by Alice Bloome
“We have our differences,” I said lamely, wondering all the while if everyone in SMHS knew of Roseanne’s inexplicable grudge against me.
“Then again, everyone did see the shiny Bentley coming up the driveway…”
I could only shrug awkwardly in response, knowing that any honest explanation would only make things sound more serious between Paul and me. He had called me up early this morning, saying that he had assigned two of his men to follow me around as added protection, in the event that our anonymous shooter had me as his next target.
‘It’s either me or them, Blair,’ he had asserted calmly. ‘It’s your choice.’
But of course Paul had known it wasn’t a choice at all. I’d have to be the most selfish idiot to have Paul act a chauffeur when he had so many better things to do with his time.
“Your face is giving you away, Agent Vavrin,” Tamara said with a sympathetic smile. “I’m guessing our INTERPOL detective didn’t give you a choice over this morning’s ride?”
“Well…” I didn’t really want to say anything against Paul, but I had no intentions of lying either.
“No need to cover up for him, Agent Vavrin,” the CIA agent dryly. “Don’t forget – I’ve had the pleasure of seeing him in action, and he strikes me as the kind of person who’s used to getting his way.”
You don’t know the half of it, I thought, but out loud, I said diplomatically, “It’s probably because he’s INTERPOL.”
“That was what I was thinking, too,” Tamara admitted. “And that’s why I sought you out now actually. I just wanted to make sure everything’s alright between us after yesterday---”
“It is,” I said quickly. “I truly understand where you were coming me from---” The other agent started shaking her head, and I stopped speaking.
“I was out of line, Blair,” she said ruefully. “It’s as you said, you know. He’s INTERPOL, and I had no right to question his decision like that. I still don’t understand what it is that you can do that I can’t, but obviously Detective Paul Without A Surname---”
I choked back a laugh.
“---sees differently, and I should have respected that.” She offered her hand. “So…no hard feelings?”
“Not a one.” I shook her hand, touched that the older woman would go out of her way to clear things up like this.
Tamara had already started to walk away when she suddenly turned back to look at me, saying, “I almost forgot. Any new updates on the case?”
“No, unfortunately. But if Paul lets me know or anything, I’ll keep you posted.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Tristan and Maria pounced on me as soon as Agent Gries left the office. “What was that about?” Maria asked curiously while Tristan perched himself on my desk and pulled his girlfriend close to sit on his lap.
“Minor case-related issue,” I said evasively. “What are you guys working on right now?”
“A will,” Tristan answered, “possibly falsified.” Forgery was as much a crime as it was in the non-human world, and Maria specialized in detecting spells used to forge documents. Tristan’s field of expertise, on the other hand, was the equivalent of forensic biology. Every time an individual performed a spell, the magic a non-human wielded left an impression as unique as a person’s DNA. Unfortunately, a person with the right knowledge could also avoid leaving such impressions, the way a human criminal would remove all traces of blood from a crime scene.
“It seems strange, doesn’t it?” Maria’s voice was unusually somber. “Working like everything’s normal even when it’s not.”
I looked outside our window. It was a deceptively sunny day, but who knew how long it would last?
Chapter Ten
Time moved ever so slowly, and I had just finished writing my case reports for the entire month when I got a call from Lana. “I might have found a possible hit,” she told me in a rush, “but it’s well below our benchmark.”
“I’ll take it,” I said without hesitation. At this point, verifying the flimsiest of leads was better than doing nothing, which was gradually driving me crazy.
“I conducted a new search based on the assumption that a retroactive camouflage spell was in effect.”
“So you found real-time footage of our Jane Doe?”
“Not quite. That’s why I told you this is below our benchmark. With this new search, I used secondhand information as my data source, and thank Gaea for people’s obsession with social media.”
“You’re losing me, Lana.”
“Remember how the siren you spoke to described our Jane Doe?” she asked eagerly. “I used your transcript to acquire new search parameters, and then I started digging and going through all online conversations involving sirens working for Dion’s establishments. From there, I narrowed the search to anything that had to do with a siren who---”
“Didn’t dress like the others did and was more human than siren,” I finished rather breathlessly. “Lana, you’re a genius.”
“Not if you ask Agent Gries,” she muttered.
“She just wants to solve this case as much as we do,” I soothed.
“I don’t think so.” Lana was normally reticent about most things, but she could be a tad bit belligerent when someone tried to mess with her work. “Anyway, don’t let Agent Gries know about this yet. It’s just a hunch anyway---”
“I trust your hunches,” I assured her.
“You’ll have to drive all the way to Portland for it,” Lana warned, “and my hunch mostly has to do with a couple of sirens having their own Facebook group chat to talk about a certain Amanda who – quote unquote – has no problem poaching other girls’ clients.”
“That does sound like our Jane Doe,” I murmured, remembering Monica’s theory about the missing siren.
“A certain Sonja also complains – and I quote – she keeps using my phone, and she never bothers to ask for my permission.”
