by Maribel Fox
Only… It wasn’t nonsense, was it?
I’m not sure if that thought or the hangover makes me feel worse.
Could magic possibly be real? In this town? Not just in this town, but apparently extra strong in this town.
What does it mean?
Maybe I misunderstood them. Maybe it was all some code or elaborate prank on the drunk girl.
There’s a little spot of hope at the idea, but I don’t believe it. Not really. This is real, as much as I don’t want it to be.
And that means there’s another fact I need to face: I’m a siren.
A rush of bile clogs my throat and I swallow it down fast, taking a deep breath before I pull myself upright in bed.
No need to panic just yet, Cal. You don’t even know what it means.
I’ve gone my whole life without being aware of this thing, so why should it make a difference now?
I vaguely remember Seamus warning me about people hunting me, warning about some great eruption of my powers, but it’s hard to take anything he says seriously. For one, he’s known to say outlandish things for a laugh — his or otherwise, doesn’t matter much — and for another thing, that accent. I don’t know what it is about an Irish accent, but it doesn’t have any authority to me. I know it’s wrong, but in my head, I’m half hearing the Lucky Charms guy and half hearing Brad Pitt in Snatch and I don’t know which version is funnier.
Of course, when I dig through the hilarity — probably mostly brought on by booze if I’m being honest — I start to remember some of the things he actually said. That I’m not going to be safe anywhere else.
Basically, I can’t leave Lupine Bay.
That’s not something I can agree to. I’ve felt trapped by this town enough in my past to agree to it being my prison at this point. No way.
Seamus wants to talk, I guess we’ll have to talk.
Getting out of bed is a struggle in its own right, and I stagger over toward the window, staring out over the choppy gray bay.
Was it always so depressing? In my memories this place is magical — in the metaphorical sense, not literal. It’s bright and colorful, full of adventures and places to explore.
Now it just looks… sad.
Is that just a reflection of me? How I’m feeling? I’m sad so I see sadness when I look out?
Perception is a hell of a drug.
Showering only marginally clears the throbbing in my head, and the longer I’m on my feet the more my body demands some sort of sustenance. I’m getting wobbly by the time I step out, the heat making my head swim as I towel off my hair.
Guess I really need to stop putting this off.
As I’m getting dressed, I wonder if Miles should be involved in this discussion, whatever it is. He’s apparently part of all this craziness too.
The thought of calling him is too much, though. We left on such weird terms yesterday and I don’t know how to deal with seeing him again just yet. I really don’t think he had anything to do with Trenton’s murder, but there’s a lot of other stuff he did do. Like keep a giant secret from me and cut me out of his life instead of just tell me the truth.
I feel barely human as I stagger down the stairs, knowing I look disheveled and a mess, but I don’t really care. Let the outside reflect the inside.
“There you are!” Ava calls brightly from the front desk the moment I’m downstairs. She’s way too chipper for this time of morning — what time is it? —all bright-eyed and ready to tackle the day.
I remember being in my early twenties. Those were the days.
“Here I am.”
“They’re all waiting for you in the bar. Micah’s got his hangover breakfast ready. He started it when he heard you in the shower.”
“Thoughtful,” I mutter, all her words jumbling around in a tangled knot instead of working through my brain in seamless strings. I have to untangle every sentence to put it together, but I know coffee will help. Coffee and food.
I don’t give much thought to ‘they’re all waiting’ and who ‘all’ includes until I’m walking into the bar.
It’s Ava’s harem.
I still can’t believe I get to use that word in the context of real life. She has four men, all gorgeous, all very different, and they’re all standing around the bar waiting for me. Ava’s not far behind, and she encourages me to go take a seat behind the plate of food.
Pure stubbornness makes me want to resist being told what to do, but I’m starving and Micah’s an amazing cook. It would be stupid to draw the line here for no reason.
There’s even already a mug of steaming coffee waiting for me. Five-star hospitality no doubt. Except for the weird audience aspect of them all sitting around while I down the coffee and toast first.
“So…” I mutter, looking around at them all, not sure where this is going, what I’m doing here, what they want from me.
“Consider this your formal introduction to the Lupine Bay Court,” Ava says with a little smile. “Or as formal as we get,” she adds with a chuckle.
“We need ta talk about what you’re doin’ in the bay,” Seamus says, arms folded over his chest, trying to be intimidating with his cartoon voice.
“What am I doing?” I ask, turning to him.
“That’s what we want to know,” Raj says calmly, his voice dark and mysterious, yet somehow cultured at the same time. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
Seamus scoffs.
“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I really don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I just had a feeling there’s something special about this place. Maybe it’s that hotspot thing you were talking about last night and I’m just drawn to the bay because of the siren thing.” I’m scrambling for explanations and I don’t like how easily I’m starting to accept that I’m a siren. I don’t even know what that is for sure. I need to figure it out.
“What’ve you found so far?” asks the surfer-dude, Kush.
I bristle, instantly defensive of my research and anyone trying to step on my toes.
“We got human researchers crawling up our backdoor, so we know ye found somethin’,” Seamus says, narrowing his eyes. “No need ta play daft.”
