At Risk

by Inc. Thriller Writers

  “What kind of creature controls men through the sound of her voice?” I mused, wondering if she would admit it.

  “Creature.” Sirena laughed. “Dramatic much?”

  “Am I? Or maybe I have a sixth sense that recognizes when something is more than human.”

  Sirena’s smile faded. “Maybe you’re a wacko.”

  “Maybe. But I’m definitely a good cop. I always get my man. Or woman.”

  I only wished I could arrest Sirena and bring her in for a lineup, let Harriet finger her. First I needed proof to make my case that we were dealing with murders, that coincidence was not involved.

  Sirena threw down the still-lit cigarette. “Break time is over. I have another set.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Why thank you, Detective. No one ever does.”

  With that, Sirena went back inside and I ground her cigarette into the walkway.

  “Did she just challenge me?”

  “Yep. And she lied about Neil,” Jake added. “The cigarette case belonged to Neil’s mother who died of lung cancer. He kept it to remind himself never to smoke. Used it to hold his business cards.”

  Instincts humming, I said, “Let’s go back inside.” Entering, I whispered, “I’m going to look around, so go to the bar and keep an eye on her.” As a cop, I normally played by the book, but there was nothing in the CPD code that guided me in dealing with the supernatural. I would have to break some rules. “Just be careful.”

  Jake gave me a quizzical look before leaving my side.

  Considering Jake was supernatural, how had Sirena gotten to him on that previous visit?

  It had to be the sound of her voice…his hearing was vampire-augmented. Apparently that made him even more susceptible than a normal man. My protective hackles rose, but I was certain Sirena wouldn’t try anything now. She might be able to put the men in the room under her spell, but the women were another story.

  So how did I stop her?

  My real-life supernatural experience was limited, but I’d been reluctantly browsing through Silke’s books—my twin had a hard-on for everything supernatural—so I knew all magic had balance, weakness as well as power.

  What made Sirena vulnerable?

  I sneaked down the rear hall.

  Even as I heard Sirena address the audience between songs, I felt Jake probing at my mind.

  Find anything?

  I haven’t even started. I’ll let you know when I do.

  I shut down station SHELL. Having dealt with my twin all my life, I was well-practiced at closing myself off to psychic interference. As to stopping Sirena, I was a novice. Being human put me at a serious disadvantage.

  I found Sirena’s office, decorated with sea colors, a fish tank and a cage with colorful birds. I went straight to the desk and her computer. Password protected. I tried Siren…thethreesirens…Persephone…every variation I could think of. None worked. Then I remembered the Persephone myth.

  Underworld let me in.

  The computer desktop photo was that of a yacht called Siren’s Song.

  To my disappointment, I found no files on any of the three drowning victims. About to log off, I hesitated, then opened the browser, clicked on History and chose Last 7 Days.

  And there it was: LarsonGallery.com.

  I clicked on the link.

  And there he was: Neil Larson in his art gallery.

  I could still hear Sirena’s voice carry through the closed door. I figured I had a few minutes before she finished. Hoping to find some way to stop her now, I typed siren into a search engine for references on the preternatural creature who apparently wasn’t myth, after all. I quickly scanned several articles.

  With her voice she enchants, with her beauty she takes a man’s reason and deals destruction and death…

  …her irresistible song catches a man in her net until she bathes in his life force…

  …sirens combine women and birds in various ways…

  And then I found it.

  A siren is fated to live only until a man who hears her song can free himself of her spell.

  That was it—Sirena’s Achilles heel.

  How did I make that happen?

  Closing the browser, I stared at the photo of Siren’s Song. Sirena living on the water seemed logical. I could see The Ark in the background, so her yacht was docked in the lakeside harbor halfway between the casino boat and the beach. Perhaps there, I would find the proof I needed and a way to end this before another man fell victim to her charms.

  I practically flew out of the office. Sirena’s voice held on one of those weird high notes that made the room go silent.

  The sound Harriet had described.

  A sustained high note that had gone on and on as Neil walked out into the water with her, ending only when they’d disappeared below the waves.

  I exited the back way, fought the rising wind and ran along the path to the harbor.

  Who was next?

  Remembering how Sirena had looked at Jake with such interest, I told myself he would be all right. She wouldn’t try anything with so many witnesses.

  Once at the harbor, it took a few minutes to find the right slip. Siren’s Song bobbed in the water, its interior dark. Praying there would be no terrible surprises waiting for me, I boarded her and lightly jumped down to the deck. The cabin door was locked. I didn’t have a search warrant, but these were supernatural circumstances, and what judge would believe me? I reached into a pocket for my picks. The yacht lurched with a gust of wind and I had to steady my stomach from heaving. The lock took only a minute to open.

  I slipped inside, closed the door behind me and turned on the light.

  The sound of flapping wings startled me.

  Across the open salon, a giant cage held back an owl, two small hawks and a vulture. Predators.

  I shuddered. Maybe my coming here alone wasn’t such a great idea. Intending to search the place and get out fast, I avoided their beady eyes.

