Page 35 of The Banshee and the Warlock

"I was getting this for you." He pulls the book about banshees from his bag and hands it to me.

"Are you supposed to have this?"

"Yes, I checked it out properly, I didn't steal it, if that's what you're insinuating." He sits on the bench and leans back.

"I was going to go with borrow without permission."

He snorts. "Well, I borrowed with permission. It's a library after all."

I turn the book over in my hands, trying to process exactly what I'm thinking. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"I'm here for you, Anja. For whatever you need."

I can think of a dozen flirty things to say to that, but I know this isn't really the time or the place for them. Instead, I let out a sigh. "I'm a banshee."

"You might not be, it's just a theory."

I snort. "It's not a theory." I flip to the page with the drawing of the woman from my dreams. "She looks like me."

He shuffles closer and puts an arm around me.

Thistle hops over to the other side, but doesn't seem to engage with us much. It's nice to have her here though, it's support I never realised I wanted or needed.

"It could be a coincidence that she looks like you." He doesn't believe the words, I can hear it in his voice.

"It isn't. You know when you just feel things?"

"Like you being my mate?"

I nod. "Yeah, like that. I guess I just feel like this is the truth. This woman has been in all of my dreams, and there has to be a reason for that."

"Does it say much about who visits the dreams of banshees?" he asks.

"How should I know? You're the one that spent time with the book, not me," I point out, hoping he has so I can skip to the parts of the book I need.

"I didn't have time to read all of it," he responds. "But I did see a section about awakening banshee powers."

I flip to the front and scan the table of contents for the right page. I find it and scan the neatly printed text within. "When a bean sídhe comes of age, they are often visited by a powerful ancestor in their dreams." I shut the book and lean into him. "I guess that answers that."

"Mmm."

"I don't even know what to do with the information. I'm a banshee." Each time I say it, I become more certain that it's right. It's both terrifying and reassuring at the same time.

"You don't have to do anything with it," he says.

"That's not true. I have these powers." I look at my hands as if expecting them to change and become magical, but I guess that's not how it works.

"That doesn't mean anything, you're more than what you are," he says. "Do you think I'm evil?"

"What? No, of course not. Why would I think you're evil?" I look at him, horrified that he'd think I was capable of thinking that.

He shrugs. "I come from a line of warlocks so twisted that their bodies warped and became this." He gestures to himself.

"I like the way you look."

"I'm glad to hear it. But that doesn't change anything I'm saying."

"But you're not evil," I point out. "You're sweet, and funny, and kind."