by Alice Bloome
As Paul snapped his umbrella close behind me, I could only watch in awed silence as the nightingale with its magenta-streaked wings slowly transformed itself in a shimmery, silver swirl that gradually fell away in layers of silk to reveal a woman whose hair was the same shade as her wings.
“Thelxiope.” Paul bowed his head in respect as the woman stepped out of her larger-than-life cage, built right at the center of the greenhouse.
The siren let out a musical laugh as beautiful as a stanza from one of Beethoven’s masterpieces. “Oh, my dear boy. You are charmingly old-fashioned as always. I am known as Thelma now, you know.”
“Thelma it is,” Paul agreed smilingly.
“And you?” The siren’s eyes danced in merriment. “What do you call yourself these days?”
“Just Paul,” was his easy reply but with a meaningful look slanted at my direction.
I was torn between amusement and exasperation. “Can’t you at least try to be a little more subtle about the fact you’re hiding something from me?” My words were half serious, too, but the way both of them laughed made it evident that they were doing anything but take me seriously.
“Your name, sweet witch?”
“It’s, umm, Blair, and how did you know---” I stopped speaking.
I had to, since Thelma, as it turned out, was no different from the rest.
Paul grinned when I made a face at the way Thelma was seized by uncontrollable laughter the moment she realized I was a witch named Blair.
Cast that movie!
“I’m so sorry,” the siren said half a minute later as she wiped tears from her eyes. “It’s just that it’s such a delicious irony, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said glumly. “I do know.”
Thelma gave my hand a comforting squeeze. “Cheer up. It’s still a lot better than this other witch I know.”
“There’s something worse than being a witch named Blair?”
“Absolutely,” the siren said with a mischievous grin. “It’s called being a witch named Sand.”
“What’s so---”
Oh.
I just had to laugh after that. True or not, that was good, and it did make me feel better about my name.
“Now then…” Thelma’s tone turned inquiring. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Fifteen minutes later, and Paul and I were saying our goodbyes to the siren. We didn’t have all the answers we needed, but we had enough. Although Thelma hadn’t recognized the siren in the photo, she had suggested we ask around at Dion’s bars outside town, which nowadays were the only place in state that sirens could find employment.
Hours of rain made the downhill road wounding all the way to the park’s gates from the greenhouse more slippery, and I found myself letting out a tiny gasp as I lost my footing and started to slip.
“Gotcha.” Paul’s strong arm curled around my waist, and I fell against him with a gasp.
“S-Sorry.” I pulled away quickly, blushing, but instead of letting me go completely he took my hand and placed it on his arm.
“Hold on to me for now,” Paul murmured.
“Really, it’s not necessa---” I stopped speaking when Paul suddenly stiffened.
A moment later, he had shoved me behind him, the umbrella slipping out of his grip as a single gunshot rang in the air.
Chapter Eight
“Paul!” The deafening rain stole the shrill edge of my voice as I clutched Paul’s shoulders and turned him to face me, fearing that he might fall to the ground any second. Another gasp slipped past my lips when I saw the bullet he was holding in his hand. “What – have you – oh my Gaea.” My gaze swung wildly to his chest, where there was a tiny telltale rip in his shirt, and relief warred with confusion.
“You were shot,” I said blankly, “and you’re not bleeding.”
“We should go.” Paul pocketed the bullet as he spoke, and after grabbing my hand, he had us running back to his SUV, his gaze all the while scanning our surroundings.
“The shooter?” I asked anxiously as soon as he joined me inside and slammed his door shut.
“Gone,” he said in a clipped tone.
Paul started the engine and drove away with such speed I was flung back against my seat. I looked out my window in tense silence, dreading and waiting for someone to start shooting at us again. “Do you think our Jane Doe did this?”
“My guts say no, but I’m not ruling anything out.” He cast a grim look at my direction. “Maybe Agent Gries was right.”
I shot up in my seat with a vehement shake of my head. “No.” If he had told me that an hour ago, I would have agreed without hesitation. But not now. Not over this. This was our case now, for better or for worse, and it wasn’t like I didn’t know of the risks associated with my job.
Paul shifted gears, driving well past the speed limits now, and I had to bite my lip hard to keep myself my instinctively from asking him to slow down. If he could survive a gunshot without bleeding, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let us get into a car accident.
“You look like you’re in shock.”
“Kinda.” I was in shock, but not because someone had shot at us. I stole a look at Paul’s shirt. Still no blood. Humans bled. Supernaturals – even the most powerful ones – bled, too.
Immortals, however…
Paul shot me a concerned look. “I think we should have you checked out---”
I quickly shook my head. “I’m fine. Really.” And I truly was. I just needed more time to…process. I needed more time to accept…
Paul was an immortal.
My fingers fumbled as I clumsily took my phone out, and I tried to distract myself as I made the necessary calls to report the shooting. By the time we made it back to our place, my heartbeat had considerably slowed down, and I was able to think things through more clearly.
Paul was an immortal. Fine. What kind of immortal I could figure out later, but for now it should be enough to know that the detective I was working with might be an immortal. That could only mean good things for our case, and that was all I should care about.
