Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

“I see.”

  She knew him well, indeed—had maybe dated him, but he wouldn’t ask that. That would be ridiculous.

  He forced his body to relax because everything seemed tight and bristly inside him, as if pulled by a thick, rough rope. He looked at the picture, sort of understanding why she’d describe him as ‘alluring.’

  What the hell? He stopped an eye roll before it took off. “Well, it says here he’s a Valthrean big wig, in charge of intelligence and security matters officially, but he’s filled many roles. He’s answerable only to the Council of Elders. Ah, and has close ties to Neil and Cam Waterstone, the two brothers who founded the organization. He has their ear and their trust.”

  Kseniya took a sip of water before settling herself deeper into the soft cushions. “Neil and Cam are very old, first generation immortals, so to speak. When they’re busy with other work, Max is the one they’ll put in charge of things. Especially Neil, the elder brother. Cam is not always interested in politics and business.” A shadow crossed her face. “He does care, but he seems to be … otherwise engaged these days.”

  He turned to her. “What do you mean?”

  She frowned at him. “Just what I said. You know how it goes with family. Not everyone is always on the same page, but Cam is well invested in it. He’s just into his personal life right now. Neil is mostly the one running things, and Max is his right hand. Cam is younger, if that matters at all at this point.”

  “Yeah, that clarifies things,” he said sarcastically.

  “He does have special powers, though, which no one else shares. He’s an Oracle.”

  “So he sees things? Has visions?”

  “I suppose, but I don’t know all the details, and I’ve never met Cam in person. Some things are also not relevant in our case and are not our business to discuss.”

  “If he’s an Oracle, why don’t they get him to locate this Phoenix guy? You’d think they wouldn’t need us.”

  “It might not work that way. He might only be able to see some things that are connected to him and his people. Clearly, they need us here in Shadow Bridge or they wouldn’t have called us over. Why even question that? We’re trackers. That’s our job.” A hint of irritation had found a tiny place in her tone.

  “My job is to question everything. If I don’t, and just go with the flow, what kind of king would I make eventually? I would think I shouldn’t have to explain myself, either, but I do for the sake of courtesy. I invite you to bring that broomstick out of you and lay it to the side? I will question what I wish.” He was going to say ‘out of your ass,’ but he still had some decorum left. Barely.

  She huffed and shook her head, looking at him like an adult would stare down a petulant child. “It’s all about royalty with you. There are other things in life, you know. Like kindness, loyalty, duty, and bravery.”

  “I’m doing my duty, aren’t I?”

  What nerve, to throw all that in his face. She had no idea the lengths he went to in order to bring dignity to his people.

  She frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it. But nothing came out. He wasn’t so sure though that what he’d said put her in her place. The thought occurred to him that he’d only made things worse. That she’d hold on to this and find a way to make him pay for it.

  “Shall we proceed?” he added.

  “Forget that folder,” she said after the slightest hesitation. Grabbing her water, she leaned back on the couch, making herself comfortable, then unscrewed the bottle and took a sip. “I can tell you all the basics about the Valthreans.”

  He nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “No one really knows how old they are. They’re immortals. Like Adri.”

  “Are they descended from Greek or other gods?”

  “No. They get their power from a chalice. Several of them, actually.”

  He cocked his head and gave her a quizzical look.

  “They turn immortal through a specific ritual. It’s a merit system, you see.” She eyed him with an arched eyebrow. “You don’t just get the perk by virtue of being born into a Valthrean family. It’s not just about blood, like with aristocrats and monarchies. You have to earn it.”

  Bollocks. Well, if this argument was meant to shame him, he wouldn’t take the bait. What did the Sokolovs deserve that his family didn’t?

  “How many chalices are there?”

  “Not exactly sure for it’s a closely guarded secret, although I’ve read some things about them,” she said absently, as if deep in thought. “I think there are about … I’d say seven of them. They’re highly coveted.”

  “What do you mean by coveted? Wouldn’t the Council of Elders you mentioned take care of them all and manage the accession of new members?”

  “Technically, yes, but the Valthreans are a fractured group. Some have gone rogue and have managed to take with them a few of the chalices.”

  “So these things are not all in one place.”

  “Correct.”

  “And a few have been stolen.”

  “Correct.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and threw her a smirk. “So it’s not all about the merit system, then.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Officially, it is. Those are the rules to go by. Greedy idiots will always find a way to ruin a good thing, but we don’t go by their fucked up, non-existent standards, do we?”

  Damn. This woman …

  And all he could think of was musk and ice, rolled into one. And a big mouth.

  And cold, so much cold.

  He stared at her, really stared.

  Until she stared back, and then he looked away—at Max’s picture. He swallowed.

  “So this Max—we’re just meeting him?”

  “Maybe. Or perhaps some of the others will also show up.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Difficult question to answer. They do have one of their largest headquarters in London, though, since that’s where Neil and his brother live. They have other bases elsewhere on all continents.”

  “Including Russia, I presume.”

  “Most major cities worldwide, including Moscow and St. Petersburg, yes, but some offices are just small bases. There’s something in Kiev, too.”