“I’m…not sure about that.” It was a rude thing to do, but I wasn’t sure that had any bearing on my Jane Doe. “Anything else I should know?”
“If Amanda is the Jane Doe we’re looking for – according to the Facebook chat I’m following, she’s missed work for three days in a row now.”
“Three days,” I echoed slowly. It had also been three days since Zeus’ so-called mood swings had started, and didn’t that make quite a coincidence?
Troy and Philip already had the Bentley running as soon as I stepped out of headquarters, with instructions to take me to Portland Gotz Talentz, which was yet another seriously questionable choice of name for one of Dion’s bars.
A grim-faced Paul was waiting for me by the front door when we arrived, and he wasted no time flashing his badge and getting the bouncer to take us to the employees’ private quarters.
We showed the sirens the photo of our Jane Doe – probably the only one existing in the world. If not for tech support’s strict adherence to SOP, a retroactive camouflage spell would have made the photo I obtained from Midas’ casino vanish as well.
“Is this Amanda?” Paul asked.
I felt light-headed with relief when the sirens nodded even as they exchanged looks of confusion with each other.
“Is she in some kind of trouble?” one of the women asked.
“It’s not something we’re at liberty to discuss at present,” Paul evaded. He cast a glance at our surroundings, which had the same apartment layout as TVF’s. “Which room is hers?”
A siren named Sonja introduced herself as Amanda’s roommate and volunteered to show us the space she shared with our missing person. It was a reasonably sized room, with one bed on each side. Sonja’s half was a bit of a clutter while Amanda’s side was neat and orderly, extremely so.
“Is it always like that?” I asked.
“She hates mess,” Sonja affirmed.
None of Amanda’s belongings appeared missing or disturbed, and this worried me. Her laptop was on the desk, next to her cellphone and purse. I glanced at Pau
l, and the hard look on his face told me he was thinking along the same lines.
These days, people never left their cellphones behind by choice.
At Paul’s nod, Troy put on gloves, and I noticed Sonja pale when the blue-eyed agent whipped out evidence bags.
“Has something happened to her?” the siren asked shakily.
“She’s a person of interest,” I answered quietly, “and any kind of information you or the others could share about Amanda is of paramount importance.”
The atmosphere was tense when we returned to the living room, with the sirens huddled together on the couch as they nervously watched Troy carry out evidence bags containing Amanda’s belongings.
As the two agents left – Troy to take Amanda’s possessions to CSI for analysis and Phil to deliver a report straight to Mt. Olympus – Paul and I set out to interview the sirens one at a time. A little while later, Dike herself arrived, along with a large team of agents that included Lana and Agent Gries, and another round of questioning began. I expected the sirens to start getting restless, but they remained cooperative and quite willing to answer every question asked.
“When did you last see Amanda?” Three days ago.
“Has she ever spoken to anyone of you or mentioned anything about Zeus?” No.
“Has she exhibited any sign of unusual behavior?” No.
“Have you noticed any suspicious person showing up in the bar or anywhere near this place in the past three days?” No.
We rephrased the questions, asking the same things over and over in hopes of tripping one of them into betraying themselves but none of the sirens did.
It was almost midnight when Dike finally decided to call it a day, and the jubilation we had felt earlier upon finding our Jane Doe was completely gone. Both CSI’s lab team and tech support hadn’t been able to extract any kind of evidence from Amanda’s laptop or mobile phone. Amanda’s room was also completely clean.
As the other agents piled into the black sedans that lined up the street, I started to do the same only to have Paul cup my elbow and turn me towards the other direction. “Let me drive you home.”
I wrinkled my nose at his bit of high-handedness. “Is that a request or an order?”
“Whichever will get you inside my car,” Paul answered mildly, all the while leading me to his car.
I considered standing my ground and telling him that these things he did would only have more people talking about us.
Paul opened the door for me. “Blair?”
Oh, never mind. Who cared about what people said? If the world were to end soon, wouldn’t it be better if I spent more time with Mr. Handsome?
Paul asked me what I thought of the other sirens as he started to drive, and I took my time mulling over his question. “It didn’t seem like they were lying,” I said slowly. “Did you feel they were?”
“No.” The single word seethed with such frustration, I couldn’t help but blink, and a grimace touched his lips at my reaction. “Sorry. I’m not used to drawing blanks, but there’s just something about them…”
“You can’t quite put your finger on?”
Paul’s gaze narrowed. “They bothered you, too, didn’t you?”
“They did. For one thing, none of them acted like you were Mr. Handsome---”
Paul sputtered.
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “Look at how Roseanne reacted to you. Even Agent Gries wasn’t immune to your looks. Sirens love beautiful things---”
“And you think I’m beautiful?” he asked with a hint of a smile. “Is that it?”
I quickly turned my head away, not wanting him to see how my face had turned red. “For an INTERPOL detective,” I couldn’t help muttering under my breath, “you’re horribly bad at getting the point.”
Silence, but I could practically feel him laughing at me.
Clearing my throat, I said quickly, “Anyway, that’s not the only thing that bothered me. There’s also the lack of motive – I can’t seem to come up with any possible reason for one of them to go after Amanda and Zeus.”
