Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel

by S. J. Harper

  “Look, Zack. Let’s not drag Liz into our drama. We’re here because Liz has offered to help us find the girls. That’s all we should be thinking about right now.”

  Zack has already pushed open his door. He doesn’t so much as glance at me, but reaches into the back to pull out the evidence bags. I grab the FedEx box and meet him at the driver’s side of the Suburban. “Are we okay?”

  He won’t meet my eyes. But he does release a breath and tension seems to drain from his shoulders. “I know we have a job to do. Let’s hope Liz can help.”

  Liz has an uncanny ability to sense my presence. We approach and she’s swung open the door before my hand touches the bell. Her eyes dart from my face to Zack’s and narrow when her gaze meets mine. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  She grabs my hand and pulls me inside, motioning for Zack to come in with a flutter of her free hand. “Zack, excuse us for a minute, will you? I have to speak with Emma. Go on into the dining room. We’ll be right back.”

  I don’t bother to argue. Zack looks surprised but takes the FedEx box from my hand and moves toward the dining room. Liz pulls me into the kitchen and closes the door behind us.

  “What on earth—”

  She turns her back to me. Her arms are outstretched. The kitchen hums with power. I know what she’s doing. I wait, patiently, while she erects a shield to prevent Zack from hearing our conversation.

  “Something happened between you and Zack,” she says as soon as she’s finished. It sounds like an accusation. It is an accusation. “You slept together again, didn’t you? You know how much danger that puts him in. You don’t want to awaken—”

  I rub the back of my neck where I still feel the chill of Demeter’s cold breath. “No, Liz. We didn’t sleep together.”

  My words come out much harsher than I intend.

  “But you came close.” It’s not a question.

  I close my eyes, nod. “We came close.”

  “Damn it, Emma.” Liz grabs my shoulders. “You know what will happen to Zack if you give in. I thought you were smarter than this. I can only do so much to help.”

  “I know, Liz. I know.” Tears burn my eyes. I brush them away. “It would be so much easier if I could tell Zack about Demeter, make him understand.”

  “But you know he won’t understand. That’s why you didn’t tell him about Demeter in the first place. You know what his reaction will be. You said it yourself. He’s a fighter and he loves you. He won’t walk away. Give him a target and he’ll go after it. Demeter will crush him. You know that, Emma. You’ve seen it happen before. If you care about him, you won’t risk this.”

  “I know.” I draw a ragged breath. “Nothing can happen. I’ll be more careful.”

  Liz lays a gentle hand against my cheek. “You have an answer, you know. Kallistos. Concentrate on your relationship with him.” She grins. “And I know how good vampire sex is. Like nothing else.”

  I return her smile. She does know. But the sad truth is one element is missing in my relationship that is present in hers. She and Evan are in love.

  * * *

  Liz has pushed the dining room table and chairs against a wall to clear a space in the middle of the floor. On the hardwood she’s drawn a chalk circle, and in the circle, a pentagram. On the pentagram she’s placed a map of San Diego County. When Liz and I join Zack, he’s examining the map.

  “You think the girls are close?” he asks.

  “It seems logical to look close to home first,” Liz says. “If nothing shows up, I can extend the range.”

  She’s taken the objects we obtained from the girls’ parents and is placing them on the points of the pentagram: at the top, Julie’s hairbrush; to the right, a toothbrush of Hannah’s; to the left, nail clippings retrieved from Sylvia’s bathroom trash. At the bottom of the pentagram, Ford’s football jersey. When Liz is satisfied that the objects are laid out the way she wants them, she lights five candles, also at the points of the pentagram. She’s already pulled the dining room curtains closed against the bright afternoon sun, and when the candles blaze to life, the room is bathed in a soft, golden glow. The beeswax candles give off a faint odor, church-like and comforting. When I glance at Zack, he’s watching Liz with rapt attention.

  Liz is ready to begin. She’s taken a chain from a small velvet bag. At the end of the chain, a crystal sends slivers of reflected light dancing around the room.

