Cursed fs-1

by S. J. Harper

  It’s a little after seven when I pull up to his house. Only Zack’s car is in the driveway. If Sarah was with him last night, she’s already left. I curse myself for feeling relieved.

  I knock on the door. Wait. Knock again. I pull out my cell. Dial. I can hear the telephone ringing somewhere just inside the door. When it goes to voice mail, I hang up. Where is he? I give the door a try. It’s unlocked, which seems uncharacteristic, so I assume it’s for me.

  I walk inside. Just as I’m about to call out, I hear the shower running. It explains why he didn’t hear me knock. This morning’s newspaper is spread out on the countertop next to the coffeemaker, which is already brewing.

  I flip on the kitchen light and get to work. Zack’s cupboards are neatly organized. I have no trouble finding bowls, utensils, and an iron skillet. I put the pan on the stove to heat. Prepare blueberry pancake batter. Slide a dozen bacon strips into the skillet.

  I figure the smell of the cooking bacon will draw him down.

  In no time at all, it does.

  Zack rounds the corner into the kitchen like a ninja—quick, deadly quiet, and intent. This ninja, however, carries not the traditional tantoˉ, but a standard FBI-issue Glock.

  When he sees me, he drops his gun hand. “Fuck, Emma. I could have shot you.”

  “No kidding. You just about gave me a heart attack.”

  He slaps his gun down on the counter. “What are you doing here?”

  I point to his cell. “Didn’t you get my message? I said I was coming over this morning. I thought you left the door unlocked for me.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Oh. Sorry. I don’t feel good about the way we left it yesterday. I thought this would be a better place than the office to try to sort things out.”

  His shoulders relax, but his expression remains unyielding. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “With reflexes like yours? Unlikely. Besides, what kind of bad guy would break into someone’s house to fix breakfast?”

  Zack allows a little smile to crack the shell of his irritation and goes directly to the coffeemaker. “Wait. I know this one . . . a cereal killer?”

  “Very funny. I’ll have a cup if you’re pouring,” I say.

  I watch as he gets a couple of mugs down from a cabinet. He’s barefoot, bare-chested, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. His hair is slicked back and wet. I realize the shower is still running upstairs. I clear my throat.

  “I think you left the shower running.”

  He pours out the two mugs and hands me one. “The better to catch an intruder,” he says. “I’ll go shut it off.”

  When he returns he’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. He pulls a chair out from the dining room table and slumps into it, watching me from beneath lowered eyebrows. He looks tired. I guess I’m going to have to start the conversation.

  “So, where is it?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

  “Where is what?”

  “The cage. Where you spend the night during the full moon?” I grin. “Or do you chain yourself up? You know, some women might find that kinky.”

  “How do you know I didn’t go rampaging through the city?”

  “I listened to the news on the way over. No reports of a rampaging wolf.” I take a sip of the coffee.

  He does not look amused. “You shouldn’t tease.” His voice is rough. Not from sleep or desire, from something else. “The sun is barely up. My wolf is still restless. New area, not able to roam.” He takes a gulp of coffee before skewering me with a look that’s part anger, part smoldering seduction. “And it’s mating season.” He punctuates the last with another sip before adding, “The cage is upstairs. Right next to my bedroom. I’d invite you up to see, but I don’t want to be accused of misreading your signals again.”

  His words send blood rushing to my face. I turn away, busy myself with finishing the pancakes. “Got any syrup?”

  Zack comes into the kitchen, reaches over my head to a cabinet just above me. I smell the soap on his skin, or perhaps his aftershave. It’s a blend of spice and citrus that reminds me of bay rum. I feel the heat of his body. I’m sure he feels the heat of mine. His proximity is distracting. But I can’t let my resolve crumble. I close my eyes for a moment, then move away.

  He follows.

  I can’t deny it. Something is in play here. Something I don’t understand.

  Demeter’s face flashes in my head.

  I’m kidding myself. I know exactly what this is, what’s happening.

