Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel

by S. J. Harper

  My phone rings. “Bad Moon Rising.” Zack.

  Rather than race downstairs to get it, I pick up the handset in the bathroom and call him back. “What’s up?”

  “Heard from Garner. His review of the security footage at the school for the last several days turned up nothing out of the ordinary.”

  I can hear the disappointment in his voice as he continues.

  “So far the school’s the only location we can place all three girls. Seems logical that’s where whoever is responsible identified his victims. I’m thinking if it wasn’t someone on the outside . . .”

  “Maybe we should be looking closer at those on the inside.”

  “Exactly what I’m thinking. I have a list of the faculty and staff. I’m going in to start running background checks tonight.”

  I turn off the water. “You’re going in now? What happened to driving Sarah out to the ranch?”

  “She took a cab.”

  “A cab?”

  No reply.

  “Zack?”

  “You have this idea about what Sarah and I have. It’s not what you think.” Before I have a chance to respond he asks, “You want to come in and help?”

  I hear the door downstairs open, then close.

  “Kallistos just came in. I need to talk to him about Lamont. Maybe after.”

  Seconds tick by.

  I hear footsteps on the staircase. “Emma?”

  Zack hears Kallistos, too. “I’ll let you go. I’ll update Jimmy tonight, put in a couple hours. Meet you in the office tomorrow morning at eight.”

  “I’ll see you then,” I tell him. Then I hang up, and slide into the tub. The water is almost scalding. Steam rises up. I close my eyes and try to relax.

  “Emma?”

  “In here!”

  Kallistos appears in the doorway. He’s wearing a sleek-cut, single-breasted black suit. In the breast pocket is a neatly folded white handkerchief. It matches the white dress shirt, open at the collar. His dark hair is combed back from his forehead; shoulder-length layers frame his handsome face. I see something in his clear blue eyes that I haven’t seen before: worry. “Is everything all right?”

  I pluck one of the larger sea sponges from the basket perched on the tub’s surrounding rim and hand it to Kallistos.

  A smile smooths the worry frown from his brow. He removes his suit coat and hangs it on a hook. His smile broadens when he sees another of his own shirts, the one I brought with me from his closet, hanging nearby. “Need help with those hard-to-reach places, do you?”

  He’s already removed his onyx cuff links and is rolling up his sleeves.

  I lean forward, hugging my knees to my chest. “You came home early. Am I keeping you from something?”

  “Nothing as important as you. What is it? Has something happened?”

  His voice is low, even, soothing. Water spills down by back, over my shoulder. His strokes are slow and deliberate.

  “Nothing. Everything. I’m working a case. Young girls, three of them. It’s going nowhere. I’m worried,” I confess.

  “That you won’t find them?”

  “That they’re already dead. There haven’t been any ransom demands, not for any of them.” I turn to face him. “But I need to speak to you about something else. Something I heard at lunch today.”

  “About?”

  “You. Well, maybe you. Seamus O’Malley—”

  “You had lunch with Seamus O’Malley?” Kallistos drops the sponge back into the tub, then moves to lean against the counter.

  The better to watch my face. I swallow a sarcastic retort and, shaking my head, begin, “Not exactly with Seamus. Zack and I stopped at Hodad’s to grab a late lunch. Asa Wade showed up.” Kallistos’ vantage point proves to work to my advantage, too. I see no indication that he recognizes the name. “He’s Zack’s old pack master. They have a history. Bad blood between them. Seamus showed up and diffused the situation.”

  “Zack involves you in werewolf affairs now?” His tone is sharp and disapproving.

  “I’m actually more concerned with what I learned from Seamus about vampire affairs,” I reply. “He had a warning. For you.”

  Kallistos’ arms are now crossed in front of his chest. “A warning? What did he say?”

  “That Asa came here with Philippe Lamont.”

  A flash of wariness widens his eyes.

  “You didn’t know,” I add.

  He shakes his head. “It’s not true. I don’t believe Lamont would enter my territory without permission, without going through appropriate channels. Besides, he’s being watched. If he’d come here, I’d know. I haven’t maintained power for this long by happenstance. I know who my enemies are and I keep close tabs on them.”

