by Cat Adams
Creede’s magic wasn’t as powerful, but there was a weight to his gaze that had nothing to do with magic. It unnerved me. Not only because of the intensity of it but also because of the charm around his neck. He leaned closer as my hand froze on the door, my fingernails digging into the hard wood, not because I didn’t want him to come closer but because I did.
He was close enough now that I could feel his breath like heat on my skin. He might not have me in a total binding spell, but something had me frozen in place.
“Yeah. I do.” The words were powerful and full of meaning, but I’d forgotten the question. He closed his eyes then and I tensed. But he just took a deep, slow breath, as though smelling the air around me. A full-body shudder overcame him and he shook his head before turning without a word.
It was at least a full minute before I could move again, and when I shut the door I was shaking.
18
Dahlmar and Lopaka were in meetings again, so I had some time to kill. I spent it using the computer on my desk to catch up on stuff at home. I’d qualified for the loan. I’d need to swing by the bank when I got back. Mom was in detox. Apparently she’d gotten the DTs in jail. Gran was upset but hanging in there. The news that I’d be able to buy her house cheered her up quite a bit. Of course she wanted everything to happen now. When she found out I wasn’t in town and couldn’t take care of it immediately she got downright snappish. She was even madder when I told her I probably wouldn’t even be back in time to take her to church Sunday. I was glad to hang up the phone.
E-mails were plentiful and informative. Warren’s friend was okay. She’d had car trouble, but it was fixed. She’d invited us to come up to dinner next week. Unfortunately, the “us” referred to me and Bruno, which ripped the scab right off that wound. The next message only heaped on the salt.
Emma had arrived in New York. The apartment was amazing. The office was amazing. Irene was amazing. Everything was just . . . amazing. Emma’s boss was in and out of meetings the first day, but she expected Em to jump right in. In fact, she’d be flying out this morning on the corporate jet for a business trip. She sounded excited and incredibly happy, but I could tell she felt a little guilty, too. After all, my life pretty much sucked right now. I sent her a quick note telling her not to worry and that I was happy for her. That accomplished, I shut down the computer and went to take advantage of the spa-style bathroom facilities.
There were lots of mirrors, so I was able to check out every inch of my body. Good news, it didn’t look like I’d be getting any new scars from yesterday’s little adventure. Yay. Considering how bad the burns had been, that was pretty remarkable. I was vain enough to be relieved.
I’d poked around in the dresser before stepping into the shower. Someone (I was guessing Hiwahiwa) had gone to the west side of the island to shop for me, so when I was clean I pulled on brand-new everything. Of course whoever it was had based her choices on what I’d been wearing the first time she saw me, so it was a little more goth than I was used to, but the clothes were clean and comfortable. She’d even done a good job of guessing the size of my bra and panties. Then again, she’d gotten to see them.
I blushed furiously and tried not to think about that too hard. I needed to get over my embarrassment about nudity. Hell, I’d been wearing as much as most people wore around the pool. But it just wasn’t the same in my head. I wasn’t sure quite how to cope other than to pretend it hadn’t happened. Easier said than done.
Lunch killed another hour or so, but by mid-afternoon I was bored out of my mind. Creede was with Dahlmar. Bubba had gone to the west side to see what replacement boats might be available in his price range. I had nothing to do and lots of empty hours to do it in.
Salvation came in the form of Agent Baker and an invitation from Queen Lopaka’s personal seer.
Queen Lopaka has told me of the curse you bear. I believe I can be of assistance to you in unraveling the mystery surrounding this. If you would like me to try, I will be home most of the day. My daughter, Agent Baker, will be happy to escort you here.
Pili
Baker drove the golf cart on a road of sparkling white gravel that wound snakelike through the manicured jungle plants of the queen’s compound. A pair of guards, male this time, jogged alongside. We moved at a nice steady clip through a secluded group of buildings that had been designed in such a way that while they were actually fairly close together, they had been incorporated into the landscape so well that they were practically invisible to one another. I was told we were a couple of miles from the village where the royal staffers lived and quite a few miles from West Island and the cities. Baker suggested that, if I had time, I should head west and see the sights, maybe even go clubbing. A lovely thought, but I doubted I’d get the chance.
