Siren Song bs-2

by Cat Adams

  “She’s pregnant.”

  I didn’t hear much after that. He kept talking, explaining. He loved me. But he’d grown up without a dad. He couldn’t do that to a child of his. He had to be there. And it wasn’t fair to her to have to raise a kid alone. From the first sentence, it was a foregone conclusion. It was over. He was leaving me. The reason why didn’t really matter.

  I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t bear it.

  We sat there, crying and not touching, for long minutes. Eventually he stood. “I’m sorry. The shield will stay in place as long as you want it to. You can leave whenever you’re ready.” His voice was hollow, as if crying had emptied him of everything. He walked away. I didn’t watch him go. I was too angry, too hurt. I sat there alone for a long time and cried tears that were tinged red.

  I didn’t want to face anyone. I wanted to be alone. But Gran was out there and Emma. They were probably worried. And hiding wouldn’t change anything. He was gone. Again. It felt like my soul had been ripped from my body, but life went on. I needed to face that, sooner rather than later. But right now, oh, God, it hurt.

  I felt the magic of the shield disintegrate as I stepped across the barrier and found Emma standing outside the room, waiting.

  “Your gran saw you go off with Bruno, so she figured it was okay to go tell your mom the good news. I ran into Bruno’s brother outside. He told me what happened. So I came back to wait for you.”

  She stared at me in silence for a long moment, taking in the pile of used tissues I was stuffing back in my purse. Though I’d cried myself out, my nose wasn’t chapped. Nor were my eyes red. Vampire metabolism strikes again. So other than the fact that most of my makeup was gone, I probably didn’t look too bad. Emma asked, “Are you all right?”

  I gave her the look that question deserved, then shook my head with a shrug.

  “All right. Stupid question.” She sat together on the same little bench Bruno had sat on just minutes earlier. “Breaking up sucks, and I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I know we’ve never been as close as you were with Vicki and are with Dawna—”

  I started to say something, but she cut me off with a gesture. “It’s all right, Celia. I’m pretty sure it was the siren thing.”

  “Was?”

  She rolled her eyes, knowing that I was trying to change the subject. I was. But I was also curious. So she indulged me and explained, “I don’t want kids. I had a voluntary tubal last week. No longer fertile. No more siren problem.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Um . . . congratulations?” I wanted to ask why she hadn’t told me, but the answers seemed obvious—I was stuck at Birchwoods, prepping for my hearing, and, oh yes, the “siren problem.”

  She gave a weak chuckle. “Whatever. We can talk about everything over dinner. You’ve been here quite a while and you’ve got to eat something soon, before your hunger gets out of hand.”

  I had never felt less hungry in my life. But wandering the streets filled with bloodlust wasn’t appealing, either. The cops would be watching me. I absolutely believed that. I might feel like hell, but I was free. It would be a shame to get locked up again the same day.

  I stood. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I struggled to pull myself together. “Right, food. Preferably something quick.”

  “New China’s only a couple of blocks from here. They’ve got a buffet. You can probably handle egg drop soup.”

  “Do they have a bar?” My voice sounded as lifeless as I felt. I’m not a big fan of Chinese food, but I probably wouldn’t taste it anyway.

  “I think so.”

  “Good. I need a drink. Maybe several.”

  “Celia—” She started to say something but stopped, thinking better of it after seeing my expression. “Never mind. Let’s get some food before things get ugly.”

  Talk about prophetic. Then again, she is a clairvoyant.

  10

  I was not myself. That’s the only excuse I can give. I tried to be decent company and failed, miserably. Emma understood, trying valiantly to carry the conversational ball single-handedly—telling me about the job she’d landed in New York with Seacrest Artifacts. I tried to listen, but Emma’s voice was just white noise in the background. It was as if there was a vast distance between me and the real world. So while I heard her talking about how her father didn’t approve, that he thought she should finish her degree, I didn’t really take it in. I drank my drink and listened to her rattling on and tried to make interested noises at the right intervals.

