Siren's Call (Dark Seas)

by Debbie Herbert

  Ice spurted through Lily’s veins. The happy, nonsensical ditty had morphed to a low, funereal dirge like a devil’s hymn, sinister as a baroque fugue.

  “Ring around the rosie

  Darkness befalls thee

  Ashes, ashes

  They all must drown.”

  Annie’s mouth clamped shut and in the abrupt silence, the candle flames sizzled, their thin columns of fire doubling in height liked an amped-up Bunsen burner. Tia snuffed them with a brass candle snifter and they hissed like an angry cat. Sickly gray smoke perfumed the air with an acrid stench.

  “Got to give this place a good sage smudgin’ when you leave,” Tia mumbled.

  Lily coughed and waved the smoke from her face. “What’s the significance of that song?”

  “I d-don’t know,” Annie said in a thin voice. “It came to me.” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirtsleeve. “Maybe it’s somehow connected with the killer.”

  “Impressive. But I don’t see how it can help me nail the woman unless I take you everywhere I go.”

  Tia gave a reassuring squeeze to Annie’s shoulder before gathering up the tarot deck. “Oh, she’s much too valuable for me to let her go traipsin’ off with folks. Besides, the spirits have revealed all they want on the matter.”

  Lily couldn’t complain, had found out more than she’d expected from the visit. She’d learned that Nash definitely had an enemy, one that had killed before and now sought her out. And that the killer was a female who enjoyed distorting children’s songs into creepy messages of doom and death. Lily dug into her purse for the love offering.

  A soft knock sounded at the door—so soft they each paused and eyed the door, as if unsure someone was on the other side. Another rap sounded, a bit firmer.

  ‘Wasn’t expectin’ nobody but you,” Tia said.

  Lily arched a brow. “Your psychic powers slipping?”

  Tia ignored the barb. “Get that for me, Annie.”

  But her granddaughter was already at the door, eager to slip away.

  “I’d like to see Miss Tia, please.”

  Lily tensed at the familiar drawl, a habitual response to Twyla Fae’s voice. She slapped a couple of twenties on the table for Tia and scrambled for the entrance.

  Annie silently opened the door and Twyla and her son crossed the threshold, pausing when she saw Lily. Her child’s eyes were a dull blue and he hiccupped, the kind you got from crying hard and long. His thin arms and legs dangled listlessly.

  Twyla looked like she’d been sucked dry by a pack of rabid vampires. What should have been the whites of her eyes was so threaded with broken capillaries they appeared pink. Her arms were pasty and limp, as if she’d undergone rapid weight loss and lost muscle tone.

  “Oh, hello again, Lily.” She jostled the child on her hips and shifted her feet.

  Tia stood slowly, knees creaking. “What’s wrong with that poor young’un?”

  “I don’t know.” Twyla slid a glance at Lily, clearly not wanting to speak her business in front of her.

  Lily perversely crossed her arms and planted her feet. The ceasefire of hostility from Twyla was still too new, too fragile for her to feel comfortable in her presence. But a reluctant sympathy cut through her unease. She nodded at the boy. “You feeding this child enough? He’s too skinny.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Twyla looked hopefully, desperately at Tia Henrietta. “Please, is there anything you can do?”

  “May I hold him?” Annie held out her arms.

  So she wasn’t shy when it came to children, Lily noted.

  Twyla handed him over with pitiful haste and sank onto the sofa, deflating as quickly as a punctured balloon. Annie went to the rocker in the far corner of the room, humming softly and running fingers lightly against the boy’s face. He stopped crying, fascinated by the stranger cradling his body.

  “That boy need a doctor,” Tia pronounced. “Can’t be using no herbs on a child. Too risky.”

  “Can’t you say a prayer or do a chant or something?” Twyla asked in a whoosh of breath. “Please?” Teardrops spangled her pale eyelashes.

  “If you can’t afford a doctor, I’ll pay for one,” Lily offered. She pulled two one-hundred-dollar bills from her wallet and regarded them thoughtfully. “Is this enough for a doctor’s visit and some medicine?” she asked doubtfully. She’d never set foot in a doctor’s office.

