by Rowan Casey
“I’ll be back a little later. You can tell me what you found then. I’ll bring some food, and we can go over it while we eat. Okay?”
She blinked her lids as she moved her gaze from the screen to me. “Why, of course, Sir Regis. Anything you say.”
The look in her eyes didn’t come close to matching the pleasant tone of her voice.
3
My appointment was at 6:45 and I was almost ten minutes late. Special Visitation at the Century Regional Detention Facility ended at seven. I expected to be turned away, but the woman at the front desk seemed to take pity on me. I certainly did my best to appear worthy of pity when I laid my head on the counter in front of her and let out a long groan.
They checked my ID, inspected my shoes and made me pass through a metal detector. My belt buckle offended their wand for some reason, so they made me remove that and place it along with all other personal items in a storage locker that cost me a quarter. I didn’t tell them it was the last bit of cash I had on me, but they seemed to have figured that out after I’d emptied my pockets. I was instructed to keep my photo ID on me and that I was allowed one key. Conveniently, that was all the locker required.
I passed through one door that was buzzed open by one of the women who wanded me. The next door was buzzed by someone on the other side of the glass. A deputy checked my ID against a list and gave me directions. She pointed down a hall and I wandered until I reached one more heavy-duty door, this one battleship gray with a window that must have been made of four-inch glass. A guard outside the door opened it, then gave me a stall number and told me to wait.
“You have five minutes,” the guard said.
The stall was partitioned by more glass. No telephone handsets, like in the movies. Just a small venthole with a tight screen filter. I pulled the plastic chair back and sat.
A door opened on the other side of the partition a few seconds later. Veronica was led in by a single guard, also female. She was wearing a top of institutional white cloth with sleeves down to her elbows and baggy pants. A plastic band was wrapped snug around her wrist.
The guard stepped back against the wall and stood there, staring at me.
“Hello, Rex.”
Pleasantries and politesse seemed inappropriate, so I responded with a curt nod.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I was told five minutes a couple of minutes ago,” I said.
“You want to know why. I’m going to try to tell you. I’m not sure I’ll succeed.”
I stared, unsure how to play things. “Is there one? A why?”
“There’s always a why, Rex. Everyone knows that.”
“Fine. Why?”
“First, you have to understand, I didn’t want to kill you.”
“In that case, you did a bang-up job of convincing me and the police otherwise.”
“My plan was to sever the brachial plexus nerve root to your right arm. I would have immediately administered first aid and gotten you to a hospital. I just wanted you incapacitated, not dead.”
That was comforting. How the heck did I not see this in her? The night I met her, catching her eye at the Mediterranean while working a divorce case, she just seemed like a pretty, smart, fun gal who wanted to get to know me. Little did I know she was just sizing me up for a part in her psychosis.
“Incapacitated,” I said, scratching my cheek. I glanced at the guard, who hadn’t moved. I realized she wasn’t necessarily staring at me, but at the glass. Watching Veronica’s reflection, perhaps. I gestured randomly to get her attention. I wanted some acknowledgement, I guess. I didn’t want to be the only person hearing this. It didn’t work.
Veronica put a palm against the partition. “Yes. It would have paralyzed your arm. Surgery would have been needed to correct it. I was hopeful the damage wouldn’t be permanent, but you would be out of commission. At least two months.”
The guard’s voice was even and firm. “No touching the glass.” Veronica withdrew her hand.
“I was trying to protect you,” she said. “It was the only way to save your life.”
Bat. Shit. Crazy. Wow. And here I was, having thought all this time I had simply done something to piss her off.
“Am I supposed to thank you?”
She tilted her head to the side and gave me a sad smile. “No. Just listen.”
“One minute,” the guard said.
“My tongue has been enchanted, so I cannot say all the things I want to say,” Veronica continued. She took a deep breath and seemed to steel herself. She opened her mouth and tried to speak several times. The muscles in her neck began to protrude and her face grew red.