  And I have to stop it.

  “Damn it, Zack.” I slam the plate of pancakes down on the corner and turn to face him.

  “What the hell? I’m just getting the syrup.”

  “Your coming here was a mistake.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “Is that what you came to tell me?”

  “Yes.” Partly. I move to the dining room, sink into a chair.

  He follows again, taking a seat beside me. “What are you afraid of?”

  Afraid is exactly the right word. In a rare moment of honesty, I answer, “You.”

  He looks surprised. “Because we’re attracted to each other?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Then simplify it.”

  It takes me a minute to gather my thoughts. Zack sits quietly, his expression calm, expectant.

  Okay. I can do this.

  I start with the obvious. “There are so many reasons why we can’t give in to this attraction, the least of which is that we are partners. Even if we’re not breaking any rules, we have to work together. We have an important job to do, one that’s sometimes dangerous. We can’t afford to lose focus. The job has to come first.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself. But you said you were scared. Why?” he says. “Come on, Emma. Take a risk, just a little one. Trust me.”

  My heart beats like a jackhammer in my chest. So many years. So many secrets. Can I trust him with mine? He already suspects I’m not what I seem. For the first time, I have a partner I can be honest with. Should I be? His gaze, so steady, so patient, coaxes the words from my lips. “You were right yesterday when you said I’m not purely human.”

  He smiles. “I already knew that.”

  “How did you know? When did you know?”

  He taps the side of his nose with a finger. “Everyone has their own scent. Yours changes. It’s subtle, but discernible. The night before last, here in the kitchen, I’ve never smelled anything like it. It was . . . extremely compelling. So much so that I forgot myself and mentioned it. You deflected the question.”

  “And you let me.”

  Zack nodded. “When I was training, when I was in the field, I came across it all. But I’ve never crossed paths with anyone, anything that smells so intoxicating. What are you?”

  I swallow. “There are only three of us.”

  “In the area?”

  “In existence. I’m a Siren, Zack. I . . .” The words catch in my throat.

  His expression grows skeptical. “A Siren? Like in the story about Ulysses?”

  “No. That’s a stupid myth,” I snap. I regret the heat of my reply when Zack sits back. Goddamn Homer and his idiotic story of the Sirens’ song. How I wish Leucosia, the elder of my sisters, had never met him and never scorned him. Homer was the reason we had a falling-out. The reason we decided it would be best to go our separate ways, to seek our separate redemptions. “I don’t sing and I don’t drive men insane. And . . . I’m real.”

  “Are you sure about the insane part? Because you do drive me just a little—”

  I glare at him.

  “Okay,” Zack says, raising his hands as if fending off a blow. He chooses his next words carefully. “How did you become a Siren?”

  “You don’t become a Siren. I was born, of Gaia. It was very long ago—a different time, a different world.”

  “You’re talking about the world of the Titans and Olympians? Seriously? If you tell
me you’re here to destroy the world or save mankind, I’m going to have to trade this coffee in for a stiff bourbon.”

  “I’m here for one reason: to save the innocent from peril, to find and bring home the missing.”

  Zack stares at me long and hard. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “You change into a wolf once a month. You expect me to believe that?”

  Again, just the hint of a smile ghosts his lips. “Touché.”

  “It’s my sentence, my punishment,” I continue.

  I can hear the weight of emotion in my voice.

  Zack must hear it, too. He stands abruptly, heads for the credenza, and splashes two fingers of bourbon into a couple of glasses and brings them back to the table. He thrusts one at me. “Punishment for what?”

  I take the glass, sip. The bourbon burns, grounding me. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing. “For allowing Persephone to be taken. For not finding her quickly enough. For failing. Finding Amy Patterson and others like her may bring me one step closer to redemption.”

  “Then what? You go back to . . .”

  “Olympus. I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve been at this a long time. I could be at it a lot longer. One thing I do know is that this, between us, it shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be feeling any attraction to me. My powers are suppressed and yet—”

  “What powers?”

