Siren Falling: A Starseed Universe Novella

by Ashley McLeo

  Siren Falling

  A Starseed Universe Novella

  Ashley McLeo

  Contents

  Menorca, Spain 1995

  New York, 1995

  The American Dream

  Faerie Making

  The Faerie Fall Ball

  Tangled Branched and Paths

  Tribute for the Faerie Queen

  Ice vs. Fire

  Double Date

  To the Top

  Don’t Bait the Beast

  A Leak

  The Madness Creep

  An Ocean of Men

  Siren Song

  The Fall

  It’s About Who You Know

  A Siren Show

  Ice Queen Strikes Back

  Heating Up

  The Bartender

  False Friends

  Home Wrecker

  The Brink

  Walk of Shame

  The Sisters of Salem

  Hasta Luego

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Ashley McLeo

  Copyright © 2018 by Ashley McLeo

  Meraki Press

  www.merakifantasypress.wordpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters in this book are fictions. Any resemblances to those living or dead is a coincidence.

  ISBN - 978-1-947245-09-9

  For those who are unsure of exactly what they want in life. You are not alone.

  Sometimes our stories are not always one’s we’re proud of, but they are still ours.

  Menorca, Spain 1995

  Selma gazed upon the pristine beach, imagining skyscrapers and thousands of people striding down wide sidewalks in place of turquoise waters and palm trees. She beamed. Soon she’d be in New York, the city that called to her. Finally, she was making her dream a reality.

  “Selma! Lunch is ready!” Her mamá’s voice rang out, clear as a bell, over the wind.

  Selma rolled her eyes.

  And I won’t be eating the same, dull tortilla española every Wednesday.

  For some, the island life of Menorca, Spain was paradise. To Selma it was mundane, predictable. It was a place where everyone knew her entire family. And it was easy to understand why. The de Avila’s were famous for begetting beautiful baby girls who became gorgeous, vivacious women every man wanted to date and every woman wanted to befriend. On the rare occasion when a de Avila boy was born, he too, was charming and attractive, like Selma’s brother Philipe. It was simply what happened when your ancestors were the sirens of Homer’s Odyssey.

  “Finally! Could you set the table? Your brother is starving,” Mamá cried from her spot at the stove as Selma pushed open the door to their family home. The room was redolent of baked potatoes, eggs caramelized in a cast-iron skillet, and the rose oil Selma’s sister, Ana, wore.

  “It’s 1995, Philipe should make a sandwich to tide himself over. He doesn’t have to follow father’s footsteps in every manner.” Selma made her way over to the hutch housing the silverware.

  Philipe joined her in the dining area. “You know I offered to help. Mamá refused.”

  Selma believed him. Her brother, despite their mamá’s coddling, had grown up with two older sisters and learned to be a helpful man in the kitchen. A fact that their father, a man who had embraced the past, had a difficult time comprehending.

  Thank God Philipe always wanted to do what Ana and I did. His wife will thank us once he settles down.

  Selma didn’t judge her brother for his reluctance to find a wife and start a family when he could capture the heart of any señorita around. That would be hypocritical as Selma had no plans to settle down with anyone in their sleepy island town. Not when she was about to move to her dream city, find a glamorous job in the fashion industry, meet a fantastic man who stopped her heart, and build a life full of opportunity she could never have achieved on Menorca. A tingle ran up her spine and she shivered.

  “Thinking of your grand adventure?” Philipe’s voice was grandiose and he fluttered his long lashes.

  Selma whacked her brother with a napkin. “How could I not think of New York?”

  “Ay, Selma, please no talking about this. It upsets Mamá.” Ana waltzed in from the kitchen, her naturally wavy black hair pulled back in a tight bun.

  “You can come visit, you know that right, Ana? Miraculously enough, planes fly all the way to New York now.”

  Ana glared at Selma as she set the hot skillet of tortilla española on a trivet and left the dining room.

  Selma sighed, though she didn’t regret the words. They were, after all, true. Ana had been the biggest proponent of Selma’s New York City dream growing up, but all that changed when Ana chose a life on the island for herself. Now that Selma was acting on her dreams after years of merely talking about them, Ana had grown distant and bitter.

  “You know she’s going to miss you.” Philipe nudged her. “Just don’t bring it up okay? I’d like a nice meal. Not everyone has the guts to set out on their own, Selma. No matter how much they used to talk about it.”

  Her baby brother was right. She could hold her exuberance in for a bit. “I won’t bring it up, though we can’t pretend it’s not happening. I leave tomorrow after all.”

  Philipe and Selma strolled down their family’s long cobbled drive, giggling at the night’s antics.

  “Did you see Miguel’s face when I asked him for one last kiss?”

  Philipe imitated Miguel falling flat on his face and howled. “You made his life.”

  Through her tears of laughter a motion caught Selma’s eye and she jolted to a stop.

  “Mamá! You startled me. Did we wake you?” Selma exhaled as she caught sight of her mamá standing in the doorway of their family home, flooding the darkness outside with light.

  “I was waiting up.”