The guard raised her arm and tapped the back of her wrist, gesturing to an imaginary watch. “Thirty seconds.”
“I, uh, think something’s wrong,” I said, raising my voice. “Guard? You’d better—”
Veronica slapped her hands down on the table top between us.
“Beware the Medusa! Rules unseen are the key! Don’t be a thorough fool! There is no game if you understand the rules!”
Her face was crimson now, her eyes bulging. She was breathing through clenched teeth.
I stood, knocking the chair backward. “Guard!”
She was already moving, grabbing Veronica by the arm, attempting to jerk it behind her. But Veronica seemed to sense it coming, rotating her wrist and yanking the guard closer. She hit the woman with a palm strike, smashing her once in the nose, then in the cheek. Each shot was vicious and she followed it with a bladed hand to the throat. The guard stumbled back and dropped to her knees.
Those eyes snapped back to me. Her teeth were still clenched, and now I could tell she was trying to unclench them.
Her voice came through like a sloppy growl.
“Don’t be a thorough fool!”
She gave me one more hard look, then stabbed her thumb into the side of her neck, sinking it in deep before pulling it out again. Blood arced out in a fountain onto the tabletop as two more guards burst through the door, hampered by the guard Veronica had dispatched, who had managed to crawl to the door and was knocked back by it.
I stood there, helpless, as Veronica reached one more time for the glass. Those eyes looked less crazy now than they did sad. Without realizing what I was doing, I placed my palm opposite hers.
The glass felt cold.
Two guards tugged her away, shock registering on their faces. They lowered her to the floor, out of sight, and I could see what looked like a few futile attempts at first-aid. In the background, another guard was tending to the downed deputy, who was shaking her head and trying to stand.
I felt a hand on me before I realized I wasn’t alone. A big guy with a mustache, put a meaty hook of fingers on my arm and said, “Sir, please come with me.” He sounded rather considerate, under the circumstances.
It was only after backing away and taking one more look that I realized Veronica had scrawled something on the glass, letters smeared in blood near the bottom. Reversed, so I could read them.
They spelled, “PAWNS DIE.”
4
Three interviewers and more than two hours later, they let me leave.
The first interviewer was a woman in the same uniform as the other guards but with more stripes on her sleeve; quite concerned, wanting to know what happened. I got the impression she was some kind of shift supervisor and might have to answer for it. Her questions had that hint of CYA to them, punctuated by exasperated breaths and lots of blinking as she stared at a file during pauses.
The next was a detective. Guy in a tan sport coat and navy slacks. Buzz cut and ruddy complexion. He seemed extremely confused. Kept wanting me to describe the weapon. I don’t know how many times I had to explain that the only weapon I saw was her thumb.
Last person was the prosecutor. This woman, I knew. Dishwater blonde, perpetual scowl on her face. I had met her to give my victim impact statement, and she’d been cordial, if a bit stiff. Best I could tell, now she was just plain ma
d. She wanted to know what I was doing there, why I was visiting the person who attacked me, the one I was supposed to testify against. I did my best to fill her in, but I started to wonder if Pip hadn’t gotten to her and tapped into some sisterly solidarity. She all but told me going there was stupid, not calling to clear it with her was stupid, and that, as a general matter, I was stupid. My best defense was confessing my stupidity, although by the way she kept scolding me, that didn’t make her any less angry.
But, in the end, I hadn’t done anything; not just anything wrong, but literally anything. It was only after they told me they’d be in touch if they had any more questions that I realized I probably could have just up and left whenever I wanted. Hell, the whole thing was on video, with audio. They just needed someone to jerk around to feel like they were doing something, I guess.
