imageToday is the official release date for Blood Lite II: Overbite. My story humorous horror story “American Banshee” is in it, along with stories by Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Kevin J. Anderson and Janis Ian, Mike Resnick and Leslie Robyn, Amy Sterling Casil, Heather Graham, L.A. Banks, Kelley Armstrong, Allison Brennan, Sharyn McCrumb,  Mike Baron, Edward Bryant,  J.A. Konrath, Scott Nicholson, Jordan Summers, Sam W Anderson, Derek Clendening, Don d’Ammassa, Brian J. Hatcher, Nancy Kilpatrick, John R. Little, Mark Onspaugh, Aaron Polson, Daniel Pyle, Jeff Ryan, D.L. Snell, Lucien Soulban, Jeff Strand, Joel A Sutherland, Steve Rasnic Tem, and Christopher Welch.

To whet your appetite, here’s the start of my story:

Filiméala finished her keening as “Dapper” Donny O’Grady, head of the O’Grady mob, breathed his last.  Leaning over his bed, she planted a kiss on his age-mottled forehead.  She was glad he had died peacefully at home, rather than in a rain of bullets, like too many of the extended family.

“Right, then, we’re done with that infernal screeching,” said Harry.  “Time for you to be on your way.”

Filiméala sat up straight and fixed her gaze on Harry.  Even at thirty-five, he still had the air of an impatient six-year-old.  She had never been sure whether his nickname “Hair-Trigger” was the result of his impatience or the cause of it.  “Show some respect, lad,” she said.  “Your father has just passed on.  I have sung his soul—”

“Right, right,” Harry said.  “My father, may he rest, etcetera.  But I’m head of the family now, and there are going to be some changes, starting with you.”

“Me?”  Filiméala could not keep the startlement from her voice.  She had been with the family O’Grady for over five hundred years, even following some of them to America during the Great Famine—though her spirit still yearned sometimes for the hills of the Old Country.  The last major change in her life had been over sixty years ago, when Dapper Donny’s father had convinced her to keen the deaths of all members of the O’Grady mob, even if they were not family by blood.  What could Harry want of her?

“Yes, you.  My father was one for the old ways, but this is the 21st Century.  We don’t need a banshee shrieking about, frightening the neighbors, whenever someone’s going to die.”

Bean Sídhe,” Filiméala corrected.  “The B is—”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.  We’re in American, so speak American.  But that’s not the point.  The point is, you’re a symbol of the past.”

“Your father and grandfather—”

“Are dead.  And all you could do was wail about it.  Now, if you could actually warn us someone was going to die in time for us to prevent it…”  He cocked an eyebrow at her.

She shook her head.  Harry had never been the brightest fish in the barrel.  “That’s just foolishness, lad.  If you prevented a man from dying, I would not feel the call to sing his death now, would I?”

Grabbing her by the left wrist, Harry said, “I am head of the family now.  You will show me respect.”

She nodded.

He twisted her arm behind her back.  “They say if you capture a banshee, she must tell you the name of who is going to die.  You must have been giving my father that information, which could still be useful, even if the death can’t be prevented.”

“Rubbish,” Filiméala said.  “If it’s obvious who will die, like your father on his deathbed, then I know, just the same as anyone else.  But usually I keen the death without knowing whose it is.  Who told you such nonsense?”

“I read it on Wikipedia,” Harry said, his voice defensive.

She didn’t use the computer in her room for much more than emailing some of her sister Bean Sídhe back in the Old Country, who were constantly forwarding her chain letters and YouTube clips.  The Internet did not seem worthy of trust to her, because she did not understand the magic behind it.  Humans were different—willing to rely on magic beyond their mortal comprehension.  “I believe I know my own powers better than Wikipedia.”

“Whatever.”  Harry released her arm and waved dismissively.  “If you can’t make yourself useful, then I see no reason not to replace you.”

“Replace me?”  Her voice rose to a squeak, and she struggled to lower its pitch and speak in a reasonable tone.  “I have served your family faithfully all these centuries, and now you want to bring in another Bean Sídhe to take my place?  I promise you, she can tell you no more than I.”

“Not another banshee,” he said.  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.  “The head of one of the Haitian gangs owed me a favor.  One of his men voodooed an app for my iPhone that will warn me when an O’Grady is going to die, but since I can set it to play any mp3 I want as the warning, it’s more discreet—and a whole lot easier on the ears.”  He grinned at her.  “You, my dear, are obsolete.”

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Filiméala finished her keening as “Dapper” Donny O’Grady, head of the O’Grady mob, breathed his last. Leaning over his bed, she planted a kiss on his age-mottled forehead. She was glad he had died peacefully at home, rather than in a rain of bullets, like too many of the extended family.

“Right, then, we’re done with that infernal screeching,” said Harry. “Time for you to be on your way.”

Filiméala sat up straight and fixed her gaze on Harry. Even at thirty-five, he still had the air of an impatient six-year-old. She had never been sure whether his nickname “Hair-Trigger” was the result of his impatience or the cause of it. “Show some respect, lad,” she said. “Your father has just passed on. I have sung his soul—”

“Right, right,” Harry said. “My father, may he rest, etcetera. But I’m head of the family now, and there are going to be some changes, starting with you.”

“Me?” Filiméala could not keep the startlement from her voice. She had been with the family O’Grady for over five hundred years, even following some of them to America during the Great Famine—though her spirit still yearned sometimes for the hills of the Old Country. The last major change in her life had been over sixty years ago, when Dapper Donny’s father had convinced her to keen the deaths of all members of the O’Grady mob, even if they were not family by blood. What could Harry want of her?

“Yes, you. My father was one for the old ways, but this is the 21st Century. We don’t need a banshee shrieking about, frightening the neighbors, whenever someone’s going to die.”

Bean Sídhe,” Filiméala corrected. “The B is—”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We’re in American, so speak American. But that’s not the point. The point is, you’re a symbol of the past.”

“Your father and grandfather—”

“Are dead. And all you could do was wail about it. Now, if you could actually warn us someone was going to die in time for us to prevent it…” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

She shook her head. Harry had never been the brightest fish in the barrel. “That’s just foolishness, lad. If you prevented a man from dying, I would not feel the call to sing his death now, would I?”


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