There is the so-called curse, if she can get her head around believing in it. The curse has wreaked hell with the line's ability to survive, and here is the devilish thing about it. When it comes to getting it on with men, the Zanelli sirens appear to be damned if they do and extinguished if they don't.
The rope burn on her hand is a tangible reminder of Cassandra's adventures in 1900. It is also one more wake-up call. She is thirty and single, and a siren to boot. On her pregnancy hangs the future of her siren line. With or without Harry, she must make the best decision possible, for everyone's sake. Sunday night, at the Christmas Fire Night Ball, she will force the issue with Harry and make her final decision.
Chapter Forty-One
Divine Retribution
Near midnight, December 25
Mill's Creek
I am stationed outside my old bedroom door, awaiting the climax to the drama set in motion. It is the tail end of Chloe's Christmas Fire Night Ball. Marlena and Harry have finally eluded those in their respective parties. They are now alone, face-to-face inside, just as I had envisioned they would be.
Marlena is laying out her distressing week for Harry, telling him about the unexpected pregnancy diagnosis on Monday, how an urgent note she left for him, days ago in his hotel suite, went astray, how she has been desperate to see him since then. “We need to decide what to do,” she urges him, “and quickly.”
She does not mention that her siren line depends on her going ahead with the pregnancy—smart girl.
Harry says nothing at first. Marlena perches on Chloe's horsehair chair, her face alert. Harry remains standing. Marlena's expression changes, from anticipation to horror, as Harry launches, in a loud, clear voice, into his mistaken case against her.
Using the roughest of terms (such as “entrapment”), he directly accuses her of pushing him into divorce and remarriage, all with an eye to her getting a claim on his assets. He cites her signed divorce papers (“they were left out for me to see in your room”); the vandalism and messaging in the bar (“staged to elicit my sympathy”), and finally, Coddie's pugnacious behavior (“when he corralled me in the hotel two days ago, he told me you were pregnant, that I broke our so-called gentleman's agreement”).
Harry sums up his complaint calmly, in a tone devoid of emotion. “Try to see it my way, lass. Blackmail is not the Christmas gift I was expecting from you. No strings attached, we said. I believe the pregnancy, if it exists at all, is a deliberate ploy, intended to rope me into marrying you.”
I wonder if Marlena now bitterly regrets having confided her plight to Coddie in a weak moment, which caused her estranged husband to come running here? It would be comic if it weren't so painful, how she is pursued by a bevy of dazzled men, while she pursues Harry, who is immune to her powers and blind to her human susceptibilities. It is obvious she is quite undone by the brutality of her lover's unfounded accusations. She bursts into tears. The young woman who has never cried before her lover and seldom complained, weeps and weeps and weeps her siren's tears.
The extraordinary flood moves even Harry, first to alarm and then to a reconsideration of the facts.
“Okay, okay. I'll believe you about the pregnancy, if you swear it was an accident. But how did the vandals get into the bar, if you weren't involved? Zebub was locked up tight. You and I have the only keys.”
“I don't know,” she says, wiping her eyes. “I honestly don't.”
He sits down on the bed and pulls Marlena into his lap, stroking her hair. Meanwhile he looks, surreptitiously, toward the door. Harry is expecting company.
Look out there. Marlena, look.
“This town sucks for the holidays. Let's blow this scene, my love. Hightail it to Key West, where no one knows us. We can drink margaritas on the beach and make love under the stars. We'll celebrate and make a plan for little Harry.”
Marlena smiles through her tears. At long last, she has heard what she wanted her lover to say. He holds her by her heaving shoulders, looking smug, as though he holds four aces. I am gagging and thinking the game is lost. Will she remember her home schooling now, when it counts?
Think, Marlena, think. And while you're thinking, take a look outside the door.
Thank Goddess, the sentimental redhead hears me. She peers carefully at the crack in the door, where an ash-blonde woman with fake tits and cheap makeup awaits a signal. The woman is making a face intended for Harry. Her face is familiar to Marlena, which at first puzzles her. Then she remembers dropping off a party invitation to her old schoolmate, Lorna Anderson. Whoo-ah!
