Siren Song

I did the only sensible thing I could think of. I jumped back down through the sunroof and hit the button for the door locks and roof, hoping to hide behind the nice, thick, bulletproof glass until help arrived. I nearly landed on Dr. Scott. He was slumped on the floor, eyes rolled back in his head and breathing shallow. I didn’t know if it was a delayed reaction to the earlier attack or if they’d gone after him again. All I could do was lift him onto the seat cushions and put cool, damp napkins on his forehead and the back of his neck while I waited for help to arrive.



Jeff was in psychic shock. The cops—the real cops—took him away in an ambulance, along with the limo’s real driver, who’d been found drugged and unconscious in the trunk. They didn’t take me. I asserted self-defense and asked for my attorney. So did Ivan.



Ivan Stefanovich had been driving the sedan and had opened the rear door to find me hovering over Jeff. I was honestly shocked to see him. A couple of weeks ago, during the fallout from my last job as a bodyguard, he’d been wounded badly enough that I hadn’t expected him to make it. Then again, he was one tough bastard. Ivan served as the right-hand-man-cum-security-chief for King Dahlmar of Rusland. The same King Dahlmar whose son I’d helped rescue from a major demon. Rusland is not be a big country, only maybe the size of Ohio. It’s tucked in between the Ukraine and Poland and touches on the Czech Republic as well.



Recently discovered reserves of natural gas made Rusland politically important. Ivan was an international headache for the cops—and he had diplomatic immunity. So we waited, with some seriously pissed-off cops. They wanted to hurt me. Hell, more than hurt me. I was a vampire and I’d been caught red-handed at a kill scene. I was toast—right up until they found out that the bodies on the ground had no bite marks and that I left no blood on the swab they ran around inside my cheeks. It didn’t make them any happier to discover the men in the uniforms around the real squad cars weren’t actually police. That pissed them off a lot. But at least they weren’t pissed at me after that. So I got to wait for my attorney inside a spelled circle, in handcuffs, as they processed the crime scene, instead of being staked on the spot.



Ms. Graves, if you can hear me, nod your head. Ivan’s voice came clearly inside my skull. He’d told the cops he was a registered mage. I’d forgotten he was a telepath. He’d only used that talent in front of me once—at the World Series game when we’d discovered one of King Dahlmar’s sons was being kidnapped.



I gave a tiny nod. Nothing noticeable.



Good. I was afraid the spelled circle would interfere, as the barrier around the car did.



Since until recently I had no psychic talent, I’m not very good at talking mind-to-mind. I hoped my intense concentration wasn’t showing on my face as I replied, Not that I’m complaining, but how did you know to come riding up like the cavalry?



I could almost hear the puzzlement in his thoughts. Either I sucked at thinking at him or the reference was too American for his English.



I was waiting outside the tribute to your deceased friend. I wished to speak with you. I saw them attack the driver. When the police guarding the doors did nothing, I decided to wait for a better opportunity.



Shit. The police outside the party had seen the switch? And didn’t stop it? That was wrong. Really wrong. Thank God Ivan had been there. But why had he? And why had he come riding to the rescue? My past experiences with him hadn’t shown him to be the most altruistic guy on the planet. In fact, he’d calmly left a man to die in order to follow his orders.



He answered my questions as if I’d voiced them aloud. I wasn’t surprised he’d been listening to my thoughts. Not everybody has Jeff’s ethics.



My king does not know I have come to you. But you may be our only hope.



What in the world could I do that a nation’s king and all the money and favor of a hundred countries desperately trying to gain a strategic ally couldn’t? What do you want from me?



“All right. That’s enough, you two. I said no talking.” Ivan’s reply—if he had been going to make one—never came. The detective who’d set up the magic circle I was standing in straightened from where he’d been chatting with someone near the bodies. Whatever the guy had told him hadn’t made him happy. He stalked over to where I stood, my hands securely cuffed behind my back. He bent down, pressed his finger to the edge of the circle, and began muttering a spell. Sound disappeared from the world and my vision sparkled like I’d been slammed face-first into a brick wall. I gasped in pain as the increased power burned across my skin. I didn’t say anything, but he must’ve seen me flinch, because a look of satisfaction flickered across his face for just an instant. It was so quick, it could’ve been a trick of my imagination. But I knew it wasn’t.



