Siren's Call (Dark Seas)

by Debbie Herbert

  Warmth spread inside at this glimpse of the boy she used to know.

  “And you were never without your sketchpad,” Nash said. “You were damn good, too. The detail of your drawings impressed me. Please tell me you still draw.”

  Lily returned the smile, delighted she’d drawn him into a real conversation. “I do some. Mostly, though, I paint with watercolors.” She kept her tone deliberately light and casual, as if painting were a mere hobby and not a passion.

  His brow furrowed. “Watercolors?”

  “It’s not like the kiddie paintings you make with cheap dime-store kits,” she answered quickly. Too quickly, judging from his knowing expression, as if he’d guessed her art was more than a casual hobby.

  “I see. Didn’t mean to belittle your art.”

  Lily shrugged, let her facial features smooth into its familiar mask. Nash wasn’t the only one who’d learned to hide emotion over the years. “I’m no artist.”

  “So you say.”

  Perceptive eyes drilled into her, as if he saw past the pretty, past the superficial shell she presented to everyone in town who only viewed her as the slutty dumb blonde who’d worked as a hairdresser until a few months ago.

  It was exhilarating.

  It was scary.

  Lily retreated like a trembling turtle, so different from the young girl who had scouted the piney woods and shoreline with Nash. Deflection time. “I’m not surprised you photograph animals. You have some kind of...rapport...or something with all living creatures. It was downright eerie.”

  Nash shrugged and the warmth left his eyes. “Not really.”

  “Yes, you do,” Lily insisted. “Anytime we were in the woods it seemed the trees would fill with birds and we’d almost always startle a deer or raccoon by getting so near them. Once we even found that den of baby foxes—”

  “So what?” Nash cut in, lips set in a harsh, pinched line. “This place is so isolated even the animals are bored out of their minds. Makes them overly excited when anyone draws close.”

  Ouch. What kind of nerve had she hit with her innocent remark? “You used to love coming here in the summers,” she reminded Nash. “Said it was an escape from the city and a chance to run free.”

  “I get it.” His lips curled. “I’m Indian, so I must have a special communication with nature, right? Since we live so close to nature and worship Mother Earth and the Great Spirit and all. Well, that’s bullshit.”

  Damn. Her own temper rose at the unjust accusation. “I don’t deserve that. We used to be friends and I thought we still could be. Guess I was wrong. You’re nothing like the guy I used to hang out with every summer.”

  First Twyla and Bett, and now this. Lily jerked her cart forward, eager to escape the grocery trip from hell. Sexy or not, some men weren’t worth the trouble.

  Warmth and weight settled on her right shoulder. Fingers curled into her flesh, halting her steps. “Hey,” Nash said. “Look at me.”

  Lily turned. The harsh stranger melted and his face softened.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Anger deflated in a whoosh. If Nash was anything like his grandfather or the guy she used to know, he spoke the truth. Lily nodded. “Well, okay, then. Let’s start over.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “How about dinner at my place tonight or whenever you’re free? Your grandfather’s invited too, of course.”

  Nash rubbed his jaw, as if debating whether to accept the invitation. Any other man would have followed her home then and there. Any other man wouldn’t have picked a fight or brushed off her advances.

  But Nash wasn’t like any other man she’d ever met. And Lily was more than a little intrigued.

  “Sorry,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. “I’m pretty busy right now. Maybe after I finish this assignment on Herb Island we can get together. Grandfather always liked you. He’d enjoy seeing you again.”

  The novelty of male rejection left Lily nonplussed until the sting of it burned through the haze of disbelief. “You’re turning me down?” she squeaked.

  Nash retreated a step. “Like I said, I’m swamped at the moment. Good running into you again, though. Take care.”

  Unbelievable. Lily mustered her tattered pride. “Okay, then,” she said in a high falsetto, gripping the cart. “Tell your grandfather I said ‘hey.’”

  She hurried down the aisle, not daring to look back and risk exposing her feelings. The air pressed in around her, leaving her a bit dizzy. She scrambled through the line, paid the cashier and stumbled out of the refrigerated environment into the untamed, sizzling bayou air that always held the droning of insects and an echo of the ocean’s wave. First thing when she got home, she’d go for a long, cool swim underwater, get her bearings.

