Siren Song

by A

  constantly trying to get messages in or out. Then again, they probably were. I tried a slightly

  different tack.

  ―Can you check with Dr. Scott to see if he‘ll let you look into it?‖

  ―Fine. I‘ll check with Dr. Scott. If he says it‘s okay, I‘ll see what I can find out for you.‖

  That was the best I was going to get and I knew it. So I smiled sweetly and said, ―Thanks,‖

  and Heather hurried over to the table where a number of other staff members were eating. The

  attendants went back to their posts, back to scanning the room.

  I left the cafeteria at 8:50, giving me plenty of time to make my way to Dr. Hubbard‘s office

  for my 9:00 individual therapy session. On the way I pondered whether or not I could stand

  living here long term. It wasn‘t a bad place. But I was already restless, after just a couple of

  weeks. And I couldn‘t stop thinking about things on the outside. I was seriously worried that I

  hadn‘t heard a peep from Ivan since the night of the attack. While I tried to tell myself that the

  situation, whatever it was, had probably blown over, I didn‘t believe that. I hoped Heather was

  being honest about going to Dr. Scott; I hoped that Dr. Scott would be willing to let her follow

  up. Neither seemed like a good bet. It made me feel helpless. I can‘t tell you how much I hate

  that.

  ―Good morning, Celia.‖ Dr. Hubbard‘s greeting drew me out of this fairly unpleasant

  reverie. She greeted me with a warm smile that lit up a face that was otherwise plain. A woman

  of late middle age, she was attractive but not stunning, with ash-blond hair, minimal makeup,

  and a suit that was both businesslike and unremarkable. Then again, therapy is about the

  patient, not the therapist. The non-threatening, unnoticeable doctor might not bear a lot of

  resemblance to the woman I‘d meet outside of work.

  ―Ann.‖

  ―So, what would you like to discuss today?‖

  This was how the sessions always started. She‘d ask what I wanted to discuss, but in the end

  we‘d wind up digging into all the stuff I really didn‘t want to talk about. Gotta love therapy.

  An hour later, wrung out from crying, I was done with Dr. Hubbard for a few days. I‘d recover

  just in time to go back and dredge more gunk out of my subconscious.

  Usually I had group therapy at 10:30

  , but today I‘d be skipping it. I‘d be meeting with my

  A.M.

  attorney instead. Doing witness prep and going over my testimony for my court hearing wasn‘t

  going to be fun, but I was tired of being the center of the group‘s attention. I mean the others

  had drug problems, depression, maybe out-of-control talent. Pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. My

  problems, on the other hand, were spectacularly weird. My fellow patients waited for each

  session like soap opera addicts. Which seriously creeped me out. The only upside I could think

  of was I was meeting a lot of high-end potential clients.

  We were scheduled to meet in one of the small conference rooms in the administration

  building. I went there under escort. Patients don‘t get to leave the main building without.

  Because of the whole siren thing, I got to be escorted by a female guard. Greta was big, blond,

  Nordic, and no-nonsense. When she talked, which was seldom, she had a thick accent. Her

  uniform might look like that of a tour guide, but she herself looked like a prison guard.

  I‘d slathered myself with another layer of sunscreen, so I was able to walk down the sunlit

  sidewalk without singeing, but I was still glad to get back indoors. I was even more glad when

  Greta left me alone in the conference room, shutting the door behind her. No doubt she‘d be

  waiting right outside when the meeting was over. But in the meantime, I wasn‘t sorry to see

  her go.

  I settled into a comfortable leather chair at a small, round table and proceeded to wait. And

  wait. And wait. Since Roberto is normally excruciatingly prompt, I had to wonder what was

  wrong. But nobody came to tell me anything. So I sat at the little wood-laminate table and

  watched the hands on the wall clock move slowly around the dial. Forty minutes had crawled

  by when the door finally opened and my attorney came in, looking harried and worried.

