#c winter

It started off as nothing too out of the ordinary. Random words and whispers were heard now and again causing Winter to look around her surroundings with a curiosity that would never be satiated. But as time passed more and more occurrences started happening. Out of nowhere she would hear full on conversations or rants that wouldn’t stop, sometimes these conversations overlapping with others. She would frantically look around in hopes of finding a source but one never seemed to come and things only seemed to grow worse. Flashes of ghosts she hadn’t been able to see before would suddenly pop up in front of her only to disappear again as if they were playing tricks or trying to scare her to death.

The sudden appearances along with the multiple conversations going on in her head was becoming too much for her to handle. Pain was starting to set in, a dull ache that only seemed to multiply while mixing in with the various voices running through her mind. It was making everything harder in the long run. She was running into people as she tried to make her way back to her hotel room, stopping now and again to close her eyes and try to breathe through one particular screeching rant that she couldn’t push away, but it wasn’t long before Winter realized that the closer she got to her hotel the worse the voices became in size and volume.

She had to go another way. The ‘where’ was the problem though. In no shape to drive, there was no way she could make it to best friend’s house and Winter didn’t know anybody else in this town well enough for her to randomly show up at their place. Hell, she didn’t even know where anyone else lived. She had turned herself around though and was working on making her way out of Worm’s Row, through the woods, and into the Downtown area. There was no telling how long the medium had been walking trying to find some sort of salvation before she just couldn’t anymore. 

The Commons ended up being her resting place, a bench right near the edge of the park to be exact. Winter stumbled onto the seat and bent over, her elbows resting on her knees while she buried her face in her hands. “Leave me alone.” She whispered the words first, the voices only becoming more prominent as she concentrated on them more, making her repeat her previous words in a much louder tone. “Leave me alone!” Who cares who heard her at this point. She sure didn’t.

Leave me alone! 

Distressed as the voice was, it gave Regan something to wrap her thoughts around and pull her free of the thing that had overtaken her. It masqueraded as death, but it couldn’t be. Death would never do this to her. She tried to tighten her focus, knew she needed to find out if someone was being harassed or in danger, but she was being pulled in so many directions. There was a dead shrew two feet below her. A bird plucking a worm from the ground and swallowing it whole. Her brain felt like it was going to ooze down her ear canals. She ran by someone, another someone. For all she knew they were dead. Everything was coated in it. The attack had come suddenly. Just as it had with Beau. She knew what had to be responsible: Siobhan, and every crawling, unsanctioned emotion that came with her.

She followed the voice like it was a string passing through her hands in the dark, all surrounded by labyrinthian death. The bench blurred beneath it. Regan stood, dazed, and needed a moment to get her eyes to accommodate to what was actually in front of her. A woman, though not being harassed. She was alone, actually. Curled in on herself and away from the world. It had been her, right? The one who called out?

“Was someone here?” Regan’s eyes narrowed and she looked around. She barely even saw the woman or the bench. It got lost, swallowed again. Instead her skin went numb and her body felt strange and out of her control, like she was a flayed animal. She felt all of it. There was a deer in the woods behind her, vultures picking off its exposed entrails. A tree next to the bench was dying, trunk overtaken by bulbous galls. She had stepped on an anthill. A scream lapped at the back of her throat but as the world came back into focus, she was able to swallow it down. It should have been far easier. “I – sorry. I’m – little lightheaded. I would like to help. I’m a doctor. What’s wrong?”

A voice cut through all of the others, Winter thinking that it was yet another disembodied person joining in on the fun of driving her mad. She didn’t even bother looking up to find out whether or not she could see this one, instead answering the voice while knowing it would be futile. “Too many here…I just want it to stop.” The medium pressed her face harder into the palms of her hands while rubbing against her forehead. No matter how hard she tried to make it go away Winter couldn’t seem to get them to stop. Focusing on one only seemed to make the others compete to be heard, making things much louder. 

It wasn’t until the voice spoke again that she realized it was a lot more distinct than the other ones drifting around her. Something about it was different, making Winter lift her head to come face to face with a woman she didn’t recognize. But she was there. She wasn’t flashing in and out like several other bodies behind her and she was solid. With so much going on though she wanted to be certain. Reaching out, Winter poked her index finger into the woman’s arm to confirm that she was, in fact, standing in front of her. 

Solid. Oh, good. Maybe focusing on someone else would help her block out the rest of the noise around her. It shouldn’t be too hard, considering she looked like she was about ready to pass out herself. The doctor needed some attention too. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re the kind of doctor I need right now.” Even with the weakness her massive headache was sending through her body and despite the rasp in her voice from lack of sleep, Winter’s sass was shining through quite nicely. She hadn’t meant to be rude but the girl had never handled pain too well and it was easier for her to not bite back the true meaning behind her words than try to mask it with niceties she wasn’t much known for in the first place. “Maybe you should sit down yourself. You’re not looking so hot.”

“No, probably not.” Regan admitted, though she wasn’t sure the two of them were on the same wavelength. What kind of doctor did the woman think she needed? Probably not a forensic pathologist, but it raised other questions. “Is this some kind of medical emergency?” The urgency of such a matter helped Regan push away a scream as it tried to scale back up her esophagus. The woman, present as she was, flitted in and out of focus, shrouded by the overwhelming death surrounding her, surrounding everything. When Regan could see her clearly, her distress was obvious. Worn and jumpy, her sweat-slicked hair stuck to her temples and her eyes were stretched wide as a rib-spreader.

Regan brought a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment. Cliodhna would have insisted that this – whatever it was – was an extraordinary gift. It should be received as such. But Regan could not hold it. She trembled on unsteady feet. Several more ants perished, popping off like fireworks in her brain. “I look fine,” Regan hissed, though she knew she didn’t sound fine. People who were actually fine didn’t insist they were fine so emphatically. But banshees were always fine. So why was she not?

