The Siren

by Petra Landon

  “Hello” he spoke into the phone.

  “Faoladh” greeted a voice once very familiar to the Wyr. “You’ve been digging up the past.”

  “Bethesda” he greeted her politely, doing her the courtesy of using her Magick Façade. “I have.”

  She did not mince words. “Why?”

  He gave her the simple explanation. “Esmeralda requested my assistance.”

  “I’ve done no wrong to the Wyrs, Faoladh” she said evenly.

  “You targeted our children” he averred.

  “I harmed no Wyr children” she retorted.

  “You harmed Chosen children, Bethesda. And Wyrs are Chosen too.”

  There was a short silence.

  “You chose well, Faoladh.” She changed the subject, not particularly abashed by the Shifter’s pointed rebuke. “The Alpha will make a formidable foot soldier for the cause.”

  This time, the Wyr let out a chuckle. “I wish you luck, Bethesda. Raoul will never be a foot soldier. And certainly not for your cause. But you’re welcome to try.”

  “I won’t have to try very hard.” She was complacent. “He’s a Wyr at heart and will follow you without demur, Faoladh.”

  “Don’t be too sure, Bethesda” the Shifter asserted. “He’s a more complicated man than his reputation suggests.”

  “He’s a Shifter, isn’t he? Complicated or not” she remarked, a purr of satisfaction in her voice she did not hide from him.

  “That he is” Faoladh acknowledged easily.

  She tried to goad the Shifter into saying more. “To listen to him, he has no Wizard blood in his veins.”

  But the Wyr said nothing, refusing to indulge her.

  “Have you read the Seer’s interpretation?” she inquired dulcetly, artfully directing the conversation to where she wanted it to go.

  Faoladh sat up, his anticipation rising. He sensed this was why she had opened communications with him.

  “Since when have I cared about prophecies, Bethesda?” he countered suavely.

  “I was his wife, Faoladh. I know how much you once cared about a prophecy. Why should this one be any different?”

  This time, Faoladh remained silent.

  “Whether you believe in prophecies or not, you believed in him” she asserted cannily. “I know that. Read it, Faoladh. You might yet embrace a different course.”

  On that note, Lady Bethesda hung up, satisfied at having accomplished her task. She’d planted the seed in his mind. And if nothing came of it, she would prod him some more. She had intimate knowledge of the past when it came to Faoladh and the causes dear to his heart.

  Faoladh set the phone down to stare into space, flooded with memories of a time when a young Guardian had been more than an acquaintance while he sought to make his dream of uniting the Chosen a reality.

  But he was not the foremost Wyr in the world for nothing. After indulging himself for a few minutes, he shook free of the memories determinedly to reach for his cell.

  “Raoul, have you the records for The Prophecy?” he asked, without preamble.

  “In a few days, Faoladh” came the Alpha’s answer.

  “You’re sure, Raoul?” he persisted.

  “Yes.” There was a short pause. “Has something happened?” inquired the Alpha, picking up on Faoladh’s restlessness.

  “Bethesda reached out to me.”

  “She’s recruiting for the cause, I presume” the Alpha said perceptively. Raoul wasn’t surprised by this. There had been an air of desperation to her at their encounter. The Lady was off her game and starting to unravel at the setbacks. It made her deadlier than ever. And given that she still held too many cards for his comfort, she posed a threat Raoul did not take lightly.

  “She believes I’ll change course if I read the Seer’s interpretation” Faoladh remarked.

  The Alpha’s silence was evocative.

  “I won’t, Raoul” Faoladh proclaimed. “But if there’s something in there that hints at it, I want to know. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “You’ll have it the minute I do” the Alpha assured him, without hesitation.

  “Bethesda thinks she knows something we don’t, Raoul. I’m starting to wonder if we should have pushed the GCW for the records earlier.”

  Unbeknownst to Faoladh, far away in San Francisco, the Alpha frowned. Not a man given to fancy, the subtle undertone of concern in Faoladh’s voice had him take notice of it.

