Chapter 3: Some are fallen, to disobedience fallen, […] from heaven to deepest hell. –  V, 541

‘Surprising’ isn’t quite how Holland would describe the current situation at Pine Grove Tech. 

As predicted, Sawyer did show up only a few minutes before the bell – with Rhys McArthur. Well, getting out of his truck and giving the creep a fist-bump, a smile and a wave as he drove off again. 

Holland could spot that particular nervous demeanor a mile off: Sawyer Haines not only has a crush on a guy, but Rhys of all people. Obviously, there’s A LOT she hasn’t caught up on yet.

Sawyer just swanned in, a goofy smirk on his face which caused Miles and Kisho to give her twin looks of ‘See?’. The dweeb stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her and, for a moment, looked like he’d wanted to bolt to catch back up with his demented crush. 

Which she guesses she’s partly to blame for. She did kind of up and move with little more than a moment’s notice. 

But he’d been perfectly sweet when he’d gotten over the initial shock of seeing her again; even going so far as to hug her tightly, kiss her cheek and say that he’s so happy she’s back. 

None of it had felt like some kind of setup to a rekindling romance, which Holland had been thankful for.

The rest of the day had passed by in a blissful haze. Sawyer hadn’t offered up any info on the Rhys-situation, and Miles and Kisho hadn’t asked. So, neither had she. She had spent the day realizing just how much she’d missed the California sun on her skin. College in the Pacific Northwest definitely had aesthetic appeal, but she isn’t built for all that rain. 

It had all definitely been business as usual – except for a new girl on the soccer team. 

In the past, Holland wouldn’t have taken notice of her, but her shaggy haircut, piercings and the way she’d definitely been checking Holland out while they were changing, made it hard not to.

“Who’s she?” Holland finds herself asking Georgie Madden, her fellow winger.

“Elisapie Saunik. Lissie. She came about a month ago. Plays striker.” Lissie looks over at them, then, prompting Georgie to wave at her and Holland to smile.

They go through drills after their coach welcomes Holland back and promptly benches Georgie’s winger partner in favor of Holland. 

The girl looks miffed and just glares at her when Holland tries to apologize. She perks up after a few words from Lissie, though, which is curious in and of itself.

Then, during strike practice (a near-perfect session), Lissie misses the goal box completely. 

Holland doesn’t pay it too much mind, what with being nervous about her own strike accuracy. She hadn’t played much soccer at the other school. 

But then the other girl suddenly stops, mid-kick, and a strangely blank look settles on her face.

“Lissie?” Coach calls, jogging over.

Her face still empty and eyes staring at nothing, Lissie takes off, in the direction of the trees – and Holland takes on a dead sprint after her. 

Behind them, she can hear her teammates calling her name, but she’s seen enough of this town to know that when new people act strangely, you take it seriously. Together, they duck into the woods.

***

“Nah, man. I honestly think the whole thing needs to be replaced.”

Rhys sighs heavily. He was afraid of this, but he’d also promised Sawyer he wouldn’t give Damien any trouble. So, if Damien says ‘replace’, he replaces.

“Listen,” Damien says, leveling with him, “I understand the old mechanic’s instinct to salvage everything salvageable, but we can afford to do a replacement here and there. Just have Hayley log it into the system and order the part. The rest looks great. You’re a natural, and a hard worker. Thanks, Rhys.”

He nods in acknowledgement, still not knowing what to do with compliments. 

Damien is a solid guy and he’d been great about giving Rhys a job at his restoration yard. He’s always loved cars, and it’s not like he’s qualified for much else. 

He’s been working here in Damien’s absence for a few weeks now, having been hired over the phone at the recommendation of the youngest Sutherland, Hayley – who had come back after the whole raid-thing and is possibly scarier than Patrick and Damien put together.

So, he toddles off in the direction of Hayley’s office, not looking forward to her chronic sour expression, but making peace with it. That is, until a particularly sonorous scream cuts through the oppressive stillness. 

Logan?

But it can’t be. She’s in France. 

Someone new?

Without waiting for it to make more sense, Rhys is off like a shot, shifting as he runs. 