“This is not some anxiety or weak-willed panic or –” She paused, glancing over the woman, who still seemed to be trying to shrink into herself as much as humanly possible. And who looked terribly, terribly anxious. Regan’s face fell. Regardless of her relationship with fear and anxiety, this other woman had no such history, and as a physician she ought to be more sympathetic. Or fake it. As much as she could manage, anyway. She never was good with the live ones. Her head swam again as a jogger breezed by, unaware of the ballooning aneurysm in his frontal lobe. Regan steadied herself, hand on the bench. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” What was this woman even saying to her? She couldn’t focus long enough to know what she was talking about. Something about anxiety maybe but she knew this wasn’t anxiety. At least not on her end. Had she even been talking about Winter? With the other voices mixing with the woman in front of her it was very easy to get lost in this conversation. Someone, or something, was shouting about a building being torn down while another voice whispered about a photo album she’d lost in the fifties. It was all so strange but she did her best to focus on the doctor, taking in a deep breath as she looked straight at her. 

“I’m hearing voices and I don’t know wh-” She stopped, the comments about the building getting shrill enough for her to close her eyes again. It took a second for her to regain her wits, eyes opening to land on the other woman once more. “I don’t know where they’re coming from. They won’t leave me alone but I’m not even sure they’re talking to me specifically.” Was it wise to tell a random stranger that she was hearing things that nobody else could? No, it definitely wasn’t. Especially if this person was a real doctor. But Winter was having a hard time caring right now as people started to flash in and out of reality around the park, one thing she definitely wasn’t mentioning.

“Still think you can help?” For all she knew, the doctor was experiencing the same thing. She looked as unfocused as Winter felt, like she was also hearing these voices that didn’t seem to actually exist. But she watched as someone else flashed in and out right next to them and noticed that the other didn’t flinch like her. So, maybe she could only hear them? Or maybe her issue was a completely separate thing altogether. “What’s wrong with you? You can say you look fine but I don’t see a mirror around here, I’m the one actually looking at you.”

Voices? She was hearing voices. Regan was familiar with that in a couple of different senses, though there weren’t any she could hear right now, real or imagined. She could barely hear her own voice over the sensation of her body tearing in every direction. "I... I don't think I can help with the voices," Regan admitted, her tone softening slightly as she tried to gauge the woman's mental state. "It sounds like you might need to speak to a psychiatrist or a psychologist for that. Hearing voices can be a symptom of various conditions, and they'd be better equipped to assist y–” A sizzling wave washed over her. Bones. There were so many bones buried here. A crow’s coccyx feet away, an entire mouse a couple of feet down, a deer in the copse ahead. They all called to her. She needed them. But they were so numerous, so insistent, that her skin burned with awareness of their presence, and she felt like she was being dragged down to meet them where they lay. 

What she could pull out of the chaos was the woman’s reiteration that, actually, Regan didn’t look that fine, and the insult to her stoicism was – ironically – not well-received.

“I am fine.” This time, the word sliced into the air as a high-pitched whistle, and her stomach seized at the lie. A few more bugs beneath Regan’s feet perished, usually imperceptible to her, but now it rocked her. Her eyes darted between the women and the path, where there were fortunately no joggers to stun. At least… she didn’t think so. It was still incredibly hard to focus on anything with death constricting around her. At some point she ended up on the bench rather than using it as a support. When did that happen? She curled her fingers around the wood and became painfully aware that it, too, was dead. 

Right. The woman. Regan squinted at her, then her eyes widened as she became better oriented to the living. But death still drummed against her bones. “I’m sorry. Are you – obviously you’re not okay. I’m –” It was not worth another lie, she decided. “It’s like I’m being boiled alive. My skin is burning. I need to get out of here. Somewhere – away from death.” That thought, those words, filled her with shame, and she wasn’t sure if it was her own or her grandmother’s. It was easier to focus on something that was not her problem. “Where do the voices come from? If they’re – I mean, not that I don’t believe – where would you find relief?”

“I don’t need a physiatrist.” Even if she had implied as such earlier, even if she was currently seeing a doctor for such a thing, Winter didn’t like hearing that from anybody much less someone she didn’t even know. But something else was causing the chill in her tone during that simple sentence, something that scared her more than anything that could be crawling through this town: What if she did need one? Hearing voices wasn’t common for her if there wasn’t a ghost around and this had been happening gradually. There was a small part of her that feared her mind was turning on her. But she knew where she was as well. She knew this town had a knack for this sort of thing having already been cursed once. Besides, she wasn’t the only one acting out of sorts here. 

The doctor was sitting next to her now, Winter’s eyes locked on her even with Henry trying to get her attention. He was the hardest to look at out of all of them, his image flashing in and out at such a high rate of speed that it made her nauseous so she was doing her best to also ignore the ghost that was attached to her. He was trying to help, she knew that, but he was only making things worse as his voice mixed in with the others. 

Her eyes shut again as the high pitched sound overtook all of the other noise, her left ear starting to ring as she brought a hand up to cover it. What in the hell was that? It was new, that’s for sure, but could she rule out this overstimulation of sound being thrown at her from every direction? Whatever it had been though, it had confirmed something for Winter. With her ear ringing the way it was, no sound was reaching it. All of the voices were filtering into her right ear and that told her that this was a physical thing happening to her, not a mental one. Despite her discomfort and the overwhelming need to plug her right ear a sense of relief washed over her. She definitely didn’t need a psychiatrist. 

“What?” Had she heard the woman right or was it another disembodied voice? Away from death? Her skin was burning? This was definitely not the same issue that Winter was having but the two of them seemed to be in the same situation despite this. “What do you mean your skin is burning? And what death?” This whole interaction was just causing more confusion than anything and it was doing nothing to help her splitting headache. 

Still, something stuck out in her mind. Where would you find relief? She knew the further she got away from the hotel the better things seemed to get. She didn’t know the why of that but it seemed to work so maybe it would help this other woman as well. Winter was so tired of walking but the slight relief she’d gotten earlier as her left ear started ringing was motivation enough to get going. “Just...let's go that way,” she nodded towards the edge of the park as she spoke. “It was getting better the further I went that way.” She got to her feet, jumping slightly when Henry came into view right in front of her face before she reached out a hand towards the other, ignoring him completely once again. 

