by A
your mother and we can work it out, I‘m willing to sit down with you and have a talk.‖
Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. ―You are?‖
―If it‘s okay with your mom.‖
She turned to her mother, her expression pleading.
Her mother‘s face was impassive. ―We‘ll see.‖ She turned to Baker. ―Can we go?‖
Baker nodded. ―Yes. If the princess isn‘t going to press charges, you can take Okalani
home.‖
She turned to her daughter. ―Go home. Get in bed and stay there. We‘re going to have a talk
when I get home.‖
The way she said the word ―talk‖ made it very clear who would be talking and who would
be listening. But the kid was smart enough not to argue this time.
―Yes, ma‘am.‖ She ducked her head, gathered her power, and vanished.
The instant she was gone, her mother closed her eyes and shuddered. It took her a moment
to pull herself together. When she managed it, she turned to Baker. ―If you‘d be so kind, I‘d
like to speak to the princess privately.‖
Baker gave me an inquiring look. Apparently I was in charge. I guess it came with the title.
―Sure. No problem.‖
She waited until Baker was on the dock before coming to stand beside me at the railing.
Still, at least two of the guards were in earshot. So it didn‘t surprise me when she decided to
talk to me mind-to-mind.
Thank you for not killing my daughter.
I try not to kill people unless it’s really necessary. It still wasn‘t easy for me to communicate
this way, but I was willing to work at it. Because this was obviously important to her. But it
really was a close call.
I noticed that. She shivered. Hugging herself tight, she turned, looking out to the ocean in
the distance. I didn‘t say anything, just waited as she searched for the right words. I love her so
much, but I’m not sure what to do with her. I hate admitting that. But . . . her talent is so
strong. The queen suggested that she might join the guards. She could be useful moving troops
on a moment’s notice, without a trace. But she hates it here. The other children pick on her so
cruelly.
Why?
She stared out at everything and nothing. I forget, you don’t know about us. She turned
around, resting her back against the railing, her eyes meeting mine. The siren talent does not
coexist well with other magical abilities. So those with siren talent do not manifest strong
magical or psychic talents. They rarely even have another minor ability. She paused for a
moment, then went on. There are not many children among our people. If one of them shows a
magical ability, particularly a strong one . . .
She’s not going to be able to do the siren thing.
No.
Ren can teleport, I observed.
The other woman nodded. Yes, but only herself and one other.
I stared into the distance, instead of staring at her and making it obvious we were talking.
Heaven only knew who could overhear. And her siren abilities?
Weak. Very weak. She can influence, but only temporarily, and the very strong willed may
be able to resist her.
Not such a good thing for a princess. Adriana? I asked, because I had to.
Clairvoyant. She does not have a prophet because she is a prophet.
So, neither was going to be considered suitable to rule. Which explained the bitterness. With
her talent, Adriana probably could see who would get the throne. Fate can be so cruel.
My daughter can teleport a dozen easily, possibly even two dozen with effort. But she hasn’t
even enough siren abilities to talk mind-to-mind.
And the other kids give her shit for it.
Oh yes.
Poor kid. I could relate. I‘d caught all kinds of hell, growing up—until the day I beat the
crap out of the biggest, baddest kid on the playground. They stopped tormenting me then. The
other kids still didn‘t like me and it didn‘t stop the whispers, but for the most part, everybody
left me alone.
Poor Okalani. Teleportation is a very rare talent. She might do well on the mainland when
the time comes.
Yes, she might. But she needs to be an adult. Her father has made it very clear that he won’t
help. He is most bitter at having been sent away. He has a new wife and a new life. She has
adopted our son as her own but has “no interest” in our daughter. I could force him, if he
hadn’t taken steps.
Steps?
He wears a charm similar to the ones your client and Mr. Creede wear. She gave me a sour
look. I believe his new wife bought it for him. He could not have afforded such a thing on his
own.
Ouch. But it was interesting that Creede had one. I hadn‘t known that. I’m sorry. I thought
about it for a moment. You haven’t told Okalani about her father’s new family, have you?
That he rejected her? No. It seemed unnecessarily cruel.
Maybe she was right. But the kid was going to find out eventually.
Maybe so. She‘d read my thoughts. I‘d have to be careful of that. But I’d like to spare her
that particular pain as long as I can. She uncrossed her arms and straightened. Speaking out
loud for the first time, she said, ―I must go and try to talk sense to my daughter.‖
―Good luck with that.‖ My tone was dry, but I meant it. She‘d need every bit of luck she
could scrounge up to get through Okalani‘s thick teenage skull.
―Thank you for not killing her and for agreeing to speak with her. Maybe you can get
through to her.‖
―I‘ll do my best.‖
She gave me a sad smile, followed by a very low bow, and left.
I watched her walk along the path until she disappeared into the night. It was time to find
Creede and Dahlmar. I hoped the guesthouse had Internet access. I wanted to check my e-mail.
I was worried about El Jefe‘s friend from UCLA and hoped that Em had written about her first
day at work. I should also have word from the bank and from Roberto about my mom‘s case.
