Siren Song

by A

  sweet.

  ―Well, no. But unlettered heathen?‖ I repeated the words with some heat. ―That has got to

  be an insult.‖

  Her cheeks went a teeny bit pink. ―I‘m sorry. I‘m just quoting some of the more vocal

  members of the family. Atrocious snobs for the most part.‖ She paused. ―Just so you know.‖

  ―I take it you‘re not from the Pacific line.‖

  She blinked and blushed more furiously. ―Oh dear. I really am handling this badly. How

  rude of me. I haven‘t introduced myself, have I?‖

  ―Nope.‖

  She curtsied. Actually pulled out her skirt and dipped a leg back before bowing her head for

  a split second. Then she stood. ―I am Princess Eirene Medusi of the Aegean royal line, but you

  may call me Ren. I do beg your pardon. It was unbelievably gauche of me not to introduce

  myself the moment I walked in.‖

  ―It‘s no big deal.‖ Right now, the lack of a proper introduction seemed like the least of my

  worries.

  She gave me a long, measuring stare. ―You actually mean that. You‘re not going to throw a

  fit or challenge me for the insult?‖

  I smiled. ―Nope.‖

  She grinned back at me, showing a set of fetching dimples. ―How very refreshing. If we‘re

  not careful, I may actually come to like you.‖ Her voice bubbled with amusement.

  ―Don‘t sound so shocked.‖

  ―Oh, but it is surprising. Your branch of the family and mine very politely loathe each other.

  Your side considers us upstarts because my mother broke off from the clan and formed her

  own hierarchy. We think they‘re a bunch of pompous . . . well, never mind. Let‘s just say that

  my motive here was to see if I could catch Adriana having done something embarrassing. And

  I have. ‖ Her delight was obvious. She gave me a conspiratorial wink. ―Of course, the excuse

  we gave was something else entirely.‖

  ―Which was?‖

  ―We‘re giving you a gift to welcome you to the family.‖

  A gift? I tried to think positive and not conjure up mental images of big wooden horses.

  After all, my visitor could apparently get inside my skull.

  ―Adriana is going to hate having you actually show up for the hearing before the queens.‖

  Ren sounded positively gleeful. ―You‘ll appear before the queens, not the lords. Entirely

  different areas of authority. The lords tribunal handles the laws of the sea. The queens deal

  with family matters. Oh, this is delicious! She would have had you at the wrong time and in the

  wrong place on the island. Queen Lopaka will be beside herself at the insult to her brother‘s

  great-grandchild.‖

  ―It‘s the same queen as when my great-grandfather was alive? Yikes. She must be a sturdy

  old girl. Then you‘re going to tell me where, when, and how?‖

  ―Oh, better than that.‖ She waved a hand, making the bracelet of seashells and tourmaline

  wound with gold wire she wore glitter in the sunlight. ―If I can possibly manage it, I‘m going

  to take you there myself. I can‘t wait to see Adriana‘s expression when you appear.‖

  Ren‘s voice was delighted, but I could hear a deep bitterness in her words. She really did

  loathe the other princess. While I didn‘t have any reason to love Adriana, I‘m not a fool. I was

  staying out of the middle of that catfight. ―Um, I‘m under house arrest.‖

  She smiled. ―You won‘t be. The official hearing before the queens isn‘t for a couple of days.

  By then all sorts of things will have changed.‖

  ―And you know this how?‖ I was really hoping she hadn‘t ―arranged‖ it. Because as

  suspicious as the authorities were, they‘d never believe I hadn‘t. And that would be so bad.

  ―We have our ways.‖ Her eyes twinkled, then she started to pout at my lackluster reaction.

  ―Oh, will you please relax. I haven‘t done a thing, nor have any of the other sirens. But the

  king you helped has and your government is very interested in your talents and abilities.

  Between one thing and another, you‘d have to do something fairly heinous between now and

  then to be stuck here. And you don‘t strike me as the type for heinous. ‖

  She apparently didn‘t know me very well. Or she had a very different definition of

  ―heinous‖ than most. When I cause trouble it‘s seldom intentional, but I still wind up in hot

  water.

