by A
chance.
The grounds were amazing. The birds were spectacular, too. Some of them were as bright
and colorful as the flowers. I found my depression and frustration falling away as we drove.
We finally came to a stop in a little gravel parking area. Looking up, I could barely see the
outline of a small building up among the trees, on a rocky hill, almost completely hidden from
view. We had to walk the last hundred yards or so straight up stairs that climbed a hill steep
enough that my calves hated me for it. But there was a waterfall and the sunlight cast rainbows
through the mist thrown up by the water as it hit the pool. Gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking.
A woman was waiting for us at the top of the staircase. She was old and withered looking,
with skin tanned until it was the color and texture of an unshelled Brazil nut. Her gray hair was
coarse and curly, shorn close to her scalp. Her eyes, an odd, almost metallic gold with flecks of
copper. She was wearing a lavalava in the rich blue-green of Caribbean waters, with a white
tank top that bared the sagging flesh of her upper arms.
―Thank you, Helen. You can wait below.‖ It was a politely worded order. Baker might be a
bodyguard, but this was her mom. Still, she looked to me to confirm. At my nod, she started
back down the path.
―My name is Pili and you are Celia. Welcome to my home.‖ She extended her hand and I
shook it. She led me around the last bend in the path and onto a paved patio that provided a
glorious ocean view. The breeze that played with my hair smelled of salt water and flowers.
The roar of the waterfall was background noise, as were the calls of the many birds hidden in
the distant trees.
―It‘s beautiful.‖
―Thank you.‖ She let me stare for a minute or two before she said, ―We‘d best get inside
before you burn.‖
She was probably right. Damn it.
I walked through the door she held open, into the dim, artificial cool of an air-conditioned
living room. The living area held a bamboo-framed couch with worn floral cushions plus a pair
of comfortable-looking chairs, all arranged around a glass-topped bamboo coffee table. On top
of the table was a silver-rimmed crystal bowl half-full of water.
She lowered herself onto the couch, gesturing toward the chair across from her. ―We have
some time. Our queen and your king have made their agreement. The plan is in place, but we
must wait on the usurper.‖
My king. I didn‘t really think of Dahlmar that way, but technically he was. I was both an
American and Ruslandic citizen legally now. Did the whole princess thing make me
Serenitian? And was that even what the sirens called themselves?
―You want to know when the curse was placed on you and by whom. And since your
prophet is back on the mainland, I thought I might assist.‖
She leaned forward and I felt a pulse of power hit the water. There was a sound like the
ringing of a bell and images began to form.
I felt myself falling forward, the images passing me like mist. They rolled backward in time,
moving so fast that I could only catch faded glimpses: the fight on the boat; the fight in the
desert; the standoff with the demon in the parking lot at Anaheim Stadium. Each deadly event
was represented.
We’re looking at events the curse has created or influenced.
There were certainly a lot of them. I shuddered at the image of the vampire attack that
almost had killed me and had changed my life forever. But I almost threw up when we reached
the night of Ivy‘s death. I didn‘t want to see that. Wasn‘t sure I could bear reliving it.
Fortunately, it quickly rolled past.
I was twelve, nine, six. Close calls I didn‘t even remember—a car running a red light and
almost hitting me; being swept off my grandpa‘s boat in a sudden squall. The images were
more solid now, and in color. Finally they slowed to normal speed.
I was playing with a ballerina Barbie on the floor of our house on Parker Street. I recognized
the worn russet brown carpet and the plaid couch and matching chair made from fabric that
was well nigh indestructible. I could hear Mom giving Dad a friendly lecture on taking care of
my sister and me. There‘d been such love between them. I remember that time, if only barely.
―The baby‘s asleep. She shouldn’t need anything—‖
―Lana, will you relax? You‘re just going to the store for a few minutes. We‘ll be fine. ‖
Tears pricked my eyes as I looked into my past, at my parents. They looked so young, so
happy. You‘d never know, looking at this pleasant little domestic scene, that it would all go so
horribly wrong.
―I know. I know.‖ She went up on tiptoe to give him a kiss. ―It‘s silly, but I worry.‖
―We‘ll be fine. I‘m not a total incompetent.‖ He shook his head with amusement. ―Besides,
Celia‘s here. She‘ll help me. Won‘t you, baby?‖
I looked up from my play to nod yes.
―Well‖—my mom smiled—―I guess there‘s nothing to worry about, then.‖ She gathered up
her purse and her shopping list from the coffee table and hurried out the door.
She hadn‘t been gone more than five minutes when there was a light tap on the front door.
My father went to answer it. The door opened. The child me continued playing.
―You will take me to see your daughters.‖
It was a female voice and there was power in it. My father didn‘t answer, didn‘t hesitate. He
simply stepped aside and let her in.
I should have been able to see her face. In the vision I hovered above the scene, watching
everything. I should have seen. But I couldn‘t. I could see her perfect legs, the three-inch heels
in a shade of blue-green that perfectly matched the color of her raw-silk suit. I could see the
coil of shining dark hair in a French twist. But her face was a blur.
