Siren Song (The Chameleon Effect Book 3)

by Alex Hayes

  “She won’t have to stay in her present form, as you put it, for more than a few minutes at a time. The car I’ve hired has tinted glass and total privacy. No one will see her. The seats flatten into beds, so she can sleep in comfort if she chooses.”

  Mrs. Williams looks at me, her eyes more amiable than I’ve ever seen them. “Will you come to Los Angeles and help me sort out whatever mess Idris has thrown himself into?”

  I wither into my seat. “Yes, but… I’m sorry. I’ve gotta change.” I transform back to Livran in front of Idris’s mother. How embarrassing is that? Hopefully she’s already seen Idris shape shift.

  Janice Williams blinks, but otherwise, her demeanor hardly changes.

  Mama rubs my shoulders. “Is that better, dear?”

  I reach up and squeeze her hand. “Much.” Turning my lizard face back to Mrs. Williams, I say, with a lot more energy, “I’ll come with you, but we’re going to have a conversation on the way.”

  The woman’s head tilts. “Fine. Go get packed. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

  27

  Rowan

  While Idris takes a shower, I lean against the wall outside the bathroom door in his apartment. Given his sickness this morning, I reasoned he might collapse and need rescuing. Not that dragging his naked body out of the shower holds any appeal.

  I type a message to Cadi. Hey, someone stole Idris’s phone last night, so don’t try to contact him. He’s canceled the number.

  I take a breath, steeling myself for her answer.

  Is he okay? Been picking up weird stuff all morning, she replies.

  He will be. Yeah, he’s in the shower. It’s been a long night. We both need sleep.

  What happened? comes her inevitable question.

  Best to tell the truth, try to break it to her gently. Someone slipped him some alcohol.

  OMG. Are you sure he’s okay? she texts back.

  A lot of vomiting… What else should I say?

  I dreamt that. Poor Idris! But he’s better now???

  Much. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him.

  Something else happened, didn’t it? she responds.

  Having no idea how to answer, I stare at the screen for a full minute.

  I saw the pictures, she adds.

  Crap, she knows. He was set up, I type.

  The same girl from that photograph, right?

  The shower cuts off.

  I glance at the closed door. Maybe you should talk to him.

  Can’t right now. I need to head out. I’ll be in touch soon. Tell him I love him and give him a hug for me, okay?

  Yeah, sure, I reply.

  I’m amazed. If I’d been in Cadi’s place, I’d have been freaking out.

  Idris bursts out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. “Rowan, did you tell Cadi what happened? ‘Cause she’s freaking out.”

  Uh-oh. “She saw the photos on Instagram.”

  “Shit! I didn’t delete them fast enough.” He rubs his palm across his face. “I need to talk to her.”

  “You can’t. She’s tied up. Here, read her messages.” I hand him the phone and head to the kitchen.

  While waiting for a pot of coffee to brew, I massage my aching head. At least my ribs are better. Mostly. I think one of them might be cracked because it still hurts.

  The damage to my heart is another story.

  I can’t believe Con as good as lied, letting me think he photographed weddings, when he’s a paparazzo. And worse, responsible for almost getting Idris killed. The weight of Con’s guilt is evidence of that; he knew he’d done wrong.

  I don’t know how to begin to deal with this. I wish I was more furious, but my heart feels dead.

  Idris has every reason to hate my bond mate. As a paparazzo, Con’s the enemy, another bloodsucker like that bitch who used and abused Idris.

  I swallow as a solitary tear slides down the edge of my nose.

  Does any of this really matter? He has someone else. Whatever influence our crystals might have on our connection, he loves her.

  “Hey.” Idris wanders into the kitchen.

  I shove my troubles aside. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Wish I could say I’ve felt worse, but I’m hungry. That’s gotta be a good sign, right?” He heaves a sigh and wanders to the fridge, opens the door and stares inside, then closes it again. “Hungry, but nothing appeals.”