  Twyla stiffened. “I have taken him to the doctor in town. He don’t know what’s wrong. Said he had some sorta failure to thrive. He made an appointment for us at the Children’s Hospital in Birmingham next month for more testing and evaluation.”

  Tia handed Twyla a tissue and patted her back. “I’ll light a candle and say a prayer for him every night. What’s his name?”

  “Kevin. Kevin Leroy.”

  “That’s it?” Lily asked Tia. “There must be something else you can do.”

  Tia’s chin rose an inch. “Prayer can be powerful.”

  There had to be a way to help. Lily tapped her foot, thinking. “I’ve got an idea,” she said suddenly.

  Everyone in the room regarded her expectantly, making her instantly sorry she’d thought aloud. “I’ll have to check with someone first,” she said hastily. “It’s kind of a long shot.” Twyla might even laugh at the idea.

  “I’d do anything,” Twyla said. “As long as it doesn’t hurt Kevin, of course.”

  Lily nodded. “All right, then. I’ll check on it and let you know.”

  Twyla scribbled on a piece of torn paper and handed it over. “Call me anytime. And...thank you, Lily. I know I’ve been mean and petty in the past and I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing like a sick child to change a hard heart,” Tia said with a cluck.

  Lily accepted the apology silently. Twyla needed her help, that was all. Once the crisis with the child was over, she’d probably revert back to her mean old self. “I’ll be in touch,” she said, heading out. She had her own problems to take care of.

  “Hurry!” Twyla called to her back.

  Lily strode through a thick wall of humidity and eased into the Audi, blasting on the AC, mentally mapping out her errands and priorities. Concern for Twyla and Kevin added an unexpected mix to the day’s errands. Her visit to Tia’s hadn’t yielded a name, but the clues all pointed to a spurned lover. Given Nash’s past, that didn’t exactly limit the suspects to one or two women. Lily considered questioning Opal about his past lovers, but decided it would put Opal in the unfair position of tattling on her boss.

  She eased onto the sandy lane, making her way toward town. There was no hope for it. She had to talk to Tillman and Landry. With their training and contacts, they could help solve the mystery. And then Nash would be free from the guilt and burden of his past, clearing a path for their own relationship to progress. Right now, she sensed he held back, unwilling to draw her into his mess.

  And they didn’t have all the time in the world. When Nash finished this current assignment, he’d set off again, working a job that would keep him from the bayou. And her mother couldn’t be put off forever. She knew her duty. It was time to stop fooling herself. If she couldn’t find true love with a human male, she might as well return to sea and be with her own kind.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, ‘keep this under our hats’?” Landry bellowed from behind the desk. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that this Nash Bowman might be responsible for the deaths of his former lovers?”

  “No freaking way,” Lily said stiffly. “Tia Henrietta said the killer was female and motivated—”

  Landry snorted. “You can’t expect us to take the word of a psychic.”

  Tillman slashed his hand at Landry, indicating silence. “Lily,” he began reasonably. “Of course we’re going to look into this right away, but we can’t prom
ise not to contact Nash if we need more information. Your safety is our main concern.”

  Lily did battle with her pride. “Please,” she said, hating to beg. “It will ruin everything if you tell him.”

  “Why don’t you want him to know about the latest call? If he cares about you, he’ll want to protect you,” Tillman said.

  “Unless he’s the one behind these deaths,” Landry added quickly.

  “He’s not behind them. I’ve known him for years.”

  Landry glowered. “Jet told me about him. You used to see him summers when you were kids. But people change.”

  “He’s not a killer,” she said, hot anger burning her cheeks. Tillman and Landry were each cut of the same cloth—typical law enforcement types, suspicious of everyone. She regarded their tense expressions and crisp brown uniforms with the polished silver sheriff’s badges over their left front pockets. Landry was a bit more hard-edged, probably because of the violence in his family’s past.