When they eventually released me to go to Birchwoods, Ivan was long gone. We never did get to talk. That worried me. Because once I got inside the facility, I probably wasn’t going to be allowed calls or visitors for quite some time. There wasn’t anything I could do about that, but it was a problem just the same. I pondered it on the long drive down Ocean View. This time I had a real police escort, and more. News crews had been minding their scanners and we wound up with lots of company. The more the merrier, as far as I was concerned. I wanted witnesses to this whole debacle. Something had gone horribly wrong within the police force to have this happen. There apparently hadn’t been any sort of citywide all-points bulletin when I went missing, because that was one of the questions the nice reporters asked the incident commander. Keeping everything public and under the media microscope offered me the best possible protection. It’d be a damned nuisance. But I could live with that. Emphasis on the “live.”



We made the drive in broad daylight because it had taken hours to deal with the fallout from the kidnapping attempt. I was glad for the press and for Roberto Santos. My attorney had rightfully insisted that I be moved out of the confining circle and behind tinted windows before the sun could crisp me.



I stared out the window at Birchwoods, wondering what it was that Ivan needed and wishing for about the millionth time that the damned bat had just bitten me and been done with it rather than trying to bring me over. He’d turned me into an abomination that was not vampire, human, or siren but some unholy mix of the three.



In the eyes of most of the cops I was a monster, one step below a dangerous animal, and now I’d publicly embarrassed the whole department. There were bodies on the ground and the police cars were real. Of course, the fourth suspect had gotten away. Maybe they’d catch him. Maybe not.



I had the sickening feeling this whole night was somehow going to wind up being my fault.



3



The covers went flying off the bed, but I grabbed an end and pulled the soft comforter back over me. Then the drapes opened abruptly to let in bright sunlight. I flipped the pillow so my head was underneath and returned to warm darkness.



“I don’t want to go to therapy today. Go away.” I heard a familiar squeak, like fingernails on chalkboard, and lifted up just enough of the pillow to peek out from underneath.



Have to.



The words were written in beautiful script on the dresser mirror, etched into the frost Vicki had formed on the surface. Technically, I wasn’t allowed to have a “roommate,” but there wasn’t much the staff could do about it since she was a ghost and a former resident. I let out a little growl and dropped the pillow back over my face. Yeah, I knew she was right. If I didn’t play by the rules now, they’d only get more restrictive and it would be a nurse or, worse, a mage attendant with compulsion magic who came to get me.



Another squeak and this time I smelled flowers. I lifted the pillow again and there was a single yellow daisy lying next to my face. The frost had formed a new word.



Please?



Well, hell. I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. Vicki always could cajole me into doing stuff. “Okay, okay. I’ll get up.” I spun my legs off the bed and walked to the dresser. “Let’s see, let me choose from my expansive wardrobe.”



I opened the first drawer to reveal gray T-shirts and sweatshirts. The second drawer held gray sweatpants and the third? Yep, gray undies. Everything gray except the bras. They were white. Whoo. All newbies to the Birchwoods program have their past stripped away so the healing can begin. Or so say the ads. Gray is the great equalizer among the classes. No amount of fame, money, or family title can stand against it. It’s only later, further into the program, that personalities and preferences are allowed to reemerge, under strictly controlled circumstances. I took a quick shower, pulled on my graywear, and slathered on enough sunscreen to get me through the first part of the day. A baseball cap with the facility’s logo would protect my scalp.



The windows were flung open and I got the day’s first breath of salty sea air. The room was flooded with the sound of the ever-present gulls that were probably considered nuisances by the staff and other residents. What can I say? Gulls seem to be my thing lately. They’ve been flocking around me ever since I fought against my vampire sire by pulling on my siren talents. I have no idea why, or what to do about it, which is as frustrating to me as it probably is to the birds.



I looked out the window and tried to lighten my mood. It didn’t take all that long. Birchwoods is a lovely compound, filled with flowers, stunning landscaping, and rolling, grassy hills. The view included the ever-present guards, who dress like tour guides but are actually tough and smart.



Security is tight, but that’s as much for the protection of the guests as for the public. I looked over the campus: hospital, administration building, youth facility, main residential building. It’s a good thing I’m not an autograph hound, because coming out of the youth facility at that moment was one of the biggest teen pop stars in the world. There were a lot more inside the building. The crème de la crème come here when they need to dry out or heal up and they don’t want anyone to know about it, ever. The tabloids try desperately to get through security, knowing that if they did they’d get the scoop of the century. Thus far, they’d had no success.

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