  Instead of heading immediately to the car, Lily strode down the boiling sidewalk to the drugstore next door. She left the cart by its front door—it would be safe for a minute. Inside the store, Lily hurried to the makeup aisle and gathered up half a dozen lipsticks in every color from baby-doll-pink to siren-red. She peeked at the mirrored glass lining behind the shelves, half expecting to see some glaring new imperfection marring her appearance. But no—same long, flaxen hair, creamy skin and large blue eyes.

  So what had gone wrong with Nash? Why hadn’t he been attracted to her?

  Lily grabbed some blush and a tube of mascara. She’d have to try harder. She hastened over to the cashier and dumped her ammunition on the counter. I’ll go see him. Pay a visit looking my best. She dug into her pocketbook for a credit card, but the purse lining blurred and morphed into a pool of filmy sludge.

  “Are ya crying?” the elderly lady behind the counter asked.

  “I’m not—” Lily paused, hands touching her damp cheeks. “Guess so,” she admitted in surprise.

  The lady handed over an opened box of tissue. “Yer a pretty little thing. Some man ain’t treating ya right, get you another.”

  “Right,” Lily sniffed, swiping her cheeks. She had to get out, get herself together before she ran into anyone she knew. Twyla Fae and Bettina would find the tears a hoot. “Um, thanks. I’ll take the tissue, too.” She paid, retrieved her grocery cart and got to the car. Another five minutes and she could be alone with her thoughts and cry as much as her heart desired. Lily carelessly shoved in the bottled water, bags of seafood and tuna cans. Almost home free.

  She corralled the cart and returned to her car, not noticing anything amiss until she almost stepped on it.

  A dead, bloody rat lay directly outside the driver’s door. The entrails were fresh, and blood was seeping into the shelled pavement. Its skin was precisely cut down the tender underbelly.

  Lily pressed a hand to her mouth as bile threatened to creep up her throat. It’s only a rat. No big deal. Just an accident.

  She clutched her purse tightly against her side and glanced around the parking lot. The few people around paid her no attention, yet the tingles shooting along her spine alerted Lily that someone was indeed watching.

  Watching and enjoying her fear.

  She turned back to the car and noticed the long key scratch that started from the front left tire all the way down to the fender. Anger outweighed fear as she read the large, childlike scrawl etched on the car door.

  D-i-e S-l-u-t.

  Chapter 2

  The whir of electric grinder against metal grated on Lily’s ears. She whistled and waved her arms to get her sister’s attention.

  Jet frowned and switched off the grinder. “What?”

  “Are you almost done? You’ve been at it long enough I’m surprised you haven’t sanded a hole through my car.”

  They stared at the long, narrow patch of bare metal on the red Audi S4. Lily ran a finger over the warmed surface, perfectly manicured nails and graceful fingers a stark contrast against the ugly gash. She tried
to joke. “Sure can’t see those words now.”

  Jet scowled, not amused. “’Bout time I had a word with Twyla Fae and her posse of bitches.”

  “Don’t. You’ll make it worse.”

  “Can it get much worse? They’re crossing the line into criminal territory with this latest harassment.” Jet gripped the sander so tight in her right arm, her biceps bulged and a network of veins popped against taut flesh.

  Her sister was strong enough to best any man in a fist fight, courtesy of the supernatural strength from her paternal Blue Clan merblood. But against the verbal warfare of scorned women, Lily considered her own reserved veil of indifference a superior tactical maneuver. “Ignore them like I do.”

  “Don’t see your plan working,” Jet grumbled. The fierce glow in her dark eyes contrasted with the large, womanly bump at her waist. Lily shook her head in bemusement. On the surface, their beauty and temperament appeared leagues apart. If she was the ethereal one—silver sparkles drifting on moon-drenched water, soft and shifting and subtle—Jet was more like the oft-admired coral undersea—brittle, bedazzling, with razor-sharp edges that wounded the unwary.

  Down deep, they could each be deadly in their own way.

