Siren Song

Creede’s magic wasn’t as powerful, but there was a weight to his gaze that had nothing to do with magic. It unnerved me. Not only because of the intensity of it but also because of the charm around his neck. He leaned closer as my hand froze on the door, my fingernails digging into the hard wood, not because I didn’t want him to come closer but because I did.



He was close enough now that I could feel his breath like heat on my skin. He might not have me in a total binding spell, but something had me frozen in place.



“Yeah. I do.” The words were powerful and full of meaning, but I’d forgotten the question. He closed his eyes then and I tensed. But he just took a deep, slow breath, as though smelling the air around me. A full-body shudder overcame him and he shook his head before turning without a word.



It was at least a full minute before I could move again, and when I shut the door I was shaking.



18



Dahlmar and Lopaka were in meetings again, so I had some time to kill. I spent it using the computer on my desk to catch up on stuff at home. I’d qualified for the loan. I’d need to swing by the bank when I got back. Mom was in detox. Apparently she’d gotten the DTs in jail. Gran was upset but hanging in there. The news that I’d be able to buy her house cheered her up quite a bit. Of course she wanted everything to happen now. When she found out I wasn’t in town and couldn’t take care of it immediately she got downright snappish. She was even madder when I told her I probably wouldn’t even be back in time to take her to church Sunday. I was glad to hang up the phone.



E-mails were plentiful and informative. Warren’s friend was okay. She’d had car trouble, but it was fixed. She’d invited us to come up to dinner next week. Unfortunately, the “us” referred to me and Bruno, which ripped the scab right off that wound. The next message only heaped on the salt.



Emma had arrived in New York. The apartment was amazing. The office was amazing. Irene was amazing. Everything was just . . . amazing. Emma’s boss was in and out of meetings the first day, but she expected Em to jump right in. In fact, she’d be flying out this morning on the corporate jet for a business trip. She sounded excited and incredibly happy, but I could tell she felt a little guilty, too. After all, my life pretty much sucked right now. I sent her a quick note telling her not to worry and that I was happy for her. That accomplished, I shut down the computer and went to take advantage of the spa-style bathroom facilities.



There were lots of mirrors, so I was able to check out every inch of my body. Good news, it didn’t look like I’d be getting any new scars from yesterday’s little adventure. Yay. Considering how bad the burns had been, that was pretty remarkable. I was vain enough to be relieved.



I’d poked around in the dresser before stepping into the shower. Someone (I was guessing Hiwahiwa) had gone to the west side of the island to shop for me, so when I was clean I pulled on brand-new everything. Of course whoever it was had based her choices on what I’d been wearing the first time she saw me, so it was a little more goth than I was used to, but the clothes were clean and comfortable. She’d even done a good job of guessing the size of my bra and panties. Then again, she’d gotten to see them.



I blushed furiously and tried not to think about that too hard. I needed to get over my embarrassment about nudity. Hell, I’d been wearing as much as most people wore around the pool. But it just wasn’t the same in my head. I wasn’t sure quite how to cope other than to pretend it hadn’t happened. Easier said than done.



Lunch killed another hour or so, but by mid-afternoon I was bored out of my mind. Creede was with Dahlmar. Bubba had gone to the west side to see what replacement boats might be available in his price range. I had nothing to do and lots of empty hours to do it in.



Salvation came in the form of Agent Baker and an invitation from Queen Lopaka’s personal seer.



Queen Lopaka has told me of the curse you bear. I believe I can be of assistance to you in unraveling the mystery surrounding this. If you would like me to try, I will be home most of the day. My daughter, Agent Baker, will be happy to escort you here.



Pili



Baker drove the golf cart on a road of sparkling white gravel that wound snakelike through the manicured jungle plants of the queen’s compound. A pair of guards, male this time, jogged alongside. We moved at a nice steady clip through a secluded group of buildings that had been designed in such a way that while they were actually fairly close together, they had been incorporated into the landscape so well that they were practically invisible to one another. I was told we were a couple of miles from the village where the royal staffers lived and quite a few miles from West Island and the cities. Baker suggested that, if I had time, I should head west and see the sights, maybe even go clubbing. A lovely thought, but I doubted I’d get the chance.