Regan was pretty sure this woman did need a psychiatrist, but so did most of Wicked’s Rest. She kept looking around, staring into nothing, like she was seeing something beyond the perception of others. To Regan, it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. If she were to look with her asfís bháis, would there be someone or something there, or was the woman really just a run-of-the-mill loon? Even if she was, she was currently Regan’s run-of-the-mill loon. And Regan needed her. She hated being so disgustingly reliant on others; banshees should never have need of others.

They should also never cringe away from death. But the weight of a million decompositions in a million directions was drawing and quartering her where she stood. Regan hadn’t realized she’d done it until she already had: her fingers curled around the woman’s sleeve, seeking out some kind of tether, something that was alive. Looking past the woman, beyond the dead crow and the pesticide-fallen butterflies and flowers snipped off their stems, something pulsed like an inexplicable heartbeat from within a cadaver. She squinted, though she wasn’t sure she was seeing something real. Then she realized, identified what it was. It jutted from the earth at ragged angles, shiny and sharp. The mineral palpitated in an eerie blue glow, even in the daylight, and the faintest possibility of a connection crossed Regan’s mind. Arden and a couple of others had asked her about them, about how they might be affecting people. Could this be… 

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” Regan said through gritted teeth, not fully seeing the irony that they each seemed to be living in their own world. Despite it all, she would put the tiniest degree of faith into this mentally infirm human. “It’s wrong right now, too much. Normally I can sense it, feel it. I am connected with it. And it is everywhere, but I don’t –” Her tongue pinned against the roof of her mouth as she tried to think of how to explain it to someone who wasn’t capable of getting it to begin with. “You filter out some of what you sense. You don’t take it all in at once. I do, too. But I can’t.” And she wondered, briefly, if that was the issue this woman was having too, in her own way. What if she was hearing everything? Distant arguments and playing children and every singing bird that Regan knew was eventually going to plummet to its death.

What else was there to do but follow the woman? The light lapping of death around her that previously provided so much comfort had become snapping jaws. Regan couldn’t hold her gaze in one place, and certainly not straight ahead. There were too many things demanding her attention, too many deaths. But it was getting easier; slowly, gradually, something was lifting and revealing green grass and breathing skin and fluttering leaves where before she could only see what would inevitably happen to it all. The woman froze, and Regan noted her muscles stiffening. Only for a moment, but long enough for Regan to question. “What is it? Did you – what did you see?” Regan tightened her grip on the woman as if they were navigating through a dark room together. 

She was telling Winter that she wouldn't understand but almost everything the doctor was saying sounded very familiar to her own situation. Maybe it wasn't exactly the same, maybe they weren't exactly the same, but Winter knew that somehow she could understand what was going on with her. And the doctor explaining what was going on hit the medium like a ton of bricks. Not being able to filter out certain senses, seeing and hearing these people everywhere she went even without a physical presence near her...It had to be the ghosts. Ashamed that it had taken her so long to realize it, she shook her head softly so that she wouldn't make it hurt even further while she worked out this realization in her mind. The voices were physical, the images of people who were definitely not alive were flashing around her, Henry was doing the same...she felt so stupid. Her only defense was that she couldn't think properly while in this state of mind.

But did that mean the woman next to her could see them too? She had said something about her skin burning and Winter had never once experienced anything like that nor had Lil told her of such a thing so she didn't think their abilities were the same...but it did sound like this woman had other abilities of her own. “I may not understand what you're going through personally but I understand not being able to filter certain things out.“ She looked around, the medium taking a deep breath while she tried to focus on one thing at a time. Somehow it was getting easier to do so, this only reinforcing what the medium hypothesized. The further she got away from Worm Row, the better. ”What exactly is overwhelming you right now?“ Maybe in some way Winter could help. She wasn't sure how she could when she was fighting her own battle but if they worked together that was better than them trying to figure this out alone, right? 

”Remember how you said that I wouldn't understand?“ She gave the other woman a pointed look, showing her disapproval and at the same time showcasing how petty she could be when she wasn't fighting back against the rolling of her stomach. ”I don't think you would either.“ This woman already thought she needed a psychiatrist, she would think that Winter needed to be heavily medicated if she said she was hearing the ghosts from around town. Still, as the medium started to notice more and more of the voices being silenced she couldn't quite hold her  tongue, the sound of her own voice not being drowned out by the shrieks of what she now assumed to be ghosts anymore. 

”It was a ghost. I think it was a ghost.“ It wasn't like she kept her abilities a secret anyway. Even before she could see them she was screaming about her talents to everyone that would watch Spirit Speak so she couldn't hide it from anyone even if she wanted to. Winter wasn't ashamed of who she was though, especially now that she was certain this wasn’t a breakdown she was having after the stress of this town had hit her, and if people thought she was crazy for even suggesting ghosts were a thing then that was their problem. Besides, this woman had something of her own going on, that much was obvious. That would make it easier for her to believe Winter, right? ”They're flashing in and out...like static on a broken tv. I think that's what I'm hearing too now that you said something about not filtering out what I can sense. Are you seeing them as well?“

Ghosts. Regan had heard plenty about ghosts. The others constantly spoke of them, claimed to see them, hear them, but what they thought to be ghosts, Regan preferred to think of in less fantastical terms: strange, spectral post-mortem artifacts that most couldn’t perceive. Some jumble of words that probably meant more or less the same thing but that she did not feel was so distasteful the word needed to be scraped off her tongue. Ghosts were plucked from horror movies and Stephen King novels. This was real life. This woman was not the first in town who believed them to be real, and Regan knew she wouldn’t be the last. But the real question was, was she referring to what Regan could see, too, or was she really just a common loon like she suspected earlier? For now, Regan would need to live with not knowing. She was not going to scare the woman by calling upon her asfís bháis. She was shaken enough. Both of them were. 

The Ballard child claimed to have seen ghosts, even without the type of death vision Regan was familiar with. Perhaps this woman was the same.