  At the Lair in San Francisco, Raoul stared at his desk absently after Faoladh had signed off. He was interrupted by the rattle of the heavy door, before Duncan strode into the Alpha’s Room. The English Shifter, the bearer of news, went silent as he caught a glimpse of the Alpha’s face. Poker-faced he might be to the rest of the world, but Duncan knew Raoul better than most. He’d watched over the Alpha during his darkest days.

  Duncan closed the door to advance into the room. “Something the matter?” he inquired.

  “I’m not sure” the Alpha answered, pinning his friend with his unusual gold-colored eyes. “Faoladh is suddenly keen on the details of The Prophecy.”

  Attuned to the Alpha, Duncan grasped the subtext immediately. Faoladh, though invested in this examination of the past, had never professed much interest in The Prophecy before. Even though, he’d been the one to inform Raoul about its potential relevance to their scrutiny of Lady Bethesda.

  “His interest is unusual — I’ll give you that” Duncan acceded. “But par for the course, given the prominence it plays in her ambitions.”

  “For the first time, I heard something in his voice” Raoul said slowly. “A note of self-doubt.”

  The gold eyes tangled with the English Were-Alpha’s. “Faoladh, as you know, doesn’t do regrets. Yet, he’s questioning not pushing the GCW before.”

  Duncan pursed his lips, reflecting on what they knew. During their encounter, Lady Bethesda had intimated to Raoul that Faoladh was slated to join her; to shield her from her past crimes and presumably, to bring his Wyrs to her side in the upcoming battle for the soul of the Chosen.

  “You think this has to do with Lady Bethesda’s declaration that Faoladh will be her champion?” he asked.

  The Alpha leaned back in his chair. “He’s worried about something to do with The Prophecy, Duncan. Before, he’d laughed at the very idea of allying with her in any form.”

  The English Shifter was not a man to worry about that which might not come to pass, but this was not something to be taken lightly. Faoladh was no mere bystander in this clash. His allegiances held the power to make or break their efforts to thwart Lady Bethesda. And derail this investigation into the past.

  “It’s a good thing we get the records soon” Duncan remarked prosaically. It had been a long road to getting any kind of co-operation from the Guardians. Sienna’s friend was a last-ditch attempt. Otherwise, Raoul would mount a siege of Wizard Headquarters to wrest information the Shifters considered crucial to their investigation.

  “Sienna’s Guardian is on course?” the Alpha asked. Raoul was aware that his friend had offered up his residence for a party. Sienna wanted to introduce the Guardian to her new allies. He suspected that it was her way of breaking the ice, as well as a careful orchestration of Bergdahl’s first impressions of the company Sienna currently kept.

  “He flies in the day after tomorrow, Raoul. He’ll spend the evening with us and is scheduled for the morning after with Sienna and Jason in the supplementary Pack Room.”

  “He’s confirmed that he has what Sienna asked for” Duncan assured him.

  Raoul met his friend’s gaze. “I’m mighty keen to read the Seer’s notes.”

  Duncan shared the Alpha’s sentiments. Like everyone involved in the investigation, he was eager to find out how the Oracle explained his own prophecy.

  Nine weeks ago, deep in the Belizean Rainforest

  The dark-haired man watched the action in the pit below with an air of detachment, his striking slate-gray eyes fathomless pools. A curious kind of stilln
ess marked him. No one looking at him would guess at the seething impatience he reined in. This tier of the arena was not deserted. Yet, the other spectators made sure to keep their distance from the man. Some knew of him, many guessed at what he was and the others merely possessed a healthy instinct for self-preservation. Good judgement, an aptitude for sensing impending danger and the ability to read opponents and audience alike were prerequisites for both spectator and participant at The Games. Much like the Chosen diaspora, one did not survive very long at The Games without well-honed instincts.

  Down below, the big Chosen with the lumbering gait shrugged off his opponent’s magic with a grimace, to deliver a brutal blow. The challenger went down like a sack of potatoes. The umpires rushed into the pit to check the lumbering giant. While most bouts were to the death, the rules said that no opponent could be attacked if he chose to surrender. One of the umpires blocked the giant, while the other checked on the injured Magick on the ground. Though unmoving, the collapsed opponent managed to raise an arm feebly in a gesture indicative of surrender. It was the signal the umpires had been waiting for. Two Chosen, attired in the uniform of The Games, strode into the pit to carry off the injured participant, while the victor lumbered away to his corner to await his next bout.

