Siren's Secret

by Debbie Herbert

  “You know I love my heritage,” she told him.

  He grinned and said in a very proper tour guide voice, “In the winter of 1623, a fishing village was established by the Dorchester Company on the shores of Cape Ann. The settlers struggled with the windy, stormy, rock-strewn area, and then a man named Roger Conant led a group to this fertile spot at the mouth of the Naumkeag River. At first they called it Naumkeag, the native word for ‘fishing place.’ And then they chose Salem, for shalom, meaning ‘peace.’” He shrugged. “Well, after so many years of peace—years of infamy, too—now we have...this. This darkness.”

  “Is it dark?” Sam asked, her voice dripping sarcasm. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  He stared at her. “I know that you’ve noticed.”

  “Good. Then you don’t need to be concerned.”

  “It’s most likely not a vampire matter,” he said.

  “Which is great—you’ll be even less necessary.”

  “I never wanted us to be hateful toward each other,” he said quietly.

  Good old Daniel. Always controlled. She wanted him to be hateful—to rage against the powers and circumstances that had separated them. Apparently she wasn’t going to get her wish.

  “I’m not being hateful,” she said with a shrug. “That would require me to actually feel something about you. Please, don’t be concerned on that account—I do not hate you. Frankly, and not to be rude, I really don’t think about you at all.”

  What a lie! She missed him every day of her life. Every single day she hurt, trying to figure out exactly what happened, how it had happened...

  “Actually,” he said. “That was...a smidgen rude.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just busy. Seriously, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”

  He stepped aside. “I’m staying down the street,” he said.

  The Riverton house had sat empty now for some time, ever since Daniel’s parents had joined the council and he had followed, leaving her behind.

  “How nice that you still have the house,” she said.

  He smiled, looking down at her. It was that slow, easy, somehow rakish smile that he had always given her. There was something in that smile that seemed to speak of a unique, sensual relationship, of things shared that were incredibly special and wonderful. She saw all that and more in the smile that he gave her....

  Her—and probably dozens of others.

  “Happy Christmas Eve,” he told her.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Soon?”

  “At your party, of course. I got the invitation. I remember your family’s Christmas parties—I’ve missed them.”

  How the hell had he gotten an invitation?

  Because he was on the damned mailing list. The e-vites had gone out automatically.

  Great—just great. He’d not only walked back in on her today—she would see him again tonight.

  Oh, joy.

  Sam managed to escape him and hurried along the path to the house, willing herself not to trip. It was a cold winter. Plenty of snow had fallen already, snow too easily turned to ice. She would not embarrass herself in front of him by slipping on the ice and landing flat on her backside.

  As he walked away, the stupid Santa began singing again: “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.”

  She somehow managed to refrain from yelling at it.

  Forget Daniel Riverton, she told herself. She would do exactly that.

  She had to.

  Okay, just take a minute, she told herself. Take a minute; take a deep breath. Stop shaking. They had been so crazily, ridiculously in love. They’d spent all their time together. And once they’d gone away to college, they’d managed to slip away on regular “excursions,” once just to Boston, once to New York City and one glorious time to England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales. There was nothing she hadn’t loved about them together, sleeping together, waking together, shivering through horror movies, traveling and meeting interesting people along the way.

  Even then, though, there were Others who had lifted their brows in disapproval.

  What did they know? Mixed marriages were springing up everywhere.

  She gave herself a firm mental shake; she was doing just fine. She was respected—she knew that most in the Other community gave her a thumbs-up. People still kept a wary eye on her less experienced cousins, but she loved them and knew that they would be fine, too—even June, who tried hard to appear strong, though she still felt overwhelmed by her Keeper role.

  Sam made a note in her mind to make sure that the walkway was free of ice by this evening. She couldn’t have any eighty-year-olds—human or Other—crashing down and breaking a hip.

  Tonight was traditionally a huge night for the Mycroft family and for the local Other community—and for those who knew about it and embraced it.

  Salem was, in Sam’s opinion, an exceptionally fine community, and she felt privileged to be a Keeper here. Yes, at one time the Puritans had persecuted and executed poor human beings who were no more witches than they were angels. But that dark past had ultimately enlightened future generations. Now the city was filled with people of every religion, including the Wiccans—popularly if inaccurately identified as witches—whose presence had done so much to enhance the commercial value of what was now a tourist mecca. Salem was also home to many different Others, from vampires and werewolves to leprechauns, gnomes, selkies and more.

  Every Christmas Eve—for centuries now—the Mycroft family had hosted a party celebrating faith, life, belief and love. The guests were of many faiths and many species—the requirement for the human guests, of course, was that they were among the few who knew about the Other community and respected its code of silence.

  The world had come a long way from the days of the Salem witch trials—but not far enough. Knowing that your next-door neighbor was a vampire wouldn’t sit well with those who pictured vampires only as vicious bloodsuckers. They could never comprehend that the average, modern-day vampire was an upstanding member of the community—just one who had to survive on a great deal of slaughterhouse blood. Thankfully, due to the council and the widespread alliances that had been formed over the years, that commodity was readily available as long as you knew where to shop.