  I have trouble maintaining eye contact. “I can insinuate myself into the minds of others.”

  “You’ve been reading my mind?”

  I shake my head. “It’s not like that. No. I can plant an idea, or a command really.”

  “You’re compelling me to be attracted to you?”

  “Of course not. But I can compel someone to reveal the truth.”

  “Like a vampire’s thrall?”

  “A vampire can play with memories. I can’t. If I question someone, or command them, they’ll remember it.”

  “There’s more to it.” His tone tells me he knows I’m holding something back. This time, he’s not going to let me get away with it.

  My mouth is dry. “Sirens were made to be seductresses. But I live in a mortal world. I try to live a mortal life. If I use, when I use my powers to get someone to reveal the truth, there are consequences—”

  “And you did it to me, the other night, to find out if I was on the take.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what were the consequences?” He pauses, studying me. “You think the attraction between us is a consequence?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  Zack reaches for my hand. “Maybe it wasn’t a consequence. Maybe it was already there. From before.”

  “Was it?” Our eyes meet.

  He nods. “Yes.”

  I gently pull my hand from his. “That makes pursuing a relationship even more dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? That’s a strong word.”

  Shit. I don’t know how to respond. I let the silence drag on too long and Zack has looked away, his eyes distant and unfocused. After a few more seconds of silence, they again find mine.

  “I don’t know how having a relationship with you could be dangerous. But you obviously do,” he says.

  I swallow. His words hang in the air. The memory of Demeter’s nocturnal visit is too fresh. I’m still shaken by it. I need to do what I came here to do. Put my partnership with Zack back on course. He can be an asset. I need to look at him as an asset.

  He knocks back the last of the bourbon. The sound the empty glass makes when he sets it down on the table has a ring of finality to it—a decision’s been made.

  “I could argue with you,” Zack says. “Tell you we are both adults and can handle whatever is thrown at us. Tell you that precisely because we are different from others, we could make it work. Tell you there could be something special between us and that we’ll figure this out, whatever it is, together.” He leans back in his chair. “But you have to want it, too. It needs to be real. And it needs to be right, for both of us.” His expression is solemn, serious. “If there’s going to be another move, it’s going to have to come from you.”

  “And if that never happens?”

  “We just focus on the case, then the next one, then the one after that. We go on living our quiet little lives,” he says, echoing my words from two nights ago. His eyes flicker away and he nods toward the kitchen. “Think those pancakes are still warm? I’m starved.”

  The change of subject is like whiplash to my brain. I don’t know whether to feel relieved, disappointed, or irritated. In fact, I feel them all. I jump up from the table, glad for a chance to hide my face from Zack’s intent gaze. Aren’t I the one who just pointed out how impossible a relationship would be? And did he not react not only like a professional, but like a gentleman?

  Isn’t that what I wanted?

  Yes, but did he have to agree to back off so quickly? Did he have no other questions for me about my nature? I just told him something few other people in the whole world know. Even Liz had more questions when she first met me, and she’d known and been taught about me.

  When I turn back around, pancakes in hand, I study Zack closely, looking for a sign of deception—some inkling that this is all part of a manipulation. I see none. The damned Were has me in knots. I place the dish of pancakes on the table, avoiding Zack’s eyes.

  Before I have a chance to serve myself, my cell rings. I check the caller ID. It’s Liz. She’s crying into the phone and it takes me a moment to get her calmed down enough to understand why she is so upset.

  “Evan didn’t come home last night. And he didn’t show for his early-morning hearing. I’ve tried every spell I can think of to try to locate him. Nothing works. It’s not absolute death, Emma. He hasn’t been released. I can tell. He’s just . . . gone.”

  CHAPTER 14

  As soon as I disconnect, Zack is standing beside me.

  “That sounded serious. Liz is the friend you were talking to the other night? The one with the guy who is ready to make a commitment?”