Whatever the case, something seemed to click for the woman. Before, Regan wouldn’t have noticed. But as they got further away from the park’s center, filtering was becoming easier; life returned to the world, even if it was more faint than usual. She looked down, embarrassed, and peeled her hand away from the woman’s sleeve like it had never actually been hooked around it to begin with – it was imagined, obviously. A disgusted look crossed her face for a moment, lip curled. “Bás glac chugam,” Regan muttered, distancing herself. “Perhaps if I attempted to, I could see what you’re referring to.” But she had enough problems of her own right now. Her eyes shifted around from building to building as she realized they had fully made their way out of the park. Death still pulsed around her, but it did not pull her away from everything else. And, now that crisis had been averted, she was not pleased she had made the admissions she already had. 

“You seem better oriented now.” And Regan felt similarly. “Has it improved? This… static? Has this ever happened to you before? I have never – it has never struck me in such a way. It betrayed me. I have failed my calling and it let me know.” Her fingers clenched into tight fists. “Are you a failure, too? Is that what this is?” She looked past the women, into town. The source of her growing failures. She could escape them no more than she could really escape death. Slowly, she looked back at the woman – who, Regan now saw, seemed exhausted to her very bones, like she had fought off an invisible goliath. “If you’ve recovered adequately, then you are dismissed. But if you require assistance… I would be willing to help.”

With the disembodied voices starting to dull enough for Winter to focus on her surroundings more, she became hyper aware of the other's hand wrapped around her arm just before the woman dropped it, as if the medium's skin was the one burning her this time. The disgust in the other’s voice was almost offensive to her but she didn't care enough about her to feel as such. Besides, there was enough to work through already between the two of them having similar ailments. She wasn't seeing what Winter was seeing, that was clear. Unless this doctor was trying to save face and not allow Winter to know more about what was going on with her in the first place, she wasn't getting the flashes of the dead or hearing them wail about unimportant things. Her previous claims of what had been happening to her didn't quite match up. Still, who was she to assume that whatever was happening to them would affect them the same if the doctor was a medium herself? She barely knew anything about what she was, much less how much she could do with her third eye. 

The barrage of questions from the doctor had Winter cutting her eyes towards the woman once again, not amused. She already had a headache, there was no need to make it worse. Then again, she had questions herself and it was only fair to share information if she wanted the same to be reciprocated. Hopefully she would feel the same. “It's better, yes.” Not completely gone but not as loud as it had been before they'd gotten away from the park. This seemed to happen though. Winter would get to a point where she thought things were good and then all hell would break loose around her. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “No, it's never happened before.” But she also hadn't been able to see ghosts for very long. Was this a normal thing mediums had to go through? “Usually they show up out of the blue but they've never spoken to me without me being able to see them. And they've never looked like this before.”

And she thought she could be rude. A failure? How dare she assume such a thing. Winter was anything but a failure, she refused to let any such thing happen. Achieving her goals, doing what it took to reach them, her pride stood in the way of the failure that threatened to seep in and take it away from her. Still, knowing that something wasn't right with this person and wanting to get information out of her, it wasn't prudent for her to go off the rails. “What do you mean you've failed your calling? I don't think I have. How would I have failed it?“

Dismissed. Wow, she really was a piece of work, wasn't she? Winter wasn't some house maid that was being sent home for the day, she was a woman who had been in trouble and was also trying to help another who'd been in trouble. ”I'm feeling better...but I still have questions. If you'd rather meet up another time to discuss them then I wouldn't protest that. Especially since we’re both still dealing with whatever is going on.”

Death’s clouds had parted, and Regan could now fully see the woman in front of her for what she was: someone deeply confused who had been betrayed by their own mind yet managed to piece together enough to steer both of them toward sanctuary. She did not trust her. But Regan could not deny that her presence here had been useful, and her account of what happened held value. “It is as if your typical experiences have been amplified,” Regan remarked with some understanding, though she still didn’t quite grasp what the woman was referring to. “I don’t know. You tell me. Are you a disappointment to your kind, a stain on the tapestry of Fate?” Regan lifted a brow. “I am.”

“Questions?” Regan snapped. She could hardly believe her ears. “What right do you have to answers? You think you’re being gracious in saving them for another time, when the reality is that I don’t owe you anything at all.” But… was that true? The woman had helped Regan navigate out of whatever epicenter she’d managed to get lost in. Had she not been there, Regan might’ve just languished under the weight of a thousand deaths in the middle of the park for centuries. The thought made a shudder creep down her vertebrae, exaggerated though it probably was, and she crossed her arms with a huff. Even Cliodhna would have acknowledged that a good turn should be returned, though she never would have found herself in such a vulnerable position to begin with. Cliodhna did not know what the word vulnerable meant. “Fine. Perhaps I do owe you something. Or we can arrange a trade. Answers for answers.” She certainly had some questions of her own. “Here.” She fished a business card from her pocket and handed it to the woman, a bit begrudgingly. “You now know where to find me.”

Regan couldn’t shake the way everything about Ray – his voice, his mannerisms, his demeanor – changed in the blink of an eye. The insistence that he was someone else, someone dead. It was insane. Or temporal lobe epilepsy. One of the two. But… there was the death on him, that strangeness she’d felt. And then the details from the report. Ghosts. Could it really be possible that when people spoke of ghosts, they were describing precisely this? Or even the visions Regan experienced countless times? Some of the other banshees called them macallaí. She called them hallucinations.

How appropriate Winter had suggested the Bread Cemetery, where Jonas had insisted he could see ghosts the last time Regan came here. No bagel ventriloquism today. She tensed her forehead in her hand as she settled at one of the tables and waited for Winter. The woman had questions for her, and that seemed like a good opportunity for Regan to ask some of her own. As private as Regan was, she could respect a request for equity. Knowledge for knowledge. 

She could try and get a better read on Winter herself now that their circumstances had improved. Winter wasn't another banshee, or fae at all, but she was more than she seemed -- whatever "medium" meant to her -- Regan was sure. And despite the flicker of antagonism, she actually liked Winter. Anyone motivated by curiosity was worth knowing more about, even if Regan was reticent to reveal anything about herself, too. Given that she positioned herself to face the door, she immediately recognized Winter when she walked in. It was almost funny how different the woman looked now that she wasn’t petrified by her own fear, in the midst of a panic attack. She actually struck Regan as exceptionally composed.