  The minute she got inside, Sam leaned against the door and exhaled.

  It was going to be a trying day and an even more difficult night, and she resented the hell out of that. Ever since she had been a small child, she had loved the Christmas season. But this year...

  There was the darkness. And the suggestion that it might be caused by a vampire, and that she was failing in her duties as Keeper of the Vampires.

  And now...

  Daniel was back.

  “Think of him as no more than a pesky fly that needs to be swatted,” she said aloud.

  But even so, there were other problems. Her cousins were distracted, the cousins who should have been helping her.

  This was the year Katie Sue was waiting for the love of her life, a selkie who could only return to land once every seven years. Talk about your long-distance relationships, Sam thought. But in truth, she was slightly jealous. Katie Sue was the selkie Keeper and she didn’t give a damn. She was in love with a selkie, and the hell with anyone who objected.

  Her cousin June was just back from Europe; as Keeper of the Witches—the real witches, not the city’s many practicing Wiccans—she had been studying Celtic ways. She’d also, Sam thought, run away. She’d been madly in love, as well—only to find out the entire relationship had been the result of a spell.

  And then, of course, there was her other cousin Rebekah whose greatest rival was also the man she loved, rendering any attempt at romance pointless.

  None of them seemed to be lucky in love. Well, Katie Sue thought she was lucky—if seeing the one you loved once every seven years counted as luck.

  She straightened. She was being too hard on herself and her cousins. They were good
Keepers—especially considering the way they’d expected to have many more years to prepare and had simply been thrown into the fray when the International Council had been formed. They were just... Well, they had their own secret demons living in their souls, but they were able to step up to the plate when they needed.

  And so what if Daniel was back? She still had matters to attend to. Mycroft House, first of all. There was a party tonight, darkness or no darkness, and she intended to be ready.

  She looked around. The house was beautiful, and she allowed herself a moment’s pride.

  It was an old house, of course. One of the oldest in Salem. The ceilings were low, and there were no closets in the upstairs bedrooms—the original settlers had used wardrobes and trunks. Back then, bedrooms were not elegant places of repose as they were now. They were where you slept when you weren’t working. The original house had consisted of a central hallway running front to back, a left room and a right room downstairs, and two bedrooms upstairs, along with a cellar and an attic. An addition in the early 1800s had given it a back wing and an upstairs apartment. Right now a gorgeous pine tree sparkled with lights to her right, while a menorah flickered from the mantel. Hard to know when to light the candles when you had a day without sundown. Both religious and secular adornments filled the house, which was colorful and festive—and demonstrated a respect for just about every belief out there.

  She’d baked cookies and cakes, so the air was filled with the wonderful aromas of sugar and cinnamon and all things good.

  She was ready.

  Except, of course, for the last errand she had to run before welcoming her guests for the evening.

  She was still leaning against the door when it began to open. She moved away quickly, startled for a moment, even a bit frightened, and then belatedly aware that it had to be her cousin June.

  “Hey!” Sam said, jumping back and throwing the door open.

  “Oh, good,” June said. “You’re still here. I was afraid I’d get here and you’d be gone already and I wouldn’t know what to do.”

  “I was about to head out, but thank you for coming over. I really do have to run out for a bit. You’re a doll for helping out, and I really need you. This group... You never know how soon people will start showing up. Give Johnny Fields a call. I pay him to keep the ice and snow off the walk. You don’t need to do anything, really, except verify that he’ll be here and do it. There’s a ridiculous amount of food in the kitchen. Everything’s ready to go—juice, eggnog, ‘special’ Bloody Mary mix and regular Bloody Mary mix. I should be back in plenty of time, but in case I’m not, you can go ahead and start serving.”

  June was as pretty as a picture; she looked like a gorgeous gamin. Of all the cousins, she was the tiniest. She was also...

  Eyes wide, June interrupted Sam’s thoughts. “Okay, but please hurry. I’m not the hostess you are.”

  June was just a little overwhelmed, Sam told herself again. She tried so hard to appear refreshed and happy to be home, but coming back had been hard for her.

  She loved her craft and her witches. Despite popular belief, even the real ones tended to love the earth, nature and being kind to their fellow man.

  Sam offered her a smile. “You’re friendly, beautiful and a sweetheart. You’re the perfect hostess. The older ladies from the Baptist church sometimes show up early, but they’re sweethearts and easy to talk to. The Catholic crew tends to come late, and it’s hard to figure exactly when the Protestant groups will arrive. Rabbi Solomon comes really early sometimes, too. I don’t expect any of the Others to arrive too early, but every once in a while the leprechauns are feeling feisty. Don’t let them goad the Baptists. Okay, I’m off. I’ll be back quickly, I promise. I just have to pick up that Christmas mix CD from Mica and the cold-cut platter from the grocery store.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” June assured her, though she didn’t sound terribly convinced.

  Sam turned and fled the house—and her too-vivid memories of Daniel’s return.

