I heard a noise, as though an antelope were thrashing its way through the brambles. Then an outline emerged, and Curly strode toward me. He grabbed me by the shoulders with his powerful hands. He saw in my upturned face the fiery joy in my heart. There was no hiding what I saw in his eyes; his blood was aboil. I knew exactly what he was thinking, that here was no mewling calf of a woman like Clare Brighton. I believed I had won him over, not as a siren, but as a woman of spirit, one who relished the flames of passion, wanted sex often, and wanted it with him.
In the heat of the moment, neither of us noticed Horatio. He had returned, scratched and bruised, and he now emerged in the dying firelight. I called out to ask what the matter was, but suddenly, he turned and ran away. Curly then eyed me more warily. Why had his flare-up of passion subsided so soon? I felt a human emotion that I intensely disliked—disappointment. I spoke first.
“You’re late.”
“Who says I’m late?”
“I do.”
“Those are frightening words to hear from a woman's lips, lass.”
“You were ready enough to hear them from Clare.”
“I had to come,” he said hurriedly, beginning to pace about and circling me like a mad dog. “I saw your bonfire, and I couldn’t stand it. Why don’t you let me be?”
Little did he know what I could do to him if I chose! I looked away from him, pretending to be as cool and collected as if we were discussing the weather.
“Why shouldn’t I have a bonfire like everybody else? Our firewood is the envy of the district. I merely told our lad he might have a small one.”
“Aye, but it was meant to signal me. I knew it as soon as I saw it.”
“How you jump to conclusions…like a frog!” I laughed aloud at the sour expression on his face. He stopped his pacing, and the sourness changed to arrogance.
“On this same night a year ago, lass, you lit a bonfire as a signal for me to come to you. It was the first night we made love on Hatter's Field. Surely you're not forgetting that. Why else would there be a bonfire at Captain Vye’s house? He told everyone at the inn today there would be no bonfire at Mill's Creek. What say you to that, Cassie?”
I stared coldly into those self-pleased eyes. “Don’t you dare insinuate I had no cause for signaling you tonight. You have not wed Clare Brighton. I am simply rewarding you.”
“How do you know I didn't marry her?”
Ignoring his question, I went on.”You have proven your passion for me, so I decided to forgive your error.”
His sensual upper lip curled unpleasantly.”Ha! How kind, but if I had known you was calling me up here to scold me, I would not have bothered coming.”
“But I do forgive you, now you have come.”
“I insist on knowing who told you the wedding was called off.”
“Grandfather took a walk into the village today. Coming back home he came across a coal miner on the road who told him of a broken-off wedding in Corinthus.”
“Does anybody else know?”
“I suppose the whole town does by now. Surely you don't think I would signal you if I thought you were married!”
He looked confused, but my focus held him taut. “N-n-no,” he stammered.
“Admit it. You stopped the wedding because you could not bear to give me up!”
I was holding him fast with my eyes, willing him to confess the power I held over him. I wanted to hear him admit he loved me above all others, as I did him.
“You could not bear to give me up. Admit it.”
He turned away, breaking off the spell of our locked eyes.
He muttered, “Am I always the dupe of some woman? A young woman's complaint cost me my lawyer’s position. The Widow Brighton broadcast her low opinion of me to the whole town. And now, after mending fences and putting it right with my rich fiancée, you, the woman I love, give me no respite! What future inferno lies in store for me, I do shudder to think. Perhaps you know, Cassie, as I suspect you come straight from hell.”
Curly's insolent speech deserved punishment. I was standing before him tall and straight, and I silently willed him to worship me. He quickly obliged, kneeling before me.
“You are a goddess, my love. Your creamy skin, your voluptuous body, those long ribbons of flame-colored hair. Your mouth was formed to be kissed. Even your one flaw, a tooth that is a bit crooked, is adorable. When you smile, as you did just now, I am undone by its devilish gleam. How can I resist you? I am wax to your candle!”
