It reminded her the the ring she used to have, inlaid with shell, but the whole comb was that iridescent material. The back had a gentle curve to it, perfectly smooth, and the teeth were thick and broadly spaced. It was quite badly scratched, but Eileen thought she could make out the remains of some kind of engraved pattern. It looked like some kind of stylised wave pattern, or maybe wind?

She flipped it over, wondering if the pattern was any clearer on the the other side. Instead she found a name: Morrighan Kavanagh.

Probably not a relation, Eileen told herself. Kavanagh was an old Irish name, common in all sorts of places. Her own family were back in Ireland; she was the only one she knew of to leave. It was just a nice little surprise, the name. Well, a surprise, anyway,

The familiarity sent something winding down her spine to settle uncomfortably at the back of her stomach. It had been a long time since she'd gone home. She broke another promise every Christmas. Roads to Hell and Good Intentions and all that; no one knew guilt like a Catholic. Maybe this was a sign she should make the effort this year.

The bus pulled up. Eileen tucked the comb into her coat pocket and pulled out her purse in the same movement.

By the time she alighted again her family had been pushed from her mind, but the mysterious Morrighan remained. There couldn't be that many Kavanaghs in the phone book, she reasoned. And if Morrighan had gone to the trouble of labelling the comb then it was obviously precious to her. Eileen ought to make the effort to return it.

The damp had swollen her front door shut and it took three shoves with her shoulder to open it. She hung her coat on the hook behind the door and shoved it closed again. Tea took immediate priority, but she found herself unable to sit down and enjoy it, instead wandering from room to room with the mug in hand, trying to remember where she'd left the phone book.

She found it behind the front door, where it had landed when delivered. She thumped it onto her kitchen table and made herself another cup of tea, the previous one cold now.

“Kavanagh. Kavanagh Y.”

Well, if she was Kavanagh Y, then the un-initialled Kavanagh must be M. Unless she was unlisted.

She held the phone away from her ear as it rang, the noise sharper and more shrill than usual, like an ululating scream.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello!”

The person on the other end of the line was silent. It was a woman, at least.

“I found your comb,” Eileen blurted. “I mean, this is Morrighan Kavanagh, yes?”

“And you even know how to pronounce it.” The voice was deep and amused, the County Wexford accent giving Eileen deja vu. “I've been looking for that.”

“I'll return it. Your address is in the phone book, I could post it.”

“Oh, I'd rather you didn't. You know what the post around here is like. No, if it's not too much trouble, could you bring it to me in person?”

There was a song-like quality to her voice, deep and sonorous, that Eileen found completely seductive. So much so it wasn't until after they'd made arrangements and she'd hung up that she realised that the polite thing for Morrighan to have done would be to collect the comb.

#

She missed the first bus because she'd left the comb at work, and then she missed her connection. Hew new grey tunic had been a mistake; the rain left black marks that threatened to be permanent and water soaked up the legs of her trousers. She got wolf-whistled at and almost walked into a lamppost trying to ignore it.

I'm not staying for dinner, she decided. That'd be tempting fate.

The sky put a little extra effort in between the bus stop and the address she'd written on her little scrap of paper. She had enough time to be sure of the flat number before the ink bled into illegibility. The stairs were on the outside of the building, leading up rows of concrete walkways. Other flats had plastic toys scattered outside and forgotten washing tied to the handrail, but the door she made for had no signs of life to clutter it.

She raised her hand to knock but the door opened before she touched it. Her hand dropped to her side.

“Morrighan Kavanagh?”

“Eileen Kavanagh, yes? Come in.”

Morrighan stood aside and Eileen entered. Morrighan was a good six inches taller than her, and her waist length hair clung to Eileen's wet coat as she passed.

“I'm terribly sorry for dragging you out on a night like this,” Morrighan said. “I hope dinner will make up for it.”

“You really didn't have to...” Eileen protested. Still, she noticed, no explanation for why Morrighan had not come to her. “I've got your comb in my bag,” she said.

“Oh, we'll worry about that later. Get that coat off and warm up.”

The flat was open plan and very plain. Eileen hung her coat behind the door – the only coat there - and tucked her bag beneath it. She felt under-dressed now, though Morrighan wasn't dressed particularly formally. Maybe it was her stature that leant her wispy dress more dignity than it would have had on another person.

She followed Morrighan to the area designated as a kitchen. It was spotless, a single pan bubbling on the hob. The only decoration in the room was a poster for Alien, framed and hung above the table.

Eileen nodded at it. "You liked the film?"

Morrighan shrugged. "It's a classic. The poster's from the original theatrical release." Her smile was a little lopsided. "I collect film detritus, but I try not to let it show. Please, sit.”

Morrighan served them each a bowl of green and purple vegetables in some kind of oily sauce. Eileen thought it might be Thai food, but decided it wouldn't be polite to ask. Morrighan produced a plate of chicken satay to share and seated herself next to Eileen.