  “But not Fire Island.”

  Too humiliating to think these people could have lived under their noses and the king knew nothing of them. Or did he? Djibril wasn’t so sure now. Mortification filled him at not knowing these things. Perhaps he had been too immersed in his own personal projects to care—but he needed to care now. He needed to know.

  “Not Fire Island,” she said, her gaze on his face. “They’ve had some problems recently in London, so I’m sure they’ll need as much manpower as they can get. Stolen chalices, a murder or two—”

  “Murder? These people are full of surprises,” he interrupted.

  “Hmmm, that’s how Max met Piper, but now that I think of it …” Her voice trailed away.

  “Now that you think of what?”

  “There was a mystery surrounding Max. Something about a witch. It also involved some of the other, London-based Valthreans.”

  He furrowed his brow. “But what does that have to do with us?”

  “We’re talking of a witch, involved with The Cult—that’s what the Valthreans’ enemies call themselves. She had powers, but I cannot remember her name. I wonder if she was ever connected to Shadow Bridge. But maybe not. Maybe I’m reading too much into this, grasping at straws.” Her mind seemed to be working overtime. “But experience has taught me never to discount any detail. Some things are more important than we think.”

  What experience was she talking about? Strutting her stuff down a catwalk or in front of a camera? “And you know this how?”

  “Oh, just reading about it here and there, you know.” Her pale cheeks went red all of a sudden.

  Ah. There was something she wasn’t telling. “I don’t really know, as you can see.”

  “Just a matter of luck. Coincidence.�
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  “Perhaps.”

  He couldn’t keep the suspicion from his tone, and he held her gaze, forcing her to take up the challenge and not back away. He’d figured out her competitive nature—she’d never admit defeat or back off unless she knew she had the upper hand.

  But he knew a thing or two about people like her. And he crushed them like ants on the tennis court. Played with their feelings, their indignation, their weak points. This was how he won. How he dominated the game.

  This one was tough, but not invincible. And she was deep down, at her core, a woman who lived purely off her looks and nothing else. This niggling feeling that there was more to her concerned him. From their exchanges, if he dared admit it, he could see she was no brainless bimbo.

  And right now, she wore no makeup, no fancy clothes.

  Could she read his mind? He broke eye contact, even when a gentle rush of cool air tempered the uncomfortable heat. Nothing was right in his world anymore. Nothing made sense.

  “Fine.” He coughed. “Well, I understand there’s some urgency to this, so maybe best get on with it. But …”

  “But what?”

  “I think I need to see first.”

  “See what?”

  “Séraphine Dionysios. I need to witness with my own eyes. I could go on their word, which seems as good as gold. But I wouldn’t call it blind trust—we’re giving our best resources to this woman …”

  She put up a hand to stop him. “Hang on now. We’re giving our resources for us. This is our war, too.”

  “And we are just now find out about it. Why should we get involved, no questions asked? You have an issue with me digging deep, it seems.”

  “Because you are involved. So far, Adri and her people here have been fighting this coming shitstorm on their own, trying to fix it so we wouldn’t have to.”

  “Adri has an influential family. Why doesn’t she get them to wipe all their enemies away? Why let a relative risk death and get possessed by an Egyptian goddess without retaliating? These gods seem to be of no use, it seems.”

  She got up and started to pace the room, arms crossed in front of her chest. Her expression wasn’t a happy one. “Gods don’t meddle in the affairs of humans. You know that this only happens in rare instances.”

  He shook his head and waved a hand around him. “Is anyone here human? Once you cross the veil, there are no humans.”

  “Humans, dragons, gods, demigods, sups … we all have our place. No meddling applies across the board.”

  A wave of bitterness flowed inside him. “Except when it comes to persecuting dragons. Zeus and his posse haven’t been too discriminating with that sort of thing in the past, have they? But now, we’re supposed to help his family and ask how high when they tell us to jump.”

  Abruptly, she stopped pacing and stood in front of him, the coffee table separating him.

  “Listen. You keep coming up with all these excuses and arguments.”

  A sudden chill froze his facial bones, like when you eat ice-cream too fast, or suck on a slushy with too much enthusiasm. Her eyes shone like bright jewels, contrasting with the sky outside, where dark clouds gathered. If Djibril dared admit it, he’d think they’d heard what he’d said, up there. But the climate in the room had gotten infinitely more threatening, too.

  “Bow out if you want—defy your father, the rules of your land, disappoint our people—our kind—risk blowing your chances of ever becoming king … I don’t care. But I’m going as soon as I calm down from getting ruffled by all this negative bullshit. I’m going, and I’m seeing this mission through. You do what the fuck you want, you-questioning-ass-motherfucker!”

  With that, she marched out into the terrace and leaned on the wrought iron balustrade, looking out at the landscape. As if she hadn’t just called him, the Crown Prince of Fire Island, a motherfucker.

  The chill left the room like a draining of energies, but remnants of it kept swirling inside him. Her words stayed with him, stung him. Filled him with fury.