Shit. I almost forgot about Vanessa and the team in all the chaos.
“I don’t know what it is… if it’s anything. We’ve had nothing but setbacks. Miles has been diving, and there are these rock pieces… It seems like smaller shards of a larger whole. We also found a couple of large boulders on the seafloor. According to Miles they look ordinary, but there are strange swirling patterns… magic,” I gasp, pieces clicking together. What he said he saw didn’t make any sense at all until I consider the possibility.
Seamus and Raj exchange a look. Micah’s being stoic and silent as always, but even he shifts slightly, looking uncomfortable for some reason.
But why? Magic’s not new or unusual to them. It shouldn’t even be a surprise. I don’t get it.
“We had the thought that they might be connected, and we were going to map out their locations, but then my research was stolen and…”
And everything’s gone to hell.
Miles really should be here to tell them first-hand what he saw under the water. I don’t know nearly enough to give them a good picture.
“Your research was stolen?” Ava asks, incredulous, glaring around at her guys. “From here?”
I hesitate, not wanting to get anyone in trouble, but she’s asking, so I nod.
“The night I was working in the lounge… I fell asleep and when I woke up everything was gone. My notes, the books I was studying, maps, even the shards we’d collected.”
Seamus’s head cocks to one side, a serious expression taking root.
“Sparkly rock-type thing?” he asks.
My eyes narrow. “Yeah, how’d you—”
Suddenly the Irishman waves his hand and one of the larger shards materializes in his hand. I think it’s one Miles might have had. Mine were mostly little scraps in
a glass vial whereas this is a solid sized rock the size of my palm.
“Something like this?” Seamus asks casually, my jaw dropping.
“What did… How did…? But this isn’t the one I had…”
Seamus makes a face. “Ah,” he says after a moment, producing the familiar glass jar. “Wonder where he sourced the other.”
“You robbing corpses again?” Raj quips.
“’S called ‘collectin’ evidence,’ Devil.”
“Call it what you like, doesn’t change what it is,” Raj remarks, a haughty arch of his brow adding to the effect.
“Hey man, I appreciate you,” Kush says. “Everyone wants results, and no one wants to do the dirty work.”
“I’ve done far dirtier work than you can imagine, Angel,” Raj grumbles back.
“Guys, focus,” Ava says, picking up the bottle of rock shards, turning it over in her hand.
How in the world does she manage them all? All the bickering and conflicting opinions?
“So this is… what?” she asks, pulling the cork off the bottle. “Magic rock dust?”
“Careful,” says Micah as she tips the contents out onto the bar top.
“Chill, man. It’s just fancy glitter,” Kush says, nudging Micah with his elbow.
Seamus and I are the only ones actually reaching for the rocks, the pile surprisingly shiny in the dim light.
“Mon coeur, I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” comes a stranger’s voice, a French voice, a voice attached to a glowy-blue ghost.
“The ‘ell are you?” Seamus asks, glaring at the ghost.
I let out a breath. “Oh, thank god you can see him too.”
“Save your thanks,” Kush mutters. “See who?”
“The stones,” the ghost says, gesturing. “You must touch the stones to see me.”
“Grab a rock,” Seamus growls at the rest of the court. Blindly, they follow his order. I guess they’re kinda used to weird stuff like this.
While everyone else deals with the sudden appearance of a ghost, I’m busy studying him. I’m not an expert on the subject, but if I had to guess, we’ve got ourselves a bonafide pirate of the Caribbean here. His clothes fit the style of the 17th century, with a loose ruffian look that’s largely associated with brigands and pirates of the era.
What the hell is he doing in Oregon?
Way to just gloss over the existence of ghosts, Cal.
What else am I supposed to do? Seems like there’s a whole world of things I don’t know about and if I waste time freaking out over every new discovery, I’m never going to get anywhere.
“Who are you?” Raj asks, glaring at the ghost.
“Je m’appelle Henri,” he says, looking right at me. “I watched him rob you. Désolé, I should have stepped in. But I know where he hid it all.”
“Wait, what?” Ava asks. I concur.
“The thief… The corpse, he robbed you of your things, no?”
“Trenton… yeah,” I mutter. “You saw him do it?”
“Oui. I had no choice once he had the shard. I am attached to them.”
“You’re—”
“You were in my stash?” Seamus interjects.
“Le marais?” he scoffs. “A strange place.”
Seamus turns the stone in his hand over, studying it closely, a scowl etched into his forehead.
“So you saw where he took my research? We could go get it!”
“Oui. Under the bed in the room he rented.”
My heart sinks.
“Why is that troubling?” the ghost asks, his handsome face pulled into concern. How’s a ghost so attractive? I thought they were supposed to be gruesome and gory.
“Because the local cops are on the case,” Ava chimes in.
“And they’ll have it all locked away in an evidence locker,” I mutter, defeated all over again.
“So we will retrieve it, no?” Henri says like it’s the simplest most obvious answer.
Hell, maybe it is.