  ―What‘s wrong?‖ Okay, maybe not the best conversational foray. I mean, usually I lead with

  ―Hi,‖ or ―Hey, Roberto, good to see you‘ ‖ But something was obviously amiss. It wasn‘t just

  that he was late. He was troubled and he wasn‘t bothering to try to hide it from me.

  Shaking his head, he set a large briefcase onto the conference room table and took the seat

  across from me.

  ―Has anyone else been here to meet with you?‖

  That was an odd question, especially since Birchwoods‘ rules allowed me to meet with my

  attorney and no one else. I told him as much.

  ―I know.‖ He took off his glasses and proceeded to clean the lenses with a snow-white

  handkerchief. It was a nervous gesture and so completely out of character it threw me. Roberto

  doesn‘t get nervous. He just doesn‘t. Which is why he‘s been lead counsel defending the

  famous and infamous, winning the unwinnable cases.

  ―Why do you ask?‖

  He met my gaze, dark eyes earnest. ―I have messages for you from Bruno DeLuca, and the

  Landinghams—Warren, Emma, and Kevin. And I was contacted by a representative of King

  Dahlmar—‖

  ―Ivan?‖ I leaned forward eagerly. ―Did he get in touch with you? Tell you what it was he

  needed?‖

  Roberto nodded. ―Ivan Stefanovich came to my office yesterday. He presented his

  identification and said that he had to see you as soon as possible. He indicated that it was a

  matter of national security. He asked that he be allowed to accompany me to this meeting. I

  was reluctant. But I called the embassy and checked on him and he voluntarily submitted to a

  truth spell. So I agreed to let him come in with me, pretending to be my co-counsel. He was

  going to say his piece, then leave, so that we could go over your case.‖

  ―Only he didn‘t show?‖

  ―Exactly.‖

  ―That‘s bad. Really bad.‖

  ―I waited for a half hour, then called the number he gave me. It‘s not in service. When I

  called the embassy, this time they said he was out of the country. Do you have any idea what

  this is about?‖

  ―No more than you do. He tried to talk to me the night of Vicki‘s wake, but the police

  separated us. He‘s a telepath. I half-figured he‘d try to get in touch with me mind-to-mind, but

  I guess they have protections up against that here.‖

  ―Yes. They do.‖

  ―So what do we do?‖

  ―I guess we just go forward with our trial prep. I‘ll try to find out more when we‘re done.

  Maybe whatever it was resolved itself. Or maybe he‘ll get back in touch with me. But for now,

  your hearing is the day after tomorrow and we‘ve got to get ready for it.‖

  So that was what we did. But in the back of my mind I couldn‘t help worrying, wondering

  what was going on out in the real world while I was tucked safely in the nuthouse.

  4

  I spent the rest of the day going through the motions, my mind caught up in worries about the

  court date, about whatever the hell was going on with Ivan, and, oddly, about Bruno.

  Bruno DeLuca is the love of my lif
e. I know, corny. But he is. We met in college. He‘d

  come out west to study with Warren Landingham in one of the best Paranormal Studies

  departments in the world. And to put a little distance between him and his very large, very

  domineering Italian-American family.

  We hit it off almost from the start. He‘s smart, fun, and sexy as hell. He also had enough of

  a sense of humor not to take himself (or much of anything else) too seriously. No situation was

  ever too dire for Bruno Deluca to crack wise about it.

  We dated, fell in love, got engaged.

  And then I met the family.

  Oh boy. Wasn‘t that a load of fun. Not. His mother didn‘t just hate me. She loathed me. All

  of the other daughters-in-law hated me, too. And there are a lot of them. Uncle Sal was okay

  with me, so was cousin Joey. But that was it. Everybody else, no.

  Then there were the arguments about where we were going to live—East Coast vs. West.

  Children? Him: yes, lots. Me: uh, no. I like kids, but my life has been a series of dangerous

  disasters since I was little. I was not going to put an innocent child through that.

