by Lysa Daley
I felt like I needed to do something to break the hold she had on these men. I couldn’t just walk away and leave them at her mercy. A little unexpected help arrived in the form of a lifeguard’s jeep rolling up the beach from the south. Its bright headlights illuminated the men, snapping them out of their trance.
“Break it up, fellas,” called a voice through the lifeguard’s jeep’s speakers. “Beach closes at sunset. Move it out.”
Ever so slowly, I inched my way further down, taking advantage of the confusion from the lifeguard. I stepped forward and finally got a peek at the singer’s face. It was the girl from the gift shop. The girl who’d sold both Mr. Morty and me the crystal necklaces. The girl who’d looked ill but now looked radiantly beautiful.
Serena was a siren.
Chapter Seventeen
“Wow! What a voice?” Ellie said from the passenger seat as we wound our way back across Topanga Canyon to the valley. “What’s her name again? And how do you know her?”
“Serena’s her name. And I don’t really know her,” I said, focusing on the dark winding canyon road in front of me. “I just met her the first time when I was there earlier.”
As we drove away from the coast, the fog slowly cleared, allowing the moonlight to illuminate the mountain gorge around us.
“I have to assume that Serena is the Enchantress,” I said. “She must know something about Mr. Morty and his brother.”
I felt relieved that the three men she’d been singing to had wandered away after the lifeguard showed up. Hopefully, all three were now safe at home.
“Why didn’t you confront her?” Ellie demanded. “I would have helped you kick her ass.”
I’m sure that sounded like a great idea to the still tipsy Ellie. “Yeah, maybe we’ll go back and kick her ass later.”
“Awesome!”
“Except… it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
“Sirens aren’t violent. They’re known to be docile and sweet. Not terribly powerful. That whole luring ships onto the rocks thing is a little bit of myth. They only did that when they were forced to.”
“But you saw those dudes on the beach? They were totally under her spell.”
“As long as she keeps singing. Once she stops, the spell is broken, and they’ll all wander away.”
“Maybe she’s luring them in for someone else,” Ellie suggested.
“That’s a definite possibility. Let’s run over everything,” I said, thinking out loud more than talking to Ellie. “There has to be more to this story. It seems weird that Serena looked sick earlier and now she’s so strong and vibrant. Standing up there on the balcony, the magic coming off of her was too strong for a siren, but I have no idea what that means. Still, everything about Mr. Morty’s disappearance is pointing to the Seahorse Inn and that siren. What do you think?”
My question was met with silence. I glanced at Ellie, who was asleep in the passenger seat.
Emerging from the winding canyon road, I turned right onto the freeway entrance ramp. We’d be home in fifteen minutes.
After I dropped off Ellie at her apartment, I returned to the little guesthouse by the pool. It was dark and peaceful as I crossed the yard that was aglow with the Radagast’s elegant landscape lighting.
I was pleasantly surprised to find my little guesthouse was in perfect order. Everything had been cleaned up and put away. Even the wine glasses that Ellie and I had used had been washed and returned to the cupboard.
And my bookshelves were no longer a rainbow of color coordination via the book covers. They had been returned to their original places, organized by subject and author—perfectly shelved.
But I hadn’t left Fred anything tonight? Then I remembered the partial, squished Snickers Bar that I’d found at the bottom of my messenger bag. There was nothing left of it on my bedroom dresser except the wrapper
“Thanks, Fred,” I murmured. I guess he’d really liked the Snickers.
Heading to the kitchen to make tea, something caught my eye. I froze. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
My old magic wand from my childhood was sitting on its little carved stand in the very center of the fireplace mantel like a little piece of art displayed under the soft flood of light from the ceiling.
How in the world had it gotten here?
Had Fred found it packed away in one of the still unpacked boxes that lined the back wall? Or had someone else sent it to me?
It was a simple wand, as magic wands go, made of white birch. The only ornamentation was a carved swirling handle. Most witches my age had acquired new, more sophisticated and powerful tools. I hadn’t upgraded mainly because I hadn’t used one in years. Also, I felt attached to the simple little wand.
I turned it over in my hand as energy surged through it. Even though I hadn’t used it in a very long time, it still felt familiar. Like an old friend. I walked over and slipped it into my messenger bag. Maybe it would come in handy.
In my bedroom, I discovered my comforter neatly turned down as soft music played from my clock radio. The pajamas I’d worn last night were folded and placed on my bed, along with a clean pair of fuzzy socks. It was like having my own personal butler.
“I love you, Fred,” I said, hoping that he was around and could hear me. “You shall have all the Snickers Bars you like.”
After class the next day, I decided to make a trip into Hollywood to deal with another matter.
With the piece of faerie gold in my pocket, I headed to John B. Mackelmore’s Clock Shop. To mortals, this was just a rundown storefront in a slightly seedy part of Hollywood.
But to paranormals, it was a little slice of heaven.
Mr. Mackelmore sold all sorts of magical supplies, including a very extensive collection of weapons, wands and staffs.