“Someone out there seems impatient to see you,” says Marlena to Harry, as she makes an abrupt move out of his arms. I gasp for joy.
“Oh, that's nobody, only my pot connection. She must have seen us and followed us up, to see if we wanted anything.”
He is lying, kid.
“Let's invite her in, my love,” Harry purrs, looking like a cat licking cream from its whiskers. He gapes at Marlena, as if to say he is perfectly innocent of having planned Lorna's approach, but a twitch in his eyelid gives him away.
“I know who she is, Harry. Her name is Lorna Anderson. I went to school with her. I was supposed to ask you about finding a bloody job for her twin brother. I failed to do so, but I am not at all disposed to talk to her now.”
“She is my pot connection.”
“Yeah, you already said that.”
“Works at the Sheriff's Office, no less. Well, what is the matter, lass? Aren't you going to invite your old classmate in? Suddenly you don't like pot? I'm sure she has some on her. Sure as I'm sitting here, waiting on you to be hospitable, by Mungo.”
Marlena's mind seems to be elsewhere as Harry rambles on about how Lorna sold him some pot and one thing had led to another, “…if you know what I mean, honey. Let's have some fun with her tonight. Whaddya say?”
How is your crystal ball looking now, Marlena? Do you want this dick around while you raise your child?
Marlena says, “I wonder whether sex without pot would be any good for us?”
“What? What in hell are you talking about?”
I am getting more and more excited about our chances. Harry is fumbling with his words, saying he is planning to dump Lorna because she calls the house and pesters his wife about the job for her brother. Marlena is not buying it.
“Dump her as a pot connection, or dump her as a mattress polo partner?”
“Come on, Marlena, invite the chick in. Let's have some fun, the three of us. She is up for it; I am certainly up for it. Aren't you? Don't be a drag, my love.”
So, Marlena, here is the crossroads in your life. You must make a decision. The top priority of the father of your child is to indulge himself in a sexual fantasy. His deepest interest lies in having a three-way, right here on my old bed. Meanwhile his wife Lila is wandering around drunk and you two still haven't had a serious discussion about your pregnancy. Wake up! Is this human really someone you want to spend your life with or sacrifice your child for? Wouldn't you rather have someone of your own kind to love and cherish?
Marlena shakes her flaming hair back and lifts her chin. Hands on hips, she stands up to her full height and stares her charming, selfish lover down with her blazing eyes. When I see he is cowering in front of her, I begin to dance around the room, playing my zither. “You Don't Own Me…”
“Harry, you are a shit, not fit to wipe my ass or your wife’s. Even Lorna's, for that matter. You aren't the man I thought you were. It is over. Make up with your wife and go home, if she'll consent to go home with you.”
He wipes his face as though she spit at him. Maybe she did! Go, girl!
“Make up with Lila? Whaddya mean?”
“Well, when I talked to Lila at Drake's Roost, she said she was planning to file for divorce. Why, you may wonder? Because you are a cold snake who cares for nothing but yourself. Just a heads up, Harry; consider it a final courtesy. If you want some head tonight, you can try getting it from the lady outside the door. G
iving you head has become a tiresome bore to me.”
“What in the name of thunder were you doing at Drake's Roost?”
“Call me crazy. I went to see my lover about our child.”
His eyes veer away; for a split second, he appears guilt-stricken.
“Look at me, Harry. I have a new plan for my life. It is one that doesn't involve waiting around for the privilege of sucking your dick. I intend to make a difference.”
“But what about Key West?”
“What about it?”
“Didn't you hear me say just now we could run away to the Keys? I'll divorce Lila. I'll dump Lorna. It will be like the old days again, just me and you, my love. And our baby, if that is what you want.”
The vintage smile he flashes is lopsided.
“Nice try, Harry, but more than a tad late. I don't have time to explain now, but one day, I'll tell you a long story about our ancestors, Cassandra Vye and Curly Drake, and how they fucked up my family.”
He groans.
“Like our ancestors, you and I have hurt innocent people. I'm downright ashamed of us. The way I see it, we have serious penance to do. As you often point out, there are no strings attached between us. So you are on your own.”
“Nice of you,” he says drily.