I sighed. It was no good using tricks to make him adore me. I wanted him to love me as a human woman, not as a siren. However, for the sheer sake of amusement, I continued the act. I threw aside my purple headscarf and shook my waist-length hair so the red-gold curls streamed in the wind. I began to prance about and swirl my skirts, lifting them to reveal a bit of leg above the boots.
“Have you seen anyone you like better?”
“No one even close, by Mungo,” he said hoarsely.
“Not even Clare!”
“Leave her out of it!”
“Should I also omit the smear on my reputation, when you deserted me for Clare because of her money? Is dwelling in limbo what you require of someone you love?”
“I am sorry for your pain,” he said morosely.
“What was that? You are sorry for my pain? As if you could make me feel such an emotion! I felt only boredom, for having to live on among such small people.” He bridled at my new tack; a claim of boredom always served to make him livid.
“I despise them all the more, for what they have done to you.” He liked that better. However, he picked up my scarf, came close, and wound it about my neck. He said menacingly, “I should kill you right now. You will be the death of me one day.”
Exulting in the passion behind his words, I moved under his touch. He put his hands on my face and stroked my temples, then my hair. I submitted drowsily. As his hands thrust inside my bodice and pinched the engorged nipples, I shuddered with keener pleasure.
While he continued to fondle me, he resumed his moody thoughts aloud. “Do you know what this re-igniting of our lost love means, darling? I shall come to see you, as before. And yet, until this moment, I was resolved to do no such thing. After this one last goodbye kiss, I was determined never to see you again, to do the right thing by Clare.”
No sooner had Curly said her name than he began to devour me with his hungry, wide-open lips. I wanted him to continue, but my pride was stung, so I pushed him away. “I do not care to see any more of you. I won’t give myself to you, not ever again. I swear by all that is holy.”
“Holy? Ha! Since when did you value holiness?”
I turned aside, planning to march off, but he grabbed me and spoke fiercely. “Cassie, natures such as yours do not adhere to hypocritical rules. Neither do natures such as mine. You're Eve and I'm Adam, at your eternal service.”
He let me go, then bowed in an exaggerated fashion, grinning.
“So, ape, you think my situation is funny? Disrespect is what I get in return for all I've given?” I was so angry that I stomped my foot. ““I have done without you before, Mr. Drake. I can very well do without you in the future.”
“Yes, my dear, but the point is that you will not want to.” He laughed and gave my inflamed cheeks a hard pinch. “And what Cassandra wants, Cassandra gets.”
“Leave me at once!” I commanded. My lips and limbs were quivering with a mixture of heady, treacherous human emotions. Curly stood for a while and absorbed the dangerous current between us. For his own protection, I willed him to go.
“Yes, I’ll go,” he said. “But I’ll be seeing you again, very soon.”
“Only,” I said, “if you admit the wedding was broken off because you love me best.”
“I don’t think that would be a good policy,” he said. “The lawyer in me advises me not to give you so much power.”
He wisely kept his eyes away from the current flowing from mine, as he might have been burned to a crisp by
looking directly at me when I was filled with outrage.
“Admit it!” I cried.
He turned his back to avoid my glare. Suddenly, my anger cooled; I shrugged and dropped my eyes. He turned back to me and preened his moustache, as if gloating over a victory. But I was not done with him, not yet.
“Where is she now, your bride?”I asked in a casual tone.
“I won't speak of her any more with you,” he said pettishly. “I came in obedience to your call. That will have to do as a sacrifice for the goddess tonight.”
“As you wish,” I said with a show of indifference. “I willed you to come, and you did. I am willing you to go from me now. The rest bores me.”
His eyes grew dark.
“You are too hot-blooded to play at any cold tricks. I knew before the night was out I would be back in your web. I drew you out before you drew me.”
“If that is so, then we are bound together by destiny as well as desire. Either way, I freely give you up. I leave you to your sordid fate.”