“Hello. I don’t think either of us are the sort for pleasantries. Do we need to purchase something first to occupy this space, or should we go straight to burning curiosity? I propose we alternate our questions.” 

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The suggestion to meet so that they could exchange information was a surprise but Winter wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity. She always wanted to learn more, especially when it came to the supernaturally inclined, so she’d agreed on the condition that they met in a place she was comfortable with. The Bread Cemetery had almost become a sanctuary with Lil teaching her how to hone her medium abilities and there was no other location that she could think of to meet someone who also had an inclination towards the dead.

It wasn’t often that Winter was the last to show to a meeting so she was pleasantly surprised when Regan was already sitting at a table. Even more so with the suggestion to jump right into this meeting instead of pretending they weren’t here for specifics. Niceties were not her specialty anyway, especially with someone she had a lot of reservations about. What kind of person hated Tinkerbell? “I don’t think the Ballards will mind unless they get too busy. I’m here often these days. That sounds fair to me. I appreciate getting down to business.” 

She also had no problem being the one to start it off. Last time she had seen Regan they’d both been incapacitated and their talk online had fallen flat because of Winter. She wasn’t great at keeping up with conversation over a screen. She took a seat and leaned back in her chair, Henry sitting in one at a table next to them. He was curious to hear this as well. “What do they call you? Someone who’s connected to death but isn’t exactly a medium…I assume you have a title.” And she did have a feeling about what that title was. She knew Parker, after all, and had done a lot of research on different types of fae so far. She wanted to hear it from the doctor though and not risk looking stupid if she turned out to be wrong.

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Winter really did get straight to the point, didn’t she? Regan was going to make her work a little harder if she wanted an answer to that particular question. “A Medical Examiner. Or forensic pathologist. Whichever term you prefer. Doctor is also fine.” Was she being intentionally obtuse? Maybe. But what did Winter expect in asking for a title? She didn’t walk around introducing herself as Regan Kavanagh, Banshee. Did Winter walk around introducing herself as Winter, Medium? Besides, would Winter even believe her? Even your average human sometimes believed in ghosts, but no one really thought fairies existed.

Regan did not get comfortable in her chair – she was forward, poised, ready for a question of her own. Better to start with the easy ones, right? Warm Winter up like climate change. “Why the Bread Cemetery? Do you know the Ballards well? Is there a connection there?” Technically that was three questions, but none of them seemed especially difficult. And Regan was curious. Jonas claimed to be a medium himself, and though Lil hadn’t boasted that to her (yet), it wouldn’t surprise her if both siblings were somehow wrapped up in this. Was Winter similar to them? 

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Tilting her head, Winter didn’t let her smile falter. She knew that the medium was aware of her professional title and knew that wasn’t what she meant with the question. So, Regan wanted to play games? Well, she was good at those and the doctor was about to find out that she would fight tooth and nail to win. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go, she could play all day if need be. “Technically I only have to answer your first question and it’s because the pastries are oh so good.” Never mind that she didn’t have one in front of her. The pointed look at the other woman was a clear indication that she was also intentionally not answering the questions the way Regan wanted her to. 

“We can try this again, if you want. Tell me what they call you and I’ll give you the answer to all three of your burning questions.” Winter glanced at Henry who was sitting back to watch the interaction but the medium was surprised that he wasn’t chiming in like usual. He just sat there, looking between them like this was a game of tennis. She looked back at Regan and smiled again. “What do you say, Doc? Think we could do this the right way?”

-------

I don’t want, Regan almost cut in, an automatic response to the phrase. But answers would still be nice, wouldn’t they? She could be curious even if she could not want. And as Jade entered her thoughts for probably the twentieth time today, she tried to pop that mental bubble, and the notion of wanting anything along with it. 

It really was strange phrasing, wasn’t it? What you’re called. Did that mean Winter knew about fae? (Unlikely.) Knew about banshees? (Even more unlikely.) Or was this nothing more than an aimless fishing expedition?

Regan looked at her flatly. “No. If you want me to answer that, then you will need to answer more for me, first. Those questions are not particularly burning, only warming up. Tell me what you just looked at a moment ago.” It appeared to be an empty space by the side of their table, but empty spaces did not cause a shiver to roll down her arms. “And tell me about the onset of your… condition. Was it sudden? Facilitated by something?” She asked, thinking of her own abilities. But then, Jade was different. Lil, who was probably an even closer proxy to Winter, also seemed to have had a long history with whatever condition this was.

-------

She could go back and forth with this woman all day if Regan really wanted to do that, Winter had no qualms about wasting time playing around with her. She was about to say as such until Henry cut into her thoughts. “Maybe you should give her something. If you two keep going like this you’re never going to get any answers. Aren’t answers the whole reason you’re here?” When had Henry become her voice of reason? The medium shot another glance his way, her gaze lingering for a moment before she turned to look at Regan again. She started to tap her finger against the table in front of her, keeping up a steady rhythm while she weighed the options in her mind. “Fine. I’ll give you one.”

If Regan decided to keep up these antics after then she would get nothing else from Winter. She wasn’t about to give away everything and walk away with nothing. Fighting the voice in her head telling herself to keep up the little games, she pressed on. “I was looking at Henry. He’s a ghost who’s attached to me and he’s sitting in the chair between us. And his meddling is the only reason I’m even giving you this information right now.” If she was going to get anything from this woman she knew she was going to have to give more so she sighed and kept on. “He showed up when I did some sort of ritual from my grandmother’s journal and I haven’t been able to get rid of him since. I’m not answering the other question until I get something from you.”

-------

Even the banshees couldn’t stop Regan from being the youngest of four. And the real or imagined victory over Winter in this game of chicken they were playing was sweeter than any answer Winter could actually give her. Regan managed to look self-satisfied without actually smiling, her arms folding over each other as she leaned back slightly in her chair. Now she could settle in (not, she reminded herself, get comfortable). 