The grounds were amazing. The birds were spectacular, too. Some of them were as bright and colorful as the flowers. I found my depression and frustration falling away as we drove. We finally came to a stop in a little gravel parking area. Looking up, I could barely see the outline of a small building up among the trees, on a rocky hill, almost completely hidden from view. We had to walk the last hundred yards or so straight up stairs that climbed a hill steep enough that my calves hated me for it. But there was a waterfall and the sunlight cast rainbows through the mist thrown up by the water as it hit the pool. Gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking.
A woman was waiting for us at the top of the staircase. She was old and withered looking, with skin tanned until it was the color and texture of an unshelled Brazil nut. Her gray hair was coarse and curly, shorn close to her scalp. Her eyes, an odd, almost metallic gold with flecks of copper. She was wearing a lavalava in the rich blue-green of Caribbean waters, with a white tank top that bared the sagging flesh of her upper arms.
“Thank you, Helen. You can wait below.” It was a politely worded order. Baker might be a bodyguard, but this was her mom. Still, she looked to me to confirm. At my nod, she started back down the path.
“My name is Pili and you are Celia. Welcome to my home.” She extended her hand and I shook it. She led me around the last bend in the path and onto a paved patio that provided a glorious ocean view. The breeze that played with my hair smelled of salt water and flowers. The roar of the waterfall was background noise, as were the calls of the many birds hidden in the distant trees.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She let me stare for a minute or two before she said, “We’d best get inside before you burn.”
She was probably right. Damn it.
I walked through the door she held open, into the dim, artificial cool of an air-conditioned living room. The living area held a bamboo-framed couch with worn floral cushions plus a pair of comfortable-looking chairs, all arranged around a glass-topped bamboo coffee table. On top of the table was a silver-rimmed crystal bowl half-full of water.
She lowered herself onto the couch, gesturing toward the chair across from her. “We have some time. Our queen and your king have made their agreement. The plan is in place, but we must wait on the usurper.”
My king. I didn’t really think of Dahlmar that way, but technically he was. I was both an American and Ruslandic citizen legally now. Did the whole princess thing make me Serenitian? And was that even what the sirens called themselves?
“You want to know when the curse was placed on you and by whom. And since your prophet is back on the mainland, I thought I might assist.”
She leaned forward and I felt a pulse of power hit the water. There was a sound like the ringing of a bell and images began to form.
I felt myself falling forward, the images passing me like mist. They rolled backward in time, moving so fast that I could only catch faded glimpses: the fight on the boat; the fight in the desert; the standoff with the demon in the parking lot at Anaheim Stadium. Each deadly event was represented.
We’re looking at events the curse has created or influenced.
There were certainly a lot of them. I shuddered at
the image of the vampire attack that almost had killed me and had changed my life forever. But I almost threw up when we reached the night of Ivy’s death. I didn’t want to see that. Wasn’t sure I could bear reliving it. Fortunately, it quickly rolled past.
I was twelve, nine, six. Close calls I didn’t even remember—a car running a red light and almost hitting me; being swept off my grandpa’s boat in a sudden squall. The images were more solid now, and in color. Finally they slowed to normal speed.
I was playing with a ballerina Barbie on the floor of our house on Parker Street. I recognized the worn russet brown carpet and the plaid couch and matching chair made from fabric that was well nigh indestructible. I could hear Mom giving Dad a friendly lecture on taking care of my sister and me. There’d been such love between them. I remember that time, if only barely. “The baby’s asleep. She shouldn’t need anything—”
“Lana, will you relax? You’re just going to the store for a few minutes. We’ll be fine.”
