Siren Song (The Chameleon Effect Book 3)

by Alex Hayes

  I leave when Malcolm does, a couple of hours later.

  He has a driver. How cool is that?

  I follow his limo out the swooping driveway and watch it speed ahead.

  My phone rings through to the BMW’s console. Can’t be Cadi. She’s three hours ahead.

  I glance at the screen. Nicole.

  Shit.

  I answer, of course. Because I’m stupid.

  “Hey, Idris. Finally. I’ve been calling you for hours.”

  What the hell?

  Maybe Rowan’s right. Because this girl is starting to intrude on my life, wanting to meet Cadi, calling constantly. What is up with that?

  Even so, I can’t help apologizing. “I was jamming with Malcolm. What’s up?”

  “Oh my god. There’s someone here you’ve got to meet.” She talks at a hundred miles per second, like she’s wired. “How long will it take you to get to West Hollywood?”

  “I’m already here.” Damn it, why did I tell her that?

  “Perfect,” she croons. “I’ll text you the address.”

  “Nicole. I really need to get home.”

  “You’re only a few minutes away, Idris. Just stop in. Say hi. You don’t have to stay long, but you’ve got to meet Benny Zine. He’s a hoot and definitely someone with an in.”

  Then why don’t you use him? “Seriously, Nicole, I’ve got stuff to do before Cadi gets here and—”

  “Ten minutes. Just meet the guy. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

  Okay, fine. “Sure, I’ll be there in a few.”

  Nicole practically launches herself at me when I step into the foyer of whoever’s house the party’s at. The place is lit up like Dodger Stadium, lights on everywhere in a space that’s mostly white with yellow highlights. Clean and bright. Maybe a little too clean. Like the gleaming smile of a smarmy car salesman.

  I push Nicole away as politely as I can and realize Rowan was totally right. Nicole’s behavior is downright clingy.

  She grabs my hand and drags me through the crowd to a guy with goggle glasses and spiked pink hair, wearing a glaring martini-patterned Hawaiian shirt. “This is Benny. He’s so excited to meet you,” she effuses.

  He doesn’t look that excited but seems willing enough to engage in small talk.

  “Let me get you a drink,” Nicole purrs, and hurries off.

  I’m laughing politely at one of Benny’s jokes as Nicole pushes a glass of sparkling water with floating lime slices into my hand.

  “So how was your evening with Malcolm?” she asks, smiling up at me.

  And for the first time, I catch this calculating look. A gleam in her eye. A strange twist to her lips.

  Is it because I’ve been hanging out in the presence of a few big names?

  I haven’t seen Nicole since that photo got into the Enquirer, and somehow, she seems different. Has she changed? Or am I seeing her, for the first time, clearly?

  “A night I’ll remember for the rest of my life,” I answer. “Malcolm is an icon, and Jason Faltron too. They’re kings.”

  Just thinking about playing for those guys, and with them, makes me grin all over again. I wish I’d been able to share this with Cadi. Well, in a way she did get to share, through my feelings. She knew where I was tonight.

  “I love Malcolm, too,” Nicole says with a titter.

  “Malcolm Emmanuel, right?” Benny asks.

  I nod and take a couple of gulps of water.

  Benny drops a few names as if he feels the need to compensate, but no one he mentions holds any meaning to me. Makes me wonder why I agreed to come here and meet this guy.

  Oh, right, Nicole strong-armed me.

  I pull in a breath, realizing the room feels hot. Odd. I take another swig of ice water and notice a bitter aftertaste. I’d thought it was the lime, but now, I’m not so sure.

  The room starts to spin and my stomach somersaults.

  Crap, I’m about to throw up. I scan the area for a garbage can. By the bar. I stumble over and vomit into the pail.

  I snag a napkin off the counter to wipe my mouth. A hand curls around my bicep.

  “Idris, are you okay?” Nicole asks.

  I narrow my eyes at her as I straighten and wait for the rolling in my stomach to subside. “Was there anything besides water in my drink?”