I spoke calmly, but my self-control was fraying. What he had said about my hot-bloodedness was true. This human male knew me all too well. Inside, I was struggling with myself, my siren brain sending me in one direction and my human instincts in another. I wanted my lover to want me and me alone. My siren's power was enough to pull him in, but it was more than a trick I yearned to accomplish. I wanted him to carry me away from this awful place, proving that he loved me only.
The embers of the fire between us flared up once more. Curly lunged toward me and kissed me roughly. I resisted at first, then bit his lip passionately.
In a moment we were unbuttoning each other's clothes, tearing and ripping at them, regardless of the cold wind whipping around us. In the rising pitch of our mutual frenzy, the heaving and the sighing and the cries of sexual ecstasy mingled with the sounds of the prairie at night. The brambles scratched my bare flesh, but I didn't care, even if I bled; I knew he too would bleed.
However, in the midst of our frantic lovemaking, as his cock thrust into me, I had a sudden vision. I saw myself standing over a dead man. As soon as I saw the image, I pushed Curly off me. The moment was spoiled and my passion had faded.
“What is the matter, lass?”
I detached myself and stood up.
Here human emotions and paranormal life parted company. I could not tell my lover my passion had suddenly cooled because I had seen a vision of death. My breastbone was cold to the touch, a signal our delightful friction was at an end for tonight. On the spot, I made up an ultimatum. It was one I did not expect him to honor, but I knew it would cool his ardor.
I said flatly, “You may not make love to me again until you have given up Clare forever.”
“By Mungo, you could not be so cold as to deny me, now that you've got me into this state!”
Curly gestured piteously toward his red, swollen cock, which waved in the air as if to rebuke me.
“I do deny you, until you have given Clare up.” My cold speech was underlined with a strong intuition that my lover's welfare demanded the ultimate sacrifice, that I must separate myself from him beyond tonight.
“To hell with you, vixen! I wish you good-night.”
He stood and pulled up his breeches from around his ankles. I could not help but giggle, but I was also flushed with renewed desire at the manly spectacle he made in the moonlight, with his broad, bare shoulders rippling and the fall leaves in his curly hair.
With a surly bow, my lover was gone, leaving me to scatter the ashes of my signal bonfire in a pensive mood. Much later, lying in my bed as the cocks began to crow, I thrashed restlessly under the cold sheets. I felt a shiver come over me.
I had another premonition—what for a human would be a flash of reason and a moment of clarity—warning me that this love affair was destined to end not in an eternal bonfire of bonded flesh, but rather a gravestone, cold and bleak as Hatter's Field.
The premonition passed, and I recklessly loved on.
Chapter Eight
An Illuminating Interlude
December 21, 1977
Alta, Wyoming
“Oooo, cookies.”
Chloe picks up a gooey macadamia nut confection baked in Annie Witherspoon's kiva oven. Earlier, her Native American housekeeper had silently entered the room, laid down a silver tray of baked goods, and quietly padded off in her beaded moccasins.
Munching on the cookie, Chloe sneaks a peek at her cousin's face. Since the tale began, Marlena has turned several shades of red, green, and white, like revolving lights on a Christmas tree. Now Marlena's face is dead white and she appears so astonished as to be wordless.
The effect of the storytelling on Marlena is mind-blowing, beginning with the mystifying but acute awareness of two distinct voices, speaking in alternating narratives. One voice is Chloe's and the other is the alien voice that spoke to her Sunday night.
“Any questions?” Chloe asks demurely.
Marlena gapes vacantly. No, cousin, you have not gone mad. At last, Marlena manages to speak. “Er, does Harry know much about his grandfather?”
“Oh, I think he has a good idea of the stock he comes from. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I get the point that being a siren is hereditary. I am wondering if being a dick is hereditary as well.”
“Actually, yes. But the grain runs deeper than family history. Of course, I'm speaking now as an evolutionary scientist, not as a feminist.”
“I'm all ears.”
“Putting aside what humans call 'morality,' recurring patterns in sexual behavior differ between the sexes. The difference can be explained by evolutionary design. Both sexes are adapted to maximize reproduction. A man can reproduce himself thousands of times in a year, a woman only once. He is wired to spread his seed far and wide.”