In his chimera form – which, unlike shifters, is mostly humanoid, unless other specific quirks are needed – his senses are even sharper, and he realizes he’s following a familiar scent, although it’s mixed with one he doesn’t know. He ducks under a last branch, only then finding that he’s come here alone. Seems the Sutherlands were serious about retiring. He does find a familiar face, though. 

“Holland?”

He notices something at her feet, where she’s standing next to someone else. This must be the unfamiliar scent he’d picked up. 

She looks up to meet his eyes, but looks away again as though dismissing him completely. He guesses that’s fair.

Before Rhys can get close enough to investigate, he feels something cold against his arm. 

He doesn’t even need to look for that nose to have all the fear and apprehension bleed out of him and be replaced with clarity. After how strong he’d come on this morning, he’d been scared that maybe he’d scared Sawyer off, but him just being here for Rhys has him sure they’re alright. 

When Rhys does look at him, though, Sawyer’s eyes, still their beautiful and clear blue even in his wolf-form, are on Holland and the new kid. They, in turn, have their eyes on what is now obviously a dead body. 

It must’ve been the new kid who screamed. 

They’re a Banshee, too.

“Lissie,” Holland says her name gently. “Lissie, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re just––”

“A Banshee,” Lissie finishes for her. “I’m a Banshee. I know. We should call the police.”

“We have a friend on the force,” Rhys adds. “He would’ve heard you. He’s… like us.”

Lissie nods before turning away and going to lean against a nearby tree. Holland follows her while Sawyer noses at Rhys’s hand to turn him away.

When their eyes meet, Sawyer gives a few soft, heartfelt whines, eyes brimming with concern. 

Rhys knows they’re both thinking about his sister. But instead of judgment, Sawyer just wants to spare him more pain.

God, Rhys wants to kiss him.

“I’m okay,” Rhys promises instead, slipping a reassuring hand into the fur just behind Sawyer’s ear.

Glancing back, Sawyer seems to decide something. 

Rhys follows his eyes and sees that Holland has her head bowed close to Lissie’s, talking soothingly. The two men aren’t needed. Then, Sawyer’s leading them both on, back through the woods, in the direction of the restoration yard. As they walk, Rhys cards his fingers lightly through Sawyer’s fur, fighting to keep from leaning himself entirely against his flank.

***

She doesn’t feel the hot water on her skin, but it must be scalding because she hasn’t gone near the cold faucet. Instead, Logan lets it drench her, run through her hair, making sure it’s all nice and wet before applying more shampoo at once than she ever has in her entire life.

Try as she might, it’s impossible to keep her eyes open throughout, and every time they close, she’s back in that alley. 

Lane had made quick work of it; shoving the crumpled body into a metal garbage can, the head following right after they’d set the patchy, pink-dyed hair alight. 

The flames had been a bright and definite green, sending smoke into the cold air reeking of death and rot, and leaving Logan’s mind reeling. Clearly, that’d been some kind of supernatural, and Lane had just killed them like it’d been another Tuesday afternoon.

They’d whipped out a cigarette, then, and lit it on the flames licking up out of the trash can, before strolling back up the alley. Logan hadn’t known what to say to them. But the fear and overwhelming judgment had probably been evident on her face because Lane had smirked at her. 

As they’d passed by, the smoke they’d blown in her direction had made her face contort in disgust. It smelled just like the burning body. 

They'd only chuckled as she’d jerked away from them, turning up the road in the direction of the house – leaving her to be the only witness to their atrocity.

Now, Logan is scrubbing every inch of herself to get the smell of that smoke out of her skin and hair. 

Even after leaving her arms raw and her scalp in pain, though, when she sniffs at her hair it’s still there. Clinging to her like the unease that floods through her every time she thinks of Lane Laube.

And, naturally, Logan can’t catch a break. Not even after the day she’s had. 

Sleep brings her nothing but confused dreams of darkness and cold, shot through with familiar whimpers of pain and fear. Try as she might, she can’t get closer to whoever clearly needs her. Her voice won’t even work here, leaving her utterly powerless, for what is a Banshee without her scream? 

The final straw is a vision of a skeletal figure jerking her awake as a searing pain rips through her chest.