  The man refrained from drumming his fingers on his knee, his pale eyes missing nothing of the action below. The pit had long lost its lure for him. Once, he’d reveled in showing off his prowess against powerful opponents. Those exploits had only added to his reputation. No one dared to call him an assassin behind his back anymore. Instead, his notoriety had become synonymous with the Magick Façade he’d proudly adopted. He had been wildly successful, tales of his feats whispered far and wide. But those days were behind him. The irony was that the very reputation he’d once worked hard to build continued to shadow him years later. It had brought a strange, foolhardy and brash young Chosen to his room last night, piquing even his jaded interest. He’d delayed his departure by a day to satisfy his curiosity about her. Though he knew that a few pointed queries to some of his fellow spectators would elicit information about her, he was reluctant to make any inquiries. There was only one reason for her to brave his den by herself under the stealth of darkness. She did not want anyone to know about the conversation.

  Down in the pit, commotion reigned. A slip of a girl had vaunted into the ring to challenge the lumbering giant, whose response was to gaze speechlessly at her in bemusement. With Magicks, appearances could be and were often deceptive. Power required no conspicuous shell to dress it up. Thus, it wasn’t the girl’s apparent youth or slight build that disconcerted her opponent. The giant’s bemusement was a reaction to the remonstrations from the spectators. Three men argued with the umpires below, while the girl ignored everyone to study the giant, who continued to stare down at her with a frown. Of medium height, she was reed slim with long red hair that hung down her shoulders in a thick plait.

  A flash of triumph gleamed in the man’s slate-gray eyes. It was her! The sprite from last night. He’d been searching the tiers for her among the spectators, not having expected her in the ring. A fierce sense of satisfaction gripped him. He’d found her. Now, he would make her answer his questions. Once he had, he’d move on from this dreary affair that bored him so.

  Around him, the other spectators leaned forward to avidly observe the tableau, their interest piqued by the raging argument below. However, the girl was not in contravention of the rules. Soon, the men protesting her presence in the ring were ejected and the umpires cleared the pit to signal the start of the bout. Throughout the proceedings, the girl ignored all disruptions to focus on the giant, an overgrown Blutsauger fast gaining a reputation as a relentless and indefatigable bruiser with a knack for dodging powerful magic.

  The bout that followed was fast and furious, with no quarter given on either side. The girl, clearly no match for her opponent, used her petite size to surefootedly slip away, time and again, when the giant got too close. Using a clever combination of magic and skills to land glancing blows on her opponent, she seemed to always slide away just a little beyond his reach. Observing her intently, the pale-eyed man reflected, with approval, that someone had taught her the rudiments of defending herself against a physically stronger opponent. But he knew that she could not keep this up for long. Her tactics served only to frustrate the giant. After ten minutes of her dodging and dancing around the ring, the Blutsauger came after her with a snarl, pushing forward aggressively. In response, tiny gashes seemed to open up all over the Vampire, with blood oozing sluggishly from his nicks. At this evidence of exotic magic, the dark-haired spectator’s eyebrows shot up. The sprite possessed power aplenty, he mused. Yet, she avoided inflicting serious injury on her opponent. With the ability to open up wounds on a Chosen, she could seriously handicap her larger adversary. Something she seemed disinclined to do. A faint line furrowed his brow as he reflected on her strategy.

  The scratches did not check her opponent for long. When the Blutsauger charged again, the girl was driven back, no longer able to dance out of his reach, as she had so many times before. Then, with the slate-gray eyes watching, her foot seemed to slip on a turn. She went down, unable to right herself, her arms flailing. The man in the audience noted her thin-soled shoes for the first time. His eyes narrowed. Her entire ensemble was ill-suited to the ring. In lightweight trousers and a silk shirt, she looked like she should be paying a social call, not tangling with the hulk in the pit for the entertainment of the enthusiastic onlookers.