  Her eyes widen just enough to confirm my suspicions.

  I’m about to call her on it, when the room twists sideways and the floor rushes up to meet my face.

  23

  Connell

  I sit in Java Brew at a table by the window overlooking the street. Elbows rest on the glossy tabletop while I stare at my phone screen without focus, my mind tracking Rowan’s approach.

  She’s nervous, hesitant, but there’s anticipation, too, and excitement.

  A smile creeps onto my face. She’s excited to see me.

  When she reaches my side, I rise, grip her arms lightly and peck her on the cheek, as if that were the most natural thing to do.

  A tingle passes from her soft skin into my lips, a sensation so intense I blink and suck in a breath.

  She smells amazing. The same perfume I’ve tried to convince myself I can still catch a whiff of on my pillow.

  Her cheeks flush to a dusky rose. I sense her surprise, and… Could that be pleasure?

  My widening smile can’t be banished. “Can I get you some tea?”

  She nods.

  “Green?”

  She nods again, eyes sparkling, and all the crap that went down today fades to black. What is it about this girl that makes me feel so good when I’m around her?

  My crystal’s happy, that’s for sure. When she’s close, its urgency and tugging fades. I realize now the stone’s near panic, that first night I approached her, was not a warning of danger. It was an alert telling me not to let her get away.

  I buy two teas, place them on the table and settle across from her.

  Each time I look at her, I find something new to admire. The flecks of gold and green in her sapphire eyes. The smooth arcs of her dark eyebrows. The delicate sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  My gaze meets hers, and I push out words when I’d rather keep staring. “May I ask you a question?”

  Her eyes drop to the cup in front of her, then lift again. “Of course.”

  “That guy you were with at the Performing Arts Center…” I’m not sure where to take this. Should I ask if he’s her boyfriend? Doing so seems intrusive and downright obvious why I’m asking.

  “Idris,” she says. “He’s a friend.”

  There’s a finality to her tone which suggests friend is as far as it goes. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone else, so I guess my real question is only half answered.

  “He’s engaged,” she adds. “His fiancée lives in New York.”

  Not the girl who fell all over him, then. Guess I sized that chick up accurately.

  Rowan sips her tea. “Her name’s Cadi.”

  I get the feeling she’s about to say more, but she hesitates.

  “Is she nice?”

  Rowan’s eyes light up. “She’s lovely.” Her lips stretch into a deep smile. “Idris is a lucky guy.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

  She smirks. “Yes, actually. But he has trouble saying no, and in this city, that can be a problem.”

  “In any city, I’d imagine.” I cross my arms. “But this city in particular.”

  Anger and frustration flare off her. “Especially when the paparazzi’s around to publicize even the most trivial infraction.”

  “Did something happen?”

  She sighs. “Idris was at a party and got photographed with this girl. She tripped and fell against him, and a photographer got a shot that made it look like Idris was fondling her.”

  I took a picture like that. Blood drains from my face leaving it ice cold. But I’m certain that image wasn’t one of the photos I dropped in the shared folder that night. The collection Aze
ra pulls from to sell to the media.

  Shit, did I screw up?

  “Are you all right?” Rowan searches my face.

  “Um, yeah. Fine.” I force a smile. “Just remembered something I should have done. At home. No worries. It can wait.”

  Her brow pinches, like she doesn’t believe me.

  Can she tell when I’m lying?

  Maybe not, but I’ll bet she can pick up on my guilt. Damn. And if she finds out that photo of Idris Williams has anything to do with me…

  I order myself to file this mess away and calm down. If I don’t, she’ll grow more suspicious.

  When she’s around, I feel like an open book. One of those dicey ones girls like her shouldn’t be reading.

  “You wanna take a drive somewhere?” I’m not sure what I’m suggesting. A distraction mostly.

  She shrugs, head shifting. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  “Up the coastal highway.” I lean back and try to look relaxed by stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets. “It’s a clear night and the moon’s bright, so we should be able to see the ocean.”