“As for me, beginning now, I will stop treating my family like shit. Next, I'm going to Key West. Only not for an escape with you. I will help a good friend restore her historic house and get my professional life back on track, the one that got stalled when I took up waiting on you. And then, Mr. Drake, I will come back here and have my baby, with no help from you. I will save as many houses as I can from your development schemes. In short, I will kick your ass!”
I applaud Marlena as she storms out the door, then holds it open for Lorna, who skulks past her and goes to sit on the bed beside Harry.
Now the ordeal is over, and Marlena is standing in the hallway, panting and still digesting all that has happened. I wonder, is it possible she guessed at the nefarious plot at the back of Harry's mind, to get his heir away from her? He has circuit judges in his pocket, and it would not be difficult to prove her an unfit mother.
I am impressed by the strength Marlena has shown, but another challenge lies dead straight ahead. We must act quickly, as Hawker is on his way, and Marlena's life hangs in the balance. Until this moment, I was unsure what I would do at such a juncture, but now I am sure of it.
“Take the cloak hanging on the peg, cousin, and put it on. Letty Brown-Hawker is dead, and her husband is on his way to kill you.”
Her rounded eyes dart around to see where my voice is coming from. When she can't see anyone, she starts to run down the stairs. I grasp her arm and pull her back; she cries out, “Who is there?”
“Cassandra. Do as I say, Marlena. Put the cloak on. Its magic powers now belong to you.”
“Cassandra?”
As though in a trance, Marlena slowly takes the traveling cloak from the peg and studies it. There is no time to lose, as I hear Hawker on the first stair tread. I grab the cloak from her and slip it over her shoulders; then I grab her hand and flash the incantation, 5—0—5. Marlena becomes invisible at the precise moment Hawker comes thundering to the top of the stairs in pursuit of her.
From inside the bedroom, tinkling laughter emerges. Hawker presses his inflamed ear against the door, then frowns. From listening to the chatter, he knows Marlena is not in there. It is clear to me what is on his mind. He must find and kill Marlena. He must avenge his dead lover and stop the redheaded siren, the woman who has thwarted all their plans.
He turns around. He and Marlena are face to face, but thanks to our cloak, the madman cannot see her. She has vanished into the thin air of distorted time; it is only a matter of a minute, but the short respite saves her precious life.
Cursing, Hawker hurries down the stairs and heads outdoors.
Marlena is out of danger. But meantime all hell, literally, has broken loose elsewhere.
A crowd has gathered, huddled together for warmth, at the western side of the pond. There, beside the glittering, revolving mill wheel, Letty Brown-Hawker is holding forth, preaching at Marlena's mother.
“YOU, THERE, FAITH BELLUM. THE SPIRIT OF CRAZY HORSE SPEAKS THROUGH ME. HEED MY WORDS, ACCURSED WOMAN!”
Dumbfounded, Faith shifts her stance, but stands her ground.
“THE ROTTEN FRUIT OF THY WOMB IS THE WHORE WHO IS CARRYING SATAN'S CHILD. THE CURSE OF WIDOW BROWN LIES HEAVY ON THIS TOWN WHICH HARBORS THY DAUGHTER AND HER EVIL SPAWN. GOD WILL PUNISH US WITH TWO DEATHS TONIGHT!”
As if on cue, the ground rumbles beneath Letty's feet. A fissure in the earth under the mountain is violently shaking. The psychic totters wildly in her position on the pond's edge and finally falls backwards into its frigid waters.
“SLANDERER,” Faith screams. She throws off her coat and leaps into the water, pounding at Letty with both fists. The heavier woman pushes back, but meantime she is sinking lower into the pond. One end of her turban continues to wind ever more tightly around her thick neck; the other end is tangled in the revolving mill wheel. Suddenly, she disappears.
The mill wheel, glittering with its string of lights, continues in its slow revolutions. The ground ominously rumbles once again, and the remaining onlookers flee. Only the two antagonists are left at the scene, both in the dangerously cold water.
“Marlena Bellum carries Satan's child! Their deaths are foretold! Thom, help me!” Gasping out her imprecations with her last breaths, Letty has suddenly emerged into the air, her body lifted up by the wheel. When the entire length of the turban is tightly wound around her neck, she makes no further sound. She drops from sight as Faith clambers out of the water.