  At least they’d never hit on her like most every other man in Bayou La Siryna. Lily stood and grabbed her purse. “I know neither of you has ever cared for me. You tolerate me because of Shelly and Jet. But I’m begging you for this one favor. Say nothing to Nash.”

  They exchanged glances and shuffled to their feet.

  “I can’t promise, Lily,” Tillman said. “If I see something suspicious about Bowman, all bets are off.”

  She considered turning up the volume on her siren charm, but the thought of it made her squirm. These men were off-limits. She might be a lot of things, but she’d never betray her own sister and cousin that way. And these two were strong and decent enough men that they wouldn’t let the sexual pull deter them from doing their jobs.

  Landry extended a hand. “Be careful,” he warned. “Let us know if anything else happens.”

  She shook his hand and turned away until she remembered there were two people that were dangerous. Lily whirled around. “I almost forgot. Tia mentioned to be on the lookout for Carl Dismukes. Y’all ever hear from your old deputy sheriff?”

  Landry shrugged. “I’ve never met the man.”

  “Yeah, every now and then I run into him.” Tillman ran a hand through his short brown hair. “He hasn’t come right out and threatened me, but he insinuates that he’ll bring up my father’s crooked dealings when he was sheriff. Guess he’s saving that news-media bombshell for the upcoming sheriff’s election.”

  “This fall?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  He raised both hands palms-up. “Nothing I can do. He knows he can’t blackmail me like he did your sister. I’ll have to ride out the storm if it comes.”

  It was no less than what she expected of Tillman. He was as honest as his dad had been corrupt. No wonder Shelly had fallen for the guy.

  “What specifically did Tia Henrietta say about Dismukes?” Landry asked, voice roughened around the edges and arctic-blue eyes narrowed. He wasn’t as fatalistic as Tillman, and Lily bet he wanted to confront Dismukes head-on. Somebody had to. If not, that was another item to put on her to-do list.

  “Oh, so now you’re interested in what Tia had to say?”

  The jibe hit home and Landry’s lips tightened.

  “Typical psychic revelations,” Lily mocked. “Nothing specific, other than he was a danger to all of us.”

  “Forget Dismukes,” Tillman cut in. “We’re going to check out this Nashoba Bowman. In the meantime, why don’t you stay with me and Shelly until we know you’re safe?”

  “You have enough to worry about with Eddie,” she cut in quickly. Even though Tillman’s mother was several months sober, he still spent lots of time with his autistic younger brother. “And Shelly’s busy with her job. It’s not like either of you would be around for protection.”

  “You could stay with us.”

  Lily stared at Landry in surprise. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Your mother’s already staying with us. You might as well, too.”

  She laughed, guessing at the effort it took for him to extend the invitation. “No, thanks.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone,” Tillman insisted.

  “I only want you to look into the records of Rebecca and Connie’s deaths. I’ll get their last names from Nash’s assistant.” Lily opened the door and the noisy hubbub of the sheriff’s office filtered in—ringing phones, citizens shuffling about in the waiting room, a line of people at a desk paying tickets.

  She stepped into the fray and heard Tillman call out a warning.

  “Be careful.”

  Chapter 9

  Nash threw another dried oak limb on the bonfire.

  “Thank you,” Lily whispered in his ear, shooting sparks of hot desire to his groin. She’d come to him yesterday, asking for his help in arranging a healing. She was acting as if his rejection on the hike hadn’t happened, as if they were only two old friends.

  Nash didn’t know what to make of that. He should be pleased she accepted they weren’t going to become lovers, but his body and heart weren’t happy. Not in the least.

  He forced his attention on the fire. First things first. It had been years since he’d attended one of his grandfather’s healings, and Nash was curious to see if it affected him as deeply now that he was a grown man and long removed from his tribe’s customs.