“Why’s he attached to you?” she asked, bemused, “Are they like ticks? Clinging on? Do multiple follow you around, or is it just Henry?” Not the most flattering comparison, maybe, but it sounded absurd. It also, she knew, was verifiable now. If Regan could see the same thing, the same Henry sitting between them, that meant that both Regan and Winter were referring to the same phenomenon. Plus, Winter would appreciate the admission of what she was going to try, even if it still did not directly answer her question. 

“I think I’ll look for myself, if that suits you,” Regan said, quickly peering around the bakery to make sure no one else was nearby or paying attention. She trusted that Winter would not scream (though her scream was probably nothing to write home about anyway). The seat between them was certainly empty and her flesh was certainly crawling. She let her eyes fill in with black, beckoning the fís bháis to show her what no one else could see.

Her stomach dropped as a shadowy figure filled the previously-empty space – more because of what it meant about Winter than the actual man. He was far from the first oddity she’d seen. His eyes – stunned and peeking out from a messy mop hair fashioned a few decades before Regan’s time – met hers. He knew she could see him now. Or had just never seen a banshee before. Probably both. He was casually dressed and Regan’s eyes were quickly drawn to the most notable thing about him – his entire left arm was missing, and not just missing, but had the appearance of a fresh accident, grisly and leaving his white shirt sprayed with his own blood. Regan edged out of her seat, she couldn’t help it. The sight didn’t disturb her, but she was a doctor, damn it, and there was someone who looked like his arm had just been torn off. But she smelled no blood and heard no complaints and knew, on some level, it was in the past. Her eyes flickered as she tested herself, making sure that when she looked there with her normal vision, there was once more thing but an empty seat. And of course, it was empty. So why was her heart thudding so loudly? 

Regan’s eyes, blue again, ticked over to Winter, communicating that this was only getting started. As outlandish as this was, she could appreciate the idea of corroboration. “I believe I just gave you something. Now tell me about this Henry’s arms,” she challenged. 

-------

“You know, Regan, if you keep asking for more than you’re willing to give you’re going to end up with nothing else.” She was getting annoyed now, the emotion spurred on by that damned satisfaction the other had gotten from getting what she wanted out of Winter. If she had lost this whole thing and wouldn’t be getting much there was no telling how pissed the medium would be. Her disdain for this woman grew with every new question thrown at her, along with Henry’s noise of objection when he was compared to a parasite. Even if he was in some way, that didn’t mean he liked it. “And I think you’re pissing off my ghost, so knock it off.” 

Her annoyance ebbed slightly when Regan spoke up again, eyes flitting up with curiosity burning through the hazel iris’. What did she mean ‘look for herself’? She had mentioned that she could see the ghosts on occasion, did that mean that Regan was like another friend of hers? Choosing to see what was always right in front of them? 

But no, this was nothing like Felix. As Regan’s eyes turned a deep onyx color, Winter felt herself press back into her seat as if her body was trying to scurry away from the woman in front of her. It was unsettling at best but she still kept as much composure as she could. No need to alert the Ballard’s when the medium was sure she wasn’t in any danger…right? 

Watching the exchange between Regan and Henry gave Winter one tidbit of information though. The doctor cared. As composed as she always was, as weird as her beliefs in odd things could be, it was clear that Regan had a heart underneath it all when she flinched at the sight of Henry’s form. It was understandable, Winter having been terrified of the torn flesh herself, but somehow she knew that Regan held no fear, only concern. 

She almost laughed when the doctor spoke again, humorless as it would have been. “What exactly did you give me? You already told me that you could see them occasionally online, remember? And your eyes told me nothing, only gave me more questions. I still know nothing about you and you’re not getting anything else from me until I do.” Winter was done with letting Regan have control here. It was her turn or she was walking out of that door with all of the information that the other wanted from her.

-------

Nothing? How was that nothing? Anyone ought to be grateful for it. Regan scowled, but she knew when she was up against an immovable wall, and Winter was no longer willing to spend her time doing this unless she got actual, spoken information. The others never imparted knowledge about how to best communicate about the existence of fae and banshees to humans. You weren’t supposed to, usually. And while Regan had made two exceptions with Wynne and Elias, everyone else she told already knew about one or the other. The woman who spoke of her ghost had better not call her insane. 

Regan took another cautious glance around. Still no one in earshot. “You’ve been accommodating. So I will tell you because of that, and because I am generous, not because I have to, or require anything else from you.” She crossed her arms, looking at the empty, Henry-filled space even though she could not see him just now. Back to Winter. “He had better take secrets to the grave. I am a banshee. A bean sí, if you prefer the Irish,” she said, giving the title the slight accent it probably deserved. “I am not sure what that means to you, if anything, but it is the answer to your earlier question. I assume you have others. Now, I am asking you about his arms because I seek corroboration, to know that my observations have been replicated. It may offer an explanation to both of us.”

-------

Her eyes cut to Henry, a warning to the ghost that he needed to keep his mouth shut about anything that was said at this table as if he didn’t already know that. He did. He wasn’t an idiot, but a reminder was always a nice thing. “He can be trusted. He hasn’t spilled any of the secrets we’ve learned yet.” Secrets that were building in her world. Winter briefly wondered if she could use any of this for her gain, a fleeting thought but something to think about in the future. She wasn’t always a malicious person but the power secrets gave was always enticing, at least for a little bit. At least until she came to her senses and allowed the idea to die in the back of her mind. Because secrets could also get a person killed.

Banshee. She had expected it in some way but it was still so gratifying to hear it out loud. Winter was no expert on fae but being friends with a Warden had its benefits and the internet could be a beautiful thing, especially the deeper a person went. Her eyes scanned the doctor as if her true form would reveal itself now that the truth was out but, as expected, nothing had changed. She was still Regan. “Now I definitely know to watch my words around you.” 

Corroboration made sense. She couldn’t blame the doctor for wanting hard proof that Winter could actually see the ghost sitting between them and now that she had the main question she wanted answered out of the way she was feeling much more generous with her answers. “His left arm was ripped off during a work accident. You see, he worked in a factory in the seventies, one located in New Jersey, and one day his arm got caught in the machinery. He bled out in the factory.” Her gaze drifted back to the ghost who now looked uncomfortable. She remembered having to drag this story out of him, deciding to move on and give Regan something further; Another answer just because she was feeling generous. 

