“Paul.”
“Paul...?”
Paul’s lips curved into a smile. “Just Paul.”
With the exception of Dike, all of us couldn’t help gaping at his blatant evasion. Wasn’t that carrying his secretiveness a little too far? It was just his last name, for Cronos’ sake.
“Let him be,” my superior said dismissively. “INTERPOL detectives are notoriously suspicious that way.”
Tamara let out a stiff laugh. “Of course.” Her tone, however, was patently unconvinced.
Dike turned to Paul. “As for Agent Gries’ suggestion, it’s your call.”
“I’m sure Agent Gries is entirely capable—-” It was Paul’s turn to give the other woman a smile of polite apology. “But I must insist on continuing to work with Agent Vavrin for reasons I can’t disclose at the moment.”
Tamara’s gaze narrowed. “So that’s how it is.”
Paul appeared indifferent to whatever the other agent was insinuating. He swung his chair to face Dike, asking with laconic ease, “Director?”
“Permission was already granted,” Dike answered with a grunt. Turning to the CIA agent, she said abruptly, “I appreciate your good intentions, Agent Gries, but with INTERPOL now involved it’s best to let Paul do as he sees fit.”
Chapter Seven
Paul had just taken a left turn at Rainbow Street when I finally broke the silence between us by clearing my throat. “So...”
Paul turned to face me with a knowing look. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I made a face, realizing that he had only remained silent in the ten minutes we had been in the car as a way of teasing me. “It was that bad, and you know it.”
“There’s no need to torture yourself over anything. Agent Gries should’ve known better than to try to take over the case that way.”
“But she had a valid point, Paul. And I am worried that you and Dike made a big mistake—-”
“In choosing CSI over CIA?”
I shot him an exasperated look. “You know it’s not just that.”
“Then what is it?”
I didn’t like the way he was forcing me to spell out things, and I frowned unhappily while watching Paul steer his SUV into a vacant parking space closest to the gates of Silver Mist Park. At about nine-thirty on a weekday, the local park was as empty as expected, with only a handful of grandmothers doing tai chi next to the playground. They might look harmless in most people’s eyes, but I only had to live in this town long enough to recognize our local baddies.
And those grandmothers stretching and bending like they were the next Avatar?
They were the meanest of the bunch, witches made easily irritable because they had reached the retirement age of 90 and were no longer allowed to ride their brooms in post-daylight hours. I felt for them, really. I could imagine it was like having to obey a curfew even when you were a full-fledged, fully functioning adult.
On the other hand, I also didn’t think curtailed broom activities made up a valid reason to temporarily transform human boys into frogs just for being rude enough to play loud music at 3AM.
Paul let out a mock sigh when he saw me shrugging me into my CSI-issued windbreaker and pulling its hood up before letting him help me out of his car. “And to think I was looking forward to have us snuggle under an umbrella.”
I made a face. “Not funny.” Just remembering the feel of his hand on my back was enough to make me feel faint, and I quickly changed the subject, asking, “Are you really sure it wouldn’t be better if you worked with Agent Gries?” I hated the idea of relinquishing a case, but what I hated more than that was the possibility that I could end up hampering everyone’s efforts to stop Zeus from destroying the world.
“We’ve shared all we know about this case with Agent Gries. That should be enough for her.” Paul’s tone was one of finality. “Now, let’s not waste our time talking about her, yes? We still have work to do.” He gestured to the park’s on-site greenhouse, located on top of a small hill with a winding road leading up to it. “That’s where Thelxiope lives. Ready to talk to the world’s oldest siren?”
SIRENS HAD IT PRETTY bad compared to most immortals. They weren’t gifted with extraordinary strength like the Amazons or blessed with impossibly good looks like the nymphs. They just had really lovely voices, but that didn’t mean much these days with the birth of auto-tune. If they wanted to live in this world, they had to work for a living like humans did, and knowing this did have me thinking. Could someone have paid our siren off to poison or brainwash Zeus?
Another little-known thing about sirens was that they could also transform into birds, being the offspring of the river god Achelous and a nightingale he had turned into a woman after falling in love with its, well, voice.
Hence our local aviary, I thought, which Thelxiope herself owned. She was one of the lucky few, having married a wealthy lumber baron a few hundred years back and had been his sole beneficiary as his widow. She had lived a quiet life since then, with her wealth managed by humans who were paid handsomely not to ask too many questions about her remarkable longevity.
As Paul snapped his umbrella close behind me, I could only watch in awed silence as the nightingale with its magenta-streaked wings slowly transformed itself in a shimmery, silver swirl that gradually fell away in layers of silk to reveal a woman whose hair was the same shade as her wings.
“Thelxiope.” Paul bowed his head in respect as the woman stepped out of her larger-than-life cage, built right at the center of the greenhouse.
The siren let out a musical laugh as beautiful as a stanza from one of Beethoven’s masterpieces. “Oh, my dear boy. You are charmingly old-fashioned as always. I am known as Thelma now, you know.”
“Thelma it is,” Paul agreed smilingly.
“And you?” The siren’s eyes danced in merriment. “What do you call yourself these days?”