A sudden hush comes over the scene, as death has entered it.
.
Afterward, in the main reception room at Mill's Creek, the sound of weeping mixes with the crashes of oncoming thunder. Chloe is comforting everyone who has stayed, moving from person to person.
The first death predicted for this night by Letty Brown-Hawker has just occurred. Ironically, the dead, hulking body of Letty Brown-Hawker herself is lying at the side of the millpond. The shocking accident has cast a pall over the group of revelers, who are mumbling goodbyes and making a hasty exit.
Chloe is startled to hear a woman's voice in her ear.
“One down and one to go. That is, if the witch-hunter's prediction holds up.”
“Lila?”
“She is better off dead, that old publicity hound,” murmurs Lila drunkenly to Chloe.
“Can I get you anything?”
Lila continues. “Letty was stark, raving mad, and a proper victim for her second-hand curses. By the way, have the cute doctor check out her underwear. SHE is a HE; you can bet on it. Amazing party.”
As Lila trails off in her green gossamer gown, cocktail in hand, she might be a ghost from a roaring twenties party.
Through the windows, the gathering clouds appear ever darker, and the lightning is continuously flickering.
“Hawker has threatened to kill Marlena in revenge for his wife's death,” a distraught guest mutters in passing.
Chloe wonders where Marlena and Harry are. She has not seen either of them all night. Have they chosen this crazy moment to go off by themselves? She had better try to find them and warn them about Hawker.
Thirty minutes later, in the flickering light of the bonfire at the east end of the pond, Harry Drake is dead. He lies at the exact spot where his grandfather had once stepped forth in response to a siren's call.
It is a few minutes past midnight when Coddie drunkenly appears at the deserted party. Lila has just accepted Chloe's invitation to spend the night. She is poised on the first step of the grand staircase as Coddie comes up behind her and crashes through the French doors into the parlor.
“Where is everybody? You all sheem shurprised to shee me. Am I the uninvited guest to the feasht? But, no. I have an invitation right here in my hand.” He waves it, bu
t he is so unsteady on his feet that he almost falls over from that small exertion.
From an adjoining hallway, the late entrance is spotted by Dr. Ron, who is tending to the bandaging of minor wounds suffered by three members of the hired staff, who, while guests were fleeing for their lives, collided with each other in rushing outdoors to see the spectacular lightning show, with a resulting shower of glass.
Ron calls out, “Steady there, Mr. Dimmer. I'll be with you in a second.”
Coddie ignores the call-out.
“Guess what I got here in my pocket. Five hundred smackaroos for good old Harry Drake, my good old buddy. I got 'em right here in my pocket—five one hundred dollar bills. Where is that snake? I've got his winnings. Two days ago he bested me on the pool table at his hotel. I didn't have it on me at the time.”
He burps loudly before going on. “You shee, ladies and genulmen. You shhhhhee, me and Harry had ourselves a sporting afternoon, during which, I'm s-s-sorry to s-s-ay, I failed to perform adequately. Conshider these silver coins. Conshider whatever. The dough belongs to Harry. Not that he needs it. Winner takes all. He gets everything—hook, line, and stinker. I mean…ha ha ha…I mean wife, I mean slinker.”
No one says anything. Lila begins to giggle uncontrollably, with tears running down her ashen cheeks.
“You think ish funny, lady? I had an agreement with your husband, no joking matter, long time ago. We agreed on two rules. Do NOT fall in love with my lovely wife and do NOT knock her up. Naughty, naughty. Your hubbie failed to abide by the rules, Mrs. Drake. The rules are the rules, between genulmen. Hey, did I miss anything?”
Lila hiccoughs. “Are you speaking to me, whoever you are? You didn't miss a thing except for divine retribution. Everyone's gone home. I'm going up to bed.”
Harry Drake's demise happened in this way:
Chloe, who went looking for Marlena in her bedroom, told Harry of Thomas Hawker's murderous intent. Motivated by a belated spasm of concern for the mother of his child, Harry ran out to stop the madman from harming Marlena.
The Siren's Tale Page 34