  He rests his hands on the counter. “Rowan, what am I gonna do?”

  “Be honest.”

  His face tightens pained look. “But what if I really did—”

  “Idris, you’ve got to stop worrying about what-ifs. You were unconscious.”

  “But what if Nicole convinced me, made me think she was Cadi or something?”

  Leaning against the kitchen cabinets, I cross my arms. “Tell me what happened the first time you drank alcohol.”

  He sighs. “After laughing uncontrollably, I passed out, flat on Marek’s living room floor, and woke up feeling like shit a few hours later.”

  I nod. “And did Marek say you came onto him while you were out?”

  “Seriously, Rowan. Of course not. He said I didn’t move, like I was a lead statue. Except that I snored.”

  “There you go then. If you were unconscious, you were unconscious.”

  He’s about to say more when my phone rings.

  An unfamiliar number, but I pick up anyway.

  “Rowan? Max Crawford here. Idris Williams gave me your number a while back. I’ve been trying to get hold of him, but his phone number’s not in service. Do you know how I can reach him?”

  I glance at Idris who looks back questioningly. “Max,” I mouth.

  He nods and takes the phone. “Hey, Max. Sorry, man. My phone got stolen last night. I had it disconnected… Yeah, it’s a mess… You saw? I was drugged. Spent the night throwing up… Yeah, I’m okay now… Christ. Yeah, sure. What time? I’ll be there.”

  Idris hangs up, his eyes reflecting pure defeat.

  I grip his arm. “What’s going on?”

  “The movie studio’s found another singer. I’m out of the running. They just want my song.” His jaw tightens. “I’m so sick of this bullshit. I didn’t expect success to come easy, but… There’s nothing except landmines everywhere I go. Nicole. These stupid parties. The paparazzi. Movie producers who can’t decide what they want, while they string me along, and finally, hang me out to dry. I’ve seriously had it with these people.”

  28

  Connell

  The front door slams.

  With a swift mouse click, Idris Williams’ Twitter page disappears as I glance toward the kitchen like a guilty husband.

  Azera’s camera bag clunks onto a chair. “Connie, I’m home.” Her boots clomp across the linoleum floor.

  She stops at my bedroom door and scans my face. “How’s it going?”

  “Great.”

  My complete lack of enthusiasm no doubt tells her what she wants to know. I’m alive. I’m surviving. But I’m ten million miles away from happy.

  Her face stretches into an optimistic smile. “I’ve got some good news.”

  “Uh-huh.” The only news that will bring a smile to my face as wide as Azera’s is Rowan standing outside, willing to give me a second chance.

  Given the disappointment and anger coloring her mood, that’s not likely.

  Azera drops a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I got a call from a rep in the legal department at the Independent. They’ve dropped their allegations on that photo you took outside the Performing Arts Center. The guy said there was no evidence of wrong doing.”

  Wish the news cheered me more, but I’m glad Azera’s name is in the clear. About mine, I don’t really give a rat’s ass.

  “Any idea who made the allegations in the first place?” My bet is on Ryker.

  She shrugs. “You really don’t care, do you?” Her head drops.

  I force a smile. “Sure, I do.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Wh
y can’t we start over? Re-assess. Draw up a plan we’re both happy with?”

  “I’m glad my antics didn’t get you in trouble, Az. I really am. But how ever you dice it, this profession isn’t working for me. I want to help people, to fix things, not chop people’s lives up into tiny pieces. That’s what our photographs do.”

  “Not all of them.” Her face tightens into a schoolmarmish glower. “A lot of those pictures help celebs, keep their fans informed, keep their faces in the limelight. What we do is not all bad.”

  I return an even stare.

  She crosses her arms. “Come on, Connie. We can make this work. We just need some creative thinking.”

  A sigh bleeds out of me. “I’m not saying you should stop, Az. This is your scene, what you’re good at. Photography is what you love, but I can’t do it anymore. I’ll work for Hyun while I figure things out. Maybe get some training and find a better job.”

