Siren Song

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