  ―Anyway.‖ Ren waved her hand in a theatrical gesture and I felt a surge of power. With a

  shimmer of light, a small, elaborately carved box appeared in her hand. It was quite beautiful,

  elegant and detailed with Egyptian-style carvings of a snake having swallowed the sun. It was

  inlaid with lapis and moonstone and smelled ever so faintly of cedar. I couldn‘t say why, but it

  felt old. Old and powerful, in the way my favorite knives were powerful. Those knives, locked

  away in my safe, had taken Bruno five years of daily bloodletting to make. Which made me

  wonder what in the hell was in that box.

  She reached out to give it to me and our hands brushed. The instant our skin touched I felt a

  jolt of power hard enough to rock me back a step. The box dropped onto the thick carpet,

  spilling out a small gold cup and a collection of brightly colored scarabs the size of my

  thumbnail. They scattered and I could see that symbols were carved into their flat bottoms.

  Ren didn‘t fare nearly as well. The bolt knocked her onto her butt in the middle of the floor.

  I heard the roar of the ocean and outside a group of gulls began dive-bombing the windows,

  knocking themselves senseless trying to get in.

  ―Ow.‖ I shook my hand, trying to make the odd pins-and-needles sensation that wasn‘t quite

  pain go away. There was a mark on my palm, about the size of an old-time silver dollar. Dark

  red, it was irregularly shaped, like a tentacled birthmark. It was seriously ugly and looked old,

  which made no sense at all, since it hadn‘t been there seconds before.

  Ren stared up at me, her face drained of all color, her expression one of abject horror. ―Let

  me see your palm.‖ Her voice was shaky, but there was grim determination in her eyes.

  ―Why?‖

  She gave a hiss of displeasure. ―Quickly, in case the mark fades! Let me see your palm!‖

  I held my hand, palm toward her, being very careful not to touch. After she had a good, long

  look she very carefully scooted backward and stood without my help. Using her hands to

  smooth her skirt, she bent carefully at the waist to study the spill of scarabs.

  ―I can see you‘ve been given a death curse but not who did it or how. Perhaps the Wadjeti

  can tell us.‖

  I watched as she very gingerly picked up the lid to the box, giving me my first glimpse of

  the exquisite scarab on the inside of the lid. One by one, she began gathering up the small bits

  of Egyptian pottery, looking carefully at the symbol on the bottom of each as she did.

  ―Cursed?‖ Crap. We studied curses back when I was in school. I even knew a guy who‘d

  been on the receiving end of one. And while he‘d been an absolute jerk who richly deserved

  it—still, ouch. I understand that surgery helped with part of the problem and he and his wife

  eventually were able to adopt. ―Is it fixable?‖

  She didn‘t answer. Not good. I‘d been hoping for a quick ―yes.‖

  She straightened up and I realized she had missed one. A single, red scarab had rolled />
  beneath the edge of one of the chairs. Without thinking, I reached down and picked it up. It

  was warm and I felt a slow pulse of power flow through me. It didn‘t hurt. In fact, it felt really,

  really good. I was almost sorry to give it up, but I extended it to her, flat on my palm, carving

  side up.

  I wouldn‘t have thought she could pale further, but she did. White showed around her entire

  iris as she took it from me. But she pulled herself together. With a shaking finger she pointed

  at the edge of one of the chairs. ―Is that another one over there?‖

  I dropped onto my knees. Nope. Nothing. I rose in a smooth movement and turned to her.

  ―I need to talk to my mother.‖ Almost slamming the lid shut, she shoved the box into my

  arms. ―I realize it‘s probably useless to say this, but try to stay out of trouble.‖

  And in less time than it took to blink, she was gone.

