Siren Song

I should have been able to see her face. In the vision I hovered above the scene, watching everything. I should have seen. But I couldn’t. I could see her perfect legs, the three-inch heels in a shade of blue-green that perfectly matched the color of her raw-silk suit. I could see the coil of shining dark hair in a French twist. But her face was a blur.



She knelt down beside me on the carpet, smoothing the line of her skirt with her hands.



“Hello, little one.” The voice was pleasant, musical, and there was a pull to it that was almost irresistible. “Give me your hand.” I looked up at my father for confirmation, but he was just staring off into space. He’d left the front door open, too, which was weird. He was always scolding me, telling me not to “let the air-conditioning out.”



I set down my doll and put my hand in hers. She held it tight, too tight. She started saying something that I could not understand. Heat surged through her hand and into mine and I started to scream.



I fought. Not that it did me any good. I was a child. She was an adult, too big and too strong for me to make any headway, and my dad was useless. He just stared. I squirmed, punched, and kicked to no avail. I bit her hard enough to draw blood and she cursed. The flames of magic that had been focused on my hand spread to hers and she was forced to fling me away from her to break the spell.



I lay on the floor, curled in the fetal position, whimpering in agony. Cradling her hand, she rose. Blood dripped onto her skirt and onto the carpet in a trail leading to the nursery. A moment later, the baby began to shriek.



A dark mist began swirling into the vision, obscuring the images and making them blur. As if from a distance, I heard Pili gasp, felt her gathering her power. She was trying to break loose but to no avail. I pulled back, trying to close my eyes and break the connection. It was hard. I felt overmatched, much like the child I’d been in the vision. With growing dread, I watched a shape begin to take form as the dark mist began gathering itself into something solid and terrifyingly familiar.



A voice, thick and rich as dark chocolate and far more sinful, greeted me. A demon. The same demon we’d driven off in the parking lot of Anaheim Stadium. He chuckled, as the snake must have chuckled to Eve. “Well, if it isn’t my little siren—and not a priest in sight.”



Pili slid bonelessly to the ground. I could feel her life force fading as the demon bled her power to make himself corporeal. I was screaming and it made him smile, his sensuous lips twitching with amusement at my terror.



He was just as beautiful as I remembered. Glorious. A fallen angel. Lesser demons are hideous. Greater demons are breathtaking enough to make you weep.



“Will you stop? It’s quite annoying and won’t do you the least bit of good. Besides, you don’t really want to be rescued, do you?” A delicate gesture of his hand and my screams cut off. I was still trying to scream, mind you, but no sound was coming out. I couldn’t move. He smiled at me and my heart leapt for joy. Even as the sane part of me shivered in terror at the knowledge of what this ancient creature of unimaginable evil would eventually do to me, I wanted to please him, worship him, do anything to have him smile.



He gave a low wicked chuckle and my body responded, almost painfully. A moan escaped my lips as my nipples tightened and I grew wet with aching need. I reached out to the water, even as I struggled against my own actions. He likewise reached out, and only that thin layer of water kept our hands apart. He let my tension build, seeming to savor the whimpering sound from my throat that was equally hopeless and eager.



“Yes, I think I’ll have you, siren. To toy with you physically as you slip into madness . . . yes, that would be an amusing distraction. As soon as I manifest, you’ll give your body to me and your downfall will be complete. What form should I take when we join? Your wolf? The mage who rejected you, or the new one who fights his desire for you?”



Even as my mind shrieked in fear at his words, my body ached. I wanted . . . needed . . .



Crash! The glass of the bowl shattered and filthy water, smelling of sulfur, sprayed in an arc and poured onto the floor. I jumped back, more from instinct than intent, and managed to only get sprayed with a couple of drops. But those drops burned just like the acid sprayed by the lesser demon. I screamed in shock and pain.



I could scream.



I was free. He didn’t have me. He didn’t have me. I blinked, practically sobbing with relief.



Adriana stood over the broken bowl, holding a broom handle like a club. Smoking burn holes marred her jeans and blouse, showing scorched and blistered skin. Her hair was braided, pulled back tight away from a face that was drawn in grim lines, her eyes blazing with fury. Helen Baker was kneeling by her mother. “You”—Adriana pointed to the nearest guard—“get Ren. We need holy water and a doctor. Now.”



“Yes, ma’am.”



I forced myself to stop screaming, swallowed my fear along with the taste of bile. My knees were shaking. But I was upright.



“Sit down before you fall down,” Adriana snapped. She dropped the broom, rushing over to join Baker where Pili was sprawled on the floor. I couldn’t tell whether or not the old woman was breathing. I started to take a step forward, to see if I could help. But the world swam when I did.



