Siren Song

by A

  everybody else on the road. But my gran wouldn‘t believe that and didn‘t need to hear it. She

  needed comfort. Unfortunately, I had very little to give.

  ―Does she have a public defender?‖

  Gran squirmed in her chair and wouldn‘t meet my eyes. I just knew what that meant. I

  sighed. ―You hired an attorney.‖

  ―I had to.‖ A little bit of her old ferocity returned. ―I‘ve heard terrible things about public

  defenders. They‘re in all the papers and you know it. It‘s my money. If I want to—‖

  Throw it away, I thought, but I bit my tongue. Instead, I said, ―It‘s your money and your

  choice, Gran.‖ I spoke softly. ―But I had an idea last night and I want to call her attorney and

  see what he thinks of it. How do I get hold of him?‖

  She blushed and wouldn‘t answer me. That was never a good sign. When she doesn‘t want

  to tell me something, the news is always bad. Seeing the flush of embarrassment, the stubborn

  set of her chin, gave me an idea, a really, hideously, awful idea.

  ―Gran, you didn‘t hire my attorney, did you?‖

  ―Why not? He got you off—do you think he‘s too good for your mother?‖ Her eyes flashed

  with renewed anger.

  ―Of course not,‖ I lied. My mom‘s case was open-and-shut, no, not shut— slam the jailhouse

  door. Hiring Roberto would cost everything Gran had and the case was unwinnable. She might

  as well just flush the money down the toilet. ―But Gran, you can‘t afford him. It took all of my

  savings for me to afford him. All of my savings.‖

  She turned to me then and looked me straight in the eyes, her expression determined. ―I told

  him I‘d sell the house.‖

  It took me more than a few seconds to process the words and even then I couldn‘t believe it.

  The meaning caught me in the chest like a baseball thrown by a star pitcher. I struggled not to

  gasp, but the great, heaving weight of it made my heart tight and painful. I know I clutched her

  shoulder tighter and she finally reacted . . . staring up at me with pain-filled eyes. ―Oh, Gran. ‖

  She could wind up homeless. Broke and homeless, with no place to call her own. It was the

  ultimate sacrifice for a woman of her generation. She had always told me how proud she was

  that she and Granddad had owned, even during the war. She wasn‘t like Dottie, who could

  work within the government system.

  Any more than Mom was.

  We spent the next few hours talking out the details. It became clear early on that I wasn‘t

  going to be able to talk her out of this last-ditch effort to save my mom. Gran knows my mom

  better than anyone alive. She knows what makes her tick, knows that jail would quite literally

  destroy her. I now learned that Gran had been working with Mom, trying to dry her out ever

  since the vampire had claimed her mind a few weeks ago. That had really scared Mom, to have

  no control over her actions. It had caused an epiphany that Gran had been trying to build on.

  Crap and double crap.

  I tried to salvage what I could of the situation by calling the attorney handling the probate of

  Vicki‘s will to see if I‘d missed anything after the reading was finished and what, if anything, I

  needed to do to work on getting hold of the money Vicki had left for me. Then I got transferred

  to Roberto‘s assistant to make my suggestion about using a psychological or an ADA defense

  for Mom because of her siren blood.

  Finally, I called my banker to see whether I might be able to get a mortgage to buy my

  grandmother‘s house. It‘s not easy for someone self-employed to qualify. Not every year‘s

  income resulted in profit. All a small-business owner can do is save when the money‘s good so

  you can spend when the money‘s bad. But banks want to be paid every month. Still, with the

  inheritance I had coming, I thought I might be able to swing it.

  She suggested I fill out the online application and they‘d let me know.

  At about that point I realized that I was enabling my grandmother to enable my mother. The

  circle of dysfunctional life. I could almost hear Elton John singing in the background.

  By the time I left, Gran had at least stopped crying and was looking a little more hopeful.

  She really hadn‘t wanted to give up the house. She‘d have done it. But she didn‘t want to.