  He stared at his hands. She’d gotten under his skin in just a day, and no amount of heat he might seek for comfort could take that away. His gaze traveled to her form standing there, alone in this universe, like Joan of Arc preparing for battle. He’d called Keith that in jest, but this right here was the real deal. He’d dare say she sounded and looked like a …

  Like a queen.

  A queen who infuriated him and called him what nobody else would ever dare to.

  She was no bimbo. None of that vapid, superficial bullshit clung to her aura. She was deep as a bottomless well. Brave. Reckless. Completely, utterly mad.

  She would do the right thing, even when it inconvenienced her.

  He was who he was, an authority figure supposedly, and he’d done nothing but complain, ask for proof, seek explanations. Yes, he had to know more because it was his duty not to risk the wellbeing of his people, but he could also step up and do what was expected when it was expected.

  What was wrong with him? Maybe he’d been in the limelight too long, and he needed this reality check. This was his future—the kind of stuff he’d be faced with when he decided to get more committed to his role in Fire Island. He’d been lucky that his family had pretty much let him spread his wings, literally and figuratively, all this time without calling him to task.

  Yes, he’d step up.

  More shame filled him, and that kind of heat, spreading across every inch of skin, didn’t feel pleasant at all. No amount of dragon fire could erase something that went down to his core, to his very soul. A bad start couldn’t even come close to describing the train wreck of this mission so far.

  This ended here.

  Getting up, he walked to her, each step filled with both excitement and dread. The familiar hot-cold sensations came alive within him, and this time, he welcomed them. He’d learn to live with them, but he probably wouldn’t have to. When this was over, they’d go their separate ways, each with a different life to live. Two destinies, two paths. The binding applied only until they’d fulfilled this task.

  He stood next to her and placed his palms on the railing. Exhaling a breath, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scents of nature, of rock, of the lake. Of magic and of woman.

  “You called me motherfucker,” he said.

  “I know. I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize.” Sincerity infused her tone.

  “We can discuss a plan after looking through our notes and getting a debriefing. Then we’ll leave soon after that.”

  She shifted next to him. Closer, until her arm touched his. Even through the clothes, the contact soothed, gave him life.

  Not good.

  But also perfection.

  “And we’ll go see Séraphine. I agree we need to see her. It will make us more invested in this mission, I think.”

  She was meeting him half way.

  He turned to her and looked down into her face. She looked up at him, into him, and her eyes widened, as though she were discovering something completely unexpected.

  He pressed his lips together, tasting the dryness.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said. “I’ll make us some tea before we go to the castle.”

  He held out his hand, needing more contact, and got rewarded with a touch that brushed all reservations aside.

  Adri welcomed them in the same room they’d convened in earlier. It would take days to get used to the layout of the castle, so a household staff member had had to bring them there.

  “I trust you had enough rest,” she said, rising from her chair to greet them.

  High heels—how many inches high were those things?—clicked on the stone floor looking like weapons of mass destruction. Not surprisingly, she had the sense to avoid the fine carpet. It would be a sin to subject that beautiful workmanship to damage by walking on it in such lethal footwear. Clearly, this woman never relaxed.

  “Let me get us some tea.”

  “We’re fine, Adri, but thank you. Prince Djibril just made s
ome back at the cottage—”

  “Call me Gabe, please, both of you,” he interrupted at Adri’s raised eyebrow. “I’m used to living on my own and taking care of myself.”

  They both stared at him, and he waved his hands in confusion. “What? Is that so odd?”

  Now, they stared at each other. He gave up.

  And he’d just given Adri and, most importantly, Kseniya, permission to call him with the name very few people in the world called him by. People he loved. Guess a man was only as good as his mind, and he was fast losing his.

  Time to take the bull by the horns.

  When they sat down, he looked squarely at Adri. “Any information you can provide us will make our search easier.”

  Adri crossed her legs and linked her hands around her knees.

  “Certainly.” She nodded. “So, I’ve been looking into my daughter’s origins for a while, and some information was passed to me recently. I had no idea of such details until my … mate enlightened me,” she paused, as if grappling with the word ‘mate.’ “He was the one supposed to go get this man …”

  He frowned. As he seemed to recall, the General of Heaven’s army was supposed to be undertaking this mission, and if he put two and two together … Adri was mated to an angel, and a most powerful one, too, at that?

  He threw Kseniya a quick glance, and the same conclusion reflected back at him in her gaze. This didn’t feel right. There was definitely so much more than met the eye in this whole matter. They should tread with utmost care.

  “But this is what we have to work with,” Adri continued, seemingly oblivious to what the two dragons in the room were thinking about. “Sera’s father—well, his reborn form—goes by the name of Vadim Damian, as you’ve already been told. His family is originally from Moldova—back when it was still referred to as Bessarabia. Some years ago, he moved to England, where he now lives in Leytonstone, in East London. He believes his parents and his whole family are deceased because he has no idea he re-spawned and wasn’t born per se this time around.” She sighed. “He is trouble, and does not fully recognize who and what he is. Knows nothing about his nature, or even his ties in this world. He’s basically a grifter, into heavy drugs and crime, but has settled in the underbelly of a place where he can feed his hedonistic lifestyle.”