“I hope you weren't expecting anything traditional,” Morrighan said. “I find Irish cooking so heavy on the stomach.”

“No, this looks lovely. Did you emigrate recently?”

“Only a few weeks ago. I'm not intending to stay long.” Morrighan used her long nails to pluck a piece of chicken from the dish, her elbow bumping Eileen's. “Actually, it was you I was looking for.”

Eileen swallowed abruptly, chilli oil burning its way down her throat. She fought the urge to cough and reached for a glass of water.

“Really, me?” she asked when she had recovered.

“Family history,” Morrighan said. “Oh, we're quite distant. Don't worry about that.”

The urge to ask what she wasn't to worry about was interrupted as she lost the battle with the cough.

“I have known your ancestors,” Morrighan went on. “I am familiar with your whole line. It's not just an idle hobby; it's my life's work.”

“Genealogy?”

Morrighan nodded. “Once I am done here I have an appointment to keep in New York.” She waved a hand at the apartment. “I didn't see the point in personalising the place.”

“Oh.” The vowel was all disappointment and Eileen winced internally. “I, um. I hear New York's very nice this time of year.”

“I hear it's cold. Are you finished?”

Eileen looked at the piece of pak choi she was pushing around. It was saturated with chilli sauce now.

“Yes, thank you. It was warming,” Eileen said honestly. “Just what I needed.”

Morrighan swept the plates away. Eileen heard the clank and roll of a dishwasher and started to rise, but paused with her legs half-straightened.

“Dessert?”

Morrighan's dress lay around her feet like a green-grey pool. Her hair hung forward, long enough to protect her modesty Godiva-style.

Eileen's tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She struggled to swallow, her saliva in her throat rather than her mouth.

“Please.” She mouthed it, but Morrighan understood.

Morrighan's hair parted across her body as she moved. Eileen took a couple of steps forwards too, and they met in the middle of the kitchen. Morrighan trailed a hand up the side of Eileen's body and cupped her cheek. Eileen looked up to meet Morrighan's eyes. She got the impression Morrighan wasn't even looking at her, but then Morrighan lowered her face to Eileen's and their lips met.

And parted, still dry.

Eileen's stomach churned; she was glad the meal had been so light. Morrighan's hand was cool and smooth, Morrighan's smile something other than happy. Eileen took a step backwards, and Morrighan forwards, the hand on Eileen's cheek exerting just enough pressure to steer her slightly left. They were heading to the bedroom, Eileen realised, though she had no idea where the bedroom was.

She didn't realise how far they'd come until her calves hit something soft and her knees bent of their own accord. Her face was level with Morrighan's hips.

Eileen leant forward and pressed her nose into the short curls, and was rewarded with a tilt towards her. She kissed the soft folds as chastely as they'd kissed in the kitchen. And she kissed Morrighan again, her lips parting, and kissed again, her tongue pushing between her lips and into Morrighan's folds.

She felt the tremor in Morrighan's thighs and kissed her as passionately as she'd ever kissed anyone on the lips. The moan she heard came from her own throat rather than Morrighan's.

She put one hand down to steady herself on the low bed. The covers were slippery under her hand, but the bed was soft enough she could dig her fingers in. She reached up to Morrighan's hip with her other hand, but as her fingers brushed the smooth skin Morrighan's hand circled her wrist. She leant back, away from Morrighan's thighs, and looked up her body. She had a good view of Morrighan's full breasts, bouncing as she laughed.

Morrighan looked down at Eileen.

“You first,” she said. “You're the guest.”

Eileen reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. It stuck. Morrighan took the hem and gave it a tug. She laughed, warm and human.

Why “human”? Eileen asked herself. What was inh-

Morrighan pushed her back onto the bed and pulled on her trousers. The button popped from the waist, disappearing across the room, and they came down easily.

Eileen wriggled back across the bed. Morrighan put her hands on Eileen's hips and straddled the top of Eileen's thighs, so hot and heavy and so wet now Eileen felt it through her underwear. Eileen dug her heels into the side of the bed and arched her lower back up. The mound of Venus, they called it, and Eileen thought it well named as hers pressed hard against Morrighan's.

Morrighan tightened her hands on Eileen's hips and started to rock. Eileen swallowed as the pressure increased against her clit, Morrighan's wet folds sliding over Eileen's now soaking panties just hard enough to make Eileen throb. She focused on the feeling, squeezing her thighs together and tangling her hands in the bedspread, closing her eyes to focus better. Morrighan's hands moved up her body, cool compared with the heat where their bodies touched elsewhere. The heels of her palms smoothed the skin that twitched beneath her nails. And still she rocked, and Eileen's breath came in ever shorter gasps and her attention was ever more focused.