  “Seamus seems pretty certain it was Lamont with Wade. He thinks you may be in danger. He believes that Lamont is here to foment unrest between the factions who oppose the Blood Emporiums and those whom you rule. If it is Lamont, wouldn’t the fact that he hasn’t made his presence known to you prove Seamus’ point?”

  He snaps up the handset for the phone and dials. He speaks into the receiver. “When did we last hear from Gideon?” He listens. After a moment, he says, “Find out why he hasn’t reported in. I want Lamont’s current position.” He waits. More seconds tick by. Concern mars his brow.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Kallistos holds up his hand. “Call me as soon as you have word.” He hangs up, then reaches for a towel, holding it open. “My man didn’t answer.”

  I step out of the bath. His arms, strong and certain, wrap the towel around me. For a moment I lean into him. “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”

  He tilts my chin up. My eyes meet his.

  “I can take care of myself, you know. Been doing it for a long time. You needn’t be concerned.” He smiles. “Someone might mistake that concern for caring.”

  “You know I care.”

  “Which reminds me . . .”

  He takes my hand and leads me back out to the bedroom. On the center of the moss green coverlet is a black velvet box, a little longer and wider than a deck of cards.

  “It occurred to me after you left this morning that I haven’t been expressing myself very well. This is probably going to come as a surprise to you, but I’m a bit rusty when it comes to negotiating the great relationship gauntlet.”

  “So you bought me jewelry?”

  Kallistos picks up the box. “No. Not jewelry.” He appears to measure the weight of the box in his hand. “For months I’ve been asking you to move in with me. I realized today how that must sound, as if I’m asking you to give up something of yourself—your freedom, your privacy. That isn’t my intention. I don’t want you to have to give up anything, ever. Not for me. I can be difficult to access, to understand. I’ve been with thousands of women, but how many have known me? What I’ve been trying to do, Emma, is invite you in. Not just into the penthouse.” He opens the box. “Into my life.”

  The box holds a hotel card key attached to a short gold chain, one that resembles an old-fashioned watch fob. He holds it out to me.

  “Keep your place. Come and go as you please. Commandeer a closet and one side of the medicine cabinet. Or continue to have room service bring you emergency toothbrushes and steal my shirts. I don’t care.”

  “Yes, you do,” I say, fingering the key. “This proves it. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. My life is often messy. If Lamont’s presence in town is any indication, it might be getting messier. He plays dirty, Emma.”

  “I’m a Siren,” I remind him, letting my towel fall to the ground as I drop to my knees. My hands move to the waistband of his trousers and I unfasten his belt. “We like it dirty.”

  His long fingers reach down to remove the pins from my hair. It falls loose down my back.

  A slow smile forms on his lips. “How dirty?” he asks me, encouraging me to stand. His voice is rough with desire a
s he kicks off his shoes and steps out of his trousers.

  His rock-hard erection brushes the softness of my belly.

  I need it. Him. Desperately.

  As I work the buttons of his shirt, my heart is racing with anticipation. “What do you have in mind, sire?” The air around us warms, stirring an almost imperceptible perfumed breeze. It’s a deliberate crack in the armor, small but effective. His control crumbles.

  Suddenly, I’m pinned to the wall. Vampire molded to my body, mouth at my neck.

  My breath hitches.

  So does his.

  It pulses against my skin. “You know what I want,” he whispers. “You. I want you.”

  I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him away. My eyes search his. They reveal more than they should, but then again, mine probably do, as well. I don’t have much time to think. His lips cover mine. Hungrily, he drinks me in. Mouth open, tongue probing. A fang pierces my lower lip. I taste my own blood. Surprisingly, this time I don’t care.

  Kallistos does. He’s respected my wishes up until now and he’s prepared to deny himself what he wants yet again.

  “I’m sorry.” His tongue darts out to lick the drop of ruby liquid from his lower lip.

  I shake my head. “Don’t be. It’s who you are. Don’t hold back, not tonight. Not with me.”