Tears pricked my eyes as I looked into my past, at my parents. They looked so young, so happy. You’d never know, looking at this pleasant little domestic scene, that it would all go so horribly wrong.
“I know. I know.” She went up on tiptoe to give him a kiss. “It’s silly, but I worry.”
“We’ll be fine. I’m not a total incompetent.” He shook his head with amusement. “Besides, Celia’s here. She’ll help me. Won’t you, baby?”
I looked up from my play to nod yes.
“Well”—my mom smiled—“I guess there’s nothing to worry about, then.” She gathered up her purse and her shopping list from the coffee table and hurried out the door.
She hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when there was a light tap on the front door. My father went to answer it. The door opened. The child me continued playing.
“You will take me to see your daughters.”
It was a female voice and there was power in it. My father didn’t answer, didn’t hesitate. He simply stepped aside and let her in.
I should have been able to see her face. In the vision I hovered above the scene, watching everything. I should have seen. But I couldn’t. I could see her perfect legs, the three-inch heels in a shade of blue-green that perfectly matched the color of her raw-silk suit. I could see the coil of shining dark hair in a French twist. But her face was a blur.
She knelt down beside me on the carpet, smoothing the line of her skirt with her hands.
“Hello, little one.” The voice was pleasant, musical, and there was a pull to it that was almost irresistible. “Give me your hand.” I looked up at my father for confirmation, but he was just staring off into space. He’d left the front door open, too, which was weird. He was always scolding me, telling me not to “let the air-conditioning out.”
I set down my doll and put my hand in hers. She held it tight, too tight. She started saying something that I could not understand. Heat surged through her hand and into mine and I started to scream.
I fought. Not that it did me any good. I was a child. She was an adult, too big and too strong for me to make any headway, and my dad was useless. He just stared. I squirmed, punched, and kicked to no avail. I bit her hard enough to draw blood and she cursed. The flames of magic that had been focused on my hand spread to hers and she was forced to fling me away from her to break the spell.
I lay on the floor, curled in the fetal position, whimpering in agony. Cradling her hand, she rose. Blood dripped onto her skirt and onto the carpet in a trail leading to the nursery. A moment later, the baby began to shriek.
A dark mist began swirling into the vision, obscuring the images and making them blur. As if from a distance, I heard Pili gasp, felt her gathering her power. She was trying to break loose but to no avail. I pulled back, trying to close my eyes and break the connection. It was hard. I felt overmatched, much like the child I’d been in the vision. With growing dread, I watched a shape begin to take form as the dark mist began gathering itself into something solid and terrifyingly familiar.
A voice, thick and rich as dark chocolate and far more sinful, greeted me. A demon. The same demon we’d driven off in the parking lot of Anaheim Stadium. He chuckled, as the snake must have chuckled to Eve. “Well, if it isn’t my little siren—and not a priest in sight.”
Pili slid bonelessly to the ground. I could feel her life force fading as the demon bled her power to make himself corporeal. I was screaming and it made him smile, his sensuous lips twitching with amusement at my terror.
He was just as beautiful as I remembered. Glorious. A fallen angel. Lesser demons are hideous. Greater demons are breathtaking enough to make you weep.
“Will you stop? It’s quite annoying and won’t do you the least bit of good. Besides, you don’t really want to be rescued, do you?” A delicate gesture of his hand and my screams cut off. I was still trying to scream, mind you, but no sound was coming out. I couldn’t move. He smiled at me and my heart leapt for joy. Even as the sane part of me shivered in terror at the knowledge of what this ancient creature of unimaginable evil would eventually do to me, I wanted to please him, worship him, do anything to have him smile.
He gave a low wicked chuckle and my body responded, almost painfully. A moan escaped my lips as my nipples tightened and I grew wet with aching need. I reached out to the water, even as I struggled against my own actions. He likewise reached out, and only that thin layer of water kept our hands apart. He let my tension build, seeming to savor the whimpering sound from my throat that was equally hopeless and eager.