  She told that it was a great job, working as personal assistant to Irene Seacrest herself. The last person had walked out, so Irene needed Emma to start as soon as possible. She’d be flying out first-class day after tomorrow and staying in one of the corporate-owned apartments until she could find a place of her own. She was really excited. When she paused for a breath, I manage to ask how she’d found the job.

  Bruno had recommended her for it. And while she didn’t say it, Emma’s sudden horror and rapid retreat to the bathroom let me put two and two together. Irene. He’d said her name was Irene. Emma was going to be working with Bruno’s baby momma.

  I sat at the table, numb. I didn’t know what to think. I’d built a perfectly good life after Bruno and I broke up the first time. I could do it again. Of course I could. But right now, at this moment, I felt as if something essential had broken inside me.

  I took another long swig of the salty-sweet frozen concoction in my glass, emptying it. I refilled the glass from the pitcher on the table. Now that was empty, too. Had we been here that long? A glance at my wrist made me do a double take. Not even an hour? Was that right?

  I’d get past Bruno’s loss. I knew I would. Why did it hurt so much? He’d only been back in my life for a few weeks. Logically, it shouldn’t hurt this much. Of course emotions aren’t logical. Still, I didn’t have a choice. He was gone. I had to move on. The only way to do that was to keep moving. Winston Churchill had said it best, I suppose: “If you are going through hell, keep going.” I took a deep, steadying breath, letting it out slowly. I could do this. I would do this. Reaching beneath the table, I retrieved my purse from the floor.

  Judging from her red-eyed, flying exit, Emma was likely to be gone awhile. If I didn’t distract myself, I’d think. Thinking would lead to feeling. Feeling was a bad idea right now. So I dug through the used tissues and detritus in my purse until I laid my hands on my cell phone.

  With the simple push of a couple buttons I was listening to my voice mails. There were a lot. The first was from Kevin, congratulating me on my win.

  The next message made me pick up my drink again and slug it down, then start looking for the waitstaff. It was Gran, telling me Mom was in jail again, picked up for driving without a license and insurance. I shook my head with annoyance. “Terrific. Just what Gran doesn’t need.” It would be Mom’s third strike. I doubted they’d offer bail this time, but if they did, even Bubba wouldn’t take her on. She was a flight risk. She was probably going to be spending some time behind bars. I’d need to call Gran back, see if she could come see me during Birchwoods’ visiting hours tomorrow.

  There were lots of other messages, none of them urgent. Congratulations on the win. One or two reporters fishing for a story. The last call was from Creede and was less than fifteen minutes old. Stupid cell phone. I hate it when it doesn’t ring.

  “Graves . . . Creede. You need to get back to me right away. I’m at the office. We have a situation.” He recited a cell number that matched the phone’s caller ID.

  A situation. In my line of work, that phrase never means anything good.

  The lump that had settled in my chest eased for a moment as the weight of a looming crisis started my brain clicking. Hallelujah for that. It was probably stupid to be grateful for someone else’s emergency, but I hit the button for callback with something close to eagerness.

  “Creede.”

  “Graves here. What’s wrong?”

  “You hav
e an important client with a situation. You need to get your game face on. I explained your circumstances, offered to take the job. But he swears nobody else can handle this for him except you.”

  “Who’s the client?”

  “No.”

  Okay. Cell lines aren’t secure, but it usually isn’t an issue. If it was now, then there was a serious problem. Great.

  My eagerness went away. The last time I’d been in a situation where names weren’t revealed, I’d earned my fangs. Bile rose into my throat and I struggled to swallow it back down. I reached for the pitcher again, trying to drain the few drops left in the bottom. The remaining chips of ice tinked against the glass from how hard my hand was shaking.

  Crap. This shouldn’t be bothering me this much. I’d handled a hundred cases before the one that went bad and I’d fully planned to handle a hundred more after. But what if I couldn’t?

