Siren Song

Warren leaned forward so fast his chair made a thunking noise.



I hurried to explain. “Seriously. I’ve always wondered, ‘Why me?’ How could all this shit keep happening to one person? Now I know. It may not change anything that’s happened, but at least I know it’s not my fault.”



“No one ever thought it was.”



It was a nice thing for him to say. It was not, however, precisely true. Get a few drinks in people and they’d let all sorts of things slip out. As my dear gran always says, “A drunk man says what a sober man thinks.” More than once I’d been accused of “manufacturing crises” so that I could be the center of attention, as if I’m some sort of desperate drama queen. No. So no. I don’t even like being the center of attention.



I must have let the silence drag on too long. Warren said, “All right, no one sane ever did.”



I laughed again, my mind going back to identify the particular folks he was insulting. Still, it was probably time for a change of subject. “So, when is your lady friend going to conference in?”



“She should have logged in by now.” He glanced at the time indicator on his computer screen, his brows furrowing with worry. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to give her a call. She planned to drive to her office to call and probably just got caught in traffic, but—”



“Go for it. Do you want me to step down the hall so you have some privacy?”



“Do you mind?”



I rose from my chair. “Of course not. In fact, I think I’ll go grab a can of pop. Would you like one?”



“No, thanks.”



I closed the door behind me and started walking down the hall. I hadn’t quite reached the vending machine area when I heard Dr. Sloan call out, “Celia, wait. You’re not leaving, are you?”



I stopped and turned around, letting him catch up with me. “No. Warren’s making a call. I figured I’d get myself a drink.”



“Ah.” He offered me the book in his hands. “I found this on my shelves and thought it might interest you.”



I took the white leather volume. It was quite slender, probably not more than a couple hundred pages. Most texts have a lot more heft. The title appeared in silver foil letters on both the spine and cover: Man’s Experience of the Divine.



“There’s a chart in the first chapter of the various divine and semidivine beings, demigods and so forth, that might be useful for you. You can keep the book if you like. Consider it a thank-you for bringing me in on this and an apology for my being . . . insensitive.” He gave me an earnest look. “I realize this is your life, but this curse is simply extraordinary. The first one of its kind I’ve seen on a person. A live one, anyway.”



I gave him a wry look. “That’s one way to put it.”



He gave a sheepish laugh. “I did it again, didn’t I?”



“It’s all right.” I meant that. He really was trying to help, and I needed all the help I could get.



“Thank you for being so gracious. Now, if you’ll hold your hand still, palm out, I’ll take a few pictures.” He held out a camera phone. “With your permission, I’m going to share them with some of my colleagues. If there’s a cure for this, one of them should know of it.”



“That’s very kind of you.”



“Yes and no.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Posting these may help you, but it’ll definitely give me bragging rights. You have no idea how jealous some of my colleagues are going to be.”



I switched the book to my other hand and moved to a spot where the light was better. Holding my hand palm up, I let him take half a dozen photographs. When he’d finished, he tucked the phone back in his pocket. “There’s one more thing I think you should know.” He looked uncomfortable and I just knew I was getting bad news.



“What?” I tried to sound casual and failed.



“Until yesterday the mark was invisible, correct?”



“Yes.”



“You encountered something magical that changed that and was powerful enough to injure both you and the other woman?”



“Yes.”



He sighed. “Then I’m sorry to say, there’s a very good chance that whatever happened affected the curse. It could mean that you encounter problems less frequently or that the threats are less intense.”



Sounded good to me.



“Or it could be the exact opposite.”



No shit.



“Given what you’ve said about your past, I greatly fear that you’re going to be facing more and greater dangers now. I’m very sorry.” He was all earnest now, no longer just a scholar with an interesting puzzle to work on. It’s never fun to be the bearer of bad tidings.



“It’s all right. Thanks for telling me. I’ll just have to be very careful.”



“Please do. I’d hate to see anything happen to you. Now, I have to go. But I promise I’ll look into the matter thoroughly and I’ll contact you through Warren as soon as I find out anything that might help.”