  Her arms drop to her sides, shoulders stiffening. “You’re not hearing me, Connell. We can work this out so you’ll be happy. Why can’t you give it a shot?”

  “Because I’ve tried and failed. I fucked up. More than once. I’m a scar you don’t need marring your reputation.”

  “Let me be the judge of my own damned scars. I don’t want to lose you. Why can’t you understand that?”

  The tears do it. Time for me to move.

  I’ve only seen Azera cry a few times. Usually because she was mad like she is now. But not just mad, hurting too. Feeling like her life is spinning out of control. I get that.

  I also know enough to give her space, let her cool down. Hugs. Empathy. They don’t work with her. They can’t get through her hardened shell. They smother her, instead. And piss her off.

  Food is the best antidote. Three o’clock, and I’ll bet she hasn’t eaten since first thing this morning.

  I get off my ass and approach her. “You’re not going to lose me. Whatever happens, I’ll be here. We’re family.”

  Her whole body is shaking, but she grants me a brief nod and stands aside as I pass.

  “I’m gonna get us food. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  As I head for the door, her voice swirls after me like a bitter wind. “Do you really think that girl will accept you just because you change your job?”

  I close my eyes, then pull the door shut behind me.

  As I drive across town, I find it difficult to pick up on Rowan’s emotions. Probably because my own feelings are so intense. They’re drowning hers out. But I do sense a change, a shift in the tide. And I wonder what it means.

  Hyun puts in my order, then stares at me silently across the bar. “Tell me what’s new in your life, Kuang.”

  There’s no hiding from the man, so I tell him everything that went down.

  His eyes remain on mine, head bobbing like a nodding Buddha, as I ramble through my story, from the moment I first saw Idris Williams outside Café Gratitude, to the plane-crash conversation I just had with Azera.

  When I’m done, Hyun offers me a fortune cookie.

  I laugh. My whole universe is exploding and I laugh because…

  What else am I going to do?

  After a period of silence, he asks, “Do you love this girl?”

  “Azera?”

  Hyun’s chest shakes gently. “I know you love her. You’ve been together too long and seen too much hardship not to. I’m talking about the girl you brought here. Rowan.”

  Despite its four letters, love is an awfully big word.

  Nebulous and unruly. Uncontrollable and scary as hell.

  And Hyun’s hoping… No, expecting an honest answer out of me.

  “I always thought I was whole. Until I met her. When she’s near, I feel a hundred times more alive. A hundred times more hopeful. Without her, I’m back to the way I was. Except, now I know how much better my life could be.”

  Hyun frowns like a mechanic assessing a spluttering engine. “Do you feel broken?”

  I fiddle with the wrapper on my fortune cookie. “No. Not broken. Incomplete.”

  He digs behind the bar and extracts an envelope, turns it over and dumps the contents.

  I can’t help smiling as I stare at the pile of fortunes. “You saved them.”

  He rifles through the spread. “Ah!” He picks out one and then another. “Change hurts but can lead to something better… Are you hurting?”

  I nod.

  “Because of change?”

  No-brainer. “Yes.”

  His mouth thins into a straight line as he scans the other fortune. “Have you given up on the one you can’t go a day without thinking about?”

  My lips part, but my response is slow to come. “She’s got to hate my guts.”

  Hyun doesn’t look impressed. “So you’ve given up?”

  “I… No. Not exactly. She gave up on—”

  “Kuang. Never give up on someone you don’t go a day without thinking about.”

  I blink. Have I given up?

  “Tell me,” he says, lifting another fortune and scanning it. “Did you find true love under the moonlight?”

  My mind rolls back to our kiss by the ocean, under the light of the moon and the stars. Heaven was in that kiss. Our bodies found harmony when we touched. I felt more than whole with her in my arms.

  I swallow. “Yes.”

  He scans another strip of paper. “And have you discovered your secret desire to completely change your life?”

  I sigh. “Yes.”