  “Oh,” Selma breathed. Mamá hadn’t waited up for them since they were teenagers, but judging by the way she was playing with the ends of her recently graying hair that wasn’t the whole truth anyway. Selma recognized the signs.

  Mamá was amping up for a confrontation.

  Philipe and Selma met their mamá at the door, both ignoring her disapproving frown as she sniffed the alcohol wafting from them.

  “Hasta mañana, Philipe. Thanks for the fun night,” Selma said as they parted at the stairs.

  “To many more.” Philipe held up an imaginary glass in salute, winked a dark eye, and disappeared down the hall.

  Selma trudged up the creaky stairs to her bedroom. Predictably, the sound of Mamá’s soft footsteps followed her a half minute later and she rolled her eyes. Selma didn’t bother to close the door to her room knowing Mamá was right behind her. She wiggled out of her jeans and top and threw on an old nightgown.

  “Selma?”

  “Yes, Mamá?”

  “Can we talk?” Mamá was already stepping over the threshold to Selma’s childhood room.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Selma sighed. “Fine, but I’m getting under the covers. It’s freezing.” She slipped beneath the quilt, snuggling deep in her bed so only her face peeked out.

  Mamá’s thin lips turned up and she took the chair beside the bed. “You know I will miss you, right?”

  “I know, Mamá. I’ll miss you too, but I’ll come back to visit and you can always visit me there. Soon, I’ll be able to buy you a tic
ket whenever you want.”

  Mamá’s face tightened. “With money from your new job?”

  “Of course.”

  “Not from a man?”

  “What?! No, Mamá! I only meant the jobs there pay better than here. You know, I can take care of myself. Once I have enough saved I want to work for myself, maybe start a fashion line of my own. You taught me to sew so well and I’ve always enjoyed fashion. I think that’s one of the reasons why New York has always called to me.”

  Her mamá bit her lip. “I’m sorry, my darling. You know I worry about you being away from home. Many of our kind are prone to temptations of big cities. Sex, attractive people, power, and money are temptations even for the best of us. I suppose there’s no use in telling you to be careful with your magic there?”

  She had to force herself not to roll her eyes. It was true Selma had lived at home much longer than most, but that was not abnormal for her kind. Most sirens spent the majority of their supernaturally long lives with their families. It was their way. Still, Selma hated the insinuation that she was naive. She knew how to handle herself, even if she’d never traveled outside Menorca. “It’s nothing I haven’t already heard. Why would you think I’d go from never using my power to using it all the time? I’ve used my magic responsibly for decades.”

  Mamá sighed and her light brown eyes, eyes Selma had inherited, darkened. “Actually, there is one thing I’ve never told you, but now I feel I must because I don’t want you making the same choices she did.”

  Selma cocked her head. “Who did?”

  “Marguerite de Avila, your great-great grandmother and the last de Avila woman to leave Menorca for a new life in a far away land.”

  Selma sat up straighter. Once, she’d heard a rumor of a de Avila woman who left the island the day before she was to wed the town mayor. It resulted in a scandal that rocked the island for some time. Selma had even asked her mamá about it once and been hushed.

  Mamá read her interest and continued. “Marguerite dreamed of a big future, a true love. Just like you. Unlike you, however, Marguerite had to bribe a sea captain to leave port early and run away from her destiny.” Mamá raised her eyebrows. “Obviously, for a siren of our line, this was easy. Although, it is thought the ease in which the deed was done was a stepping stone to Marguerite’s eventual demise.”

  “Her demise?” Selma propped up on her elbows, like a child listening to a bedtime tale.

  “Si. Her siren madness.”

  Now she really couldn’t resist, she rolled her eyes. Siren madness was the thing of folktales or in her family’s case, epic poems. Entertaining to read, sure, but real? No. In Selma’s opinion the madness was a cover up sirens used for the times when life got hard and they acted poorly. Like when Selma let her temper get the best of her, which was more often than she would like.

  “Mamá—”

  “It’s real, darling. It happens. Not often because most sirens take great precautions to be in communities where people know us well, like here. In familiar places there is no need to go overboard with our magic, but when you’re trying to build a new life.”

  “Fine. Say it’s true. What happens if someone develops madness?”

  Mamá relaxed, clearly relieved that Selma was willing to entertain the idea. “If a siren enchants many her magic spins out of control. The worse case scenario is when men slip from merely enchanted to fully enthralled. If a siren puts too many men in her thrall it is inevitable she becomes unreasonable, power hungry, and perhaps even mad. If that happens there is rarely a return to normalcy. Our kind has been injured, even killed, from men fighting over them. In part, it is their own fault.”

  Selma gasped, “Mamá! You can’t blame someone who has been murdered for their murderers actions!”

  “The victim and instigator are the same in this case, my darling. The few driven mad who managed to return to us have admitted their own magic was to blame. That is rare. Usually, if they do not die, they have been known to become women of looser morals and lesser mental capabilities.”

  “You’re saying they become crazy whores?” Selma couldn’t believe the words coming out of Mamá’s mouth. Her mamá was known to believe some crazy stuff, but this took the cake.

  “It is not something I like saying, Selma. But it is what’s happened in the few cases our kind has to go on, like Marguerite.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Mamá shifted in her seat. “She made it to her destination and lived normally for a while until the madness overtook her. Then a witch hunt began.”