Real life, such as it was, was still moving right along, whether or not I was home to participate.
I walked over to the ladder and climbed down to the dock. I didn‘t look back at the wreck of
the Mona. It‘d just make me sad.
Baker came up to greet me almost immediately. ―Is there something we can do for you,
Highness?‖
―Creede left me a note that they were going to the guesthouse?‖
―Ah.‖ Raising fingers to her lips, she gave a ear-piercing whistle. Almost immediately I
heard the soft purr of an electric motor. In an instant, a golf cart driven by a uniformed guard
pulled up. Two others jogged along beside.
A golf cart? I must‘ve looked as surprised as I felt, because Baker was smiling. ―No
automobiles are allowed on the east half of the island, where the royal compound is. West
Island is as modern as you could want. There‘s even an international airport. East Island has
the compound, the queen‘s private docks, and the nature preserve.‖
All right then. ―Are they going to—‖
―Jog alongside the vehicle all the way to the guesthouse?‖ She grinned. ―Yes. We are.‖ She
winked at me. ―Fortunately, it‘s only about a mile. It‘s been a long day.‖
At her gesture, I climbed in. I‘d barely gotten my seat belt fastened before we were zipping
alo
ng a narrow strip of pavement, heading steeply uphill. Baker and her guards kept pace. I jog
nearly every day, but I wouldn‘t have wanted to run that hill in full gear and honest-to-God
army boots. Still, they might be sweating, but they didn‘t seem to be struggling. Maybe I
needed to up my regimen.
She hadn‘t misled me. It wasn‘t far and like the clearing where the ceremony had been held,
it wasn‘t obviously visible until you were very nearly upon it. When we got within a couple
hundred yards, motion sensors at the edge of the trail brought fairy lights to life. Perimeter
lights came on when the vehicle pulled to a stop in the wider section of pavement used for
parking.
I don‘t know architecture. I don‘t know what style goes by what name, and periods are
something women have once a month. But I dated an architect for a few months a while back.
He was a nice guy but boring. His absolute hero, the man he bored me to tears about, was
Frank Lloyd Wright. He spent hours poring over everything ever written about Fallingwater.
That‘s what this looked like, right down to the waterfall, though the stones were darker.
Wow. And this was just the guesthouse. Apparently Queen Lopaka knew how to live.
I climbed out and started walking. Baker fell in beside me. The other guards moved, dark
and silent as my very own shadow, directly behind us.
Another pair of guards appeared at the doorway. Passwords were exchanged, holy water was
sprayed by both sides. I approved. Since we‘d had a verified imp encounter on the boat Queen
Lopaka‘s people weren‘t taking any chances. Very professional. I like professional.
One of the guards pressed a series of buttons on the keypad next to the front door. A light
flashed green, the door opened, and I stepped over a threshold with enough buzzing power to
take my breath away.
Baker noticed my wince and where I was rubbing my already sore arms. ―Sorry, Princess.
But we upped the wards and also spelled the building so nobody can to teleport in or out.‖
Actually, that was nice to know. ―Thank you.‖
―It‘s my job. So long as you‘re on the island, my team is charged with your personal
security.‖
I had my own secret service detail? Seriously. Oh, that was just wrong on more levels than I
could count.
―I‘d appreciate it if you could give us a couple minutes‘ notice before you leave the
building.‖
I could understand that, having worked the other side of the equation. ―I‘ll do that. I‘m
probably in for the night, though.‖
―Thanks.‖ She smiled. ―Explore the building all you want. Your suite is the top floor and
has a balcony with an ocean view. It‘s a sheer drop, so there‘s no good spot for a sniper, and
the space has been spelled. No chance of getting pushed off, either.‖
She was giving me more detail than I expected, and I appreciated it. Then again, she‘d
probably been briefed that I worked in security and was making sure I knew they had all the
bases covered.
―Thank you.‖
―Again, it‘s my job. But you‘re welcome.‖ She bowed and let herself out.
There was a lot to explore, all of it gorgeous and still comfortable enough to make you feel
like you could put up your feet and unwind. I found Bubba in the TV room doing just that,
watching football highlights on the big screen. Beside him were half a dozen empty beer
bottles and a big bowl of buttered popcorn.
―Yo, Graves.‖ His greeting lacked its usual warmth.
―Yo, Bubba.‖ I walked behind the wet bar and opened the fridge. It was fully stocked with
several different varieties of beer, juices for mixing drinks, and a few cans of soda. I grabbed
one of the latter, flipped open the top, and went to make myself comfortable on one of the bar
stools.
He didn‘t say anything, keeping his eyes glued on the game. Shit. Well, I could either sit
here and let him give me the cold shoulder or grab the bull by the horns.