  The sun was setting as I pulled out of the driveway. Almost immediately I picked up a fresh

  tail. A police cruiser that trailed two cars behind, all along the route from Gran‘s to my office.

  Not Clarke this time; not that it mattered. It pissed me off, but that didn‘t matter, either. They

  would do what they were going to do. I couldn‘t stop them. Reacting too strongly would imply

  guilt where there was none and give them an excuse to dig even deeper. So I counted to a

  hundred and tried to ignore the cop, with minimal success.

  I had about an hour before I was supposed to go to PharMart and meet Creede and the

  others. I wanted my weapons. Now. I know hand-to-hand. It works well on humans. But

  there‘s nothing like advanced weaponry when you go up against the monsters.

  And we were going up against someone willing to traffic with the demonic.

  The militant ministries have the best record fighting the demonic. True believers do well,

  too. I‘m not either. I‘d just have to make up for it with knowledge, planning, and excellent

  armament.

  I felt the surge of magic as the car crossed the magical perimeter that guards the office and

  parking lot. It wasn‘t as painful as it should have been, which meant the wards needed

  refreshing. I promised myself I‘d write Dottie a note to make the arrangements as soon as I got

  inside.

  I caught the cat before she could slip out the door and was rewarded with a deep scratch on

  the wrist. She hissed. I hissed right back. It startled her, but she didn‘t look particularly

  intimidated. With a flip of her tail, she pranced off in the general direction of Ron‘s office. I

  hoped she‘d leave him a particularly stinky present.

  There were messages in my slot and the UPS boxes were still stacked in the reception area.

  Grumbling, I took a look at the label on the top box. Yup, they were for me. The return address

  was for the ex-wife of Bob Johnson, a friend of mine who‘d gotten killed in the same ambush

  where I‘d been bitten. Vanessa was as nasty and bitter a piece of work as I‘ve ever run across,

  screaming at me and blaming me for his death when I‘d called to offer condolences. God alone

  knew what she‘d mailed to me. I decided I didn‘t want to know. At least not tonight. Time was

  a-wastin‘ and I had things to do.

  I grabbed the message slips and started pounding my way up the stairs. I hadn‘t gone far

  when Bubba‘s voice called down to me, shouting to be heard over the blaring volume of one of

  those reality singing competitions. It must have been one of the early rounds, because the

  singer was really, seriously bad. I could do better . . . and you do not want to hear me sing.

  ―Hey, Graves, that you?‖

  ―Yeah. It‘s me.‖

  ―Dr. Scott called after Dottie left for the day. Said you needed to get back to him right

  away.‖

  ―Thanks. I‘ll give him a buzz,‖ I called out, and kept climbing, going two stairs at a time

  without feeling breathless.

  Bubba‘s office is just down the hall from min
e on the third floor. As I walked past, the

  competition‘s judges were eviscerating the poor kid verbally. Why anyone considered that

  entertainment I‘d never know, but Bubba seemed to love it. I hurried to unlock my office door.

  If I was lucky the heavy wooden door would cut down on the sound. Situations like this made

  me truly hate having vampire-enhanced hearing.

  I stepped over the threshold, feeling the familiar buzz of the wards reacting to me. If I‘d

  looked, I might have caught a glimpse of the silver sigils Bruno had used to create the

  protections. Thinking about him, his smile, his voice, the touch of his lips . . . hurt enough to

  incapacitate me if I let it. But I wasn‘t going to let it. I‘d had my own epiphany in the

  restaurant.

  One of the things Gran told me was that part of what went wrong with my mother was that

  my father left her. That men simply aren‘t supposed to be able to leave sirens. His going broke

  something inside her. I hadn‘t really thought about things from a biological perspective before.

  Bruno shouldn‘t have been able to leave me. Maybe he could because I wasn‘t fully siren, or

  because we met before my powers were activated by the vampire bite, or because he‘s such a

  strong mage. Whatever the reason, he had left, and it was hitting me much harder than it

  should, given that we‘d only just gotten back together.