  I stole Emma’s remaining drink, chasing the acid back down to my stomach where it belonged. The trouble was, it wasn’t just me. I was used to the threat of death. Been playing that game since I was a kid. No, it was the other people who were pulling out my insides right now. The Ivys and Bob Johnsons of the world who were sacrificed.

  For nothing. There wasn’t a single good reason why they died, and it tore out little bits of my soul every time I thought about it. I’d failed to protect them. I was supposed to guard them, even though I knew they would say it hadn’t been my job. But they hadn’t had to be the ones left. The ones to stare into glazed, still eyes that would never see again, or cradle bodies that cooled to the touch the longer you held on and cried.

  A big part of me wanted to say “screw it,” to hang up the phone and go curl up in a ball in some dark corner of the world with nothing for company but a bottle of something that would make the pain go away.

  Just like my mother had.

  Shit.

  I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do it. How many would be hurt, how many would die, if I just gave up? Yes, it would be easy, too easy, to walk away. But people need bodyguards and I do know my stuff. Plus, now I had better hearing, better sight, and quicker reflexes. It should be a cakewalk to do personally what I’d often had to rely on gadgets for in the past.

  Once I made that decision, the rest was easy. If I was going to keep going, keep living, I might as well start with this difficult case.

  Looking on the bright side, someone else’s crisis might take my mind off my own. But even if it didn’t, life goes on. Whether you want it to or not.

  “Where are you?” Creede asked.

  “Just finishing dinner.” My voice sounded remarkably calm. “I can be at the office in ten or fifteen minutes.” I raised my hand, signaling to the waiter for the check as I spoke.

  “Don’t bother. Give me the name of the restaurant. We’ll come to you.”

  “Emma Landingham is with me.”

  I heard muttering in the background but couldn’t make out the words.

  “Get rid of her. We’ll be there in five minutes.” The phone clicked off.

  Get rid of her. Gee, how charming. Even worse, having experienced the way Creede drove, I knew they’d be here in four. The waiter I’d flagged approached the table as Emma emerged from the restroom. “Ms. Landingham is leaving, but I have other friends coming. Could you please bring me the bill and a large soda?” Time to get off the sauce. Yeah, it might not affect me like it did my mother, but that could change in an instant. I didn’t want to be hooked if it did.

  “Certainly, ma’am.” He turned and hurried off.

  “I’m leaving?” Emma gave me a look of alarm. It took me a second to realize she probably thought I was upset about her job.

  “It’s not about you working for Seacrest.” I tried to force myself to smile. It felt like my face was breaking and probably looked like a grimace, but it was the best I could do. This wasn’t about Emma. It wasn’t. “I’m glad you found a great job. I know you’ll be good at it.” I blinked back tears and swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. Damn it! I’d been doing so good just a second ago. “Keep in touch. You can always e-mail or text me. I want to know everything. Honest. This won’t change a thing between us.”

  “Celia—”

  I shook my head mutely, fighting for control. “Really, this isn’t about you. I’ve got to get my shit together, Em. I’ve got a situation at work.”

  She paled a little. Hanging around with her older brother had taught her enough “tough-guy speak” to know just how bad a “situation” could be.

  “Are you up for that? I mean—,” she stammered, afraid of having misspoken yet again.

  I gave her a wry smile. “Doesn’t matter if I am; I don’t have a lot of choice. Creede will be here with the client in just a couple of minutes.” I tried to make light of it. “Nothing like a little panic to take your mind off a breakup. Nine out of ten dentists surveyed said so.”

  “Celia—” She stared at me, her mouth moving with no sound coming out, not knowing what to do or say. She knew I was messed up. She’d been around since Bruno and I were together the first time and had watched when I dissolved into Jell-O when he left. That was the thing. It wasn’t that he left me. It was that he left me twice. Both times without even giving me a chance. I could tell that she felt helpless. Emma was my friend. Maybe not my best friend, but dammit, she was trying; I loved her for it.

  “I’ll be fine, Emma.” I stood up and gave her a hug. Honesty compelled me to add, “It just may take a while.”