When I got back to my office, the stores lining Santee Alley were closed. That meant I was actually free to use the side alley next to Genuine Accents, because the entry wasn’t blocked by the FX TEES rack that always stood in the way. You’d think a rolling garment rack would be moveable, but the one time I tried, I ended up dumping several dozen v-necks with bedazzled words like “Princess Bride” and “Spoiled Boy-Toy” adorning them onto the pavement. The owner shouted at me in a language I didn’t recognize but in a way that was universally understood to likely implicate my mother, an animal and future use of a gun. I gave up on the alley and cut through the shop ever since.
“Pip,” I said, opening the door and catching a glimpse of her on the couch. “Sorry. Long story.”
I stepped in and started to tell her my phone was dead when I realized she wasn’t alone. There was someone behind my desk, looking out the window. He had dark hair to below his shoulders and was wearing a long, charcoal coat, hands clasped behind his back.
Several seconds passed before he said, “This is where I suppose I’m expected to say, I’m sorry you had to go through that. But that would be disingenuous. Truth is, it was necessary.”
He turned. I’d forgotten how forceful those eyes were. Cat’s eyes. Demon eyes. Eyes that had seen too much. Windows to a soul that knew too much. Okay, maybe I’m being melodramatic, but the guy is one intense S.O.B. I tried not to look away, but my gaze betrayed me and I glanced at Pip. She gave me a forlorn look. Part “I told you so,” part pleading with me not to say something dumb.
“Dante,” I said, managing to muster a semblance of insouciance. I liked that word, insouciance. I’d learned it from Veronica. Or, more precisely, I’d looked it up after she used it to describe the way I did something. Given that he already knew she was dead, faking it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I called him,” Pip said.
“Okay…” I looked at her, then at Dante, then at her again. “Would someone mind catching me up?”
Dante dipped his head, steepling his fingers at his chin. “This woman you went to see, Veronica…what did she tell you?”
“Was this some sort of test? If it was, that’s pretty sick.”
Those eyes. They flashed as he raised his head, and I got a hint of the danger behind them.
“Let me explain something, as if I haven’t already. You are an experiment. A legacy. You are not an actual Chosen. Your father was, as was made agonizingly clear. But in all the wrinkles in time and space caused by the Veil, your father’s death is one of the most perplexing. He was, or would have been, in my estimation, our most powerful asset. And he was also a necessary link. Our only hope for success is if you can fill his shoes.”
“I’ve been living in my father’s shadow all my life. It’s why I ghosted him as soon as I was old enough to drive. Not that either of us noticed a difference. If you’re trying to make me feel inadequate, I’ve taken it from the best.”
“What I’m trying to do, Regis, is to impress upon you the gravity of the situation.”
“I slayed a dragon this morning and I just watched some gal I dated kill herself in front of me this evening. I think I understand all about gravity. It’s a law and the law’s an ass.”
“Yes, I heard about your exploits this morning. A lesser dragon, doubtless in a weakened state from the strain of its camouflage. The fact you point to that proves you don’t have the slightest clue about how grave the situation really is.”
“She was a Siren.”
It was Pip. I turned my head to see her bite her bottom lip as if to stop herself from saying any more.
“Young Penelope here may show poor impulse control in some situations…” Grimm sharpened his gaze at her for an instant before his look softened. “But she happens to be correct.”
“A Siren. That’s the second reference to Greek mythology I’ve heard tonight. What are the odds?”
“Not one of the original three, of course. Think of them as more of a…sect. They have adopted the sorcery of Persephone, an earthy, woodland magic. They have also refined their arts. Their number is few, but the danger they present is substantial. I suspect the weakening of the Veil has increased both their power and their number. They were almost certainly the ones behind the dragon encounter you had. The exact role they’re playing, or hope to play, is a complete mystery to me. And if that doesn’t concern you, it should.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“That, my boy, is my point. And why I’m here. Tell me exactly what happened.”
So I did. I told him about the letter, the jail, what I could recall of the conversation. I told him how she ripped a hole in her own throat with her thumb. And I told him her last words, and what she’d scrawled on the glass.