She knelt down beside me on the carpet, smoothing the line of her skirt with her hands.
―Hello, little one.‖ The voice was pleasant, musical, and there was a pull to it that was
almost irresistible. ―Give me your hand.‖ I looked up at my father for confirmation, but he was
just staring off into space. He‘d left the front door open, too, which was weird. He was always
scolding me, telling me not to ―let the air-conditioning out.‖
I set down my doll and put my hand in hers. She held it tight, too tight. She started saying
something that I could not understand. Heat surged through her hand and into mine and I
started to scream.
I fought. Not that it did me any good. I was a child. She was an adult, too big and too strong
for me to make any headway, and my dad was useless. He just stared. I squirmed, punched,
and kicked to no avail. I bit her hard enough to draw blood and she cursed. The flames of
magic that had been focused on my hand spread to hers and she was forced to fling me away
from her to break the spell.
I lay on the floor, curled in the fetal position, whimpering in agony. Cradling her hand, she
rose. Blood dripped onto her skirt and onto the carpet in a trail leading to the nursery. A
moment later, the baby began to shriek.
A dark mist began swirling into the vision, obscuring the images and making them blur. As
if from a distance, I heard Pili gasp, felt her gathering her power. She was trying to break loose
but to no avail. I pulled back, trying to close my eyes and break the connection. It was hard. I
felt overmatched, much like the child I‘d been in the vision. With growing dread, I watched a
shape begin to take form as the dark mist began gathering itself into something solid and
terrifyingly familiar.
A voice, thick and rich as dark chocolate and far more sinful, greeted me. A demon. The
same demon we‘d driven off in the parking lot of Anaheim Stadium. He chuckled, as the snake
must have chuckled to Eve. ―Well, if it isn‘t my little siren—and not a priest in sight.‖
Pili slid bonelessly to the ground. I could feel her life force fading as the demon bled her
power to make himself corporeal. I was screaming and it made him smile, his sensuous lips
twitching with amusement at my terror.
He was just as beautiful as I remembered. Glorious. A fallen angel. Lesser demons are
hideous. Greater demons are breathtaking enough to make you weep.
―Will you stop? It‘s quite annoying and won‘t do you the least bit of good. Besides, you
don‘t really want to be rescued, do you?‖ A delicate gesture of his hand and my screams cut
off. I was still trying to scream, mind you, but no sound was coming out. I couldn‘t move. He
smiled at me and my heart leapt for joy. Even as the sane part of me shivered in terror at the
knowledge of what this ancient creature of unimaginable evil would eventually do to me, I
wanted to please him, worship him, do anything to have him smile.
He gave a low wicked chuckle and my body responded, almost painfully. A moan escaped
my lips as my nipples tightened and I grew wet with aching need. I reached out to the water,
even as I struggled against my own actions. He likewise reached out, and only that thin layer
of water kept our hands apart. He let my tension build, seeming to savor the whimpering sound
from my throat that was equally hopeless and eager.
―Yes, I think I‘ll have you, siren. To toy with you physically as you slip into madness . . .
yes, that would be an amusing distraction. As soon as I manifest, you‘ll give your body to me
and your downfall will be complete. What form should I take when we join? Your wolf? The
mage who rejected you, or the new one who fights his desire for you?‖
Even as my mind shrieked in fear at his words, my body ached. I wanted . . . needed . . .
Crash! The glass of the bowl shattered and filthy water, smelling of sulfur, sprayed in an arc
and poured onto the floor. I jumped back, more from instinct than intent, and managed to only
get sprayed with a couple of drops. But those drops burned just like the acid sprayed by the
lesser demon. I screamed in shock and pain.
I could scream.
I was free. He didn‘t have me. He didn‘t have me. I blinked, practically sobbing with relief.
Adriana stood over the broken bowl, holding a broom handle like a club. Smoking burn
holes marred her jeans and blouse, showing scorched and blistered skin. Her hair was braided,
pulled back tight away from a face that was drawn in grim lines, her eyes blazing with fury.
Helen Baker was kneeling by her mother. ―You‖—Adriana pointed to the nearest guard—―get
Ren. We need holy water and a doctor. Now.‖
―Yes, ma‘am.‖
I forced myself to stop screaming, swallowed my fear along with the taste of bile. My knees
were shaking. But I was upright.
―Sit down before you fall down,‖ Adriana snapped. She dropped the broom, rushing over to
join Baker where Pili was sprawled on the floor. I couldn‘t tell whether or not the old woman
was breathing. I started to take a step forward, to see if I could help. But the world swam when
I did.
One of the guards grabbed me and shoved me forcibly into a chair. Pressing on my back, he
forced my head between my knees.
―Breathe. Deep and even. Just keep breathing.‖
I breathed. Slow and steady. When the world steadied, I lifted my head to see Adriana and a
third uniformed guard giving CPR to Pili. I heard: ―I have a pulse,‖ followed by weak
coughing.