One of the guards grabbed me and shoved me forcibly into a chair. Pressing on my back, he forced my head between my knees.



“Breathe. Deep and even. Just keep breathing.”



I breathed. Slow and steady. When the world steadied, I lifted my head to see Adriana and a third uniformed guard giving CPR to Pili. I heard: “I have a pulse,” followed by weak coughing.



“Oh, thank God.” Adriana sat on the floor, looking utterly weary. I wasn’t positive that she wouldn’t have keeled over had her back not been propped up against the wall. CPR is hard, nerve-wracking work.



Ren appeared, priest in tow, and disappeared an instant later—no doubt in search of a doctor.



The priest stared wide-eyed at the acid water eating its way through the floorboards. Praying fervently in what sounded like Italian, he opened a black valise and pulled out a plastic gallon jug of holy water.



I didn’t watch him. I was looking at Adriana. “How did you know?” My voice was still a little hoarse and breathy. I was shaking. I couldn’t seem to stop. I knew it was over and my feet were as far from the smoking mess of acid as I could get them, but I couldn’t seem to get warm and I couldn’t stop shaking.



“Pili told us last night that she was going to do this for you. I felt it start even over at the palace. I felt when it went wrong.”



Ren was back with the doctor. Pili was stirring now. She was still terribly pale and too weak to sit up. But she was breathing and moving. She was alive.



“You should have the priest look at her. Bless her. Just in case.”



Ren turned to the priest, her Italian fluid and fluent. He frowned and nodded but didn’t immediately move to obey. Instead, he continued praying and pouring holy water around the edges of the pool burning through the floor.



She spoke more sharply, her eyes flashing with irritation.



He didn’t like that. Not one bit. He snapped out a retort. She rose and opened her mouth, but Adriana interrupted her, using her full name to get her attention.



“Eirene! Let him do his job. He knows better than we do what the lingering effects of this sort of thing can be.”



“You do not give me orders,” she snarled at the other princess, her beautiful face distorted with fury. Adriana stiffened and I decided to intervene. We didn’t need them to get in a catfight. Now was so not the time.



“Can it. Both of you.” I spoke quietly, without a whole lot of inflection. Frankly, I didn’t have the energy. “He was a greater demon and he nearly manifested right here. Unless we want there to be a permanent weak spot in the realities where he can come and go at will, you need to let the priest do his job. That’s more important than who outranks who.”



“You—” Ren opened her mouth to say something hateful. I could see it in her eyes. They were narrowed, darkened slits.



“That is enough.” I turned to find Queen Lopaka standing tall and regal in the doorway, flanked by Chiyoko and the dark-haired queen whose name I hadn’t been given.



“Daughter, enough. Please.” The dark-haired queen stepped out from behind Lopaka to meet Ren’s gaze. For just a moment I thought she’d argue. She was so angry—angrier than the situation deserved. It didn’t make sense.



There was a pause and if her mother said anything to her mentally, it wasn’t for public consumption. Still, Ren calmed fractionally and gave a small formal bow to her mother, who reached forward to stroke her daughter’s fiery hair with a withered hand.



The temperature in the room began to drop and a ghostly wind stirred. Ivy. Not now. Please. Not now. I was too tired to deal with one more thing, even the ghost of my baby sister.



The dark-haired queen’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and she gave me a glare hot enough to blister.



Her name is Stefania, said Queen Lopaka’s calm voice in my head. It was a planned insult on their part, not giving you their names. I didn’t push the issue. I pick my battles carefully. As should you.



Good advice, no doubt. I gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. Stefania was still bitter and almost as unhappy as Ren. Then again, I got the impression that this was their normal state. The pleasant, happy Ren of my first encounter had apparently just been a really good acting job. At least the argument was over.



Now if Ivy would just settle down.



What is the matter with your spirit? Adriana’s voice in my head this time, sounding almost intrigued and not at all afraid. Then again, Vicki hadn’t been able to do much against her the night of the wake and she was a considerably stronger ghost than my sister.



She’s not my spirit. Her name is Ivy. It’s my younger sister’s ghost. She’s trying to warn me to be careful. Which was the absolute truth. But it felt like more than that. She wanted to tell me something important. Unfortunately, now was not the time or the place. I tried to form that into a thought that she would understand—while at the same time keeping that same thought from everybody else in the room. No easy task. I wasn’t sure how successful I was at it. While Ivy seemed to settle, Queen Lopaka’s expression grew very carefully blank. Rather than meet my gaze when she saw me watching her, she turned to the priest. They held a rapid conversation in Italian and I wondered if I was the only person in the room who wasn’t multilingual. While I know a handful of Spanish words and phrases, they aren’t exactly the kinds of things you say in polite company.

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