  “Do you agree that your life will not get better by chance, but by change?”

  How can I argue that? “Yes.”

  He smiles. “Then you are making progress.” He fingers through the scattered fortunes, selecting one more. Then he looks at me, again. “This one is only half complete. A chance meeting opens new doors to success and friendship.”

  A chance meeting? Was my meeting Rowan by chance? She found me. Her crystal guided her to mine. But the rest… Could that meeting open new doors to success and friendship?

  Maybe it could have once. But now?

  As if he reads my mind, Hyun says, “Only you have the power to change your life, Kuang. Only you.”

  “She hates me.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t know you. It’s up to you to show her who you really are.”

  “And what about Azera?”

  “Give her this.” He hands me a fortune.

  Your life does not get better by chance, it gets better by change.

  “Give it to her, Kuang. She, too, is the only one with the power to change her own life. To find what you want, you must both overcome your fear of change.”

  29

  Rowan

  Max Crawford leans forward in his leathered office chair and studies Idris. He might lack the debonair and cool British accent of Daniel Craig, but those men could be brothers.

  He crosses his arms on the glass-topped desk in front of him, eyes narrowing into a contemplative stare. “I completely agree with you, Idris.”

  My eyes shift from Max’s face to the window that showcases the hills holding the famed “Hollywood” sign. Does having an office with a view of that iconic symbol denote success?

  The high-rise office offers additional hints of Max Crawford’s triumph as an agent. Framed photographs of the man with some of the biggest names in LA, autographed images of others, and replica Oscar, Emmy and Grammy awards line the sideboard behind him.

  Idris lets out the breath he seems to have been holding for the past three hours and drops a palm against his chest. “Thank you.” The words are heart-felt. He’s been agonizing over his decision since the moment he made it.

  “On the contrary, I admire your resolve. Not easy at this stage of the game, and commendable.” Max glances between us, eyes settling on Idris again. “Are you ready to make the call?”

  His body slumps. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  Max puts the phone on speaker and dials.

  Maggie DeBoise, producer of the latest Top Line movi
e, picks up.

  Max starts talking. “Maggie, I have Idris Williams and his manager, Ms. Bren, here with me. We’re calling to confirm that your franchise wishes to replace Mr. Williams as the performer for his song, ‘Won’t You Come Home to Me?’”

  Maggie DeBoise responds with the affirmative, though her voice reflects discontent. “I’m sorry, Idris.”

  “We appreciate your disappointment, Ms. DeBoise.” Max pauses for effect, then continues, “And I regret to inform you Mr. Williams is declining to sell the rights for ‘Won’t You Come Home to Me?’ to your franchise under the current terms.”

  After a long pause, the producer says, “This is unfortunate, Mr. Crawford, Mr. Williams, but I understand your decision, and I’ll communicate it to my management team. If you’d allow us five business days to respond before proceeding with any other negotiations, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Let me put you on hold for a moment, Ms. DeBoise, while I consult with my client.” Max taps a button on the phone. “Are you agreeable to this?”

  Idris looks to me. I nod quickly, then he glances at his agent. “Sure. Why not.”

  “How about we give them three days?” Max says.

  Idris purses his lips. “Whatever you recommend.”

  Max waits a few beats, then takes the phone off hold. “Ms. DeBoise, Mr. Williams is eager to pursue other avenues but is willing to allow you three business days. I hope that’s acceptable.”

  Maggie DeBoise agrees.

  Max closes the call, then leans back and steeples his hands. “I’ll start marketing the song along with the three new demos you sent over last week. Your work is good, Idris. And your songs will be gold once we find the right backer.”

  Idris nods, but his jaw is so tight his face could be granite.

  “You feel okay?” I ask, as we head to the elevator.

  Idris walks beside me, shoulders drooped. “I feel like total shit, but I did the right thing. Didn’t I?”

  “Totally the right thing.” I press the call button. “Your music is so good, Idris, it practically hurts to listen to it.”