  We finish our tea and head out.

  Cruising north up the California Coast is something I do when I want to get away from the traffic and the tension of LA. It’ll take a while to break free from the bubble of suburbia, but once we do, it’s clear sailing.

  As we drive, I give Rowan a rundown of the neighborhoods we pass. I’m hard-pressed to think of anything to say about those on the fringes, so I switch to talking about the cities to the north where I bounced from foster home to foster home.

  “I spent a few years south of San Francisco in San Jose.” Rowan plays with the strap on her purse. “A nice town, good schools…but I always felt like an outsider.”

  “You and me both.” I glance at her as we merge onto Route Ten, heading west toward Santa Monica. Traffic’s still heavy, even though it’s ten at night, but we’re moving over fifty, so I can’t complain.

  We retreat into companionable silence for a dozen miles of freeway.

  Rowan leans her head against the window and stares out at the endless chain of oncoming headlights.

  What’s she thinking?

  Her feelings are nebulous and constantly morphing. Contentment. Melancholy. Worry. Tenderness. Doubt. Pleasure. Fear.

  What do I make of such diversity?

  I want her to be happy, in general, but in my company, more so. Because I want her to stick around. I want to get to know her better. But the overall feeling I’m picking up is that she’s unsettled, uncertain and uncomfortable in my presence.

  How do I change that when I have no idea what’s motivating her emotions?

  Rowan’s head lifts from the window, and she glances my way. “Do you like living in LA?”

  That’s a question I’ve never been asked before. I never considered I had a choice over where I lived, so what’s the point liking or disliking the place?

  “I guess LA is as good as anywhere,” I hedge.

  “It’s pretty. The lights and everything. Has lots of energy—”

  “And people,” I add. “Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to get away from all the people.” I break eye contact with the roadway ahead to throw her a sideways glance. “That’s why I like heading out here. The coast road is slow, so not many people take it. Yet, it’s a beautiful drive. Better in daylight, certainly, but with the potential to be mystical at night.”

  “So are you one of those people who likes to stop and smell the flowers?” she asks, a smile in her voice.

  “Yeah, I guess.” I chuckle, because if memory serves, she was the one with the flower obsession, not me. “I spend a lot of time looking through a camera lens. Even when a camera’s not handy, I still find myself framing subjects and taking into account the light, the background, whether the sky is gray or bright blue.”

  “What about when it’s dark outside, like right now? Can you even take pictures?” Rowan fingers her phone as if contemplating the possibility of photographing something with the device.

  “Depends,” I answer, unhelpfully.

  It’s strange to be asked about shooting pictures. I’m usually the one doing the asking, and Azera’s always provided the answers. I’ve never hung out with anyone possessing an interest who wasn’t already an expert.

  “With a good camera, a tripod and a flash, you can shoot pretty much anything.”

  The light from an oncoming vehicle catches her widening smile. “Could you shoot the moon?”

  I laugh. “That depends on which moon I’m aiming for.”

  “Which moon would you choose?”

  I feel her gaze pinned to my profile.

  My shoulders stoop. “Maybe a moon circling a planet a very long way from here.”

  It’s a while before Rowan speaks again, and when she does, her words are soft. “Daïzani has three moons and auroras that dance across the sky.”

  “Sounds beautiful.”

  The lights of the cities and towns fade until we’re riding the scalloped curves of the coastline alone, with only our headlights and a near-full moon for company. In daylight, the open views of the sea are stunning, while night adds an element of danger to the tight curves and narrow stretches.

  I spot a wide shoulder and pull over. “Come on.”

  We climb from the car, and I lead the way to a railing at a cliff edge overlooking the ocean. The moon lays a rippled trail across the ever-moving water, stark white against velvet black.

  Rowan stands beside me, close enough I feel the brush of her coat sleeve against mine. Her chin lifts as she gazes up at the Milky Way, partly obscured by cloud and dulled by the light of the moon.

  Neither of us says a word for a long time.