  His grandfather had agreed to perform the healing ritual today despite the toll it would take. Physically, it exhausted Sam to do the twenty-four-hour fasting necessary to prepare. And then, once begun, the ceremony itself drained his energy. Also, he didn’t like exposing his practice to those outside his tribe. Even within the tribe, a few grumbled that his work wasn’t strictly according to Choctaw customs, which really ticked Nash off. Their particular band of Choctaws was a blending of many tribes anyway—Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek, Apache, Cherokee—and Sam Bowman combined techniques from various tribes within and outside of their mixed band.

  It usually worked.

  “I can only honor what my spirit guides have taught me,” his grandfather always said. “If someone doesn’t like that, they shouldn’t join the healing circle.”

  Sam emerged from the back door of the cabin and nodded briefly at the small group standing outside the medicine-wheel circle. The outer edge was lined with conch shells and gay granite rocks. In its center, the small fire lit the late afternoon shadows and contributed to the humid, muggy air. Nash had everything prepared according to his grandfather’s instructions. By a large chair, he’d placed a mortar and pestle, several glass vials and a small empty mason jar.

  Sweat and smoke stung his eyes, but Nash knew better than to complain. The sweat provided purification for the ceremony. Through the heat glaze, Lily, Twyla, J.P. and Kevin appeared distorted and fuzzy. His gaze lingered on the husband, surprised the guy had shown up given his history with Lily. Hell, it had shocked him when Lily had told him the healing was for Twyla’s son. But J.P. had acted civil, although he was clearly on the skeptical side and careful to avoid giving Lily much attention.

  Smart husband.

  Sam entered through a small gap in the circle border on the south side. He cupped a golden bowl half-filled with dried ground corn. Close to the fire, he raised it above his head. “Great Spirit, hear the prayers of your children. We stand before you humble and grateful for your many blessings. We ask a healing for Kevin.” He walked a few steps to the north and lifted a handful of the dried grain, letting it slip through his fingers. His head tilted back and he closed his eyes, gathering the wisdom offered from the north. Satisfied, he repeated the same process three more times—east for gathering birth, south for growth and west for healing.

  Nash fought the impulse to stand at his grandfather’s side and hold his arm. Sam’s face was haggard, his movements slow and slightly unsteady. He was
too old and sick to fast and then endure the outside heat coupled with the mental intensity of the ceremony. He shouldn’t have asked his grandfather to do this, but Lily’s plea had overcome his misgivings.

  At least Sam had agreed to the chair inside the sacred circle. With the supplication finished, he sank into it. His gnarled, wrinkled hands gripped the wicker arms so tightly that Nash knew its pattern would be imbedded in his palms. His back was straight as an arrow, tensed and poised for action, and his eyes were closed.

  No one dared speak. Nash imagined his own face was as still and intense as the rest of the party. Even Kevin was silent. The wind carried off his feeble whimpers as if to clear the circle for the needed silence. Nash closed his eyes, too, in a long-shot attempt to help his grandfather in the shadowy spirit realm. If such a thing existed. And if he had any power to lend.

  The fire popped and crackled, the sound unnaturally loud above the faint ocean waves and the more immediate rustle of birds finding their roosting spot before night settled in. The sweet smell of maize mixed with the scent of the burning sage his grandfather had asked him to place on the fire, a protection from any evil seeking mischief.

  Nash’s body felt light and barely rooted to the ground. The sky darkened and a hot breeze lifted hair at his nape. Muffled voices carried in the wind.

  Had the heat caused his mind to play tricks? Nash opened his eyes and caught his grandfather’s eyes fixed on him. Sam nodded, the movement barely perceptible. His grandfather cocked his head to the side, as if listening to the voices. Nash couldn’t make out what they were saying; it was as if they were speaking some ancient language.

  A piece of burning oak fell off the woodpile, sending embers spiraling upward. The sparks coalesced for a moment in the form of a starfish before melding into the shadows and losing their glow.

  This was no trick, no mind game, no simple prayer request, no empty symbolic gathering. The starfish represented rejuvenation ability and lent its essence for healing the child. Nash couldn’t explain how he knew this. He just did. His grandfather truly connected to actual spirits. Nash let that truth seep into his soul, obliterating his skepticism. He believed in it again as purely as he’d done in his youth.