Siren Song

Okalani’s mother tried to hide it, but I saw her give a tiny, full-body shudder at what might have happened. Still, her voice was cold and controlled when she spoke to her daughter. “You should apologize to the princess.”



“Yes, ma’am.” Okalani stood. I watched her take a deep breath. Gathering her courage, she walked past her mother, toward me. I turned and waited.



“I’m sorry. I wanted—” She stopped, swallowing hard. The tears were perilously close to returning, but she fought them back. “I wanted to talk to you and I knew they wouldn’t let me see you. But I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”



“I forgive you. But you need to be more careful. People have been trying to kill me. I thought you were one of them. Normally I don’t hesitate when I’m defending myself. You were really, really lucky tonight.”



She shivered. I hoped she was remembering the cold, razor-edged blade against her throat, the fangs, or both.



It was important she remember. But it was also important that she get a chance to talk to someone about the mainland. Because if she didn’t, she was liable to do something even more stupid than sneaking onto Bubba’s boat. She was desperate. I understood because I’d felt exactly the same way when I was only a little younger than she was now. I’d gone looking for my father. I’d found him with his new family. He’d turned his back on me. I hadn’t believed that was possible. I’d believed that he loved me enough . . . and he hadn’t. You can’t protect kids from everything. But I’d spare anyone that kind of pain if I could. “Look, I don’t know how long I’m going to be here or what my schedule is going to be like. But if it’s okay with your mother and we can work it out, I’m willing to sit down with you and have a talk.”



Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You are?”



“If it’s okay with your mom.”



She turned to her mother, her expression pleading.



Her mother’s face was impassive. “We’ll see.” She turned to Baker. “Can we go?”



Baker nodded. “Yes. If the princess isn’t going to press charges, you can take Okalani home.”



She turned to her daughter. “Go home. Get in bed and stay there. We’re going to have a talk when I get home.”



The way she said the word “talk” made it very clear who would be talking and who would be listening. But the kid was smart enough not to argue this time.



“Yes, ma’am.” She ducked her head, gathered her power, and vanished.



The instant she was gone, her mother closed her eyes and shuddered. It took her a moment to pull herself together. When she managed it, she turned to Baker. “If you’d be so kind, I’d like to speak to the princess privately.”



Baker gave me an inquiring look. Apparently I was in charge. I guess it came with the title. “Sure. No problem.”



She waited until Baker was on the dock before coming to stand beside me at the railing. Still, at least two of the guards were in earshot. So it didn’t surprise me when she decided to talk to me mind-to-mind.



Thank you for not killing my daughter.



I try not to kill people unless it’s really necessary. It still wasn’t easy for me to communicate this way, but I was willing to work at it. Because this was obviously important to her. But it really was a close call.



I noticed that. She shivered. Hugging herself tight, she turned, looking out to the ocean in the distance. I didn’t say anything, just waited as she searched for the right words. I love her so much, but I’m not sure what to do with her. I hate admitting that. But . . . her talent is so strong. The queen suggested that she might join the guards. She could be useful moving troops on a moment’s notice, without a trace. But she hates it here. The other children pick on her so cruelly.



Why?



She stared out at everything and nothing. I forget, you don’t know about us. She turned around, resting her back against the railing, her eyes meeting mine. The siren talent does not coexist well with other magical abilities. So those with siren talent do not manifest strong magical or psychic talents. They rarely even have another minor ability. She paused for a moment, then went on. There are not many children among our people. If one of them shows a magical ability, particularly a strong one . . .



She’s not going to be able to do the siren thing.



No.



Ren can teleport, I observed.



The other woman nodded. Yes, but only herself and one other.



I stared into the distance, instead of staring at her and making it obvious we were talking. Heaven only knew who could overhear. And her siren abilities?



Weak. Very weak. She can influence, but only temporarily, and the very strong willed may be able to resist her.



Not such a good thing for a princess. Adriana? I asked, because I had to.



Clairvoyant. She does not have a prophet because she is a prophet.



So, neither was going to be considered suitable to rule. Which explained the bitterness. With her talent, Adriana probably could see who would get the throne. Fate can be so cruel.



My daughter can teleport a dozen easily, possibly even two dozen with effort. But she hasn’t even enough siren abilities to talk mind-to-mind.