  Lily placed a hand on Jet’s belly bulge. “Don’t get worked up and disturb the baby.”

  “And don’t you try distracting me.” Yet Jet’s harsh features softened. “Seriously, how about we get Landry and Tillman involved? File a formal complaint.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She had no intention of seeking help from her cop brothers-in-law. Lily sensed their wariness of her, their suspicions about her morals.

  Jet returned the grinder to a shelf. “Translation—you’re too proud to seek help.” She dug into her baggy, denim jeans and produced a set of keys. “Drive this until the body shop in Mobile repairs the damage. I’ll rent something in the meantime.” Jet tossed the keys.

  “Or you could buy a soccer-mom van.” Lily caught the keys and cast a sly smile. No way Jet would forego her clinker of a truck. They could afford anything, thanks to a tidy trust fund built from pawned sea treasure sold by generations of Bosarge mermaids. Why Jet chose to drive the monstrosity was a mystery. Lily’s own aesthetic sensibilities ran along a selective, pricey line. She’d drive something even flashier, but the bayou brine rusted everything eventually.

  Besides, Lily drew enough attention from her voice. No need to give the locals more fodder. They’d be convinced she had a rich sugar daddy in hiding.

  “Maybe I will.” Jet grinned. “But it won’t be as funny as you driving my truck.”

  “Got me there,” Lily conceded. She started the truck, wincing at the beater’s clickety-clackety rumbling. She fumbled with the clutch and, with a loud screech, backed out of the driveway, nearly sideswiping the mailbox. Jet’s smirk faded and her brows knitted.

  The beater’s ornery procession out of town matched Lily’s fitful mood. She’d had a restless night. Not even a long swim beneath the slithering roots of sea grass last night had calmed her restless spirit. The twin mysteries of Nash’s indifference and the anonymous etching on her car both tossed and swirled in her mind like a lingering storm.

  Today, she would confront both issues directly. If Twyla wanted to get nastier, she had to up her own game. As far as Nash went...perhaps there had been some flicker of interest in her siren charm, but like her, he’d learned to hide emotion. At least that theory made a little sense.

  Houses grew sparser and paved town roads ceded to red-packed clay lanes as she headed out of town. Live oaks and palmetto shrubs spilled over from the side and encroached until only one vehicle could pass at a time on the narrow lane. She hadn’t traveled this way in years and didn’t recall it being so forsaken. A curlicue of claustrophobia flickered at the edges of her mind as the choking foliage strangled the open air. It was as if the bayou’s wilderness soul were slowly clamping down and reclaiming its territory from human invasion.

  Good thing she’d driven the truck after all. Lily’s jaw clamped at the jarring scrape of branches against metal. The high-pitched squall set her nerves pulsing and she cursed the siren nature that made her so sensitive to sound vibration. Although excellent for detecting predators at sea, it was hell on land with certain tones and pitches.

  A log cabin came into view. In spite of its rustic nature, Lily appreciated the way it seamlessly blended into the landscape. The scene would make a cool picture.

  She got out of the truck and lifted her cell phone for a photo, eyeing the detail of the log pine’s myriad grooves and knots. This piece wouldn’t be a watercolor like her ocean scenes. Only a detailed pen-and-ink composition would do it justice.

  Disappointed, she noted that there was no other vehicle in the driveway. Nash had mentioned he wouldn’t start the job on Herb Island for a couple of days. Maybe he and his grandfather were in town and would return shortly. Lily scanned the backyard and found the small opening for an old trail she and Nash had hiked often. She’d take a little walk, and with luck, Nash would be back when she finished. Lily ditched her silk scarf and switched from designer sandals to a pair of old Keds that Jet kept on the back floorboard. They were a size too large but doable.

  Lily hiked the narrow trail, the ground as familiar as when they’d explored the area as children. Pine needles cushioned the sandy soil and released bracing wisps of fragrance as her feet crushed them, a smell she’d forever associate with Nash.

  At the clearing, Lily leaned against a large oak and listened to bird calls—the distant screech of seagulls, thrush and coots. He’d taught her so much, passed on everything his grandfather had taught him, including Choctaw animal folklore and legends.