I also needed to return the crossbow he’d lent me. Despite nearly refusing the loan when he offered, it had helped me fight off a rogue vampire. I was extremely grateful that he’d seen fit to foist it upon me.
While everyone I knew seemed to be squarely rooted in the white magic part of the supernatural world, I got the sense the Mr. Mackelmore may have some connection with the less upstanding dark magic community.
When I entered the shop, he was helping a pointy-headed wizard who’d come to pick up a repaired magical staff. He stood by looking bored as the wizard examined all five feet of the staff.
Mr. Mackelmore seemed happy to step away from his client. “Ms. McCray, nice to see you’re still alive. And you’re brought my crossbow back.”
John J. Mackelmore looked the way a wizard should, with shocking red hair that mostly stood straight up and strong, sharp facial features.
“Yep.” I said. “It kept me alive while I helped destroy a very angry vampire.”
“When last I saw you, I figured the odds of both of those things happening were less than fifty percent.”
Nice. He figured the vampire would kill me.
“Not bad odds, I guess.” I handed the weapon back to him. “Yet I somehow lived to fight another day.”
The pointy-headed wizard seemed satisfied with his staff and was ready to pay.
“I’ll be right with you, Ms. McCray,” he said as he settled the bill with the wizard. It looked like the guy was also purchasing some accessories for his wizarding staff. Maybe a laser shooter and a cell phone charger.
I pretended to look around and waited until the wizard exited the store.
“What can I help you with, Ms. McCray?”
“I was wondering if you could help me… um, with something?” I approached the counter. “Is anyone else here?”
“Oh my, this must be good,” he said, putting on the glasses that hung from a chain around his neck. “I assure you we are alone.”
I pulled the faerie coin from my pocket and held it out. His whole face changed. He looked at me then back at the coin. “Child, I thought I told you to get rid of that faerie gold? Do you have any idea how dangerous this
stuff is? The queens of faerieland do not part with the gold willingly.”
“I know.” I nodded. “I already met one of them.”
His eyes went wide. “Which queen?”
“Winter.”
“And she let you live?”
“It may be a temporary arrangement,” I said. “However, I happen to know someone who has been accused of stealing a large amount of faerie gold.”
He let out a little laugh. “Then get ready for their funeral.”
My face fell and I had to bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
Realizing that he’d hit a nerve, he continued, “I understand that whoever gave you this gold is in a difficult and dangerous situation. But if you can’t tell me what is going on, then maybe I can’t help you.”
“It’s my father. He’s been accused of stealing a large quantity of faerie gold from the Society of Shadows vaults.”
He thought for a moment, then recognition flashed in his eyes. “Lacey McCray. Your father is Cassius McCray.”
“He sits on the Council of Light and —”
“I know who your father is.” He held up a hand. “So let me get this straight, he has been accused of stealing faerie gold. Is he being held at Blackthorne?”
“No, he’s in hiding.”
“Smart.” He was quiet for a long moment while he seemed to mull the situation over in his head. “What did the Winter Queen say to you?”
“That she wants her gold back or else.”
“And she let you keep this piece?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Then I don’t think she believes your father stole it either.” He shook his head. “If she did, she would have either taken you prisoner… or killed you… in order to motivate your father to give the gold back.”
“Why?”
“There’s not much you could do with faerie gold. Yes, it’s worth a bloody fortune on our plane of existence. But ever since the sister went to war, no human — supernatural or not — would ever use faerie gold and live to tell about it.”
“So you’re saying it would be useless to steal a great deal of this.”
“Yes, it would buy you nothing. Except….”
“Except what?” I asked.
“Well, in theory, as you said, faerie gold is faerie gold. Summer would buy Winter’s gold and vice versa.”
“You’re saying that whoever stole this gold might want to sell it to the Summer Queen? Why would you want to do that?”
“The Summer Queen of the Fae has much to offer. If you truly think he’s been framed, then you need to figure out who has been talking to the Summer Queen.”
“How would I, in theory, contact one of them?”
“Let me get in touch with a few contacts,” he said. “I’ll call you in a day or so.”
Chapter Eighteen
After 48 hours, the odds of finding a missing person still alive rapidly decline. Mr. Morty had been gone for more than 48 hours, and my gut told me we were running out of time.
I went over all my notes on the disappearance of the men. Just in case I missed something.
The body of the heartless man had been found washed ashore several miles away from the pier in Malibu and the Seahorse Inn. Strong ocean currents potentially pushed the body that far north, but a quick Google check let me know that the water flowed in a strong southerly direction.
The local sheriff had responded to a call in a remote area between the north end of Malibu and the southern part of Ventura County. From what I could tell by the map, most of this beachy hillside area was a state park.
My gut also told me that Serena, the shop girl/siren, was somehow connected. With no other leads, I decided to head back to the beach to do a little surveillance.
There was only one north/south throughway in Malibu and it was called Pacific Coast Highway, or PCH to the locals. Designated as Highway #1, it ran nearly the entire length of California.
Instead of pulling into the big parking lot at the Seahorse Inn, I parked on the shoulder of PCH directly in front of the Inn. I was close enough that I could see down the slight embankment to the front of the building, but I was also far enough away from the main entrance that no one was likely to notice me.