“Yes, I think I’ll have you, siren. To toy with you physically as you slip into madness . . . yes, that would be an amusing distraction. As soon as I manifest, you’ll give your body to me and your downfall will be complete. What form should I take when we join? Your wolf? The mage who rejected you, or the new one who fights his desire for you?”
Even as my mind shrieked in fear at his words, my body ached. I wanted . . . needed . . .
Crash! The glass of the bowl shattered and filthy water, smelling of sulfur, sprayed in an arc and poured onto the floor. I jumped back, more from instinct than intent, and managed to only get sprayed with a couple of drops. But those drops burned just like the acid sprayed by the lesser demon. I screamed in shock and pain.
I could scream.
I was free. He didn’t have me. He didn’t have me. I blinked, practically sobbing with relief.
Adriana stood over the broken bowl, holding a broom handle like a club. Smoking burn holes marred her jeans and blouse, showing scorched and blistered skin. Her hair was braided, pulled back tight away from a face that was drawn in grim lines, her eyes blazing with fury. Helen Baker was kneeling by her mother. “You”—Adriana pointed to the nearest guard—“get Ren. We need holy water and a doctor. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I forced myself to stop screaming, swallowed my fear along with the taste of bile. My knees were shaking. But I was upright.
“Sit down before you fall down,” Adriana snapped. She dropped the broom, rushing over to join Baker where Pili was sprawled on the floor. I couldn’t tell whether or not the old woman was breathing. I started to take a step forward, to see if I could help. But the world swam when I did.
One of the guards grabbed me and shoved me forcibly into a chair. Pressing on my back, he forced my head between my knees.
“Breathe. Deep and even. Just keep breathing.”
I breathed. Slow and steady. When the world steadied, I lifted my head to see Adriana and a third uniformed guard giving CPR to Pili. I heard: “I have a pulse,” followed by weak coughing.
“Oh, thank God.” Adriana sat on the floor, looking utterly weary. I wasn’t positive that she wouldn’t have keeled over had her back not been propped up against the wall. CPR is hard, nerve-wracking work.
Ren appeared, priest in tow, and disappeared an instant later—no doubt in search of a doctor.
The priest stared wide-eyed at the acid water eating its way thro
ugh the floorboards. Praying fervently in what sounded like Italian, he opened a black valise and pulled out a plastic gallon jug of holy water.
I didn’t watch him. I was looking at Adriana. “How did you know?” My voice was still a little hoarse and breathy. I was shaking. I couldn’t seem to stop. I knew it was over and my feet were as far from the smoking mess of acid as I could get them, but I couldn’t seem to get warm and I couldn’t stop shaking.
“Pili told us last night that she was going to do this for you. I felt it start even over at the palace. I felt when it went wrong.”
Ren was back with the doctor. Pili was stirring now. She was still terribly pale and too weak to sit up. But she was breathing and moving. She was alive.
“You should have the priest look at her. Bless her. Just in case.”
Ren turned to the priest, her Italian fluid and fluent. He frowned and nodded but didn’t immediately move to obey. Instead, he continued praying and pouring holy water around the edges of the pool burning through the floor.
She spoke more sharply, her eyes flashing with irritation.
He didn’t like that. Not one bit. He snapped out a retort. She rose and opened her mouth, but Adriana interrupted her, using her full name to get her attention.
“Eirene! Let him do his job. He knows better than we do what the lingering effects of this sort of thing can be.”
“You do not give me orders,” she snarled at the other princess, her beautiful face distorted with fury. Adriana stiffened and I decided to intervene. We didn’t need them to get in a catfight. Now was so not the time.
“Can it. Both of you.” I spoke quietly, without a whole lot of inflection. Frankly, I didn’t have the energy. “He was a greater demon and he nearly manifested right here. Unless we want there to be a permanent weak spot in the realities where he can come and go at will, you need to let the priest do his job. That’s more important than who outranks who.”