“Just Paul,” was his easy reply but with a meaningful look slanted at my direction.
I was torn between amusement and exasperation. “Can’t you at least try to be a little more subtle about the fact you’re hiding something from me?” My words were half serious, too, but the way both of them laughed made it evident that they were doing anything but take me seriously.
“Your name, sweet witch?”
“It’s, umm, Blair, and how did you know—-” I stopped speaking.
I had to, since Thelma, as it turned out, was no different from the rest.
Paul grinned when I made a face at the way Thelma was seized by uncontrollable laughter the moment she realized I was a witch named Blair.
Cast that movie!
“I’m so sorry,” the siren said half a minute later as she wiped tears from her eyes. “It’s just that it’s such a delicious irony, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said glumly. “I do know.”
Thelma gave my hand a comforting squeeze. “Cheer up. It’s still a lot better than this other witch I know.”
“There’s something worse than being a witch named Blair?”
“Absolutely,” the siren said with a mischievous grin. “It’s called being a witch named Sand.”
“What’s so—-”
Oh.
I just had to laugh after that. True or not, that was good, and it did make me feel better about my name.
“Now then...” Thelma’s tone turned inquiring. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Fifteen minutes later, and Paul and I were saying our goodbyes to the siren. We didn’t have all the answers we needed, but we had enough. Although Thelma hadn’t recognized the siren in the photo, she had suggested we ask around at Dion’s bars outside town, which nowadays were the only place in state that sirens could find employment.
Hours of rain made the downhill road wounding all the way to the park’s gates from the greenhouse more slippery, and I found myself letting out a tiny gasp as I lost my footing and started to slip.
“Gotcha.” Paul’s strong arm curled arou
nd my waist, and I fell against him with a gasp.
“S-Sorry.” I pulled away quickly, blushing, but instead of letting me go completely he took my hand and placed it on his arm.
“Hold on to me for now,” Paul murmured.
“Really, it’s not necessa—-” I stopped speaking when Paul suddenly stiffened.
A moment later, he had shoved me behind him, the umbrella slipping out of his grip as a single gunshot rang in the air.
Chapter Eight
“Paul!” The deafening rain stole the shrill edge of my voice as I clutched Paul’s shoulders and turned him to face me, fearing that he might fall to the ground any second. Another gasp slipped past my lips when I saw the bullet he was holding in his hand. “What – have you – oh my Gaea.” My gaze swung wildly to his chest, where there was a tiny telltale rip in his shirt, and relief warred with confusion.
“You were shot,” I said blankly, “and you’re not bleeding.”
“We should go.” Paul pocketed the bullet as he spoke, and after grabbing my hand, he had us running back to his SUV, his gaze all the while scanning our surroundings.
“The shooter?” I asked anxiously as soon as he joined me inside and slammed his door shut.
“Gone,” he said in a clipped tone.
Paul started the engine and drove away with such speed I was flung back against my seat. I looked out my window in tense silence, dreading and waiting for someone to start shooting at us again. “Do you think our Jane Doe did this?”
“My guts say no, but I’m not ruling anything out.” He cast a grim look at my direction. “Maybe Agent Gries was right.”
I shot up in my seat with a vehement shake of my head. “No.” If he had told me that an hour ago, I would have agreed without hesitation. But not now. Not over this. This was our case now, for better or for worse, and it wasn’t like I didn’t know of the risks associated with my job.
Paul shifted gears, driving well past the speed limits now, and I had to bite my lip hard to keep myself my instinctively from asking him to slow down. If he could survive a gunshot without bleeding, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let us get into a car accident.
“You look like you’re in shock.”
“Kinda.” I was in shock, but not because someone had shot at us. I stole a look at Paul’s shirt. Still no blood. Humans bled. Supernaturals – even the most powerful ones – bled, too.
Immortals, however...
Paul shot me a concerned look. “I think we should have you checked out—-”
I quickly shook my head. “I’m fine. Really.” And I truly was. I just needed more time to...process. I needed more time to accept...
Paul was an immortal.
My fingers fumbled as I clumsily took my phone out, and I tried to distract myself as I made the necessary calls to report the shooting. By the time we made it back to our place, my heartbeat had considerably slowed down, and I was able to think things through more clearly.
Paul was an immortal. Fine. What kind of immortal I could figure out later, but for now it should be enough to know that the detective I was working with might be an immortal. That could only mean good things for our case, and that was all I should care about.
Right?
“Do you want to come in?” I asked Paul when he insisted on walking me to the door.
“Only if you need me to.” His tone was grim. “Do you?”
“Just a little shaken up,” I admitted, “but it’s nothing I can’t get over.”
“If you need me for anything – you promise to call me?”
“I promise.” I bit my lip after, hesitating, and when Paul raised a brow, I said quietly, “I meant what I said earlier. I still want to help with the investigation, and I don’t want this to be a reason for you to sideline me out of concern or anything.”
Paul’s lips tightened, and my heart sank at the sight. I knew it. He was thinking of getting me off the case.