I knew that Serena was working in the gift shop because before I drove all the way out here, I called the Inn from a phone in the UCLA main library’s reference office. One of my undergrad students, who worked in the office, let me use it. I didn’t want anyone to see my cell number pop up on caller I.D.
When the Seahorse Inn front desk answered, I asked to be put through to the gift shop.
“Hi,” I’d said, trying to lower my voice to disguise it. “How late is the gift shop open tonight?”
The female voice on the other end of the line replied, “Until 5pm.”
“Oh great, that’s all I needed to know. Thank you… what’s your name?”
“Serena.”
“Thank you, Serena.” And I hung up.
I glanced at my cell to see that it was currently 5:17pm. I’d been sitting in my car for over an hour. I’d arrived early just in case Serena decided to leave work early.
Ugh. Turns out surveillance was boring.
It wasn’t like I could catch up on homework or stream a TV show on my phone while I waited. I pretty much had to pay attention to the front door or I might’ve missed something.
Finally, at just past 5:30, Serena came strolling out into the parking lot. She got into a shiny midnight blue Mercedes C300 and drove out of the parking lot heading north up PCH.
I couldn’t help but wonder about the Mercedes. The pristine car appeared to be brand new or pretty close to it. Pretty swanky car for a girl who works in a gift shop. It was way too expensive for her hotel salary alone. Someone must have footed the bill for the gleaming blue beauty.
When the light turned green, she made a left and headed north.
Unfortunately, my car was facing south.
This meant I was going to have to make a wicked U-turn during rush hour. I couldn’t take the chance that I would lose her. When I found an opening, I floored it aggressively and prayed. I got honked at by several cars going in both direction, but we all survived unscathed. It took me a couple stop lights before I caught up to the Mercedes. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d been worried that she’d already turned off onto one of the narrow side streets.
Initially, it was easy to stay a couple car lengths behind, but the farther north we drove, the lighter the traffic became, and the more obvious it might’ve been that I was tailing her. Eventually, I slowed to stay quite a distance back not to be seen. The winter sun was sinking into the western sea, and I figured we had another thirty minutes of light. Finally, just past Leo Carrillo State Beach, near the county-line, Serena pulled into a small remote beach parking lot.
I drove on for another three hundred yards. When her car was out of sight, I made a safe U-turn. Instead of pulling into the small parking area, I parked on the side of the road and got out of my car.
As I crept down the narrow mouth of the parking lot entrance, I stopped to make sure Serena hadn’t spotted me. Her empty car was one of only two in the lot. A pair of surfers in full-body neoprene wetsuits were calling it quits and securing the boards to the top of a Prius.
Trotting across the parking lot, I felt proud of myself for wearing the right shoes today, unlike the day Stryker and I met the mermaid. Those suede ankle boots with a three-inch heel might have looked great with these jeans, but they were not useful on the rocky, uneven parking lot. Today, I was wearing a sturdy pair of Doc Martens that I hadn’t worn since high school but never had the heart to get rid of.
I slunk toward the rocky beach lined with tall dry grass. This makeshift walkway had sprung up from surfers traipsing back and forth from the beach.
This part of the beach was state park. There were no visible houses and buildings in sight. No one appeared to be waiting to meet her. It was just me and her. I felt vulnerable out in th
e open, and it was going to be tough to stay out of sight.
Serena, walking alone, moved along the waterline, heading farther up the coast. She hadn’t looked back once. Maybe she was going to slip back into her siren form and swim out to sea. All she had to do was just swim out several yards, then duck underwater where no one would see her transform.
Of course, if that had been the plan then she wouldn’t have needed to drive ten miles north to get in the water here. In fact, in her aquatic form, she could have swum this far north much faster than the rush hour drive took.
Dashing across the sand, my sturdy boots quickly filled with sand, and I was pretty sure I was on the verge of breaking an ankle on the rocky, uneven surface.
Up ahead the beach narrowed as the bluffs jutted all the way out to meet the water. It was becoming a dead-end. Maybe when the tide was low you could walk around the bluffs. But currently, it would’ve been difficult to attempt to climb over the steep jagged bluffs.
She wasn’t singing. I couldn’t hear anything except the surf repetitively pounding the shore. Now it was only Serena and me on the beach. If she turned around, which I was shocked she hadn’t already done, she was going to see me.
The only way I could stay out of sight was to transform. But I hated to turn into some random animal out here on a very public beach. It seemed empty but that was no guarantee. I spun a quick circle, spotting three surfers bobbing in the distant water. Unless they had x-ray vision, they weren’t going to see me.
Still, just to be safe, I ducked into the shadow of the bluff to concentrate. What should I become? I heard a squawk above me and the answer became obvious. In my mind’s eye, I pictured a seagull. Instantly, I was looking down at my golden webbed bird feet wadding forward on the sand.
A second later, Serena finally glanced over her shoulder to scan the beach behind her. She didn’t look twice at the little waddling seagull trailing behind her.