  As she went down, the sense of anticipation in the arena ratcheted up. The spectators, on the edge of their seats, fell silent, their eyes on the two below. Yet, the man, the others were careful to keep their distance from, was unmoved. The fall had not been a particularly hard one. With her dexterity and magic, the girl had a huge advantage over the lumbering giant — a Blutsauger who employed his physical strength over his other reflexes. The dark-haired man was confident that the girl had ample time to spring up and dodge her opponent, before the hulk could land any blows. He was a veteran of the pit. In his day, he’d been hell on wheels in this very arena, drawing huge crowds to watch him destroy opponents. In those days, he’d exploited the ring to manage the violence and aggression in him.

  In the pit, the girl attempted to rise. The man’s eagle eyes caught the very moment she seemed to give up on the attempt, clenching her hands into fists as she lay sprawled on the ground. He took note of the streaks of dirt that marked her expensive shirt even as her eyes closed in the expectation of a blow. For the first time, the man tensed as a wild suspicion bloomed in him. Men rushed into the ring below, to physically hold back the giant from pounding on his slumped opponent. A roar of disapproval rose from the spectators at this blatant breaking of the rules. The two umpires joined the fray as the hulk’s allies argued vehemently from their ringside seats.

  Indifferent to the pandemonium, the man viewed the spectacle with academic interest, the frown deepening on his brow. He recognized one of the men in the ring advocating for the girl. His profession had afforded him the opportunity to tangle with many disreputable and dangerous Chosen — a veritable roster of the Magicks to be avoided. Thus, he knew that the Blutsauger arguing for the girl owed fealty to the powerful Master of a Pure Blood Family. His brain churned furiously to ponder this new discovery. It gave impetus to his burgeoning suspicion — suddenly, it seemed more than crazy speculation, fantastic as the idea was. He’d read it correctly the night before, he brooded. It was desperation that had driven her to take such an enormous gamble — even powerful Magicks hesitated to beard ElMorad in his own den. But at the same time, he’d misread her proposition to him. Wild and insane as the concept was, she’d set out to strike a very different bargain with him — an unholy pact that left him furious and gritting his teeth. He tamped down the spike of rage. If nothing else, the girl had guts, he reminded himself. Or perhaps, she had nothing left to fear.

  His mind played through the encounter in his r
oom again, as it had so many times since, trying to make sense of the discrepancies. In the ring below, the girl was being led out, even as arguments continued impassionedly around her. With her head held high, she marched ahead, looking neither to the left nor right. It was that very stoicness that pushed him into a decision.

  Vladivostok, The Russian Federation

  The door swung open, and his sister strode in, her face flushed with excitement. He put down his pen to give her his full attention. Alya was a force of nature — not to be ignored and never to be underestimated.

  “I’m going to Vienna in a few weeks” she announced, coming to a stop before the large walnut wood desk he sat behind. “I want you to accompany me, Alexei.”

  “Why Vienna?” inquired her brother mildly. Where his sister was animated and always on the move, he was unflappable and restful, a man who knew his place in the world and had made his peace with it.

  “The CoC is to try a Chosen.”

  This time, he showed emotion. “The Council?” he repeated, considerably astonished. “What kind of trial?”

  “I don’t have all the details, Alexei.”

  She moved restlessly to the window, to feast her eyes on the garden. White blanketed everything. Spring was only months away and she couldn’t wait for a hint of the upcoming blooms. “Something to do with an assault on a Wyr.”

  Her brother looked confused. “Since when do we care about the Wyrs, Alya?”

  “It’s not the Wyr” she said slowly.

  He took in her rigid stance and the lines of strain on her. Alya had had a shock, he concluded. She was usually hard to ruffle and he wondered what had rattled her. But Alexei knew her well. He changed tack.

  “Is the trial in Vienna?” he asked.

  She shook her head, her eyes on the barren garden.

  “Then, why are we headed to Vienna?” he persisted patiently.

  “The trial will be transmitted live, to a handful of locations for Chosen that wish to follow it. The nearest First Ones location is Vienna.” She answered absently, almost by rote.