Right?
“Do you want to come in?” I asked Paul when he insisted on walking me to the door.
“Only if you need me to.” His tone was grim. “Do you?”
“Just a little shaken up,” I admitted, “but it’s nothing I can’t get over.”
“If you need me for anything – you promise to call me?”
“I promise.” I bit my lip after, hesitating, and when Paul raised a brow, I said quietly, “I meant what I said earlier. I still want to help with the investigation, and I don’t want this to be a reason for you to sideline me out of concern or anything.”
Paul’s lips tightened, and my heart sank at the sight. I knew it. He was thinking of getting me off the case.
“I can still help,” I insisted. “I could start asking around---”
“My agents will handle that,” Paul rejected. “Dion’s bars aren’t the kind of place you should venture to, and---” His lips compressed in a straight line. “If it’s any consolation, both of us will be sitting this one out. It’s a long story, but I can’t show my face in any of his properties.”
I gnawed at my lip. That did change things.
Paul glanced up at the skies, and I asked nervously, “What is it?”
“Zeus’ mood is taking a turn for the worse.”
And did he know that, I wondered, because he was an immortal himself?
When the detective turned back to me, his face was grim. “I’m not giving you a choice this time. The skies will turn into a war zone tonight---”
“I’m an agent in my own right,” I protested. “I can help---”
“Not if you’re dead,” he said quietly. “One of the golden rules in this game is knowing how to pick your battles – and tonight isn’t your fight. I mean it, Blair. Stay here and don’t give me a reason to worry about you.”
Zeus’ so-called mood swing continue
d to flay the town with whips of rain outside my window. Only an hour had passed since Paul left, and I was already going out of my mind doing nothing. I was CSI, for the love of Gaea. I had to do something. Didn’t I?
“Hey, She-Ra.”
“Good afternoon, Blair. What can I do for you?” She-Ra was the name I chose for the AI assistant I had installed in all of my devices. The app-based assistant was also agency-issued, like my wand, and it could do everything Apple’s Siri did – and more, since it had also been developed to provide the necessary assistance for non-humans.
“Is there any bar owned by Dion that’s within walking distance?”
“Let me search that for you.”
Dion was the name the wine god used these days, and one that humans were very much familiar with. These days, Dionysus had his fingers in just about everything, with his business interests ranging from construction companies to industrial factories and, yes, nightclubs as well. Then again, this wasn’t much of a surprise since unlike the other Olympians Dionysus had always preferred to dwell among mortals. If historic texts were to be believed, Dionysus even felt he had more in common with humans than other gods. They were fallible and prone to excessive emotion…just like him.
I chewed on my lip as She-Ra gave me the location of the bar. Should I call Paul and tell him about my plans? But if I were to do that – wouldn’t that make it seem like I had to ask his permission to do my job?
At the end of the day, we were still strangers, and besides, he could be busy with work right now. I was only going to visit one bar. What trouble could I get into – right?
I switched the radio on and tuned in to Iris’ station while I paced the length of my living room, still undecided.
All agencies now on high alert, law enforcers to patrol 24/7 for stray thunderbolts---
I switched the radio off, knowing I had no choice now. Stray thunderbolts were a sure sign that Zeus’ “mood swings” had gotten worse, and I had to do whatever I could to get myself closer to the truth.
Slippery roads and the need to avoid electrocution-prone areas turned what was supposed to be a twenty-minute walk into an hour-long trek. By the time I made it to my destination, I was tired, hungry, and my mood could only be described as dour at best and irritable at worst.
A neon signage had the words The Voice Factor flashing right above the metal doors, and I could only mentally shake my head while showing my ID to security. Did pesky human issues like ‘copyright infringement’ mean nothing to the wine god? And honestly, did he really have to infringe on - not one but two – voice competition TV shows to give his kitschy karaoke lounge a name?
Management cleared my CSI badge after a minute, and security escorted me to the back of the house, where the employees’ private quarters were located. I had mentally prepared myself for lodgings that were anything from risqué to inhumane, but to my surprise the sirens’ suite of rooms was no different from other cozy homes of Silver Mist.
There were eight bedrooms in total, its doors arranged in a semi-circle around a common living space. A young woman I assumed was one of Dion’s employed sirens was seated alone at the couch, and she laughed upon catching sight of my astonished expression.
“Were you expecting something dingy?”
“Kinda,” I admitted. “Something like those awful drug dens busted on TV, actually.”
“Oh, hon. Drugs do nothing for immortals. The only kind of substance we dig is ambrosia, but one taste is enough. Any more and it would literally drive us insane.” Swinging her legs off the couch, the siren rose to her feet, saying wryly, “I’m the only one up right now, I’m afraid.” She introduced herself as Monica and gestured to the doors surrounding us, adding, “I could wake them up for you, but for the record I want you to know doing so would be a bad idea. Sirens love their sleep, and the only reason I’m up right now is because I skipped work last night.”
Since I didn’t actually have a formal order from my agency that allowed me to insist on questioning, I decided to take her word for it and handed her my card. “I’m Agent Vavrin from CSI.” Unlike INTERPOL’s fancy, magical card, our agency’s was downright mundane. I had actually asked if I could have my name printed using some nice serif font I was willing to pay out of pocket but nope. It was Times New Roman or nothing, unfortunately.
