Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  “Gran,” I called. “Do you think we can sneak around and explore this place?”

  Gran sat on the bed. Her body becoming corporeal and incorporeal within the blink of an eye.

  “I can't seem to get this right,” she muttered.

  I'd not seen her so confused, so out of sorts.

  “What do you think this means? Am I about to disappear? Can I die again?” Her voice rose and fell, and I felt her anguish.

  “We just have to find out what this place is.”

  “I can tell you what it isn't,” she muttered. “For me to be moving from the realm of the dead back to the living, well, we have problems.”

  “Maybe it's not you, maybe it's me.” Who knew that the confession of death might be so soothing. “I mean, I was out in that water a long time. And so far, this place does remind me of all of those historical novels, mixed with a lot of the paranormal.”

  “Historical romance novels,” Gran smiled, placed her hand to her brow, and called out, “Oh, woe is me. Oh, kind sir. It reminds me of those books you’ve been writing.”

  “Yeah, the books that the publisher kept saying aren’t selling,” I muttered.

  “Well, at least that got you out of your funk.” I think she must have considered what my death would have done. She’d been with me my whole life, and I was glad that she was with me now.

  “We’re together, and I’m not ready to leave you,” I said, then reached out to hug her.

  “I would hope not, so let's grab a candle or flashlight and see what we can discover.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” I said.

  “That doesn't matter if I'm already dead.”

  Gran shrugged and helped me pull out drawers until we found a flashlight. “This should do.”

  “I'm sure he has a security guard on staff,” Gran whispered as I sneaked to the door and cracked it open, looking both ways down the hallway to make sure it was clear.

  “Yes, but are they like mall cops or armed guards with swords and armor? Those I'd love to see.”

  “Yes, you always were after a man with a long sword.” Gran snickered at her joke.

  “Eww, those are not things I’d like to discuss with you.”

  We followed the corridor until we came to a landing with French doors.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because, you're like my mother in so many ways.”

  “Dear, your mother was always a nincompoop. She never was one who believed in magic and look.” We slowly opened the door and followed the winding stairs down into a cool, dark dungeon.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Gran whispered.

  “Too late to stop now. I hear voices.”

  Once at the bottom of the steps, and from afar, I watched this large pointy stone glow in an unearthly bluish hue. Illuminated, it cast shadows onto the surrounding trees, and the closer we moved, the more I saw other ethereal beings being called toward it.

  “What is this place?” Gran asked. Again, her face was balled up in fear.

  “But it sort of calls me too, Gran. I can hear what sounds like one-thousand voices calling my name at once.”

  “I don't think you should go there.”

  “But I have to.” My feet moved of their own accord closer and closer, and as I stretched my hand out to touch the stone, the voices united sounding much like a large choir, then chanted: “Forever united, forever apart, until you become one of heart.”

  “Leslie,” Alistair called. “What are you doing down here? Please come with me. I’m sure you and your gran are starving.”

  “Oh, I don’t eat. I haven’t been obsessed with food for almost a good one hundred years now. Why don’t you two get to know each other, and then we can all chat.”

  Gran wanting me to get know some male? I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about that. At home, she used to just sit across from me and watch me eat. Nothing like having someone stare at you to curb your appetite.

  I allowed Alistair to lead me back above.

  “All of your questions will be answered shortly. I had the chef prepare your favorites.”

  The thought of food made me gag, and let's be honest, I enjoyed food like anyone else. My best memories came with a food memory. I couldn't recall what I did last week, but I could remember that I had the best Monte Cristo sandwich from Bennigan's in 1998.

  Although I knew that all the different foods on the table should have been appealing, it was like attending a barbeque and finding out they only had veggie patties and imitation cheese—it might all be filling, but it sure wasn't going to be enjoyable.

  “How do you know what they might be?” I asked, a tinge of fear lit up my words.

  “Simple, we are connected. Right now, I could write a dossier on you and reveal all of your hidden talents.” He flicked his tongue at that note.

  “Whoa, cowboy. I don't know what my gran may have told you, but I'm not that kind of girl. I may write about sex, but I... I don't just go jumping into bed with the first handsome man I see.”

  “You find me handsome?” Alistair flashed a bright smile. If he were a dog, this would’ve been akin to me rubbing him behind the ears, and his wagging his tail.

  “I also find it strange that you're a dragon one moment, and then this god of a man standing before me, but I'm keen on waiting to hear the truth of the matter.”

  “Well,” he moved behind me, and guided me towards the wonderful dining room table that had all of my favorite foods spread about—from Thai to Italian oven brick pizza, to authentic Philly cheesesteaks and Cheddar biscuits, even my gran's cornbread that was thick enough to look like cake.

  “How…?”

  “Magic.” He pulled my high back chair and I eased into it, smooth as a butler. I didn't notice when he moved forward and poured me a glass of red Moscato.