She didn't recognise her discomfort at first, and then it was too familiar. Her old bra had ridden up, underwire digging in where it shouldn't. Opening her eyes, she saw Morrighan playing with the frayed elastic. Morrighan's smile showed teeth.

Eileen untwined one hand from the covers to undo it but Morrighan was faster, long fingers pushing beneath Eileen's back and breaking the clasp. It stung, but Morrighan's head dropped and Eileen forgot it as she took a nipple between her lips. Her tongue grazed its tip and Eileen's skin tightened.

The moan caught in the back of Eileen's throat and thrummed, choked by need. Her mouth opened and closed, she writhed beneath Morrighan's flexible tongue. It flicked one nipple and moved to the other. Her long fingers were on the move again, seeking out more material to tear. Eileen's panties put up more of a fight than her bra but gave beneath Morrighan's nails.

Morrighan's thumb rubbed her clit, her first two fingers slid between Eileen's folds and deep inside her. Eileen felt them move inside her; they reached places she'd never been able too, found spots she'd thought she didn't have. Eileen closed her eyes again.

She couldn't take a proper breath, couldn't hear over the thunder of her own heartbeat, couldn't see past the patterns dancing on the inside of her eyelids. They blanked as she came, her whole world white-hot.

She opened her eyes. Morrighan was upright, straddling Eileen's hips, her skin whiter than any white Eileen had seen, her hair blacker than any black. She glowed, the centre of the room.

“Morrighan.”

“Eileen.” Morrighan scraped a nail through the sweat gathering between Eileen's breasts. “Make me scream.”

Eileen managed to get her elbows beneath her and started to sit up. Morrighan's thighs tightened around Eileen's. She rolled backwards, taking Eileen with her, and when Eileen's world righted she sat between Morrighan's spread legs.

Eileen wriggled back, placing a hand on each of Morrighan's thighs. Her flesh was cool and perfectly smooth, like still-wet clay wrapped in silk. Eileen pinched one leg, watching the skin flush briefly before fading back into snowmelt pallor.

“When I said make me scream...”

Eileen laughed. “Sorry. You have beautiful skin.” Morrighan's voice had been breathy, almost fluting; Eileen suspected she didn't actually mind the pinching.

Still, she smoothed over the skin she had pinched and pressed a kiss to it. Morrighan sighed. Eileen moved up her thigh, feeling it warm beneath her lips as she neared her goal. Morrighan's sighs grew more frequent.

The curls between Morrighan's legs were short and neat, like dark waves lapping toward her belly. Eileen worked towards their source, and found it still wet and waiting for her as she'd left it. She hadn't done this often, but her body was still warm with orgasm and filled her with giddy confidence. She smiled as she pressed her lips to Morrighan's other kind.

She had a different flavour to the few women Eileen had known this intimately. She licked up between the folds until she found the sweet, sensitive spot. It tasted of tears and Eileen teased it until she couldn't imagine liking any flavour better.

Morrighan's breath came in short sobs; Eileen could feel them rippling through her whole body. She was close now. Eileen curled her tongue and concentrated. Morrighan breath came so fast it was a long, low whistle, like the wind through trees. She tightened around Eileen's fingers; wetness poured into Eileen's mouth. Morrighan screamed.

And screamed.

Eileen's self-congratulation dissolved into confusion. She sat up.

Morrighan still screamed.

Her head had fallen back; the white of her eyes bloody, her tongue black, her teeth too white and too sharp.

Eileen scrambled backwards off the bed.

Salt water. Tears. The howl of the wind and the shrieks of the gulls and the scream in the night with no known source.

Foreteller of death for the great Irish families.

Eileen found her own voice. “Who's dying? Who's going to die?”

Morrighan kept screaming.

“Who is going to die? Please! Morrighan...”

The name fell apart on her lips.

Eileen grabbed her tunic from the floor. She pulled it over her head, watching the banshee through the thin satin. She crouched to find her trousers without looking down and stepped into them.

She pulled them up as she stood, but they slipped when she let go. The button. She tucked in the dress, its added bulk holding them up, and backed towards the bedroom door.

Closing it did nothing to mute the scream. She turned and fled for the flat's exit. She shoved her feet in her shoes without tying them and flung her coat around her shoulders. The banshee's scream was still as loud as before, and Eileen wondered if it was in her head. Had she gone mad? Why was it not waking the neighbours?

She stumbled out onto the walkway. It still rained, heavy like the autumn rain back home, but she couldn't hear it over the screaming. Eileen ran for the stairs. She stood on an untied lace, almost tripped, pulled the foot free and stood on the hem of her trousers. The satin whispered as her dress untucked itself from her waistband. Cold rain prickled her thighs as her trousers began to slip. She grabbed at them with one hand, but the scream increased and she lengthened her stride automatically. She was at the steps. She let go the trousers to grab for the handrail, and they fell to her ankles.