  5

  I sat in the visitor‘s chair in Dr. Scott‘s office. Not even 6:00 A.M., but I knew he was already on

  the grounds. I didn‘t technically have an appointment, but I‘d at least called ahead. The night

  receptionist, Autumn, had reluctantly agreed to let me into his office. Mostly because I told her

  there‘d been a major security breach and I needed to talk to him right away.

  Dr. Scott‘s office takes up probably a fourth of the first floor of the administration building.

  It‘s on the same side of the building as the group therapy room, with a similar wall of glass

  facing the ocean. The decorator had done a great job echoing the golden tans of the sand and

  the blues and greens of sea and sky. Everything was beautiful, tasteful, expensive, and

  soothing.

  I wasn‘t feeling particularly soothed. I‘d found the visit from my ―cousin‖ more than a touch

  disturbing on several levels. The curse mark remained fairly prominent. I kept glancing at it.

  Curses, in general, are pretty variable. Say your coworker, sibling, mother-in-law, or

  whatever pisses you off. If you have any magical talent at all you can put a curse on them.

  How effective the curse is will depend on how much talent you‘ve got. Someone like me, with

  no magic, equals no curse. Now someone like Bruno, who‘s got so much talent he practically

  glows in the freaking dark (now that I‘ve got vampire powers to see it), well, there‘s not much

  he couldn’t do, up to and including arranging for your enemy to die.

  I felt a shiver run down my spine from a combination of fear and rage. Sitting there, holding

  my little wooden box, I wanted answers, about the curse, about the gift Ren had brought me.

  I don‘t trust people. Never have. But I trust my instincts and my instincts were telling me

  that this ―gift‖ was the magical equivalent of dynamite.

  It wasn‘t exactly reassuring when Dr. Scott stormed into the room, his expression

  thunderous. He isn‘t that big a man, and normally he‘s reserved and elegant, someone you‘d

  expect to see on the cover of JET magazine or one of the major psychiatric journals. He was

  wearing khakis and a polo shirt, but his attitude was anything but casual. ―What the hell have

  you done now? Whatever you‘re holding was felt by most of the staff and woke half of the

  guests.‖

  ―What have I done? Oh no,‖ I snapped back. ―You need to have a chat with Security,

  because someone slipped through the cracks. I could have been killed. Like Vicki was killed,

  in case you‘ve forgotten. I thought you‘d tightened security around here.‖

  He stopped in mid-stride, halfway around the desk. Taking a deep breath, he steadied

  himself, and I watched him very deliberately pull calm around him the way I‘d seen a woman

  at my grandmother‘s church put on a familiar and comfortable shawl. He changed direction to

  sit in the guest chair next to mine. We were close enough that he could easily touch me if he

  wished, and it gave him an unobstructed view of what I was holding.

  ―I‘m sorry, Celia. You‘re right.‖ His voice was tightly controlled. I could tell he was still

  angry, but he wouldn‘t let the emotion control him. This was more like the Jeff Scott I knew.

  In fact, the fit of temper he‘d shown coming in was so unlike him that I wondered if Ren

  wasn‘t right and he needed therapy.

  ―This wasn‘t your fault. May I?‖ He nodded toward the box.

  ―Are you sure you want to? Last time someone else touched it, it shocked the hell out of

  her.‖

  A small frown crossed his face, but he was nothing if not determined. He set his jaw and

  reached out. ―I‘ll take my chances.‖

  I passed the box to him. He didn‘t flinch or hesitate and it moved into his grasp without

  event. I was glad. My hand was still tingling from earlier.

  ―What is it?‖ he asked, running his fingers carefully over the intricately carved wood.

  Lifting the lid, he set it on the desk beside him.

  ―It was a gift from my siren visitor. She called it a Wadjeti. It‘s used for some form of

  divination.‖

  ―Sirens.‖ His expression soured. ―I suppose that‘s how she affected me—made me do things

  without my remembering?‖ He shook his head and let out a low growl. ―I wouldn‘t have

  believed it if my conversation with her hadn‘t been on one of the security tapes.‖ His tone of

  voice made it clear how annoyed he was about this.