  It’s all the permission he needs.

  His hands are on my ass. He lifts me, effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist. I’m wet and wanton. My power rails, begging for release. A wind rises around us. Blinds rattle against the balcony doors. Papers, neatly ordered on the writing table only seconds ago, can be heard beating against nearby walls.

  I could stop it, but I don’t want to. More important, I don’t need to. Not with him.

  Lips trail down the length of my jaw. I feel his tongue on my neck.

  Then with one sure thrust he’s buried inside of me. His hips piston, fucking me with a new ferocity. Something crashes to the floor. Hands grasp, searching for purchase. My light breaks through. The temperature around us climbs, higher and higher until both our bodies are slick with sweat. I’m dizzy. Slipping. All I can hear is my own distant breaths, my own waning heartbeat, my own screams of ecstasy as fang pierces flesh.

  I shatter completely, my body wracked by uncontrollable tremors.

  I’ve never been so free.

  CHAPTER 10

  Day Three: Wednesday, September 4

  This time I made sure the alarm was set on my cell phone. I waited until Kallistos was asleep, set it, then secreted the phone in my slipper. Now, as it chirps, I reach down to silence it and feel Kallistos stir beside me.

  “So that’s where you hid it?” he says, rolling toward me to rest his head on my shoulder. “I wondered why I couldn’t find it.”

  “Exactly why I hid it.” But I take his hand and kiss it. “Thank you for last night.”

  “Want a reason to thank me for this morning?” He’s taken my hand and slid it down the flat plain of his abdomen to rest between his thighs. He’s hard and ready.

  “Can’t.” It’s a reluctant admission. “I have to shower and get to work.”

  He sighs and lets me remove my hand. “I’m only acquiescing because I know your work is important to you.”

  “And because you have your own inquiry to launch?”

  “You are getting to know me well.”

  And so we both climb out of bed and head for the shower.

  “Time for a soak?” Kallistos asks innocently, eyes on the tub.

  “I thought you had things to do?”

  His robe is on the floor and his body, long, lean, and oh, so ready, is a hard temptation to resist.

  “I’m going to take a shower—a quick shower,” I repeat. “Maybe I should take it alone?”

  He slips my robe off my shoulders. “I’ll be good.”

  But even as he speaks, his fingers are between my legs, coaxing, teasing. My traitorous body is responding.

  “We have to make it quick,” I rasp, my body already on the verge of climax.

  “Oh, we will.”

  He brings me to the brink with skillful manipulation, pausing only long enough to turn on the shower. By the time the room is filled with steam, I’ve come once, twice. We step inside and the warmth envelops us. He wants to keep pleasuring me, but I stop him.

  “Your turn.”

  Then I’m on my knees, gripping his hips. I take him into my mouth, lips first teasing, then sucking, then drawing him deep. He’s groaning and moving with me. His hands tangle in my hair. I feel his muscles tense, feel the pressure build. It takes only the subtlest of movements, the pressure of my lips, my tongue sweeping along the ridge of his shaft, to bring him to climax. He shudders, releases, and trembles in the aftershock.

  He pulls me up, crushes me to his chest.

  “This was supposed to be a quick shower.”

  “Next time,” he whispers. “Promise.”

  * * *

  Somehow, I still manage to make it in before seven. When I step off the elevator, the office is already abuzz. Zack looks like he’s been up all night. Normally he’s all spit and polish. This morning the tie and jacket are off, his shirt is rumpled, and he’s sporting a beard thick enough to be attributed to several days of an average man’s growth.

  “Tell me you haven’t been here all night.”

  “I haven’t been here all night.” He takes a sip of steaming coffee from his mug, then motions toward the break room. “Fresh pot. And Garner brought in doughnuts.”

  I sigh. “That man is a heart attack waiting to happen.” I look over Zack’s shoulder. “Got anything?”

  He slides his chair back and stretches his neck. “Besides the great big ball of tension between my shoulder blades? Not really. The night was essentially a bust.”