  I‘m not my mother. I was not going to crawl into a bottle. No matter how much it hurt right

  now, I would get past this. What had worked best for me last time was keeping busy, working

  hard. Fate was certainly giving me the opportunity to do just that. Life was apparently going to

  be interesting, in that ancient curse sort of way.

  Which brought me back to curses. Setting my purse on the desk, I dropped into my office

  chair. Dialing the phone with one hand, I stared at the mark on my palm. It was faint but still

  clear. I didn‘t know a lot about palmistry, but now that I knew what to look for I could see that

  it did, indeed, mingle with both my life and career lines. Crap.

  Apparently Dr. Scott had given me his direct number, because he answered on the first ring.

  ―Hello, Celia.‖ His voice was flat, without inflection, and it unnerved me.

  ―Hey, Jeff, what‘s up?‖ I made my voice as cheerful as possible. I intended to say I‘d been

  going to call him anyway, but he spoke before I had the chance.

  ―Your aunt‘s personal assistant was here.‖

  ―My aunt? I don‘t have any aunts.‖

  ―A very regal woman. She bedazzled the guards without any effort at all and just walked

  right through all of our security.‖

  Oh, crap. A siren.

  Judging from Jeff‘s tone of voice, whoever the siren was, she‘d gotten to him I heard his

  anger, but underneath it there was a hint of hysteria.

  ―Look—‖ I started to speak, but he kept talking. With every word he seemed to grow more

  confident and more pissed. Which was probably good for him. Not so much for me.

  ―She was quite upset to find you gone. Apparently, your aunt, the sovereign of the sirens,

  Queen Lopaka, has been trying to reach you. She‘s quite insulted and offended that you

  haven‘t returned her messages.‖

  ―I can imagine she was upset.‖ Because queens don‘t like to be insulted. Except that nobody

  had tried to contact me that I know of, other than Ren‘s visit. ―But since I had no idea she‘s

  been trying to reach me, I‘m not sure what to do about it. Has she been trying to reach me,

  Jeff? Has your staff withheld messages from me?‖

  ―Nobody has contacted our facility until today, I promise you. It‘s not the sort of thing we‘d

  keep from you. We would discuss it in therapy at the very least. I‘ve sent you an e-mail with

  the details of her visit, along with the results of your most recent blood work and . . .‖ He

  paused for a long moment and I could hear him breathing as though summoning his courage.

  ―I‘ve also sent you an agreement to sign, terminating your stay here and releasing us of all

  responsibility. Once you fax it back to us, we‘ll refund all your money.‖

  ―B-but—,‖ I stammered, trying to wrap my head around what he was saying. He was

  kicking me out? Could he do that?

  ―I‘m sorry, Celia, but the fact is that you‘re simply too much of a security risk. I can‘t have

  people wandering in and out of our facility at will, manipulating the patients and staff. It‘s

  dangerous. I know you‘re not responsible for it, but the fact of the matter is that they are

  coming here because of you.‖

  I wanted to argue, but I couldn‘t. He was right. I might not want to be a patient at

  Birchwoods and might not think I deserved to be there, but I sure as hell didn‘t want it to get

  out that I‘d been evicted. If word got out, I‘d never get another facility to take me if things

  went south. Of course, the state would still be more than happy to let me in and then throw

  away the key. I wasn‘t going there. I‘d rather die.

  ―Tomorrow, movers will pack your possessions and deliver them to your office. We‘ll cover

  the cost.‖ His voice was still cold, flat. He was doing his very best to be businesslike and make

  it absolutely clear that this was non-negotiable. Damn it! Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  ―Is there anything else?‖ I sounded a lot calmer than I felt. Shock maybe. Possibly fatalism.

  There‘s only so much the mind can take in a short period of time. At some point, if you have

  enough disasters hit close enough together, you just get shell-shocked. I had not only reached

  that point, I‘d also sailed right past it. All I could do now was just keep putting one foot in

  front of the other.