25
Henri
“Hold on, hold on. I know your research is important and all, but are we going to talk about the freaking ghost?” one of the men says, the blond one. I’ve seen him at the beach before, riding waves on some strange board or talking to the children.
“I too would be interested in discussing that,” says the Indian, an aristocrat if I ever saw one.
“Where is Miles?” I ask Callie, ignoring them both.
“Actually, that’s a good point,” says the other woman. “He’s the one that was doing the dives, and saw the stones, right?”
“Oui,” I agree. “And if not for him, I would not have seen the crime take place.”
Callie’s eyes widen, her face paling. “He knew about you?”
“Of course.”
He should have told her about me, but it was his choice not to. I am not responsible for keeping his secrets.
The other woman in the room seems to sense the tension, the way Callie’s trying to work through this new information, and she clears her throat.
“I’m going to go get Ian to fetch him. I’ll be right back,” she says, leaving the bar in a hurry.
“You are a ghost though, right?” the blond man asks.
“Do I look like I know such things? I am no expert, are you?”
“Yeah angel, are ye?” the Englishman needles.
“Does it matter?” asks a tall, dark man. African or from le Caribe, but he has no accent I’m familiar with.
The Englishman hoots, slapping his knee laughing. “Ye don’t know, do ye?”
The other three all look supremely uncomfortable.
“Look, we only know what happens in our respective realms. If there’s another place, a middle place, there’s no one in charge of it so how would we know?” the blond mutters.
“Ghosts have always been theorized,” says the Indian.
“Well, seems we’ve got proof positive here,” Callie chimes in. “I don’t know about you, but it’s pretty hard to deny what I’m seeing with my own eyes.”
“What you think you’re seeing,” argues the blond. “Magic covers a lot of territory. Could be an illusion, a projection, a curse — point is, there’s never been definitive proof of a ghost. Trust me. I’ve looked. A lot.”
“Okay! Kid dispatched, anyone want a drink?” the other girl asks cheerfully, blowing back into the bar like a whirlwind.
“If only,” I lament.
She winces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“Non. It is not for you to concern yourself with.”
Her expression changes, a debate happening internally.
“Well actually…” She clears her throat and straightens her spine. “I suppose introductions are in order.”
The men all close in around her, two on either side like guards. It seems rehearsed, stiff, and overly formal. If I didn’t know any better…
“I’m Ava, er… Queen of this Faerie Court,” she says awkwardly, less rehearsed.
It is as I feared. Les aristocrates.
I’ve dealt with their kind before. Out of touch, think they are superior for a nobility given to them by birth.
Pathetic.
Then again, this doesn’t look like any court I’ve ever seen. They don’t appear to be comfortable in their roles, and the so-called queen rattles off everyone’s name so quickly it’s all I can do to make note of them before she moves to the next.
“I’m sort of… kind of in charge of this area… magically, I mean. It’s my responsibility to keep everything from going haywire, more or less,” Ava says, looking constantly to Seamus for reassurance. She sounds confident in none of what she’s saying, which inspires little confidence in me.
“So if your… condition is a result of some magic gone awry, maybe there’s something I can do to help. My Court and I, I mean,” she adds, glancing all around. It’s touching how they gather around her protectively, how she clearly admires each and every one of them in equal measure, eyes
sparkling, cheeks flushed.
“It is from something going, as you say, awry, but I could not tell you if it is some sort of magic or not,” I tell her, trying to recall that fateful day, a day I’ve spent centuries ruminating over. After a certain point, you tell yourself you have to let it go. You start the difficult task of trying to forget, to move on.
Now I have to bring it all back.
But maybe it’ll mean something this time. I don’t know what a Faerie Queen does, but it sounds powerful. And her men, whatever they happen to be, reek of the kind of confidence that comes with supernatural abilities. I’ve seen enough of it over the years. Watched from the beach the people who’ve come through this town, settled here, and passed on.
Callie is twirling her blue shard in her fingers, staring at it thoughtfully, a pensive frown wrinkling her forehead.
“Ye look like ye could use a drink, lass,” Seamus says, nudging her gently.
Callie looks up, matching my gaze.
“How long has Miles known about you?” she asks, more serious than ever. Serious enough that I don’t dare avoid answering, but it’s not an easy answer to give.
Time isn’t something I pay great attention to. I gave up on that decades ago. What’s the point in counting days when they’re never-ending?
“Some other secret I should know about?” she asks, fingers turning white around the stone. “Any of you have a secret with Miles that concerns me?”
“Callie, I don’t think—” Ava stops, frowning at the sound of an engine approaching. “He’s probably as confused about this as we are,” she says, once the motorcycle engine has cut-off outside.
Miles is here.
Callie’s already stiff as a statue, everyone quiet like they’re all simultaneously listening for his approach.
It seems to take forever.
Finally, the rear door of the pub, the only door that leads to the outside instead of to the inn, opens, a bluster of wind sweeping in with it. Miles is pulling off his helmet and leather jacket, removing gloves as he approaches the gathered group, not seeing me without a shard.
“I was summoned by a kid on a bike with his freaky-looking dog?”
“Hey, Ninja’s adorable,” the blond one called Kush says.