  How she’d longed to share her undersea world in return, show him their sea vegetable garden and swim past the salt marshes and explore a different, equally fascinating new world. But her family’s vow of secrecy was absolute. If one mermaid was exposed, their entire race was in danger.

  Her eyes swept the clearing, then doubled back to the far edge of the tree line.

  A coyote fixed its gaze on her, unmoving, eyes gleaming with intelligence and feral hunger. Lily didn’t move either and didn’t break eye contact. Coyote is a trickster, she remembered, a sign of an ending and a new beginning. She wasn’t alarmed, but aware. Nash used to say that was the most important thing—to stay aware. He’d even admitted once that he could sense what animals were thinking. Become one with them or some such thing.

  The coyote lowered its head and took a step closer, still staring. Its copper eyes held a feral sheen that made Lily quiver from her scalp to the soles of her borrowed sneakers.

  To hell with spiritual communication.

  Lily turned and ran back down the trail. Twilight had deepened and the trees cast long shadows. Spanish moss hung from live oaks, fluttering in the breeze like ghosts. The cushioned, pine-needled ground gave way to a labyrinth of twisted, jutting tree roots. Lily stumbled but stayed on her feet. I’m being ridiculous. It isn’t after me.

  Yet she ran on. The sound of blood roared in her ears as if she were swimming undersea against a powerful current. Lily wanted to peek over her shoulder but didn’t dare divert her attention from avoiding the tree roots, which now appeared as black and deadly as the moccasins that slithered through the swamps.

  She ran and ran and ran until the accelerated beat of her heart matched the panicked cadence of her thoughts. Coyote is the end. Coyote is the end.

  The end, the end, the end.

  * * *

  A violent cracking of twigs, the rustle of leaves and snapping branches, a vibration under his bare feet—Nash stilled and searched the woods. Something was spooked and running toward the cabin. He focused on the dark edge of the tree line and felt to his right for the shotgun. Smooth metal cooled his fingers. Found it.

  He soundlessly exited the porch, shotgun at the r
eady. Unlikely it was a chased animal—he hadn’t sensed that faint odor of musk and sweat or picked up the panicked energy of an animal hell-bent on escape.

  An apparition of white burst into the clearing, like flood waters over a dam. A ghost? Grandfather told tales of the kwanokasha, or Kowi Anukasha—the tiny, fairy people of the forest. But this was no pygmy-sized being. His eyes narrowed, and like a camera lens focusing on a subject, the wall of white morphed into detail: a tall woman with waist-length, pale hair lifted in every direction by the sea breeze.

  “Lily?” he called out, his voice sharp and biting. It was as if his own brooding melancholy had summoned her from the forest’s darkness. He scanned her white shorts and T-shirt and the scratches decorating her arms and legs like tattoos.

  But no blood; she was unharmed. His relief quickly gave way to anger. Was someone after her? Nash’s right index finger curled on the shotgun trigger and he searched behind Lily for the danger.

  Nothing was there.

  He hurried forward. “What happened? Is someone chasing you?”

  Lily looked back. “I don’t know.” She turned to him with a sheepish half smile on her paler-than-usual face. She drew a jagged, uneven breath. “It may not have even followed me.”

  “It?”

  She rubbed her arms, stomach heaving with labored breath. “A coyote.”

  He raised a brow. “I’ve never known coyote to chase humans. It’s probably more afraid of you than you of it.”

  “Not this coyote.” She shook her head. “The way it looked at me...” She bit her lip. “As if he were sizing me up for dinner. Instead of running off, it lowered its head and stepped toward me. I didn’t hang around to see if it chased me or not.”

  He’d accuse Lily of making a ploy for attention, but she didn’t know he’d returned to the cabin and he could see her fear was real. “Go up on the porch and I’ll take a look around.”

  “Why?”

  “If a coyote really chased you, it must be eat-up with rabies. It’s not normal behavior. If it’s got rabies, the kindest thing would be to put it out of its misery. And it sure as hell doesn’t need to infect other animals and cause an epidemic.”