  They say love conquers all. They lie. We loved each other desperately, but there were too

  many things pulling us apart. We broke up. And we stayed broken up for years. Right up until

  he reappeared in my life a few weeks ago.

  God, I‘d missed him. Miracle of miracles, he missed me, too. So, older, maybe a little wiser,

  we were giving it another shot.

  In my mind I went over the messages he‘d sent with Roberto, short verbal messages on a

  flash drive from the law firm‘s computer answering service. ―The trip home to tell the family

  went pretty much the way I expected.‖ That meant badly. ―Job negotiations are going well.

  Uncle Sal went with me to meet with Creede and Miller.‖ Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that

  meeting. ―I love you. If you can get a day pass I‘ll show you just how much.‖ Just thinking

  about that made my body react. Even when things hadn‘t been going well emotionally, sex

  with Bruno had been spectacular.

  I had to get out of here. Soon. Which meant the hearing had to go well.

  A long day bled into a sleepless night. After a few hours of tossing and turning I gave up on

  the idea of sleep altogether.

  I showered and dressed, wondering what I was going to do to kill the hours until the

  cafeteria opened and the day actually started. I needn‘t have worried. I‘d no more than pulled

  on my slippers when there was a tap at my door.

  To my surprise a tall, slender woman stood in front of me, her long auburn hair pulled back

  to reveal a heart-shaped face with exotic features dominated by large eyes the rich blue-green

  color of the waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Her silk wrap dress was of the same shade and

  had been cut to make the most of a figure that was designed to turn men‘s heads. She was too

  perfect to be true. Still, I‘d have sworn that every inch of her was absolutely natural. I certainly

  didn‘t feel any of the magic I‘d come to associate with attractiveness charms and there were no

  obvious signs of cosmetic surgery. In fact, she didn‘t even appear to be wearing much in the

  way of makeup.

  ―Good morning, Celia.‖ I got the full weight of those extraordinary eyes. And just like that I

  knew. She was a siren.

  ―Good morning.‖

  ―Dr. Scott was good enough to give me permission to see you.‖

  Not by choice he didn’t. I thought it to myself, but I was surprised when she answered.

  No. Not by choice. She admitted it inside my skull. Eek. There will be about forty-five

  minutes that he can’t remember. He’ll assume it’s just one more sign of post-traumatic stress

  and schedule an appointment for an assessment.

  But it’s not.

  No, she admitted with a small smile. I manipulated him. But he is having problems. He

  should make the appointment anyway. If this pushes him to get help sooner, is that such a bad

  thing?

  Probably not, but that didn‘t make me like it any better. Life had been a lot more

  comfortable for me before I realized just how easy it was for the psychically gifted to

  manipulate people. The more I found out, the more I could sympathize with the law‘s hard-line

  policy. If only it didn‘t apply to me. Damn the luck.

  The big siren gift is to enthrall men to the point that they‘d do whatever the siren needed

  even to the point of death. They betray their families, their countries, whatever, with a smile on

  their face and a song in their heart. It completely takes away their free will. Which is just

  wrong, on so many levels. I‘m a big believer in free will.

  ―You‘re not what I expected.‖ She tapped a manicured fingernail against her lip as she

  looked me up and down.

  ―Really? What were you expecting?‖

  ―I didn‘t think you‘d be so . . .‖ She hesitated and I saw in her mind what she was about to

  say, which was ―pretty.‖ She smiled and it was as beautiful as the first light of dawn after a

  long, cold night. I‘m not gay, but I can appreciate gorgeous and this woman made the top-tier

  most beautiful in Hollywood look like day-old dog meat. I certainly wasn‘t in her league. Oh, I

  do all right, better than some. But there‘s a big step between playing in Little League and in the

  pros.

  ―Uh, right.‖ I didn‘t believe her and it showed.