And the other kids give her shit for it.



Oh yes.



Poor kid. I could relate. I’d caught all kinds of hell, growing up—until the day I beat the crap out of the biggest, baddest kid on the playground. They stopped tormenting me then. The other kids still didn’t like me and it didn’t stop the whispers, but for the most part, everybody left me alone.



Poor Okalani. Teleportation is a very rare talent. She might do well on the mainland when the time comes.



Yes, she might. But she needs to be an adult. Her father has made it very clear that he won’t help. He is most bitter at having been sent away. He has a new wife and a new life. She has adopted our son as her own but has “no interest” in our daughter. I could force him, if he hadn’t taken steps.



Steps?



He wears a charm similar to the ones your client and Mr. Creede wear. She gave me a sour look. I believe his new wife bought it for him. He could not have afforded such a thing on his own.



Ouch. But it was interesting that Creede had one. I hadn’t known that. I’m sorry. I thought about it for a moment. You haven’t told Okalani about her father’s new family, have you?



That he rejected her? No. It seemed unnecessarily cruel.



Maybe she was right. But the kid was going to find out eventually.



Maybe so. She’d read my thoughts. I’d have to be careful of that. But I’d like to spare her that particular pain as long as I can. She uncrossed her arms and straightened. Speaking out loud for the first time, she said, “I must go and try to talk sense to my daughter.”



“Good luck with that.” My tone was dry, but I meant it. She’d need every bit of luck she could scrounge up to get through Okalani’s thick teenage skull.



“Thank you for not killing her and for agreeing to speak with her. Maybe you can get through to her.”



“I’ll do my best.”



She gave me a sad smile, followed by a very low bow, and left.



I watched her walk along the path until she disappeared into the night. It was time to find Creede and Dahlmar. I hoped the guesthouse had Internet access. I wanted to check my e-mail. I was worried about El Jefe’s friend from UCLA and hoped that Em had written about her first day at work. I should also have word from the bank and from Roberto about my mom’s case. Real life, such as it was, was still moving right along, whether or not I was home to participate.



I walked over to the ladder and climbed down to the dock. I didn’t look back at the wreck of the Mona. It’d just make me sad.



Baker came up to greet me almost immediately. “Is there something we can do for you, Highness?”



“Creede left me a note that they were going to the guesthouse?”



“Ah.” Raising fingers to her lips, she gave a ear-piercing whistle. Almost immediately I heard the soft purr of an electric motor. In an instant, a golf cart driven by a uniformed guard pulled up. Two others jogged along beside.



A golf cart? I must’ve looked as surprised as I felt, because Baker was smiling. “No automobiles are allowed on the east half of the island, where the royal compound is. West Island is as modern as you could want. There’s even an international airport. East Island has the compound, the queen’s private docks, and the nature preserve.”



All right then. “Are they going to—”



“Jog alongside the vehicle all the way to the guesthouse?” She grinned. “Yes. We are.” She winked at me. “Fortunately, it’s only about a mile. It’s been a long day.”



At her gesture, I climbed in. I’d barely gotten my seat belt fastened before we were zipping along a narrow strip of pavement, heading steeply uphill. Baker and her guards kept pace. I jog nearly every day, but I wouldn’t have wanted to run that hill in full gear and honest-to-God army boots. Still, they might be sweating, but they didn’t seem to be struggling. Maybe I needed to up my regimen.



She hadn’t misled me. It wasn’t far and like the clearing where the ceremony had been held, it wasn’t obviously visible until you were very nearly upon it. When we got within a couple hundred yards, motion sensors at the edge of the trail brought fairy lights to life. Perimeter lights came on when the vehicle pulled to a stop in the wider section of pavement used for parking.



I don’t know architecture. I don’t know what style goes by what name, and periods are something women have once a month. But I dated an architect for a few months a while back. He was a nice guy but boring. His absolute hero, the man he bored me to tears about, was Frank Lloyd Wright. He spent hours poring over everything ever written about Fallingwater.



That’s what this looked like, right down to the waterfall, though the stones were darker. Wow. And this was just the guesthouse. Apparently Queen Lopaka knew how to live.



I climbed out and started walking. Baker fell in beside me. The other guards moved, dark and silent as my very own shadow, directly behind us.