  The damp salty night air seeps under my collar and up my sleeves. Rowan pulls her coat tighter.

  “Cold?” I ask.

  “A little, but I don’t want to move. It’s perfect out here. The moon, the stars and nothing else.”

  “Except us.” Us. My heart heaves. I want there to be an us.

  I slip an arm around her shoulders. She leans against me and her hand settles on my waist. As the temperature dips lower, we shift closer, until we’re facing each other, arms encircling, chins lifted to the heavens.

  At the same moment, our heads drop and our eyes meet.

  The contentment radiating off her echoes what I’m sure is humming off me. Her feelings shift like languid waves across the ocean, ever changing.

  The moonlight catches her hair, a cheekbone and the tip of her nose. She moves ever so slightly, and the light brushes her lips.

  My heart warms. My body tingles. I dip my head and press my mouth against hers.

  Electricity.

  A jolt of energy darts from my lips down to my chest, then arcs between us, like a circuit closing. I feel her reaction. Startled, she pulls back, but only by a hair’s breadth.

  My fingers curl around the side of her neck, thumb brushing her porcelain skin, caught by the moonlight, as I press my lips to hers a second time. My hold tightening, I explore the gentle curves of her mouth.

  Her soft sigh makes my heart beat faster. She leans closer, hands sliding under my jacket and across my back, their warm touch heating my flesh through two layers of cotton.

  A longing like I’ve never known swells inside me, a need to be complete, and with this girl in my arms, I feel like I could be. Like I’m almost home.

  Our kiss deepens, tongues touch and tease, braving inexperience.

  The thought of letting her go suddenly seems impossible. Like she’s a missing piece I’ve searched for my whole life and never knew it.

  Breathless, we part.

  I wish I understood my attraction and knew for sure she wants me as much as I want her. But that same cloud of mixed emotions circles her.

  “You’re not a siren, are you?” I whisper, lips brushing her cheek.

  Heightening uncertainty hums off her. “What do you mean?”

  “A fri
end of mine warned me about sirens, that’s all.”

  “You mean the mythical kind?” Amusement plays across her face.

  I keep my tone serious. “Mmm. The kind that tempt sailors into dangerous waters with their spellbinding songs.”

  Her body shakes with a silent laugh. “I don’t think I’d qualify. I’m a terrible singer.”

  Lifting a hand, I brush her chin with my thumb and slide my fingers along her jawline. Her eyelids drop and lips whisper a sigh as her face lifts in response to my touch.

  Irresistible.

  My mouth closes over hers. Our tongues meet with newfound confidence, and heat burns through every nerve in my body.

  I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to let her out of my sight. Ever.

  But something’s wrong.

  Her feelings dance like devils around a demon fire.

  What I feel isn’t wrong. It can’t be. Yet, the emotions rolling off Rowan are full of doubt.

  Wetness. Tears.

  “Are you okay?” My voice is soft, hardly a whisper.

  But she hears me. “Yes. No. Maybe.”

  Her hands withdraw from my back, leaving a vacancy, a coldness I don’t like.

  I frown. “Well, that’s as clear as a cloudy sky.”

  She bites her lower lip.

  “Talk to me, Rae. I may be able to sense your feelings, but I’m a guy. And guys don’t do well interpreting female emotions.” Azera’s are the worst.

  “I’m…” Rowan drops her head and sniffs. “I’m afraid this isn’t real.”

  Real? Sure felt real to me.

  She sniffs again, and continues, “That being here like this…with you.” She shrugs. “Maybe it feels too perfect. And…I’m waiting for reality to come flooding in, to slap me back into my place and tell me that what I want can’t be.”

  There’s something my dream girl isn’t telling me. No doubt something really simple, like she’s engaged to an Arabian sheikh.

  I close my eyes, clear my thoughts, then nod. “Okay, so why don’t we make the most of our pocket reality while we’ve got it, and worry about what’s real later?”

  Wrapping her with my arms makes clear my meaning. Her chin lifts, eyes flooding with moonlight.