  She was already in the historic district—Mycroft House was a federal landmark property. All she had to do was hurry down Essex Street to reach Ye Olde Tyme Shoppe, the establishment owned by her friend, Mica Templeton. Mica was a witch—a real witch, not a Wiccan. There was a world of difference. One was a state of being, while the other was a religious choice.

  “Hey there,” Mica said. She had just been locking one of the cases where she kept beautiful locally crafted jewelry. “I was starting to worry that you weren’t going to show up.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been running late all day. I forgot I’d promised to do a speech this morning for the Brattle Corporation board—they’re looking to open an office in Salem. They’re an internet company, and they’ll bring us a lot of great jobs, so... Well, yeah, I know, it’s Christmas Eve, but I gave the speech anyway.”

  “Did you take them through the cemetery and do one of your dramatic scenes, then tell them that the poor condemned during the trials weren’t even allowed Christian burials?” Mica asked, and grinned. “Then tell them all to take care, because you never know who from history might be wandering the streets?”

  “Of course not. I only do that at Halloween,” Sam told her.

  “And I’m getting ready to close up for your party—where you should be already. This is pretty much it for the holiday season, but I did a lot of business.”

  Mica usually did a lot of business. She carried gorgeous handmade capes and cloaks, a truly artistic line of shirts and spells, potions, herbs and other paraphernalia for the local Wiccans and tourists alike. Plus the jewelry. At Christmas she added beautiful one-of-a-kind ornaments, along with candles and garlands—and, for the local Jewish community, elegant menorahs.

  “I need that CD you were making for me.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t get it to you sooner.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I have to stop at the grocery store on Essex, too,” Sam assured her, studying Mica as she went to get the CD.

  Her friend was a very pretty woman, with bright blue eyes and pitch-black hair. She turned half of the shop into a haunted house at Halloween. Creatures came out to “attack” the shoppers, who were saved by the “witches who guarded the woods.”

  Mica returned, holding on to the CD a little too tightly as she studied Sam.

  “You’ve seen him, right? You know he’s back in town?”

  “You mean Daniel, right?” Sam said. “Yes, I’ve seen him.”

  Mica nodded. “He’s even better looking than I remembered.”

  “He looks the same. He’s good-looking. So what? So are a lot of men.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then why haven’t you dated any other men in the past two years?”

  “Looks aren’t everything,” Sam said.

  That caused Mica to laugh. “No, of course not. But Daniel is also intelligent, funny, concerned for humanity, charming....”

  “And he left me.”

  “Hmm. If I remember correctly, you told him to go.”

  “Look, Mica, the International Council was forming and everything was changing. His parents were against the relationship and so were mine. Everyone frowned on Keepers seeing their charges.”

  “Sleeping with their charges, you mean,” Mica corrected.

  Sam glared at her.

  “You were totally in love with him. You’re still in love with him.”

  “Mica...”

  “And he’s still madly in love with you. I can see it. The two of you really need to cut out the noble crap. I can burn the right incense for the two of you, you know, and say all the right prayers.”

  “They’d better be prayers and not love spells,” Sam warned her.

  “Never,” Mica promised her. “You two don’t need a love spell.”

  “And I don’t need him. We’re dealing with far more serious matters,” Sam said.

  “The darkness,” Mica murmured. “Sam, there’s no reason to think a vampire is behind it. I know Drac
ula is referred to as the ‘Prince of Darkness,’ but that doesn’t mean anything. We both know how much novelists love to go crazy making up legends so they can sell more books. I mean, the vamps—especially the ones here in Salem—have practically been angels for years now, other than an isolated incident here or there. And those are always handled perfectly by the Keepers, of course. But—” Mica suddenly stopped speaking, looking at Sam with wide eyes.

  “But what?” Sam demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t you dare look at me like that and then say nothing’s wrong!”

  “Well...” Mica said.

  “Well, what?” Sam demanded.

  “There is August Avery,” Mica said.

  “What about August?” Sam asked, her eyes narrowing. August was a young vampire, a senior in college. Like many his age, he’d taken a bit of a twisted path, experimenting with drugs and causing his share of trouble around town. But none of it had been more than mischief, really, and Sam was sure he was just struggling to find himself the way kids often did.

  “He was probably just being August,” Mica said.

  “By?”

  “Well, he was in here muttering about the fact that only vampires know what eternal darkness really means,” Mica said.

  Sam stiffened. “I’m going to have to talk with him,” she said. “And, Mica—” she said, pointing a finger at her friend “—you have to tell me when someone says something like that. This darkness is real, and whatever’s causing it, it’s nothing to play around with.”

  As she spoke, the little bell above the shop door tinkled. She swung around to see who’d entered.

  Daniel Riverton.

  “Daniel!” Mica cried happily. “I’d heard that you were back in town.”

  Leave it to Mica.

  “Great, just great,” Sam muttered.

  And while Mica rushed forward to give Daniel a welcoming hug, Sam took the opportunity to hurriedly escape the shop.

  And another encounter with the love of her life.

  The love of her life who had deserted her—even if she had told him to go.

  Copyright © 2013 by Slush Pile Productions, LLC