That does not mean it is okay for him to do it.
“Certainly not. On the other side of the coin, because childbearing is so much more trouble for the woman, her selectivity is dictated by the evolutionary scheme of things as well as honored by the culture. Women are drawn to maximize the chances their line will survive. It is no accident when they select a man who is the leader of the pack.”
Choosy mothers choose Jif.
“Exactly. That ad relies on a gender-specific, behavioral archetype. No matter what Cosmo tells a young woman, unconsciously she buys into the idea of saving her egg for the most vital sperm.”
“What about ancestral lineage? Can previous family behavior get passed along?”
You bet it does.
“While my belief is controversial, I would argue it does. Carl Jung spoke of the collective unconscious. Some believe that tribal dreams, desires, and behaviors are carried forward on the DNA, just like physical characteristics.”
“Are there exceptions to normal evolutionary programming?”
Excellent question!
“Yes, there are. For instance, there are men who focus on one woman and demonstrate high MPI—that is, high male parental involvement. And, there are women who engage in sex for the sport of it, as sirens do. In general, these outliers are not highly regarded by the culture. The human archetypes lie in the other direction.”
“Speaking of archetypes, what is with the rightful bride in your frontier story? I find it difficult to get behind Clare Brighton. Her low self-esteem allows her to be passed back and forth from her fiancé to her aunt. She is a piece of wampum, not a woman.”
My thinking exactly.
“Well, Clare was traditionally raised to believe her worth came from her marriage prospects. Even now, women are encouraged to think of themselves as commodities.”
“What about these so-called sirens? Can a siren make that same mistake?”
Unfortunately, a siren is not exempt from human failings.
“Tell me, did you by chance experience your first orgasm when you and Harry began making love?”
“Why, yes.”
“Then, my dear, I have bad news for you. Origi
nal lust triggers love at first sight, which is the chink in our siren armor.”
“Our? So, you, too, believe you are a siren, that you have paranormal powers?”
“Yes, dear. I know for a fact that I am a siren. Though I don't choose to act on my powers, I do have them. You and I are sirens in human form. We find our joy in human interaction, but we take our guidance from a mythology of the stars which predates Christ.”
“May I have the Cliff Notes on the mythology?”
“Certainly. Some earth spirits are protective of the mountains and streams; others, of the sea, like the so-called mermaids. The 'seven sisters,' a constellation named the Pleiades, were set in the heavens by Zeus. On earth they were Grecian mountain nymphs, daughters of the Titan Atlas. Foremost was Maia (Maea in Latin), which means in translation 'Good Nursing Mother.' Your middle name derives from hers. Maea mated with Zeus and produced Hermes, the messenger of the gods. Five of the others were also loved by gods, becoming ancestresses of royal families, including those of Troy and Sparta. To protect the nymphs from the lustful giant Orion, so the mythology goes, Zeus placed them among the stars and named them from the Greek word pleiôn, meaning 'plenty.'
“Homer in the Iliad refers to a pair of sea nymphs as ‘sirens.’ By their exquisite singing and womanly wiles, the sirens lured the homeward-bound Greek sailors with Ulysses to their destruction on perilous rocks. Hence, one assumes, the modern connection between home-wreckers and the term “siren.” Part woman and part bird, the sirens of ancient Greece were also cousins of the seven nymphs whom Jove placed in the heavens and who are known as the Pleiades. From the beginning, one might speculate, sirens have had a natural tendency to look upward for their course.
“Mind you, this is only a mythological explanation of what is unknown. Our human siren line came later.”
Marlena is silent, mulling it all over.
She has begun to see her long affair with Harry in an unappealing new light. For five years she has viewed herself as having a singular, unconventional romance with a handsome, sexual man who is also rich and powerful. But, clearly, their interaction Sunday night was at times a carbon copy of Cassandra and Curly's conversations in the autumn of 1900. She is a dead ringer for Cassandra, and Harry is Curly's grandson.
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