―Bubba, I‘m really sorry about the Mona. I told you I was into something bad, but I didn‘t
expect it to be that bad.‖
―It‘s not the boat.‖ He dropped his feet to the floor, rose, and went behind the bar to get
another beer. Twisting the cap off, he tossed it toward the waste can . . . and missed. He never
misses. He was drunk. Holy crap. Bubba can hold his alcohol. He must‘ve had a lot of beer—
more than the empties indicated. Still, his feet were absolutely steady as he came around the
bar and took the stool next to mine.
―How many years have we known each other, Celia?‖
He was using my first name. Not good.
―A few.‖
―You‘ve been to my kid‘s birthday parties, helped me pick out Mona‘s anniversary gifts.‖
This was going nowhere good. ―Yeah.‖
―And you never told me you‘re a princess? That you have your own freaking secret service
detail?‖
I interrupted him before he could get any more outraged. I needed to nip this in the bud. I‘d
thought he was pissed about the boat. This was worse. He thought our entire friendship had
been based on a lie. ―I know. How weird is that?‖ I shook my head in disbelief. ―I‘m a
bodyguard and they give me bodyguards?‖
He opened his mouth, but I waved him to silence.
―Bubba, you‘ve met my gran. You‘re my mom‘s bail bondsman, for Christ‘s sake. You‘ve
seen the house where I grew up. I didn‘t hide anything from you. Until Vicki‘s wake, I had no
idea any of this shit existed. I swear it to you.‖
―But—‖
―I didn‘t even know I had siren blood until after the vampire bite. If the bat hadn‘t tried to
bring me over, the talents wouldn‘t have manifested and none of this would‘ve happened. To
be honest, I didn‘t really believe the woman when she told me I was siren royalty. I mean
seriously, that is so . . . Disney.‖
Surprised, he choked a little on his beer but managed to swallow it. ―Oh, God, I‘m picturing
you starring in that movie—the one Sherry likes so much.‖
Sherry was his daughter, eight years old and every inch the little princess down to her
rhinestone tiara and pink tulle bedroom. She had her daddy wrapped around her little finger
and had made him watch The Princess Diaries with her over and over again.
I rolled my eyes, but it was mostly for effect. He was grinning like an idiot. Thank God.
―Can it, Bubba.‖
He started humming. I didn‘t know the theme song for the movie, but I‘d be willing to bet
that was what it was.
I grabbed the first thing I could reach on the bar—one of those little foil bags of roasted
nuts—and flung it at him. He caught it in midair, giggling like a lunatic. He ripped it open, still
chortling. It took him a minute or two to settle down. I didn‘t mind waiting. We were going to
be all right. I was glad. I don‘t have enough friends to be willing to lose one over something
stupid.
He ate a few nuts with a chaser of beer. I sipped my soda.
―I called Mona, told her what happened.‖
Oh, shit. Mona was gonna kill me. ―Maybe it‘s a good thing I‘ve got those secret service
types.‖
He choked again and this time he wound up coughing. I patted him on the back. A useless
gesture,
but I was pretty sure he didn‘t need the Heimlich.
Tears were flowing from his eyes. ―Oh, God, Graves, don‘t do that to me.‖
―Sorry,‖ I apologized meekly.
He shook his head. ―I told her about the imp. How you stood toe-to-toe with it, damn near
bare-ass naked, and fired a One Shot of holy water down its gullet.‖
He sounded awed and it made me blush. It sounded a lot more impressive than it was.
Honest truth, I hadn‘t had a lot of choice. I mean, it was a frickin‘ boat. It wasn‘t like I‘d had
anywhere to go.
―You know what the wife said?‖ He was chortling now, his big body shaking with mirth.
―What?‖
He imitated his wife‘s voice as best he could: ― ‗Very impressive. But tell me something,
Bubba. Why was Celia running around your boat naked?‘ ‖
―Oh dear.‖
17
I could so get used to this. The bed was heavenly, with the perfect soft-to-firm ratio and sheets
with a thread count so high they ought to cost as much as my car.
My suite was elegant and gorgeous, and since the security was so good, I‘d felt perfectly
fine leaving the French doors to the balcony open so that I could listen to the waves and smell
the ocean breeze.
I woke to a light tap on the bedroom door. ―Who is it?‖
―Creede. You decent?‖
―Hang on a second.‖ I jumped from the bed and pulled on one of those ultra-thick terry-
cloth robes you can only find in the really high-end hotels. Belting it tight around me, I called
out, ―Okay, come on in.‖
The door opened and Creede stepped inside. Once again, everything that was him preceded
ahead of his body and I fought not to shiver. He took a long look around, taking in the solid
oak cabinets, dresser, and built-in desk equipped with a top-of-the-line computer. The curtains
were dark gold, the color a perfect match for the carpet, which had also been color-coordinated
with the cream-, gold-, and brown-checked comforter. There were half a dozen throw pillows
in brown and gold, although at the moment most of them were piled in the far corner of the
room rather than on the bed.
A conversational group was arranged at the other end of the room, all of the furniture
expensive, comfortable, and color coordinated. The final touch was a beautiful abstract oil
painting that used all of the colors in the room. It was huge, taking up most of one wall. It was