look at it,” he countered. “It’s not as if, back when Neanderthals were evolving, it happened in one day. It happened over the course of 300,000 to 400,000 years.”
Ofelia’s mouth dropped open. “How do you know so much about Neanderthals?”
He chuckled. “I liked history in school. It was one of my favorite subjects. That and math.”
Ofelia made a face. “I hated math.”
“That’s why we make such a good couple. I do the math, and you do the writing. We’re a perfect fit.”
“Yes, that’s why we work so well.” She lightly patted his cheek, then went back to looking at the book. “You’re right. Pretending that banshees evolving is happening over the course of a few weeks or even years is stupid. It would be an ongoing process.”
“And at first, it would seem like the one banshee evolving is something special when in reality that banshee was simply ahead of the curve.”
“Right.” Ofelia bobbed her head and kept reading. “It says here that the woman who wrote the book saw the banshee multiple times. Then she approached her finally to ask how it was possible that she was a wailing woman and also a … huh.”
“Huh, what?” Sully demanded. “You can’t just stop in the middle of a sentence like that.”
“She believed the banshee was also a witch.” Ofelia lifted her chin and looked around the house again.
There were signs that Shirley was a believer in at least one religion.
When she really considered it, it felt more like Shirley believed in two or three religions.
“Do you think being a banshee is a religion?” she asked.
Sully didn’t know how to answer the question on the face of it. “Um …”
Ofelia sent him a sidelong look. “It’s not a trick question.”
“I know. I’m just thinking.” His expression was hard to read. “Is vampirism a religion?”
“Not the way Pascal does it,” Ofelia replied with a smile. “I’ve seen others treat it that way, though.”
“And there’s pack culture with shifters, which is a form of religion.” He rolled his neck until it cracked. “You know what? It does sort of feel like a religion to me.”
“And there are elements of hoodoo and Wicca in this house,” Ofelia mused.
“What do you think it means?”
“It means that looking at banshees as simplistic creatures who are fueled by grief and rage no longer applies.” Ofelia closed the book and put it on the cushion next to her. “I’m taking that with me when I go, for the record.”
Sully chuckled. “I figured. I’m not too worried about it. Shirley would have to go to the higher-ups to lodge a complaint, and I can’t see her doing that if she’s a banshee.”
“Definitely not,” Ofelia agreed. Her eyes narrowed when she looked toward the front wall that was by the main door. There had to be at least 25 framed photographs on the wall, arranged in one of those artful patterns that always stymied Ofelia. They looked like family photographs. “Hmm.”
She left the book on the couch and moved to the wall.
The photographs were a hodgepodge of old black and white portraits and more recent snapshots.
She focused on the old photographs first and was struck immediately by the number of people who had silver hair and light blue eyes.
Sure, she couldn’t see the color in the photos, but it was obvious what they were dealing with.
“These banshees are breeding,” she said after a beat, dumbfounded. “They’re getting married and having children.”
Sully moved in behind her. “You’re surprised, but given what we’ve uncovered, that shouldn’t be surprising. It’s a biological imperative to want to procreate.”
Ofelia gave him a sharp look.
“I’m not saying I want a million kids to carry on my name,” he assured her, raising his hands in supplication. “I’m just saying it makes sense that if they’re cognizant, at least some of them would want to carry on their lines.”
“And yet we’ve never heard about stuff like this,” Ofelia said, shaking her head. “It boggles the mind.”
“Obviously, they’ve kept it secret. They might even have another name for what they are. It might be one of those things that they just naturally keep to themselves, too.”
“I guess.” Ofelia moved to the last line of photographs. They were the most recent ones. She wasn’t even certain what she was seeing until she had to return to the last photo three times. That’s how long it took for it to sink in. “Zach.” Her voice cracked when she said his name.
Sully, who had been looking at the older photos, moved closer to her. “What?”
Ofelia pointed at the photo that had caught her attention.
Sully looked at it — there were three people in the photo, and one was a teenage kid — and much like Ofelia, he had to stare for a lot longer than should have been necessary.
They didn’t know the teenager. They were familiar with the man he’d grown into, though.
It was obvious once the realization hit him. How could he have missed it?
“That’s Biff,” he said dumbly.
Ofelia nodded, her insides twisting. “Yeah. I think Biff is the son of Shirley Castle.”