  I break off half of the uneaten French cruller on his desk and pop a piece into my mouth. “The school’s faculty and staff look clean?”

  “Squeaky, as was Julie’s computer and the cell phone logs for all of the girls. As anticipated, we found calls between Hannah and Sylvia, but nothing between Julie and the other girls. No texts, no private messages, nothing. Nothing to tie Julie to them and nothing that seemed to shed any light on what each of them was doing to earn that two hundred dollars per week.”

  He sounds disappointed, and I completely understand why.

  “What about Sylvia’s computer?”

  “Billings is working on it now. But to be honest, I’m not hopeful. We need a break and we need it fast.” He lowers his voice. “I think we should have another chat with Rain. More to the point, I think you should have a chat with her. It could be she knows something but doesn’t understand the significance of it. Or there’s something she forgot. Something you could help her remember.”

  He’s right. I just need a few minutes alone with her. My powers extend beyond seduction in mortals. I can also use them to ferret out the truth, though the consequences can be dire for me. “Do we want to try to catch her before school?”

  Zack picks up the phone and starts to dial. “I think that would be best. I’ll call her house.”

  “I’ll wait for you out front. Tell her we’ll see her in an hour. That will give you enough time to shower and change. And to shave. Trust me. You need it.”

  * * *

  Rain Johnson’s home is quite unlike the other girls’. The cheerful yellow bungalow with the blue planter boxes filled with pansies is surrounded by a small picket fence enclosing a rose garden. Dwarfed on either side by homes four to five times its size, the tiny cottage sits on prime beachfront property at the end of Narragansett Avenue.

  The front door opens before we have a chance to ring the bell, revealing a woman who appears to be in her midthirties.

  I pull out my badge. “We’re here to see Harriet and Rain Johnson. I’m—”

  “We’re expecting you.” She steps aside, inviting us in. “And no one calls me Harriet anymore except Jimmy. I’ve gone by Harmony since
before Rain was born.”

  “Your paper.” Zack hands her the Union Tribune he retrieved from the porch.

  Harmony tosses it into the mail bin by the door. “I keep telling them I don’t want their stupid paper. Establishment propaganda, everything in it. Do they really think a free trial is going to change my mind?” She walks, barefoot, through a small entryway. Her long blond locks, flowing skirt, and peasant blouse are a throwback to the sixties. Whereas Rain is personified by harsh, dark edges, her mother is the picture of softness and light.

  “Your roses are quite lovely.” I follow her down a hallway lined with family pictures—a recent school portrait of Rain alongside old black-and-white images of bygone years and faded color photos from the sixties and seventies. One of a toddler appears to be a very, very young, very toothless Jimmy Johnson. I point it out to Zack and we share a grin.

  “The roses were planted by my great-grandmother,” Harmony is saying, drawing our attention back. “The house has been in our family for over a century. I’ve lived here all my life. So has Rain.”

  We enter a cozy living room where Rain is waiting, curled up in the corner of a bright green overstuffed sofa along with a ginger tabby. Although the hair, makeup, and clunky boots are the same, the rest of her signature style has been usurped by the traditional school uniform—facial piercings further accentuated by the frame of the stark white Peter Pan collar.

  “Rain, you remember Agents Armstrong and . . .”

  “Monroe,” I add.

  The tabby suddenly spies Zack, hisses, then bolts over the back of the sofa, disappearing behind a wall of royal purple drapes.

  “Hmm. That’s weird,” Harmony says. “Tiger loves everyone.”

  “Probably smells Zack’s dog,” I lie. “He’s a big ol’ wolf hybrid.”

  That gets a raised eyebrow from Zack, which I ignore as we take seats across from Rain in chairs covered in yellow and pink paisley chintz. Splashes of vibrant color are everywhere—bright throw pillows, braided rugs, and the drapes. It awakens a long-dormant memory of being inside a gypsy caravan. This room has the same feeling—a combination of well-preserved antiques, what looks to be several lifetimes of prize flea-market finds, and a variety of shades and patterns to rival those found in Willy Wonka’s closet.