  The elegant salon’s walls and surfaces held decorative and military artifacts that looked real. My attention was caught by an old, beat-up wooden chest.

  Ignoring the squawks and rustling, I stooped before the trunk and opened the lid. The sparkle of gems and precious metal was muted by less costly treasure. All personal items. Two on top caught my attention—a watch and a pipe with silver trim. Using the hem of my blouse to pick up the Rolex, I turned it over. Inscribed on the back were the initials CK. Cal Kruger. The pipe looked like the one that belonged to Bobby Russo.

  Proof that Sirena was connected to the three supposed suicides.

  Taking out my cell phone, I photographed the open trunk’s contents. Souvenirs? Did each item represent one of Sirena’s victims, possibly going back centuries? As if the birds could read my mind, they chattered and flapped their wings. I straightened and closed the trunk lid and snapped photos of the salon. Only when I made a one-eighty did I realize I wasn’t alone.

  “Sirena.”

  Gown swirling around her, blond hair seeming to stand on end, features twisted into displeasure, she blocked the only exit. She muttered something under her breath and I jumped when the cage door slammed open. A small hawk flew by me and landed on Sirena’s shoulder. The other hawk followed. Then the owl and the vulture.

  My stomach knotted and I had to remind myself to breathe. I had to get out of there and she was blocking the way. Focusing on her, on the danger, I reopened station SHELL to Jake and transmitted my desperation.

  Siren’s Song, Northerly Harbor. I need you now!

  I only hoped he heard.

  “How many men, Sirena?” I needed to keep her talking until the cavalry arrived, “And why?”

  “Thousands…because their life force kept me alive through the
centuries. This time you won’t get your man, Detective. I warned you that no one ever stopped me.”

  With that, she signaled the birds to fly back across the room, me their target. I picked up what looked like a metal and leather shield from the coffee table to protect myself. A hawk smacked into it, the impact sending me reeling backward. When I got my breath, I reached for the Glock holstered at the small of my back.

  Sirena laughed. “As if a gun would do you any good against me.” With that, she backed out of the room and slammed the door.

  I frantically called out to Jake. Sirena’s trying to kill me!

  Too bad I objected to shooting animals of any kind. If a bullet would stop them, that is.

  So I shot at the ceiling twice. That scared the birds into flapping away. By the time I got to the door, they came for me. A sharp beak tore at my arm, ripping the blouse. I felt talons dig into my shoulder and hit the bird with the shield. The damn door wouldn’t open, so I backed into a corner and tried to use the shield for cover.

  Hang on, Shelley!

  Where are you?

  I released a couple more bullets to the ceiling, but this time they had no effect on the birds.

  Right here!

  Jake’s foot crashed through the door and his body followed even as the birds were inches from attacking me again. Jake hissed at them and showed them his elongated canines. One of the hawks smacked into the owl. All four predators retreated to their cell. Apparently vampires terrified even them.

  “You’re all right.” He grabbed me up in his arms and for a moment I clung to him like I would never let him go.

  “Thanks to you,” I said into his neck and then pushed away from him. “Sirena murdered them all, Jake. I can’t let her go.”

  I was already out the door, holstering my gun and looking for her when I heard her song coming from the beach to the north. Another victim? I started running, Jake beside me.

  “Jake! Stop!” He would be susceptible to her. “You have to go back.”

  There was barely enough light from the harbor lights for me to see his face. His eyes were glazed over. Sirena’s voice carried on the wind, seducing him. I could see it happening.

  I ran faster. I had to stop Sirena, but how?

  She already told me the gun wouldn’t work on her. What then? Jake was running at vampire speed to get to the woman who would end him. As I fell behind, my mind whirled and I focused on the information I’d picked up earlier on the internet.

  A siren is fated to live only until a man who hears her song can free himself of her spell.

  But Jake wasn’t trying to free himself. I could see him jogging straight from the beach into the lake after Sirena.

  My feet hit sand and I screamed, “Jake, stop!”

  The siren’s song drowned my words just as she would drown the man I loved. Up to her waist in the lake, she backed toward deeper waters. Her feathered arms stretched toward him.

  I plunged into the water after them. “Jake, please, she’ll kill you!” He didn’t seem to hear so I yelled louder. “Jake, I need you!”

  He glanced back, and I could see his brow pull in confusion, but as if drawn to a magnet, he continued toward Sirena. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up to him.

  I had to stop him, but how? Could he even hear my pleas over Sirena’s voice?

  I concentrated on getting through to him psychically, tried to make him respond to the desperation I was feeling.

  I don’t want to lose you, Jake. Please listen to me.

  He suddenly stopped, giving me hope.

  Until Sirena raised her voice, going for that shattering hot note no man could resist. He continued on, away from me.

  My chest squeezed tight. As a cop, I’d seen so many terrible things that tears didn’t come easily, but my eyes stung at the thought of losing him this way.

  I’m yours, Jake. Hear me, please. I thought about my gun, about shooting Sirena if I had to. It might not kill her, but maybe I could temporarily put off her siren’s song. You are my life.