“I can still help,” I insisted. “I could start asking around—-”
“My agents will handle that,” Paul rejected. “Dion’s bars aren’t the kind of place you should venture to, and—-” His lips compressed in a straight line. “If it’s any consolation, both of us will be sitting this one out. It’s a long story, but I can’t show my face in any of his properties.”
I gnawed at my lip. That did change things.
Paul glanced up at the skies, and I asked nervously, “What is it?”
“Zeus’ mood is taking a turn for the worse.”
And did he know that, I wondered, because he was an immortal himself?
When the detective turned back to me, his face was grim. “I’m not giving you a choice this time. The skies will turn into a war zone tonight—-”
“I’m an agent in my own right,” I protested. “I can help—-”
“Not if you’re dead,” he said quietly. “One of the golden rules in this game is knowing how to pick your battles – and tonight isn’t your fight. I mean it, Blair. Stay here and don’t give me a reason to worry about you.”
ZEUS’ SO-CALLED MOOD swing continued to flay the town with whips of rain outside my window. Only an hour had passed since Paul left, and I was already going out of my mind doing nothing. I was CSI, for the love of Gaea. I had to do something. Didn’t I?
“Hey, She-Ra.”
“Good afternoon, Blair. What can I do for you?” She-Ra was the name I chose for the AI assistant I had installed in all of my devices. The app-based assistant was also agency-issued, like my wand, and it could do everything Apple’s Siri did – and more, since it had also been developed to provide the necessary assistance for non-humans.
“Is there any bar owned by Dion that’s within walking distance?”
“Let me search that for you.”
Dion was the name the wine god used these days, and one that humans were very much familiar with. These days, Dionysus had his fingers in just about everything, with his business interests ranging from construction companies to industrial factories and, yes, nightclubs as well. Then again, this wasn’t much of a surprise since unlike the other Olympians Dionysus had always preferred to dwell among mortals. If historic texts were to be believed, Dionysus even felt he had more in common with humans than other gods. They were fallible and prone to excessive emotion...just like him.
I chewed on my lip as She-Ra gave me the location of the bar. Should I call Paul and tell him about my plans? But if I were to do that – wouldn’t that make it seem like I had to ask his permission to do my job?
At the end of the day, we were still strangers, and besides, he could be busy with work right now. I was only going to visit one bar. What trouble could I get into – right?
I switched the radio on and tuned in to Iris’ station while I paced the length of my living room, still undecided.
All agencies now on high alert, law enforcers to patrol 24/7 for stray thunderbolts—-
I switched the radio off, knowing I had no choice now. Stray thunderbolts were a sure sign that Zeus’ “mood swings” had gotten worse, and I had to do whatever I could to get myself closer to the truth.
Slippery roads and the need to avoid electrocution-prone areas turned what was supposed to be a twenty-minute walk into an hour-long trek. By the time I made it to my destination, I was tired, hungry, and my mood could only be described as dour at best and irritable at worst.
A neon signage had the words The Voice Factor flashing right above the metal doors, and I could only mentally shake my head while showing my ID to security. Did pesky human issues like ‘copyright infringement’ mean nothing to the wine god? And honestly, did he really have to infringe on - not one but two – voice competition TV shows to give his kitschy karaoke lounge a name?
Management cleared my CSI badge after a minute, and security escorted me to the back of the house, where the employees’ private quarters were located. I had mentally prepared myself for lodgings that were anything from risqué to inhumane, but to my surp
rise the sirens’ suite of rooms was no different from other cozy homes of Silver Mist.
There were eight bedrooms in total, its doors arranged in a semi-circle around a common living space. A young woman I assumed was one of Dion’s employed sirens was seated alone at the couch, and she laughed upon catching sight of my astonished expression.
“Were you expecting something dingy?”
“Kinda,” I admitted. “Something like those awful drug dens busted on TV, actually.”
“Oh, hon. Drugs do nothing for immortals. The only kind of substance we dig is ambrosia, but one taste is enough. Any more and it would literally drive us insane.” Swinging her legs off the couch, the siren rose to her feet, saying wryly, “I’m the only one up right now, I’m afraid.” She introduced herself as Monica and gestured to the doors surrounding us, adding, “I could wake them up for you, but for the record I want you to know doing so would be a bad idea. Sirens love their sleep, and the only reason I’m up right now is because I skipped work last night.”
Since I didn’t actually have a formal order from my agency that allowed me to insist on questioning, I decided to take her word for it and handed her my card. “I’m Agent Vavrin from CSI.” Unlike INTERPOL’s fancy, magical card, our agency’s was downright mundane. I had actually asked if I could have my name printed using some nice serif font I was willing to pay out of pocket but nope. It was Times New Roman or nothing, unfortunately.
“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions,” I began.
“Oh my Gaea.” Her head jerked up. “Did I read this right?” The siren gaped at me. “You’re a witch named Blair?”
As I waited for the siren to stop laughing, I comforted myself with the thought that my name would never fail as an effective icebreaker.
Questioning the siren took only a few minutes. Not only did Monica claim that she had no idea who my Jane Doe siren was, but she was also certain the siren I was looking for had never worked at TVF.
A Season of Gods and Witches Page 5