  ―I‘m serious.‖ Her expression sobered. ―I expected you to look more human, or more

  vampire. But there‘s more than a trace of us in you. In fact, you bear more of a resemblance to

  Queen Lopaka than Adriana does. Except for the teeth, of course.‖ She smirked and even that

  expression looked good on her. ―Of course, Adriana takes after her father in every way.‖

  I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, so I couldn‘t answer. Probably best that I stay

  quiet anyway.

  She must have taken my silence to mean I was insulted. ―I meant no offense. It‘s never a bad

  thing to have people underestimate you.‖

  ―Particularly my enemies.‖ I kept my tone light, but I‘ll admit to being a teeny bit worried.

  My first encounter with my grandfather‘s relatives had been at Vicki‘s wake. While my current

  visitor actually spoke in American idiom and seemed friendly, it was entirely possible she was

  giving me a line of bull.

  ―You don‘t trust me.‖

  ―It‘s nothing personal.‖ I gave her a polite smile. ―I don‘t trust anybody.‖

  That was the honest truth, put bluntly enough to make her blink and give me a long look

  through narrowed eyelids. ―You mean that.‖

  ―I tend to say what I mean. It‘s easier.‖ I gave her a grin that was only partly manufactured.

  ―Of course I can lie, if the occasion calls for it.‖

  ―Of course. We all can.‖ She walked over to the window, pulling aside the curtain with one

  hand and turning to watch the waves hitting the beach. ―May I ask what arrangements you‘ve

  made about your hearing?‖

  A siren had crashed Vicki‘s wake to tell me that I would have to attend a hearing on the

  siren island. They seem to think the vampire bite has made me a monster that may need to be

  put down. I‘ll have to go there and deal with it—assuming I get through the court hearing

  okay. ―I haven‘t made any. Why?‖

  Sh
e whipped around so fast she pulled down the curtain, rod and all. She stared

  openmouthed at me, delicate peach-colored cotton in a death grip in her fist and puddled at her

  feet

  I shrugged. ―The other one . . . Adriana?‖ I made the name a question and she nodded.

  ―Didn‘t tell me squat. She showed up, caused a scene, challenged me to a duel, said I‘d be put

  up before the tribunal of Pacific lords. Then she left.‖

  ―A duel? The Pacific lords?‖

  ―To the death. And yes.‖

  She blinked a couple of times, batting lashes almost long enough to create a breeze. ―Oh my.

  You certainly have managed to antagonize her.‖

  ―It wasn‘t hard.‖ My tone was dry. ―She was monumentally rude and looking to take

  offense.‖

  My visitor threw back her head and let out a peal of honest laughter. ―That would be

  Adriana all right.‖

  ―I don‘t suppose you‘re going to tell me where the ‗Isle of Serenity‘ is and when I‘m

  supposed to be there? Or are you the escort?‖

  The woman‘s head tipped down, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Her voice took on a

  dangerous purr. ―She truly didn‘t tell you?‖

  ―Nope. Got pissy, issued her challenge, and told me that since I wouldn‘t treat her like a

  proper princess she didn‘t feel compelled to tell me squat.‖

  ― That is also like Adriana and completely unacceptable.‖ The woman smiled again, but this

  time it was more a baring of teeth. ―As you guessed, I‘m a siren; in fact, I‘m as much a

  princess as Adriana and as you. ‖

  She sounded defiant about it, as if she expected me to argue with her, and I did, but

  obviously not in the way she expected. ―I‘m no princess. Not even a little.‖

  ―Oh, but you are.‖ She shook her head, her blue-green eyes dancing with mischief. ―You

  come from a royal line. Your great-grandfather was brother to the queen. In fact, you come

  from the Pacific royal line, just like Adriana. And she has pissed off so many of the other

  royals that having an alternative, even an unlettered heathen like you, will put her in a very

  precarious position indeed.‖

  ―Unlettered heathen?‖ I tried not to sound as hideously insulted as I felt but didn‘t quite

  manage it.

  ―You don‘t know the first thing about our culture, do you?‖ Her smile was poisonously