  He stopped moving. Shelley?

  I’m here, Jake, behind you!

  I was fighting against the water to get to him as fast as I could. I could feel him fighting Sirena’s influence.

  Jake, don’t leave me. Don’t let her take you from me. I can’t imagine going on without you.

  My plea got to him and he turned as I caught up to him. I threw myself at him and his arms pulled me up against him where he held me tight.

  Suddenly the night was still but for the sound of waves lapping at the shore and a rumble of thunder in the distance. The siren’s song had gone silent.

  A siren is fated to live only until a man who hears her song can free himself of her spell.

  Lightning lit up the lake as Sirena plunged backward into a big wave and with a scream that scraped up my spine, was sucked under.

  With my arms and legs wrapped around him, Jake carried me to shore.

  Watching the water, I didn’t see any sign of the murderess.

  Jake set me down on the sand, crashed next to me and held me tight as if he would never let me go. “Do you think she’ll wash up here tomorrow morning?”

  I was already thinking about how I could explain this to Norelli: I’d called Sirena on the murders and she’d committed suicide.

  “One way to find out.”

  We huddled together on the beach to wait for a new dawn.

  * * * * *

  LAST SHOT

  Jon Land & Jeff Ayers

  This is a be-careful-what-you-wish-for story that has just the right mix of eeriness and emotion.~SB

  “How long have you known me, Frank?” Molly Wagner asked the banker seated at the desk before her.

  “We went to high school together, Molly.”

  “Right. So you know when I promise something I mean it.”

  Frank, fellow member of the Class of ’93, wrinkled his nose, the reflection of his bald scalp shining in the cubicle’s glass walls. “This is different. It’s corporate. My hands are tied by the policy.”

  “Of throwing people out of their homes.”

  “Only when they’re seriously delinquent on their mortgages.” He paused long enough to take a deep breath and fold his hands together on the blotter. “I’ve done everything I can.”

  Molly started to speak, then stopped. She’d come up with folders full of financial proof she and her husband, Bob, would get through this, but there seemed no reason to produce them.

  Frank rose, a clear sign it was time for Molly to take her leave. “You’ve still got a few months to get current. If you think of anything…”

  “I will,” she said, rising. “I will think of something. And I’ll get another job. Maybe this place. I hear they may be hiring.”

  Frank looked as if he found that funny. “Here? What makes you think you’re qualified?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question.”

  Molly left the bank with file folders tucked under arm, fighting back tears. It was over, done. Time to put their house on the market. No sense delaying the issue any further, so her next stop was the local Rexall to copy a picture of their home taken when upkeep had not been an issue. It had been a fixer-upper when they’d bought it, so she and Bob, no experts at home improvement, had slaved over manuals and videos, adding molding, fresh paint, refinished floors, railings—the list went on. Fifteen years of labor and unwise refinancing all about to go into the Dumpster.

  Inside the Rexall, Molly located the photo scanner in the back and thumbed through a shoe box full of old photos, most taken when she and Bob had been mere kids and newlyweds before their son was even a thought. There were prom pictures and high school homecoming, Frank the banker with hair, the picture of which she promptly to
re in two, the state college where Bob had proposed near a statue of the school’s bear mascot that creaked in the wind, Molly afraid the whole time the thing was going to fall on them. She flipped past wedding shots and baby pictures of Matthew, the family captured back when foreclosure was something that happened to other people.

  She finally dug out a picture of a simple shot of her home taken before the fence posts had rotted out and the house paint had dulled and started to peel. Molly laid the shot on the glass and touched the scan button but nothing happened.

  “Excuse me, could you help me out here?”

  The photo clerk slid out from behind the counter where she’d been balancing her lunch.

  “I can’t get this to work,” Molly said, lifting the scanner top to reveal the snapshot she’d laid on the glass.

  That glass was deeply scratched, stained and sun-bleached from years of being left open, contrary to the posted instructions.“That’s ’cause you can’t use this side,” the clerk, whose name tag identified her as Jasmine, was saying. Her voice had an impatient tone to it, bred of helping too many customers befuddled by the machine’s finicky workings.

  Jasmine repositioned the four-by-six snapshot on the other end of the glass, and Molly caught a glimpse of her own reflection until the picture covered it. Her hair hung limply. Her eyes drooped and seemed drained of life. But at least the weight loss she’d managed gave her a more youthful appearance in spite of everything else, and she resolved to never put it back on again.

  “There you go,” Jasmine said.

  Molly closed the scanner top and started from scratch with the controls. She heard a whirring sound riddled with a few clanks that actually rocked the old scanner from left to right and then back again.

  It was a Kodak 470 model, capable of doing nothing more than making halfway decent copies of existing photographs. The process took an interminable time by today’s standards but copies here at Rexall Drug were only ninety-nine cents. Price was a prime consideration these days for the Wagner household, ever since Molly had lost her job as a dental assistant. She had thought the dental business to be recession proof, but everything from cosmetic procedures to fillings were down enough to necessitate cutbacks in the nonprofessional staff among which Molly was unfortunately included.