  “Will you be working a spell?” Zack asks, his tone hushed and reverent.

  She smiles. “No spell. No invocations. This is elemental magic. Tied into the physical rather than metaphysical. You and Emma just stand back and let the crystal do its thing.”

  Zack and I take a step back. Liz holds the crystal over the pentagram and lets the chain swing free.

  It rotates a couple of times, then stops.

  Zack and I lean forward expectantly.

  “That was fast,” Zack says. He’s following the point of the crystal to the spot it’s hovering above on the map. “Wait. That looks like the middle of the bay. Are they on a boat?”

  Liz frowns. “No. Something’s wrong. Let me try again.”

  Zack and I retreat to the edges of the circle while Liz draws the crystal into her palm. She releases it again. The crystal spins from the energy of being released, circles twice, then stops again. Dead stop.

  Liz looks over at us.

  “What? Ford’s in the middle of the harbor?” Zack asks.

  Liz frowns. “No. There was no pull on the crystal the way there would have been if Ford or the girls were in the area. I hate to say it, but this is exactly what I experienced when I tried to find Evan while he was being held in Barbara Pierce’s lab. I think the girls are being shielded somehow.”

  I give voice to what I know we’re all thinking. “Or they’re dead.”

  Liz takes my hand. “Not necessarily. Remember Evan was unconscious, drugged. Maybe the girls are, too. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  “Call Kallistos,” Zack adds. “Maybe he found Ford.”

  I dial the phone. It’s answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Emma.”

  The voice isn’t the one I expected.

  “Simon?”

  He sighs. “Before you ask, I have no idea where Kallistos is. I was hoping maybe he was with you. He left this damn thing in my office and it’s been ringing off the hook. I’m afraid to answer it and afraid not to.”

  “Find Kallistos and have him call me.” I hang up.

  I instantly feel the heat from Zack’s glare.

  This isn’t my fault, but somehow I feel responsible.

  Liz saves me before I have a chance to reply. “I might have an explanation for why the scrying isn’t working.”

  “Please, tell us. We could use some good news right about now,” Zack says.

  “They may be in a place that naturally interferes with magic. A place with its own spiritual energy. A holy place.”

  “You mean like a church?”

  “A church. A synagogue. A mosque. Even a cemetery. Any hallowed ground.”

  “Great.” Zack releases a breath. “I’d guess San Diego County has a couple thousand churches and cemeteries.”

  Liz places the crystal on the dining room table. “Let me make some calls. I know others who are better at scrying than I am. Maybe we can narrow down the options a little.” She shrugs. “Or maybe I’m completely off base. At least we’d know. Do you mind if I keep these things?” She motions to the items on the pentagram. “If I can get some help, we’ll need them.”

  Before I agree, Liz’s cell phone chimes. She glances at it. “It’s Evan. Just a sec.” She connects the call. “Hey, you. Emma? Yes, she’s still here.” Liz listens, her eyes widening. “I’ll tell her.”

  She disconnects. “Well. You may not need the scrying, after all. Evan is sending Owen Cooper over. He’s got some information that might shed some light on your case.”

  CHAPTER 18

 
; “What did he say, exactly?” I ask Liz.

  The question elicits a sigh of frustration. “Just that he was on his way to a meeting and that he was sending Owen here.”

  Zack stops pacing long enough to add, “With some information.”

  “Yes.” Liz nods. “With some information that might shed light on your case. We’ve been over this.”

  “The elevator.” Zack stills. Listens. Then frowns. “Never mind. Sounds like two people. A man and a woman.”

  Liz heads for the door anyway, probably just to get away from the two of us. Before she’s reached it, there’s a knock. Liz swings the door open.

  “I believe you’re expecting us?”

  I recognize the delicate voice at once. “Rose from the Emporium,” I whisper to Zack.

  Rose was turned when she was sixteen, but that was more than a hundred and twenty years ago. Her youthful face and form are showcased today in a long gown of dark purple taffeta. I hear the brush of crinoline as she sweeps past.