“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions,” I began.
“Oh my Gaea.” Her head jerked up. “Did I read this right?” The siren gaped at me. “You’re a witch named Blair?”
As I waited for the siren to stop laughing, I comforted myself with the thought that my name would never fail as an effective icebreaker.
Questioning the siren took only a few minutes. Not only did Monica claim that she had no idea who my Jane Doe siren was, but she was also certain the siren I was looking for had never worked at TVF.
“I’ve been here since this place opened, and we’re one of the smaller ones in Dion’s empire. By the looks of her, I think she’s probably working for one of Dion’s flashier places---”
“By the looks of her?” I couldn’t help echoing her words curiously.
“That low-neckline gown she’s wearing,” Monica explained patiently. “I know we’ve gotten a really bad rep over the centuries because of how those stupid Greek scholars made us seem like femme fatales, but the truth is – all of those stories are fake. There was this mortal scholar who fell for one of my ancestors, and when she couldn’t make herself love him back he decided to get back on her by spreading rumors about us.”
Monica waved her hand in a vague gesture to our surroundings, saying, “We’re an extremely conservative bunch actually, and we prefer to have more clothes on than less. Nothing against dressing sexy, but it’s not just our thing – despite what others may think about us. Dion understands this, and that’s why he’s opened smaller clubs like TVF where we’re only expected to sing and entertain guests and nothing else.”
“That woman, on the other hand---” The siren tapped on the photo I was holding and gave me an apologetic smile. “She seems more human than siren to me, if you know what I mean?”
I did, unfortunately, and I found myself mulling over the siren’s words as I stepped out of The Voice Factor and pulled the hood of my jacket back up. I had never thought of comparing humans to supernaturals and immortals before, but if I did or if I had to, I knew my opinion wouldn’t be any different from Monica’s. My life itself before training as a witch in Silver Mist taught me that. Humans were all about the material trappings, and some of them were willing to go to appalling lengths for it. Could my Jane Doe be the same? Was all this for the money – even if it meant putting so many innocent lives at risk?
I knew I was being naïvely disappointed about all of this, but I couldn’t help it. Roseanne could get annoying at times, but it didn’t make her evil. All the other supernaturals and immortals I had met were nice or at least honorable, and none of the cases I had to handle for CSI involved anything more serious than petty theft.
I heaved a great sigh as I rounded the corner, miserable at the thought of having to capture a supernatural criminal motivated purely by something as basic as greed. It just wasn’t right –
A zigzag-shaped thunderbolt suddenly flashed in the sky, its razor sharp tip heading dangerously close to me.
Aaaah!
I jumped out of the way as the bolt struck the ground with a terrifyingly loud zap. A short distance away – no, above me – I heard several frantic voices yelling in the midst of more zapping thunderbolts and the unmistakable whizzing of brooms flying overhead.
Agents, I realized faintly. One of the last things I had heard from Iris’ broadcast was of CIA agents using spells to attract most of the thunderbolts towards our town. Silver Mist we had more homes that were magically protected and lower human populations. Our chances of surviving were a lot better compared to other places---
The ground suddenly started to tremble, distracting me from my thoughts. An earthquake? I slowly turn
ed around, and that was when my gaze fell on the thunderbolt that had nearly struck me. It was vibrating so hard it seemed about to burst into pieces – what on Gaea was happening?
The thunderbolt suddenly ripped itself free, and I could only watch in horrified silence as it froze mid-air before bending forward like a bull about to charge – towards me.
I broke into a run even as my mind struggled to regain its grasp on reality. Not once, in the hundred or so books I had read on Greek myths, had it been mentioned that Zeus’ thunderbolts could function as precision-guided missiles that seemed as bloodthirsty and unshakable as one of Ramsay Snow’s human-eating hounds.
My lungs felt fit to burst as the shouts overhead became more frantic. Lightning flashed, too close for comfort, and I looked over my shoulder just in time to see the thunderbolt gaining ground –
I jumped out of its way as the bolt made a frightening lunge towards me. A groan escaped my lips as my back hit the wet, hard ground, and I cried out when I saw my wand slip out of my pocket, leaving me completely defenseless.
My body started to roll down the sloping road – fast. I caught a blur of images as pain threatened to take over my consciousness: the thunderbolt once again trying to shake itself free from the earth, the battle-scarred skies, with agents on brooms swooping in all directions as they chased stray bolts. I started to close my eyes when my gaze accidentally clashed with another stray bolt.
It jerked to a stop, and my breath caught.
The thunderbolt bent towards me, and I thought sickly, Gaea help me.
So that was how it chose its target.
Everything happened so fast after that, and in the last few seconds I could only seem to absorb snatches of reality: the unstoppable slide of my body as the wet road continued its downward plunge towards the intersection, my hands and knees scraping against the rough asphalt as I tried to change course, my heart thudding against my chest as I realized that I was positioned dead center in the thunderbolt’s crosshairs – and finally, the heat.