The grounds were amazing. The birds were spectacular, too. Some of them were as bright and colorful as the flowers. I found my depression and frustration falling away as we drove. We finally came to a stop in a little gravel parking area. Looking up, I could barely see the outline of a small building up among the trees, on a rocky hill, almost completely hidden from view. We had to walk the last hundred yards or so straight up stairs that climbed a hill steep enough that my calves hated me for it. But there was a waterfall and the sunlight cast rainbows through the mist thrown up by the water as it hit the pool. Gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking.



A woman was waiting for us at the top of the staircase. She was old and withered looking, with skin tanned until it was the color and texture of an unshelled Brazil nut. Her gray hair was coarse and curly, shorn close to her scalp. Her eyes, an odd, almost metallic gold with flecks of copper. She was wearing a lavalava in the rich blue-green of Caribbean waters, with a white tank top that bared the sagging flesh of her upper arms.



“Thank you, Helen. You can wait below.” It was a politely worded order. Baker might be a bodyguard, but this was her mom. Still, she looked to me to confirm. At my nod, she started back down the path.



“My name is Pili and you are Celia. Welcome to my home.” She extended her hand and I shook it. She led me around the last bend in the path and onto a paved patio that provided a glorious ocean view. The breeze that played with my hair smelled of salt water and flowers. The roar of the waterfall was background noise, as were the calls of the many birds hidden in the distant trees.



“It’s beautiful.”



“Thank you.” She let me stare for a minute or two before she said, “We’d best get inside before you burn.”



She was probably right. Damn it.



I walked through the door she held open, into the dim, artificial cool of an air-conditioned living room. The living area held a bamboo-framed couch with worn floral cushions plus a pair of comfortable-looking chairs, all arranged around a glass-topped bamboo coffee table. On top of the table was a silver-rimmed crystal bowl half-full of water.



She lowered herself onto the couch, gesturing toward the chair across from her. “We have some time. Our queen and your king have made their agreement. The plan is in place, but we must wait on the usurper.”



My king. I didn’t really think of Dahlmar that way, but technically he was. I was both an American and Ruslandic citizen legally now. Did the whole princess thing make me Serenitian? And was that even what the sirens called themselves?



“You want to know when the curse was placed on you and by whom. And since your prophet is back on the mainland, I thought I might assist.”



She leaned forward and I felt a pulse of power hit the water. There was a sound like the ringing of a bell and images began to form.



I felt myself falling forward, the images passing me like mist. They rolled backward in time, moving so fast that I could only catch faded glimpses: the fight on the boat; the fight in the desert; the standoff with the demon in the parking lot at Anaheim Stadium. Each deadly event was represented.



We’re looking at events the curse has created or influenced.



There were certainly a lot of them. I shuddered at the image of the vampire attack that almost had killed me and had changed my life forever. But I almost threw up when we reached the night of Ivy’s death. I didn’t want to see that. Wasn’t sure I could bear reliving it. Fortunately, it quickly rolled past.



I was twelve, nine, six. Close calls I didn’t even remember—a car running a red light and almost hitting me; being swept off my grandpa’s boat in a sudden squall. The images were more solid now, and in color. Finally they slowed to normal speed.



I was playing with a ballerina Barbie on the floor of our house on Parker Street. I recognized the worn russet brown carpet and the plaid couch and matching chair made from fabric that was well nigh indestructible. I could hear Mom giving Dad a friendly lecture on taking care of my sister and me. There’d been such love between them. I remember that time, if only barely. “The baby’s asleep. She shouldn’t need anything—”



“Lana, will you relax? You’re just going to the store for a few minutes. We’ll be fine.”



Tears pricked my eyes as I looked into my past, at my parents. They looked so young, so happy. You’d never know, looking at this pleasant little domestic scene, that it would all go so horribly wrong.



“I know. I know.” She went up on tiptoe to give him a kiss. “It’s silly, but I worry.”



“We’ll be fine. I’m not a total incompetent.” He shook his head with amusement. “Besides, Celia’s here. She’ll help me. Won’t you, baby?”



I looked up from my play to nod yes.



“Well”—my mom smiled—“I guess there’s nothing to worry about, then.” She gathered up her purse and her shopping list from the coffee table and hurried out the door.



She hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when there was a light tap on the front door. My father went to answer it. The door opened. The child me continued playing.



“You will take me to see your daughters.”



It was a female voice and there was power in it. My father didn’t answer, didn’t hesitate. He simply stepped aside and let her in.

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