“When I visited this factory for a client on my show, I was trying to call on someone else but the…ritual I used brought Henry to me instead. He’s attached to me now and I don’t know how to break that ritual. So, no, I don’t have a lot of them following me around like him. They’re still annoying as hell when they realize you can see them though.” Winter paused before asking her next question. “What does your true form look like? Is that too personal? I don’t know if that's sacred to you guys or something.”

-------

Regan now had a second person here – if Henry could be called that – that trust would be extended to. She didn't like it. But she also had her flight on the horizon, so if this was the cost of satisfying her curiosity, she wouldn’t have to pay it for very long. She rolled her eyes at the words comment, but it probably was prudent. Most people were poor at doing that. “You and me both.” Regan had to start watching her words more in general. While humans around here couldn’t bind her with a thank you, the banshees back in Saol Eile certainly could. “You don’t sound incredulous. In fact, it seems like you know a thing or two.” She raised a brow, waiting for an answer to fall on her lap, but knowing it wouldn’t.

She tried to conceal her surprise behind her eyes as Winter talked about Henry’s bloodied left arm. The accident. Not conjured out of nowhere – Regan believed it. If necessary, she could probably even see the death herself. “Yes…” she leaned back a little in her seat. “That is what I saw, too.” She wasn’t expecting more from Winter – guarded Winter – but something did fall on her lap after all. “I know nothing of your rituals, but I think I understand the rest. He can’t be separated from you. How long has it been? And you can see him, always?”

She was asking more about banshees, really? Regan’s brow furrowed. At least Winter was not so demanding now. Perhaps she’d been humbled in some small way, or just felt she already got what she came here for.

“Not sacred, but we appreciate our privacy, which I'm sure you can understand.” A quick glance toward the space Henry occupied. “But you did tell me about… so…” Winter didn't have to tell her more about the accident, how Henry became tethered to her. Regan respected reciprocity. It was one of the best things that could be said about fae, even if there was always an attempt to snatch the upper hand. But other banshees were certainly self-conscious about looking more human than some other fae, and she was taught that talking about these things put all banshees – the duty – in danger, it was not only about her. She could be vague. This was surface level only. “We are fae, with the expected ornamentation.” She shrugged, “there isn't much to tell you. No third leg and no tail. My grandmother has wings like a wasp, orange and sleek.” The only things on this earth she was proud of, Regan thought bitterly. Then for no reason at all, that precipitated a question. Unrelated. “Do you dislike Henry? Resent him?”

-------

That was the thing about being a nosy busybody; Winter was bound to know a thing or two about everything. She stuck her nose in everything she could like a bloodhound, sniffing out answers to all of her own questions until she could understand enough to let the subject go. Regan didn’t need to know that about her if she hadn’t already guessed the medium’s nature so she just shrugged a shoulder at the question that sounded like a statement. Besides, if she told her anything about how she knew of fae that might put Parker in some kind of danger. She wasn’t about to do that. 

A breath of amusement threatened to escape but she held it in, not wanting Regan to question what she found so funny. ‘I know nothing of your rituals.’ Neither did she. They were supposed to be stupid words that meant nothing but they opened a world that had been hidden from Winter in the past, a world that she was trying to pretend she was a part of. But she still knew nothing as far as she was concerned. “It’s been almost a year now.” Another fact that had her biting down feelings of aggravation. A year and she was no closer to finding things out than she had been before. “Yes…most of the time. He’s able to go about twenty feet away so sometimes he can disappear in a crowd or another room.”

She too glanced where Regan’s gaze had wondered, seeing Henry tilting his head as he studied the banshee. “Actually, I have my own television show that tells the world that I can see ghosts. Or I used to. We’re on a hiatus now.” She wondered if Regan would hold that against her, feeling uncomfortable in sharing more information with her because of it. Her interest peaked again so Winter hoped not. “What about you? What ornamentation do you have?” She’d seen a spriggan before, something that was ingrained in her mind, but never a banshee. The wings sounded intriguing but it wasn’t like she could ask Regan to show her in the middle of the Bread Cemetery so she was stuck with a description. At least she got to see the eyes.

The next question took her by surprise though it shouldn’t have. When she thought about it, Winter wasn’t always the nicest when she spoke of the ghost who was now grinning like a Cheshire cat as he looked back at her. She could lie, say what was expected, but this was a fae after all and she wasn’t really sure if she was bound at the moment or not. They had struck a deal. Clearly uncomfortable, she sighed before she answered. “No, I don’t hate him or resent him. He’s…” She glanced at him again, hating the way he was eating this up. “He’s actually been very useful to have around.” Was she going to admit that she cared about him? Never. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Why do you ask that?”

-------

A year seemed a long time to have an uninvited shadow, and if Regan didn’t know any better, that way Winter tensed her jaw might have indicated she agreed. But maybe she was reading into it too much. Winter was more skilled than most humans at hiding her intentions and feelings, but she was given to perspicacity and that could be a strength and vulnerability in equal measures. Hearing that she had a television show made sense of some of it. She was the smiling news anchor who reached for the bourbon as soon as the camera was off, the preening reality star trying to suppress their past from being dredged up on air, the “it girl” with the hawkish publicist.

If this had been enough to force her show into a hiatus, there was something Regan was not being told or did not grasp. “A hiatus? Why? You can still see… them.” She wouldn’t call them ghosts out loud. “So what demands the break?” It was interesting she spoke so freely of what she could do, but then again, there was a rather large fringe of people who believed in what was being purported, wasn’t there? Where was the line for Winter? She would speak of ghosts in front of the camera, but what else? No, the vague descriptor of ornamentation would stay right where it was. “Things that I don’t tell people about,” Regan said, hopefully killing the matter. Winter could use her imagination for what a banshee looked like. It would probably be more dramatic than the real thing.