Grimm listened without reaction, head bowed slightly in concentration. Then he asked me to repeat the story, leaving nothing out.
“You’re sure that’s what she said? Word for word?”
“That’s what it sounded like to me. What does it mean?”
Grimm said nothing. He took in a deep breath and turned to stare out the window. It was dark out, so I had no idea what he could be looking at. Maybe he was looking in.
“Does that mean you don’t know?”
The fabric of his coat made a whisper as he stiffened, still staring through the glass. “It means, the Sirens want what you’re tasked with finding. And I have a feeling that means crossing paths with another dragon is probably the least of your concerns.”
I COLLAPSED onto the couch several hours later, finally exhaling when I heard Grimm’s footfalls recede into the night.
“I am sorry, Sir Regis.”
I covered my eyes with my forearm, leaning my head back. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“I was not allowed to tell you. It felt disloyal.”
“Forget about it. You tried to stop me, remember?”
“Yes. Mr. Grimm was not pleased about that, obviously.”
“To be honest, I still don’t get it.”
“Knowledge of her enchantment would have weakened it,” Pips said, sighing. “A weakened enchantment would have been perceived. It was necessary we learn what their role was, why you had been targeted. Mr. Grimm thinks your best asset is that the Sirens do not know you’re aware of their involvement.”
“Yeah, that much, I understand. What I don’t get is, why was she trying to help me?”
Pip shrugged, stared at the cushion between us. “For all the magic of her sect, she was still a human woman. I assume the two of you were…intimate. It would be more surprising if she could have avoided having any feelings for you. Under the circumstances.”
I wasn’t buying it. Something didn’t make sense. Veronica may have been a Siren, or a member of some mystical siren cult or whatever, but that would mean she wasn’t crazy, and it would also mean that it was a sane woman who attempted to plunge a rather long knife quite literally into my back. Then again, maybe I just didn’t understand women. I couldn’t exactly point to much evidence in rebuttal.
“Maybe you should get some rest, Sir Regis. It’s getting l
ate. You are sure to have a long day tomorrow. You heard Mr. Grimm.”
I nodded. She was right. It was getting late. Tomorrow, I needed to start reconstructing the professor’s last few days to see if I could pick up the trail. I had to find the artifact. Something the Siren gang or whoever didn’t want me doing.
“I’ll let you sleep. I’ll see you bright and early.”
“Be careful.” I had no idea where Pip lived, or was staying. I asked once, but she said it would not be appropriate for me to know “at this time.” I never asked again. Still, the thought of her walking alone, even to a car, was troubling. “The bars will be letting out—”
I sat up, suddenly not fatigued. My mind teased at something, pulling at a thread.
“What is it, Sir Regis?”
“Remember that bar I told you about, the one where I met Veronica? The Mediterranean? The actual sign for it reads, Mediterranean America.”
“Yes?”
“Everyone refers to it as Club Med.”
“And?”
“Med? America? Med…USA…”
“Medusa! That’s brilliant, Sir Regis!”
“If I leave right now, I can probably make it before it closes.”
“Now? But what do you intend to do?”
“What do you think?” I stood, reaching for my hat. “Find out how many other of their lounge acts are really witchy temptresses luring sailors to their doom.”
5
The Mediterranean sat on a corner near the Sunset Strip. It was housed in a low slung, brick building with a large neon sign in green that read MEDITERRANEAN above a smaller red, white, and blue AMERICA in script just below it. Inside, the place was comfortable; lounge atmosphere, with booths and tables and a stage in the rear half. A large square bar dominated the front. I asked the barmaid serving my beer the last time I’d been there why it was called the Mediterranean, since it didn’t seem to have any décor or theme. She told me the owner wanted to name it Casablanca, but there was some sort of legal fight. Then he tried Club Mediterranean, but Club Med threatened suit. So he just named it Mediterranean. He added “America” below it because a rumor started before it opened that he was an illegal alien or something. Nobody knew for sure.