  ―Probably,‖ I admitted with a shrug, ―but don‘t ask me how it works. My gran said it‘s a

  form of psychic ‗call,‘ but she didn‘t have much more information to give me than that.‖

  Actually, she‘d told me quite a few things, but none of them applied here and I wasn‘t inclined

  to share them.

  ―The woman this morning manipulated me. She appeared in my home through a dozen

  magical barriers and I was compelled to bring her here and take her to your rooms. Then she

  sent me off, told me to get myself a cup of coffee. And I had to do it. Wanted to. Anything to

  please her.‖ He shivered. ―Birchwoods is supposedly secure against teleportation, but my

  home was not.‖ He scowled. ―I didn‘t think it was necessary. My home address is not common

  knowledge among the staff.‖ He paused, his expression souring. ―Of course, she could have

  persuaded someone to tell her.‖

  There was a tension to his body that wasn‘t normally there. His gestures were too sharp, his

  voice just a couple of notes higher than normal. I might not have noticed had Ren not

  mentioned it, but Jeff didn‘t seem quite right. He was trying too hard. It was almost as if he

  was doing a really good impression of himself.

  ―It‘s possible, I suppose.‖

  ―Did she give you a reason for the visit?‖

  ―She said she wanted to give me a gift.‖ I indicated the Wadjeti.

  ―You don‘t believe her?‖ His face said he agreed, but he couldn‘t help but slip into doctor-

  patient mode every time he saw me now.

  ―Mostly I got the feeling she was trying to stir up trouble. Ren doesn‘t get along with

  Adriana and wants to make her look bad.‖

  ―Adriana being the siren from the wake?‖

  ―Yes. The gift was just an excuse.‖

  ―Are you expecting any more visits?‖

  I shrugged. ―No. But I wasn‘t expecting this one, either. You have to remember, until very

  recently I didn‘t know much more about sirens than that they existed. I still don‘t—and I
need

  to. I‘m caught up in the middle of some sort of political mess and I don‘t know what the hell is

  going on. I don‘t like it. And I really don‘t like that they can just come and go as they please.‖

  He nodded. ―Nor do I. Is there anyone you can discuss this with? Find out more of what‘s

  going on?‖

  ―Not really. My grandfather might have known something. But he‘s been dead for years.

  Gran told me everything she knew. Maybe somebody at the university can help me. If nothing

  else, they probably have some information in the library. One way or another, I think I‘m

  going to need a day pass.‖

  He scowled. ―You aren‘t due for a day pass. You certainly haven‘t earned one. More to the

  point, I‘m not positive the courts would approve. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow when

  you have your hearing.‖

  ―Can it?‖ It was a pointed question. ―You‘re the one who was complaining about the magic

  that thing‘s giving off. I‘d like to get it into the safe at my office. The layers of wards should

  be heavy enough to block whatever the Wadjeti is giving off.‖

  If I did get a pass I was also going to find an expert to check out the death curse. But I didn‘t

  want to tell Jeff that unless I absolutely had to. It wasn‘t easy with him sitting so close to me,

  but I was doing my best to make sure that he didn‘t get a glimpse of that palm. Less easy but

  just as important, I was trying not to think about it so that he wouldn‘t ―overhear.‖

  Death curses are nasty, nasty business, dangerous to not only the victim but also those

  around them. My having one might get me kicked out of Birchwoods. I don‘t think Jeff wanted

  to see me in the state prison/asylum, but I absolutely believed he was anxious to get away from

  me. And if I got kicked out of here, there was a good chance no one else would take me—and

  that would mean the state facility, unless charges were dismissed at my hearing. I wouldn‘t

  need a death curse to get killed there.

  ―You‘re not telling me everything.‖ Dr. Scott leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers

  in front of his lips.

  ―Well . . . no,‖ I admitted, ―but I‘m not lying. And you really don‘t want to know

  everything, do you?‖ That was a guess but a good one. The longer we talked, the more obvious