  “Not what I’m usually in to, but since you insist on this.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “I've been to several vineyards, I've never had this.”

  “It tastes like a flat soft drink with a kick.”

  I might as well have told him that it tasted like number 40 dye for he quirked up his left eyebrow and nodded as though he understood, yet I knew he understood nothing.

  “Is your goal to stuff me?” The words tumbled out of my mouth.

  “According to what your gran keeps telling me, yes.”

  I spat out my drink across the white table cloth. I wanted to kick my gran. She loved for me to think about getting laid, and I sort of still hated him. Not sort of, I still did.

  The food looked delicious, like ‘food magazine preparation’ delicious.

  “I've never met anyone like you.” I could feel him putting on the charm, and I wanted to smack him—that was so unlike me. I wasn’t a violent person, unless you count the body count in my fiction. I understood death, and right now, instead of being pulled into his charm and vigor, I just wanted to rip off his head, reach down his throat, and be free.

  “I would say that was a compliment.”

  I noticed that we were alone. With a place so big, I'd expected it to be filled to the brim. There was space enough for all of those here to join us. I might not have seen them all since coming here, but I could certainly hear them.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked. I could practically hear them all on the other side of the walls.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  It felt like he was belittling my observation skills. I gripped my fork and shoved the sweet potatoes from one side of the bone china plate to the other.

  “The ones who are in this castle? But they’re not joining us for this fancy feast.”

  “They do not like to intrude when we have guests.”

  It was like having thin walls. With all of them so close, I could hear every shifting of material. My senses were on overdrive with the voices, every noise. My head started to swim.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “This is quite silly,�
� I said and held my head in my hands. “I’m not feeling so well.”

  “That is to be expected in your condition.”

  “My condition?”

  He shrugged. He was hiding something. An undercurrent of anger tinged with that of secrecy ran between them, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if I wanted to remain in his presence one moment longer.

  “You should speak with your gran. She can inform you of all of the things that have transpired since your fall from the ship.”

  “Secrets are never a good thing to have,” I whispered.

  “Some secrets are simply there because the truth is not to be told by the person being asked. Your grandmother can inform you of what has happened and the consequences thereof.”

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. His voice held a warning that I didn't understand.

  He quickly pushed back from the table and stomped away like a prepubescent teen, just like my brother used to do after watching the Brady Bunch back in the day.

  “Sheesh, what was that all about?” I too rose from my seat to head back to my room. If I was to start asking questions, might as well start with the one person I trusted—Gran.

  Everything appeared too perfect. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. He seemed charming, but that was also a lie.

  I should have been happy to be surrounded by every part of my research—every author’s dream—but everything around me was a lie. I could sense all of those mythological creatures around me, and even their magic.

  He lied to me, and brought me here to strip me of what life meant.

  This had cost me my freedom!

  As the anger rose, my canines descended. I’d never be happy here.

  18

  Alistair

  Alistair gritted his teeth. He didn’t often leave the safety of the castle, but tonight he didn’t have a choice. He pulled the black wool coat around him, and tried to keep to the shadows. Instead of driving into the city, he traveled across the estate sticking to the tree line, crossing over the ancient cemetery, and winding through until he bounded out onto the reflective blacktop on the outskirts of town.

  At this time of night, the streets were empty. He rounded the bend to see the flashing blue lights on the blue, white and neon colored police car.

  “What are you doing here, Alistair? I didn’t think you received my message.” Detective Inspector Rose Campbell stood in front of the house, her strawberry blonde hair whipped around her heart-shaped face from the slight breeze. Her lips slightly pursed. To anyone looking on, she might have appeared nonchalant, but he knew the truth. With her shoulders back, and her head tilted to the side, it was as if she was inviting him to come over and catch a whiff of her perfume that had a way of making him forget most things, as well as remember why their relationship didn’t work. Thunder boomed, and the storm that was just on his periphery arrived.

  “Pretty rough out here, huh?” he answered, and pulled his coat tighter around him. The winter storms had a way of appearing out of nowhere, blowing from the Loch to land. “Thanks for your message and your discretion.”

  “Well, we haven’t had anything like this in a couple of generations.” Rose, as the Order’s supernatural liaison, and the link between the Order and the human world, was a walking lexicon of information. She’d been born to a sup mother and a human father allowing her entrance into both worlds. “Well, don’t thank me quite yet. I dare say, something is going on around these parts.”

  “Something is always happening in this area, as tourists make their way through these historic streets.”

  “But this is not about tourists.”

  Their window for him to take a look at the scene would only last so long before the other police officers would show up and begin the human part of investigating.

  “Are you going to tell me the details here in the street or take me inside and let me see for myself what’s occurred? I am responsible for this area, and any supernatural activity is something that I need to look into.”

  She nodded her head. “And that is why you are here. With all the caretaking of your latest mewler, I’m surprised you were able to pull yourself away.”