  Selma closed her eyes. If nothing else her mamá said was true, this part of the tale she believed. Her kind, sirens, could breed with wizards, even give birth to a witch with siren powers. Selma had met and befriended such a witch a few years prior, Mary McKay, a member of a renowned Irish witching family. However, that didn’t change the fact that sirens were not technically witches. Still, accusations of witchcraft plagued powerful sirens throughout history.

  “She burned. It is said the men in her thrall attended her burning. Three threw themselves in the flames after her.”

  Selma thought that was hardly evidence that Marguerite was mad. Perhaps the men were simply depressed? She would be too, living hundreds of years ago without indoor plumbing. There could have been a million things wrong with their lives. Still, the furrow in Mamá’s brow was deep, and Selma did not want her fretting. She took her mamá’s hand and said the words her mamá wanted to hear.

  “Mamá, I will never be like Marguerite.”

  “Thank you, my darling. That comforts me.”

  New York, 1995

  Beeping horns and the bitter stench of exhaust clouding the early fall air assaulted Selma as she stepped out of the cab. She gripped her suitcases tight and her mouth dropped as she stared up at the buildings reaching for the sky. The movement of people lit up her every sense and she shivered. It was exhilarating just standing in one spot.

  At home, I had an ocean of water before me. Here it is an ocean of people. So far, I prefer the latter.

  Selma eyed the hostel sign five city blocks away and dove in to the crowd. Originally, she’d planned to stay in a hotel but once her cab driver mentioned the high rates in Manhattan, she’d asked if he knew of a cheaper alternative. The answer was as it was in Spain, a youth hostel. Selma disliked the idea of sleeping in a bunk-filled dorm but skimping on accommodations for a few days was acceptable to save money for the marble countertops, sprawling city views, and doorman her dream apartment would boast.

  The alluring scent of pine and soap filled Selma’s nostrils stopping her dead in her tracks.

  “Hey lady! What the hell?” A man, well over six-feet tall, yelled and swerved to avoid a collision.

  Selma pursed her lips, barely registering the agitated New Yorker as she searched for the source of the delightful spell. Warm brown eyes roamed and she sucked in a breath. Selma had been so in her own head she hadn’t even noticed the dozen attractive men milling about. Tall men, short men, burly and skinny men, clean-shaven men, and men with neat beards; all with glowing smiles, groomed hair, and suits that would make her mamá sigh. Best of all, none of them were the men she’d known her whole life in her tiny island town.

  Selma caught the brilliant blue eyes of a man with umber skin and cheekbones that could cut glass.

  The man winked and blew her a roguish kiss before glancing away.

  Oh, you want to play that game?

  A smirk grew on her face and a thrill ran through her. Reflexively, Selma released a thin stream of estrogen and testosterone into her blood. The hormones dosed into the deepest layers of her skin and moved up through her pores, ready for release. She moved closer and swept her arms in Adonis’s direction. Hormones leapt off her, heading straight for the man.

  The result was instantaneous. The man whirled about, his blue eyes sharp just moments before had grown hazy and his nostrils flared. Catching sight of her, he shot toward Selma.

  “
Hello, Miss. Sorry to intrude, but you looked lost. I’m Jared. I wondered if I might be of service to you?” The man asked in a posh British accent.

  The change was drastic. He looked like a puppy standing there, and Selma felt a twinge of guilt at her use of magic. Even if the guy had been a little cocky she knew it wasn’t ethical. And she’d never have done it back home, under her family’s watchful eyes. Selma glanced guiltily down at the sidewalk.

  “Miss? Excuse me, but are you OK? Might I assist you with your bags?” Jared’s brows furrowed with concern.

  Selma grabbed at one of her two suitcases. Her muscles strained against its weight and she sighed.

  I suppose he’s already a teensy bit enchanted and drastic needs call for drastic measures.

  “I’d love that,” Selma answered. She met Jared’s eyes and beamed, hoping he’d register her appreciation despite the hormone and mind-altering influence of her enchantment. “I’m staying at the youth hostel down the street.”

  “The youth hostel? Are you visiting?”

  “I just moved to town but don’t have a place to live yet.”

  “Buying or renting?”

  “Renting.”

  “I know just the person to help you. Let me show you to his office. He’s a realtor and always knows where the best apartments are for any budget.”

  “Sure, that would be wonderful.”

  Jared turned and walked down the sidewalk, both of Selma’s suitcases clenched in his hands.

  Selma shrugged. May as well go with it and admire the view while I can, she thought following Jared down the street.

  The American Dream

  Her arm knocked the alarm, still ringing, across the room. Selma rolled out of bed and shut off the obnoxious sound before glancing at the time. She groaned. She’d be late for work if she didn’t hurry.

  Pulling back her bedroom curtains, Selma was greeted with a vista of other apartments. It wasn’t the view she’d dreamed of but after seeing how high rent was for her dream apartment, she’d decided some things could wait. Already, she was pushing her luck, enchanting her landlord to lower the rent right in front of the astounded realtor who had walked her there.