―Oh, thank God.‖ Adriana sat on the floor, looking utterly weary. I wasn‘t positive that she
wouldn‘t have keeled over had her back not been propped up against the wall. CPR is hard,
nerve-wracking work.
Ren appeared, priest in tow, and disappeared an instant later—no doubt in search of a
doctor.
The priest stared wide-eyed at the acid water eating its way through the floorboards. Praying
fervently in what sounded like Italian, he opened a black valise and pulled out a plastic gallon
jug of holy water.
I didn‘t watch him. I was looking at Adriana. ―How did you know?‖ My voice was still a
little hoarse and breathy. I was shaking. I couldn‘t seem to stop. I knew it was over and my feet
were as far from the smoking mess of acid as I could get them, but I couldn‘t seem to get warm
and I couldn‘t stop shaking.
―Pili told us last night that she was going to do this for you. I felt it start even over at the
palace. I felt when it went wrong.‖
Ren was back with the doctor. Pili was stirring now. She was still terribly pale and too weak
to sit up. But she was breathing and moving. She was alive.
―You should have the priest look at her. Bless her. Just in case.‖
Ren turned to the priest, her Italian fluid and fluent. He frowned and nodded but didn‘t
immediately move to obey. Instead, he continued praying and pouring holy water around the
edges of the pool burning through the floor.
She spoke more sharply, her eyes flashing with irritation.
He didn‘t like that. Not one bit. He snapped out a retort. She rose and opened her mouth, but
Adriana interrupted her, using her full name to get her attention.
―Eirene! Let him do his job. He knows better than we do what the lingering effects of this
sort of thing can be.‖
―You do not give me orders,‖ she snarled at the other princess, her beautiful face distorted
with fury. Adriana stiffened and I decided to intervene. We didn‘t need them to get in a
catfight. Now was so not the time.
―Can it. Both of you.‖ I spoke quietly, without a whole lot of inflection. Frankly, I didn‘t
have the energy. ―He was a greater demon and he nearly manifested right here. Unless we want
there to be a permanent weak spot in the realities where he can come and go at will, you need
to let the priest do his job. That‘s more important than who outranks who.‖
―You—‖ Ren opened her mouth to say something hateful. I could see it in her eyes. They
were narrowed, darkened slits.
―That is enough. ‖ I turned to find Queen Lopaka standing tall and regal in the doorway,
flanked by Chiyoko and the dark-haired queen whose name I hadn‘t been given.
―Daughter, enough. Please.‖ The dark-haired queen stepped out from behind Lopaka to meet
Ren‘s gaze. For just a moment I thought she‘d argue. She was so angry—angrier than the
situation deserved. It didn‘t make sense.
There was a pause and if her mother said anything to her mentally, it wasn‘t for public
consumption. Still, Ren calmed fractionally and gave a small formal bow to her mother, who
reached forward to stroke her daughter‘s fiery hair with a withered hand.
The temperature in the room bega
n to drop and a ghostly wind stirred. Ivy. Not now. Please.
Not now. I was too tired to deal with one more thing, even the ghost of my baby sister.
The dark-haired queen‘s eyes widened, then narrowed, and she gave me a glare hot enough
to blister.
Her name is Stefania, said Queen Lopaka‘s calm voice in my head. It was a planned insult
on their part, not giving you their names. I didn’t push the issue. I pick my battles carefully. As
should you.
Good advice, no doubt. I gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. Stefania was still bitter and
almost as unhappy as Ren. Then again, I got the impression that this was their normal state.
The pleasant, happy Ren of my first encounter had apparently just been a really good acting
job. At least the argument was over.
Now if Ivy would just settle down.
What is the matter with your spirit? Adriana‘s voice in my head this time, sounding almost
intrigued and not at all afraid. Then again, Vicki hadn‘t been able to do much against her the
night of the wake and she was a considerably stronger ghost than my sister.
She’s not my spirit. Her name is Ivy. It’s my younger sister’s ghost. She’s trying to warn me
to be careful. Which was the absolute truth. But it felt like more than that. She wanted to tell
me something important. Unfortunately, now was not the time or the place. I tried to form that
into a thought that she would understand—while at the same time keeping that same thought
from everybody else in the room. No easy task. I wasn‘t sure how successful I was at it. While
Ivy seemed to settle, Queen Lopaka‘s expression grew very carefully blank. Rather than meet
my gaze when she saw me watching her, she turned to the priest. They held a rapid
conversation in Italian and I wondered if I was the only person in the room who wasn‘t
multilingual. While I know a handful of Spanish words and phrases, they aren‘t exactly the
kinds of things you say in polite company.
―He will cleanse the house and says that the two of you who were directly involved should
be blessed. If this is done soon, there should be no lingering effects.‖
He spoke again, his words rapid and intense. Queen Lopaka translated for him, ―We were
most lucky. Had the process gone farther—‖ She gave an elegant shudder and repeated, ―We