“I appreciate that. Thank you for meeting with me.” He waved and hurried off. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Bubba’s number from memory. Yeah, he’d said he’d call, but I was getting impatient. Dottie’d talked a good game going out the door, but she hadn’t looked good. Pinning the cell phone between my shoulder and ear, I dug in my pockets for a bill that was crisp enough to feed into the pop machine. He answered just as my can of “pure liquid refreshment” dropped into the dispensing bin.



“Hey, Celia. The doctors say she’s fine. Said she should get some extra rest over the next couple days, but no harm done. I did make her promise she wouldn’t be taking those stairs anymore. They’re too damned steep for a woman her age, particularly with a walker!”



“Amen to that.” I let out a silent sigh of relief. I’d tried not to worry, but I couldn’t help it. Then there was the guilt. I mean, I was absolute hell on secretaries lately. What was worse was that the death curse meant I would continue to be a danger to the people around me. I didn’t want to live in a cloister, but . . . oh, hell.



“Anyway,” Bubba continued, “she insists she is not quitting. And she told me to tell you that you’d better not fire her just because she wore herself out. You need her. She’ll just be more careful from now on. She does want to be around Minnie, and Dawna does need the help.”



He was quoting Dottie. I knew because I could hear her in the background, sounding waspish as an angry schoolmarm.



I shouldn’t agree. I knew I shouldn’t. But I also saw a lot of me in her. I knew instinctively that Dottie needed something more in her life than soap operas and cleaning her apartment. Karl had brought that to her, bringing her people to do readings for, giving her a way to use her gift and help others. Now that he was dead, she’d been set adrift.



I understood, but I was not going to push it. “Only if she promises not to overdo. She’s not going to do anyone any good if she winds up dead or in the hospital.”



He repeated what I’d said and Dottie agreed. I could hear the relief in her voice even over the phone.



She’d be careful. So would I. Until I dealt with the whole curse thing, I’d spend as much time as I could away from the office.



One step at a time, Graves. You found out about the curse. Now you find the caster and get the damned thing removed. Then you won’t have to worry so much about Dottie, Dawna, or anyone else.



9



I could’ve gone to dinner with El Jefe. But I was exhausted. It had been a long, tiring day. Besides, neither of us was very good company. He was worried about his friend from UCLA. He’d made calls and learned there’d been no sign of her since she’d left Los Angeles a few hours before. It might be nothing—traffic, car trouble. But she should have called. There aren’t a lot of cellular dead zones between L.A. and Santa Maria de Luna. Of course her phone battery could’ve gone dead. Or she could’ve forgotten it. Or any of a million other things. But it wasn’t like her. So he worried. I was concerned, too, and asked that he call and let me know as soon as he found out anything. I wanted to eat something quick and get the Wadjeti back under wards and behind cold steel. Then I wanted to go back to Birchwoods before John’s spell wore off and go to bed.



One good thing about keeping busy—I hadn’t had time to fret about my upcoming court date. I kept telling myself that Roberto was the best. We had witnesses, including a slew of holy men who’d come at my psychic call to banish the demon. I reminded myself that Ren had sworn I’d get off; and that King Dahlmar, whose son I’d saved, would do everything in his considerable power to help me. All of this was true. Even so, I was scared. On the long drive from my office to Birchwoods I went over my testimony and my attorney’s plan of attack in my head.



I’ve been a witness before, plenty of times, mostly in paparazzi stalking cases, defending myself against assault charges from people who tried to get through me to the people I was guarding. But this was different. This was a paranormal manipulation charge. And I was now considered a monster. Both of which meant that I was considerably less likely to get a fair trial. My attorney was sure that, worst-case, I’d be confined to an institution of my choice. I hoped he was right.



The spectre of a state-run facility had been haunting my nightmares even before the attack on the limo. Now, knowing that someone there had already been paid to murder me . . . I shuddered. Were the same people behind the shooting at the Will reading, or was that something else entirely? I wasn’t sure I had the energy right now to track down more than one threat.



The closer I got to my destination, the worse I felt. By the time I slid my ID card into the slot of the security machine for the outer gate I was well and truly depressed. A full-body shudder hit me as the heavy metal grill rolled closed with a clang behind my car. Would this be the rest of my life? Locked away to protect the world from me—or worse, to protect me from the world?

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