  “Owen needed a lift and I’ve been dying to meet Agent Armstrong.” She approaches him, and then bows ever so slightly. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” he replies, turning on the Southern-boy charm and doing his best not to stare.

  Although Rose’s attire appears to be straight out of the Victorian era that she came from, her hair and makeup are contemporary Goth. Smudged kohl eyeliner, red-black lipstick, dark hair swept into her signature style of carefully crafted messiness dotted with violets. A spill of escaping tendrils frames her flawless face and cascades down her back. The décolleté of the gown shows off her dramatic tattoo—a tangle of black thorns and bloodred roses emerges from underneath her dress, covering her chest, creeping up her neck. Not for the first time, I wonder if she’s always dressed in the manner she was accustomed to when she was alive.

  “Wicked Ink?” Zack asks, reaching for her hand and examining the thorns and roses.

  “Of course.” A flash of coquettishness flares in the look she gives him. “You should stop by. I could fix you up.”

  “Why on earth would a werewolf get a tatt?” Owen, who followed Rose inside, speaks for the first time. “First full moon it’d be ripped to shreds.” He grins. “You just want to see his chest.” He pulls a sheet of parchment from his back pocket and holds it out for Zack. “This is what you want to see.”

  So much for preserving the chain of evidence. Whatever it is, or whomever it was from, it now has Owen’s fingerprints all over it, too.

  Regardless, Zack pulls a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket. While he slips them on, I fish through my purse for an evidence bag.

  “What is it?” I ask, laying the bag on the coffee table.

  Zack places the parchment on top. It’s folded in thirds, a broken wax seal on one side. You are cordially invited is written in an old-fashioned script on the other. Zack carefully begins to open it.

  “Craig, this vamp in my support group, found it under his door,” Owen says. “Just the promise of it sent him off the rails. He relapsed. Big-time. Practically drained some co-ed in the college area last night. He came to me for help this morning. We’re about the same age and, like me, he was an addict before he was turned. Only his drug of choice was a little more highbrow—cocaine. I called Evan. He needs a seasoned sponsor and I’m not ready for that. Thirty days of sobriety and he threw it all away.” He smiles sheepishly. “Of course, I’ve thrown it away hundreds of times.”

  “But not this time,” adds Rose, reaching for his hand.

  He kisses hers and leads her to the sofa. It’s the first time I’ve seen them together. I’d been under the impression, from references made, that Rose was more than Owen’s boss. She was also his sire. What I hadn’t realized is that they’re obviously also lovers.

  Zack and I lean in to examine the invitation. The message reads:

  One-time Opportunity Only

  Auction of 100% PURE YBV—Ten Units

  Drink from the Source

  Email: sales@drinkfromthesource.com for details

  The bottom of the message is date-stamped—noon yesterday—and an added note reads: You have twenty-four hours to respond.

  My heart sinks. Ten units. “The ten missing girls.” I check my watch. It’s coming up on noon. We don’t have much time. “Does Kallistos know about this?”

  “Simon’s tracking him down. He left earlier in a mood and hasn’t returned.”

  Zack and I exchange a glance. My refusal to let Kallistos feed probably didn’t improve his disposition.

  Zack points to the email address. “We should try to trace this.”

  “We can’t put one of our guys on this. How would we explain what the message means or how it’s connected to the missing girls?” I ask.

  Zack’s already typing away. “The registrant information is marked private.”

  I dial Simon back.

  “He came. I gave him your message.”

  “I may need you to trace who owns a privately registered domain,” I say without preamble.

  “Why, aren’t you a little minx,” he teases. “My mother warned me about girls like you.”

  “We’re hoping it can be traced to Lamont,” I continue. “If we can figure out where their email communications are coming from, all the better—drinkfromthesource .com.”

  Simon’s tone turns serious. “Do you have any emails from them?”

  Zack hears the question and chimes in, “We need to get Craig to respond to this written invitation. Say he’s interested. It will buy us some time. And when they respond to his email we’ll have more information to run a trace.”