Regan had asked if Winter disliked Henry. She said she didn’t hate him. It was a subtle difference but one that caught her attention. “It’s a lot of time together, is all. For you, mostly; not him. One mistake and your life has changed so drastically. It would be easy to blame him, but you don’t.” The way she’d looked at him was interesting, though, as if watching for a reaction or judgement. Regan looked there, too, but once again she could see only an empty space, and she would not give Winter the satisfaction of seeing Regan’s eyes go black a second time. “I have one more question, then I suppose I should buy something from the Ballards in appreciation for the use of their space.” Not a bagel. “Why do you call them… what you do? Why not something else?”

-------

The next question was the one that she had been dreading since walking through the door. It wasn’t something she felt like she could answer, not with both her and her mother’s reputation in the industry on the line. They’d done such a good job of hiding their lack of ‘the sight’ over the years that Winter was certain that the only people who knew for sure about their lies was her dad and certain industry execs that had signed confidentiality contracts. No, it wasn’t a lie for her anymore, but that wouldn’t matter if it got out that she had been defrauding half of America and some of Europe for three years. She wouldn’t even think of what would happen to her mother. 

But again, she had no clue what she could refuse anymore now that the fae confirmation had been made. It didn’t mean she couldn’t try to answer in a truthful manner without revealing too much. “The night Henry showed up wasn’t the best on set and the crew got worried. We’re on hiatus because they’re worried about me when they shouldn’t be because I’m perfectly fine as anyone could see.” Except now she kept staring at things that weren’t there for other people, Winter worrying more than the crew members of her show. Maybe it was another reason Wicked’s Rest was starting to feel more like home because most around here didn’t look at her like something was wrong.

Well, that was a depressing thought.

So, it was personal after all, or Regan thought that she couldn’t be trusted anymore. Either way, she knew that she wouldn’t be getting that answer anytime soon. There was a soft roll of her eyes to accompany the smirk forming but she wouldn’t press the issue. She would let it go even with how fascinating it all sounded. “Fine, I’ll ask something else then. If you can see them, why are you suddenly so interested in ghosts? I would think you’d know more about them than me.”

The smirk started to fall as Regan spoke again, Henry’s eyes cutting between the two women as if he’d just realized the weight his presence carried for Winter. “I don’t see it that way.” Maybe she had at first. Maybe she’d blamed him for the show going on hiatus and the frustration of being deemed a little nuts by most of her peers in that world but now she almost wanted to thank him for it. It had opened her eyes to things she’d been blinded to, not just ghosts but to the manipulations of her own parents as well. In a lot of ways he had even given the medium her best friend back. How could she resent him for that? 

Raising an eyebrow at Regan’s final question, she glanced back at Henry. He looked confused as well and Winter had to wonder whether she was missing something or not. “Why do I call them ghosts? Isn’t that what everyone calls them?” Specters, spirits, phantoms, there were many names for it all but ghosts had stuck for most people. Even Lil used the term. “What do you think they should be called?”

-------

“Right, perfectly fine, aren’t you?” If Regan were someone who smiled, she just about would. The first time they had met, Winter was the opposite of fine. But then, so was she. Glass houses, bones, something something. She let her smugness settle, and sink. “I am sorry that happened. It sounds like a big adjustment, regardless of the cause.” Did this mean that Winter was acting differently now than she used to? What was concerning the crew? She doubted Winter was willing to elaborate more, so the answer to that one was probably going to be relegated to the unknown. It was a favor returned; a dropped subject for a dropped subject.

“They kept coming up in conversation, and… from people I know.” She thought of the way Ray was no longer Ray, right before her eyes. “I was curious why intelligent humans kept talking about them as if they were real, and figured there was at least something they were seeing, even if we may not share terminology. It’s nothing more complex than that.”

Speaking of. “Well, it’s not a very scientifically respected term, is it?” She cut in, “and I know what you’re about to say; there is no need.” Banshees were not subject to the same scrutiny, in her mind. It had taken about a year for that particular wall to crumble. “My grandmother used the term macallaí, but she spoke of them infrequently. They were rare, where I lived before coming here.” And where she would soon live again. “We’re quite concerned with ourselves, you see. Why should I need to know about anything else? Not cadaveric torpor, or phenomena such as Henry, or even all that much about individuals who would like to murder us.” It balanced on a knife’s edge of a lie; even Regan couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic, if this was frustration. Why else would she have told Winter, even given her that little kernel of information about Saol Eile?

This was why she had to return there. Her senses, her judgement, were rolling over. Regan rose from her seat, shooting a glance toward the register. Best to buy something; she was not ungrateful for the use of space. “I think you know enough.” She hesitated, measuring the truth. “It was acceptable enough, engaging you in conversation. I appreciate what you’ve told me. Oh, and, um… I’d suggest avoiding purchasing the bagels here. They harass.”

-------

She tilted her head at the words, her smile turning thin but still remaining even as her gaze hardened. What was Regan getting at? She’d said she was fine and that meant that she was fine. Winter wasn’t sure why the banshee was so smug at that moment and again she had to wonder if she was missing something. But she wouldn’t push the issue, the girl breezing past the smug look crossing over the other since she didn’t really want to talk about a lot of the problems she possessed nowadays. Hell, she hadn’t even told Mack most of them. The apology was a nice surprise though, the medium nodding as if she were satisfied now that she had gotten one no matter if Regan had owed it or not (she had not). “If anything, I’m adaptable. Always have been.” 

 Curiosity. She could definitely relate to that. Probably more than most. Winter always had a question for somebody even before she came to Wicked’s Rest. For some reason she’d always wanted to understand how everything worked no matter how scary the topic may have been. She still did. So, Regan’s simple explanation was enough for her and it seemed yet another thing that the two could have in common. In another life, they might have even done well as friends. 

Brows knitted together as she continued to listen to Regan go off into some sort of…tangent wasn’t the right word, was it? Or maybe it was. All she knew was something was bothering the doctor no matter how much she tried to hide it and if she had cared more she would have pushed the subject. Still, she spoke up, making an offhand comment that she didn’t expect would mean much. “I know I would have hated that, being so secluded. Especially if somebody was out to murder me. I need the information, the details…the why of it all.” Which was something she still didn’t understand. She knew why hunters were trained to get rid of those who were murdering humans but when someone was just trying to get by without harming others what was the point?