  Mewler? An interesting term for a new vampire, but he wasn’t going to spar with her tonight.

  “We all have our talents and uses,” he responded.

  Alistair wasn’t up for her barbed remarks or hurt feelings. There was enough history between them that taking into consideration how she felt and why, were apt to distract him from finding out if a supernatural killed this human, and if so, which one? As this was his territory, he was responsible for keeping it safe, among other things—so is the Order of the Draconian.

  “Not a drop of blood found?” he asked.

  “No. Looking at her skin, it is practically translucent. And as we know, only mewlers are reckless enough to do something so callous, as they can’t control themselves or their appetites. So, how is your recently changed one doing?”

  “I know you are not suggesting—”

  “I’m doing more than suggesting. Evidently, you’re harboring a dangerous creature.”

  Instead of responding, he nodded his head, placed on his shoe covers, and followed Rose into the stone house. The quaint boding had no character inside, but was filled with modern amenities, including a large screen television.

  But it was the naked female placed in the center of the sigil that gave him pause. Most would consider the sigil to be reminiscent of witchcraft, but both he and Rose knew it for what it was—the ancient symbol of the Order of the Draconian.

  “Now I understand why you contacted me.” Alistair sighed. He leaned down next to the woman, and on her neck was indeed the bite mark as that left by a vampire. “This makes no sense, as a mewler would have torn her throat apart, and my mewler, who is under my protection, would have ripped it to shreds. This one here was delicately bitten, and every drop lapped up. That speaks of expertise. Additionally, it would not only have been about the blood, but the essence. If you smelled magic here, then this was not the one you are convinced could do this degree of harm.”

  “Vamps haven’t been seen around here in a very long time, Alistair. You know what this could mean?”

  Alistair shook his head. “The treaty has not been broken. Those under my protection know that they are not to feed off of humans.”

  “Knowing and doing are two different things.”

  “Did you notice any trace of magic when you entered the home? Usually, a trace would be left behind.”

  Alistair agreed and continued to scrutinize the scene, when he noticed the edge of paper that appeared beneath the woman’s arm.

  “Rose.” He pointed. “what’s that under her arm?”

  Rose leaned down and helped to rock the stiff woman’s body to the side where they found her lying on a book cover.

  “Looks like one of those hot romances,” she said, and they stared at the cover.

  Alistair didn’t worry about the model on the cover, but the female’s name: Leslie Love. Can’t get any more obvious than that.

  “Have you read any of her work?” Rose asked. “I was saddened to hear that she went missing recently. I guess this poor woman felt the same way. Nothing like knowing the author passed away and the series won’t continue.”

  “Series?”

  “Yes, she wrote about the Highlands. Romance at its best.” Rose must have noticed that her words weren’t as contrite and restricted as when she’d started their conversation for she stepped back.

  “I’ve warded this place as long as I can, but soon the human police will be here. Do you know anything about this?”

  Alistair wavered. Nothing said a target like having actual evidence with the suspect’s name on it at the scene of a crime. Bullocks. He glanced around the room and didn’t even notice a bookcase with books. He headed from room to room, and with all the shelf space, there weren’t any books to be found.

  Did the killer bring the book along
, or was it a book the victim decided to read?

  “You know how it is,” Rose continued. “Once bitten by the romance bug, she wasn’t going to put that book down even when facing death.”

  He wasn’t sure if Rose spoke from personal experience, or what this one clue meant besides leading to Leslie.

  “Have you read this one?”

  “Of course.” Rose rolled her eyes. She was being honest, almost too honest, as if a spell was working on her forcing her to let down her police officer persona and instead, divulge what he needed to know. For a spell to work on such a powerful hybrid showed that of sustained and powerful magic.

  “If I’m right, that’s the one about the völva, women versed well in our ancient magic and ways.” As she spoke she slowed down. “You don’t think this is a clue do you? That this Leslie Love knew or is a part of this world, our world?”

  The humans would do a toxicology report. They’d discover if something else was at work, but the völva knew how to heal and kill, which meant that Leslie, back at the castle, knew those things too.

  Could she be the one responsible for this murder, and maybe not even know it?

  19

  Leslie

  I lost track of time. Days and nights ran together in my room where I chose to stay. Hidden behind thick curtains, many might have enjoyed this new world, but not me. Hate might have been a strong word, but it wasn’t strong enough for me.

  “If you can put this on, his Lordship will be happy to see you up and at it.”

  The dress reminded me of what it must have been like to have new money—clothes that felt expensive, which fit perfectly. Rich material in a pale periwinkle on a plush hanger was thrust my way.

  She kept her distance, and I was to accept that I couldn’t kill her. Unfortunately, that was the thought throughout the day. How to kill and drain her dry. This thirst fought against the rising hate of the situation too. I didn’t care that I was now in what must have been a Scottish castle based on the decor.