  “Are you kidding?” Owen says. “Craig responded the instant he received the damned message. Evan’s with him, trying to talk him down. I’ll call and see if he’s received a response.” Owen dials, then hangs up. “Straight to voice mail.”

  “Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back when I have something,” Simon says before hanging up.

  “Try Evan,” I suggest. “We’re going to need Craig’s cooperation. If we can’t pinpoint where they’re currently holding the girls, then the next best thing would be to find out the time and place of the auction. They’re bound to be present, don’t you think?”

  Owen nods. “No one’s going to fork over the kind of money they’re sure to be demanding without testing out the merchandise.” His phone chimes. Owen scans the screen, then starts to type. After a moment, he sends the message and looks up. “That was Evan. Whatever your plan is, it can’t include Craig. Evan says Craig’s sire just showed up. Pissed. He’s placing Craig in restoration. Hopefully he hasn’t taken him yet.”

  Everyone in the room falls silent. Restoration is an arcane form of discipline—or torture, depending on one’s perspective. Ironically, the end result is usually far from restorative. Vampires who survive the period of isolation and encasement in silver usually end up irreparably broken.

  “Maybe Kallistos can intervene? Surely he can’t condone such measures.” I dial his number.

  Rose clears her throat and then ever so slightly shakes her head.

  “What?” I ask her.

  I get a disapproving look. “You should not ask it of him.”

  “Because?”

  Her lips press into a thin line. “It pains him to say no to you, but he will have to.”

  I dial anyway. The phone rings once. Twice.

  This time he answers. “I’m on my way up. Getting into the elevator now.” It’s all he says before disconnecting.

  Liz sidles up next to me. “You know. We don’t necessarily need Craig. Any vampire around his same age would do. Owen would work and, hello, he’s right here. A little DNA, a lot of mojo, no one would be the wiser.”

  Her suggestion alarms Rose. “No. You’re not sending Owen to that auction.”

  Owen looks confused. “How could I go to the auction?” he asks.

  But inste
ad of answering, Liz holds her up hands. “I’m just saying it could be an option.”

  “We’ll let Kallistos decide.” Rose folds her arms across her chest, her tone conveying confidence he’ll rule in her favor.

  Owen looks back and forth from Rose to Liz. “How could I go the auction?” he asks again.

  But the doorbell chimes and this time it’s me who heads for the door. Not only do I want to fill Kallistos in, I want to make sure things are okay between the two of us.

  The vampire who stands in the doorway looks nothing like the one I saw a couple hours ago. This Kallistos looks like he’s just stepped off the page of the newest GQ. His charcoal gray suit is freshly pressed and paired with a cobalt blue shirt and silver-gray tie. The pale cast to his skin is gone, as is the weariness in his step. He looks strong, steady, powerful. His eyes are once again bright and piercing. His skin is radiant. He’s fed, but not from me. Maybe from a bag. More likely from a willing human donor.

  I feel a strange pang of . . . something. Guilt? Sadness? Jealousy?

  I close the door behind me. “Are we okay?” I ask.

  He reaches for the edge of my blouse, pulls it away enough to expose the place where his mark had been. “You tell me.”

  I step back. “How—”

  “You thought I wouldn’t feel such a thing? The removal of my mark? I feel all I’m connected to. It’s one of the privileges. Sometimes one of the pains.”

  He cups my face in the palms of his hands and sweeps me into a long, slow kiss. I let him not only because Liz’s words—about the wisdom of maintaining a relationship with Kallistos and the benefits of vampire sex—are ringing in my head, but because I can tell he wants it, needs it. So do I.

  When he releases me, he steps back. “We have a lot to talk about,” he says. “But not now, later. Now we must attend to other things. Rose is not . . . in favor of your plan. She feels it might endanger Owen. That he might once again become out of control.”

  The heat of my desire quickly becomes a flame of resentment. “She’s already communicated with you? So I’m wasting my breath. Is that it? She’s already pleaded her case.” I hold up my cell phone. “It’s really annoying that I have to rely on this and she has a direct line to you anytime she wants.”