“It could be there isn’t any possible correlation,” he murmured pensively. “Amanda could have had her own reasons for poisoning Zeus, and we could have one or more individuals responsible for Amanda’s disappearance but without having anything to do with Zeus’ condition.”
That was a good point, but a more complex one at that, and I made a face. “Okay, now my head hurts.”
Paul flashed a slight smile at my quip, and despite everything, my heart still managed to skip a beat at the sight. Here we were, facing imminent global disaster, and all I could think about was how handsome the man seated next to me was.
I mentally shook my head. Focus, Blair! Now wasn’t the right time to think about Paul’s looks. I had to focus on preventing the end of the world first, and after that –
I’ll find the courage to ask him out, I promised myself. I’ll even swear it by the River of Styx –
I shot up in my seat, and Paul looked at me sharply. “What is it?”
“R-River of Lethe,” I stammered, my mind already racing. Its waters surrounded the cave of the God of Sleep, and a single drop of it was known to cause anywhere from disorientation to permanent amnesia.
Paul jerked the steering wheel to the side, and I knew he was thinking along the same lines I did as the car made an abrupt 180-degree turn, and we started heading back the way we came. I reached for my phone to update Dike and the others, and things kept adding up with every second that passed.
The reason why everyone’s answers was exactly the same…
The reason why every word they spoke seemed true…
The reason why no one had even blinked at Paul’s sheer good looks…
“Do you think Amanda could’ve done it?”
“She could have been the one to administer the potion,” Paul said, “but I doubt she had the ability to brew it. Lethe is a powerful but complex substance. You need to configure its molecular properties if you want an individual to forget something specific.”
“Then she has an accomplice. That’s what you’re saying, aren’t you?”
“Not just any accomplice,” Paul said darkly, “but someone who’s either working in one of the agencies or has connections to it. And whoever it is, the person’s likely our anonymous shooter as well.”
I rubbed the sides of my temple, thinking that the web of deceit surrounding Zeus’ condition just kept getting complicated. With every thread we were able to untangle, a dozen more seemed to knot itself together. Would we ever manage to unravel this before the thunder god rose from his slumber?
Chapter Eleven
It was half past three in the morning by the time the agents in lab coats finished analyzing the blood samples they had taken from the sirens, and the result confirmed our suspicions: minimal traces of Lethe found, enough to cause a minor memory block.
“What exactly do you mean by minor?” Dike asked the NSA agent who had brought us the results.
“The potion’s configuration is based on a specific set of triggers.” The poor guy was nearly babbling, visibly rattled as he was by the Daughter of Justice’s harsh scowl. “Anything related to those triggers has been permanently deleted. Everything else remains the same.”
I frowned, thinking that didn’t sound minor at all. “Is it possible to get around these triggers by asking a certain type of question?” Maybe if I described Amanda in such a way without mentioning her name…
“That could work---” It was Tamara who spoke up. “But only if the trigger isn’t time-based. For all we know, the potion could’ve been configured to delete all trigger-related memories from the moment Amanda concocted her plans against Zeus.”
Gaea bewitched, but she was just so good at bursting people’s bubbles!
“It doesn’t matter,” Paul said finally. “There’s nothing to lose by questioning again.”
“You’re right, of course.” This time, Tamara was quick to back down.
/> For their second round of questioning, the sirens had been marshaled into the CSI’s interrogation room, and one glance at their enraged expressions through the two-way mirror had me realizing it was as Monica had said: sirens did not appreciate being dragged out of their beds.
Dike, Agent Gries, and several other high-level CIA agents entered the room to question the sirens. Paul stood beside me, his expression unreadable as he watched the proceedings. “Do you want to have your turn?”
I shook my head. “I’m sure the agents inside are more than enough. They have more interrogation experience than I do.”
“Experience isn’t everything,” Paul said gently. “We all bring something unique to the table, and it rarely has anything to do with experience or expertise.”
“Take out expertise and experience, and doesn’t that just leave luck?”
One corner of Paul’s lips lifted up in a half-smile, and he added solemnly, “Don’t forget humor.” He started to say something else, but the audible vibration of his phone interrupted him, and Paul took it out of his pocket with a frown.
“Good news?” I asked hopefully.
“Afraid not.” Paul looked up. “Zeus has started to stir.”
INTERPOL agents had gathered outside the gates of Mt. Olympus, one of Iris’ field reporters broadcasted live over the radio, and human allies with top government positions from all over the world had now been informed of Zeus’ condition.
If the thunder god was to wake on the wrong side of the bed, the world was ready to face his wrath – for better or for worse.
I paced restlessly outside the interrogation room, one part of me listening to the ongoing questioning while the other half of me worried about Paul being in the front line of battle. I was ninety-nine percent sure he was immortal, but so was Zeus, and the latter was an Olympian to boot. The chance of an immortal beating an Olympian god was one in a million, and Cronos knew how much I hated such odds.
Think, Blair. Think!