  She sighed and gathered up her things. “Fine. I’ll go. But be careful. And I’ll be watching the mirror for you.”

  Ah, the mirror. After Vicki’s death, Dr. Scott had given me back a magically crafted mirror that had been my final birthday gift to her. It was a very powerful focus. Since I’m no clairvoyant, it was useless to me, so I passed it on to the person I thought Vicki would want to have it. Emma might only be a level four, but with a focus that powerful she’d probably be able to keep an eye on me.

  I made a little face. I didn’t want to offend her, but that wasn’t a good idea. “I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t want any client confidentiality issues.”

  Her eyes rolled expressively. “I know how to keep a secret.”

  “Please?”

  She gave me a long look but didn’t answer, just sighed and left. Whether that meant she would or wouldn’t keep tabs on me I had no clue. I trusted her, but there are legal and ethical considerations.

  More important, I’d never forgive myself if I dragged her into the middle of another one of my problems. She’s an adult, but to me she’s always been Warren’s baby girl and Kevin’s little sister. They’d never forgive me if anything happened to her. Whether the constant crises in my life were generated by the death curse, my career, or just bad luck didn’t really matter as far as this went. My life was dangerous. I didn’t want her getting hurt.

  I hadn’t been able to protect my sister, and I might never know for certain whether or not Vicki’s death was a direct result of the mess that had ended with the demon being vanquished in Anaheim. But they were both dead, and I didn’t want to lose Emma. So I’d be careful. Of course Emma would probably like that about as much as I would.

  Ah well. She’s been mad at me before. Would be again. It’s that kind of relationship.

  I didn’t have long to think about it because just then three very familiar men walked into the restaurant. The minute I saw them, I knew I was in trouble.

  King Dahlmar of Rusland is an attractive man. Not young, but holding up well, with dark good looks and more than his share of charisma. All of the other times I’d seen him he’d been expensively dressed, impeccably well groomed, and surrounded by the extremely big, threatening men who are the royal equivalent of the Secret Service. Tonight he was incognito, wearing a pair of cheap jeans of such a rich indigo blue that they almost glowed. Vertical and horizontal creases screamed “fresh off the shelf.” A bright red Mickey Mouse Disneyland T-shirt, sneakers, and the
sort of cheap sunglasses made famous by ZZ Top made him look like a tourist who’d lost his luggage. He also looked as if he hadn’t slept in far too long—his face was pale and haggard. But the oddly cheerful clothes and his poor physical condition couldn’t hide the rage in his every move. At his side was the retainer who’d saved my butt a few weeks ago and who’d been trying to reach me ever since: Ivan. He was injured. I could tell because he was moving oddly from pain and trying not to show it. Been there, done that.

  Pain or no, he was all business. He scanned the room, looking for threats, keeping his body between Dahlmar and the restaurant patrons until he was reasonably sure they were safe. Creede did the same on the king’s other side.

  Looking at them, I knew that this was real, serious trouble: trouble I was probably not equipped to handle. For all of ten seconds I thought about leaving, saying no and walking away.

  But King Dahlmar’s intervention was probably the only thing that had kept me from being locked away for the rest of my life. I owed him. And everything I’d seen, everything I’d read about him, had told me he was a good man and a great king for his people.

  “Ms. Graves.” Dahlmar slid into the booth across from me and finally took off his sunglasses, revealing dark circles under his eyes that made him look like he’d been beaten.

  Creede took the next table over, far enough away that I couldn’t feel his magic but close enough that I couldn’t help but smell his cologne. The last thing I wanted to do was enjoy the scent, but my nose wouldn’t cooperate with my injured heart. He just flat smelled good. It actually started to piss me off.

  I shook my head to clear it and saw Ivan move to stand at the pay phone near the bathrooms, where he could discreetly cover most of the room. It’s exactly what I would have done and it eased my anger, leaving my head sort of empty. Numb was a good place. I decide to ride it for as long as I could.