  He kept talking, a little too clipped and high-pitched to sound normal. ―Your therapist has

  indicated she is willing to continue seeing you privately, off-site. Dr. Talbert has also indicated

  her desire to work with you in the future. I took the liberty of giving them both your e-mail so

  that you can work that out between you.‖

  Did I want more therapy? I wasn‘t really sure. While a part of me was thrilled that I could

  go home and didn‘t have to be locked behind gates and wards anymore, I also felt . . . sort of

  weird. Now I understood what Vicki had meant when she said that the outside seemed too

  open. But there was nothing more to be said, at least not to Dr. Scott. ―Wow. Well, I guess

  that‘s it, then.‖

  ―Yes, it is.‖ Long seconds of silence ticked by. Finally, I couldn‘t stand it anymore.

  ―Good-bye, Jeff.‖

  ―Good luck, Celia.‖

  He hung up. For a long moment I just sat there, holding the receiver. I was stunned. As of

  this moment I was probably the only homeless multimillionaire in the country. I had inherited

  the guest cottage and part of the beach from Vicki. But that was still in probate and I hadn‘t

  signed the lease papers before Creede spirited me out of there. No doubt Cassandra would even

  contest that. Everything was going to be tied up in legal limbo for God alone knew how long. I

  hadn‘t worried too much about it until now, because I‘d been scheduled to be at Birchwoods

  for weeks.

  Where the hell was I going to stay? Even if I bought Gran‘s house, it would still be her

  house. And if Mom didn‘t go to jail, she‘d probably live with Gran. I couldn‘t live there, too,

&n
bsp; and I couldn‘t afford to buy another place and pay two mortgages if I bought another place. I

  make a good living but not that good.

  I set the phone back in its cradle and put my head in my hands. Dammit, I didn‘t need this

  shit. I‘d had enough. More than enough.

  There was a tap on the door. ―You okay? You don‘t look so good.‖

  I looked up to see Bubba leaning against the door frame. He was holding a pair of beers

  from the mini-fridge in his office. I appreciated the gesture, but no alcohol. Not right now.

  Every day, every negative event was becoming a new temptation to drink. I didn‘t need

  crutches, I needed solutions. The hard part was, there weren‘t any to be found.

  ―You ever just want to say ‗screw it all‘ and walk away?‖

  He grinned, giving me a glimpse of a chipped tooth that hadn‘t been there the last time I‘d

  seen him. Ah, the joys of being a bail bondsman. ―All the time, babe, all the time.‖ He twisted

  the cap off one of the bottles and tossed it into the trash with a deft flick of his wrist. He

  offered the second bottle to me, but I shook my head no. ―But what else am I gonna do? And

  you know it wouldn‘t be any better anyplace else.‖

  I gave a gusty sigh. ―You‘re probably right.‖

  ―You know it.‖ He set the unopened bottle on my desk in case I changed my mind, and

  sprawled into one of the guest chairs. Raising the bottle in salute, he said, ―Screw the

  bastards,‖ before taking a long pull of beer.

  ―Screw the bastards,‖ I agreed.

  ―So, what can I be doing to help you?‖ Bubba asked. ― ‘Cause I know you‘re needing help.‖

  He looked me up and down and my eyes followed his gaze, trying to see if I had shit on my

  clothes.

  ―I don‘t look that bad.‖

  ―Nope. Worse.‖ He smiled to soften the words.

  Ouch. Well, that was not particularly flattering but probably honest. We sat in silence for a

  moment, and in that moment of peace and quiet something occurred to me for the first time.

  One of the biggest problems I‘d been having was that too many things were happening to me,

  so many that I didn‘t have time to do more than react to them. I got bit, I reacted. I got

  charged, I reacted. I was put in Birchwoods, I reacted. We were kidnapped, I reacted. Over and