  “The one with a vampire who is ready to make a commitment. Another vampire who’s missing. Zack, I went back to Amy Patterson’s after you left last night. I found traces of blood in the glasses in her dishwasher. She’s a vampire. Isabella, Amy, now Evan? I have to go.” I’m already on the move, snatching up purse and keys.

  Zack raises his eyebrows, then moves to block my way. “I’m going with you. Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

  “Make it three.”

  He’s on his way upstairs before the words leave my lips.

  I lean against the kitchen counter. Liz’s skill at casting spells is legendary in the witch community. If she can’t locate Evan, there must be powerful magic working against her. If Evan’s disappearance is related to Amy’s and Isabella’s, and supernatural elements are involved, the case just became infinitely more complicated.

  Zack bounds down the steps. I told him to take three minutes; he’s taken just shy of four. I don’t know how he did it, but his hair is combed, his tie knotted, his suit coat in his hand. “Let’s go.”

  On the way over, I give Zack a quick rundown on who and what Liz is—my best friend and one of the most powerful witches west of the Rockies. He has two questions for me. “Does she know what you are?” And “How did the two of you get together?”

  I feel as if I’ve revealed more than enough for one day, for a lifetime. So I answer yes, she knows I’m a Siren, but edit out the details of the two spells Liz works for me—the reverse glamour to hide my true appearance and the dampening spell to diminish my innate powers of seduction. As for his second question, I choose my words carefully and go for the simple truth.

  “I knew her grandparents, powerful witches in themselves. They raised Liz when her own parents were killed. She’s a magical mercenary of sorts, selling her services to a variety of individuals. I needed her help with—a personal problem—several years ago. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

 
; Sounds reasonable. No need for Zack to know the “several years” was really “a couple of decades” or that she also happens to be my touchstone when it comes to keeping my heart in line.

  At Evan’s, I pull into the same guest spot I occupied yesterday and lead Zack to the condo. Liz pulls the door open before I have a chance to ring. “Thank the gods you’re here.”

  She pulls me in, barely acknowledging Zack in her panic.

  Zack, however, definitely acknowledges her. I forget how beautiful Liz is until I see her reflected in the eyes of others. Zack’s breath literally catches in his throat. And why shouldn’t it? Liz is five feet seven inches of stunning. Her long hair is a cascade of dark waves that sets off her almond eyes. She’s barefoot, dressed in jeans and a men’s dress shirt, probably one of Evan’s, with the sleeves rolled up. She manages to make this casual outfit look elegant enough for Vogue. Only the dark smudges under her eyes and worry lines pulling at the corner of her mouth mar the image.

  There are other indications of her distraction. I know how Liz’s mind works. If she wasn’t so worried about Evan, she’d be interrogating Zack and peppering me with embarrassing questions. Her cool, appraising glance and the way she turns away from Zack after the briefest of handshakes say it all. Her attention is focused on Evan.

  “This isn’t like him, Emma.” Liz leads us into the living room. “Not showing for a hearing? It isn’t like him at all.”

  Liz and I take seats side by side on the couch, Zack across from us in an armchair.

  I take Liz’s hand. “Tell me about the last time you heard from him.”

  Liz bites at her lower lip. “The text I told you about last night. It said he was going to be late at the office. Preparing for an important hearing this morning. When I woke up and he wasn’t home, I didn’t worry. I knew he kept clothes at work for just this sort of thing—all-nighters followed by court. It’s happened before.”

  She leans toward me. “But this morning, Sid, his assistant, called because Evan missed his court appearance. They had worked together until around midnight. After they’d finished, Sid said he asked Evan if he wanted to stop for a nightcap. There’s a bar right down the street they go to. But Evan begged off. He said he had a quick note to make and then he’d be heading straight home. They were supposed to meet at the courthouse this morning. When Evan didn’t show, Sid got a postponement, then called me to find out what happened. That’s when I knew something was wrong and tried to locate Evan myself.”