Up to No Good: The Siren Island Series, Book Two

by Tricia O'Malley

  Gage didn’t flatter himself to think that it was just him that was the appeal. It was the package deal. There was something about the exotic nature of his job, the island locale – when combined with his looks, that made what he assumed were fairly normal women back in the real world go googly-eyed and throw themselves at him. It was part of the job, and a part that Gage didn’t particularly mind, but in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to bypass the group of paisley-clad women from Kansas and follow Lola to see what kind of adventure she was getting into today. Instead he turned, to smile at the women – a sixtieth birthday party – and began answering their questions.

  He loved his job, or he wouldn’t be here doing it, but he also didn’t need to be doing this for a living. When he’d first sailed his way to Siren Island, it had been with little direction other than where the wind took him. He’d spent years as in-house counsel for a large international production company, and had even helped in several productions – enough of them that the royalties from the movies alone were more than enough to sustain his livelihood, even without all the money he’d saved and invested while working eighty-plus hours a week. The burnout had been expected – nobody was immune to it – but he hadn’t quite expected it to take the form it had.

  He’d been taking a late lunch on a pretty sunny day in Fort Lauderdale. Antsy, he’d walked the harbor aimlessly, his mind crammed full of to-do lists, as well as a particularly thorny rights case that had been thrown on top of his caseload the night before. Walking, he let his mind go, working through the problem as best he could. It was something he did often, leaving the confines of wherever he was working to stroll and let his brain figure out solutions. This time, however, his brain was refusing to address the case and kept seeming to pull his eyes toward a boatyard where several boats were listed for sale. Curious, he’d crossed the busy street to stand at the gate and peer through at the boats locked inside.

  “Can I help you?” A man, his skin ruddy with wind and sun, wiped oil from his hands with a rag and ambled over to the gate.

  “I… I’m not sure. I guess I was just looking at these boats for sale.”

  “Do you sail?”

  “Nope,” Gage said, smiling at the man.

  “Captain?”

  “Nope.”

  “Drive a pontoon? Jet ski? Zodiac?”

  “A few of those. What do I need to know?” Gage asked, rocking back on his heels.

  “All the things, my friend. You seriously want to buy a boat?”

  “No clue. But, while this may be me having a mid-life crisis, I’m going to go ahead and say yes.” The man laughed at Gage’s cheeky smile, and unlocked the gate, ushering him in.

  “Well, let’s have a look then. I’ll show you a few options, and then get you signed up for a few courses before you even think about sinking your money into a boat.”

  “You think classes first? What if I want to be impulsive here?” Gage stopped, turning to meet the man’s eyes.

  “You know what they say about boat ownership? There are two best days: the day you buy a boat, and the day you sell it. My goal is to make people hold onto the feeling they get when they buy the boat. It would be remiss of me to sell you something that you have no idea how to operate. If I do that, you’ll fall out of love too quickly.”

  “That’s fair. The name’s Gage, by the way,” Gage said, offering his hand.

  “Call me Mack. I’ll help you on your journey,” Mack said, and so it had begun.

  At the time, he’d never thought he’d leave it all and move to an island. And yet, here he was. Running tours on his gorgeous boat in his free time, overseeing a few other investments and tour operations he had on the island, and generally living life exactly as he pleased. With few commitments.

  His eyes were drawn once more to the road, but Lola was long gone.

  Chapter 8

  Lola quickly forgot about Gage, her mind full of creative energy, and she let herself become immersed in the island. Sticking to her plan to find spots where the broken was made beautiful, she crouched to shoot a pile of shattered shells by the water, which to her looked like a mosaic piece. She could almost see the bits of shells pressed into a table top, creating their own intricate pattern, and wondered if it was something she would want to do. Considering it briefly, she shoved it aside. The last thing she needed was more projects that she couldn’t finish at the moment.

  Wandering, Lola followed the harbor beach walk, a pretty brick path with the brilliant blue water on one side, the road on the other, and then rows of houses and apartment buildings that led to the small downtown shopping area. With no agenda in mind, Lola drifted along, snapping shots of a tree covered in errant shoes and flip-flops, their partners missing. She idly titled the shot “Sole Tree” in her head. She had a habit of doing that – titling her pictures as though she was showing them at a gallery – and that was how her mini-exhibitions often formed.

  As she walked, Lola nodded to passersby, most of who readily smiled at her as she went past. She stopped to take a shot of a mermaid statue tucked among the walls of a rock garden surrounding a bright yellow fisherman’s hut.

  “Mermaids are real, you know.”

  Lola turned to see a man, seventy years old at the very least, a shock of white closely-cropped hair framing his deep brown skin and a smiling face. She smiled at him where he sat, his bare feet extended in front of him as he casually cleaned a large silver fish.

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s exactly so, pretty lady. You think I’d lie to you?”

  “Of course not. I think we all believe in different things,” Lola said, holding up her camera at him. “Mind if I take your picture?”

  “I’m made for the camera, beautiful.” The man shot her a cheeky grin, two of his front teeth missing, as he boomed a laugh.

  “That you are,” Lola agreed, crossing her arms on the garden wall. “Have you seen a mermaid?”

  “Of course I’ve seen a mermaid.” The man’s mouth dropped open and he looked around as if he could find a friend to say, Can you believe this woman? “They’re here. I tell you that.”

  “Are they far out on the water? Do you see them when you fish?” Lola asked, enjoying the man’s story. She wondered if his eyesight was bad – maybe he was merely seeing dolphins flitting by in the water.

  “I seen them far out. I seen them close. They’re where they want to be, pretty lady, that’s the real matter of it all. They around for sure. It’s not named Siren Island for nothing.”

  “Have they spoken to you?”

  “Nah, they got nothing to say to an old man like me. I hear them sing, sometimes, early in the morning, greeting the sun as it rises for the day. It’s…” The man brought a fist to his chest, punching his heart. “You feel it. Right here, you get me? It’s like nothing else you ever heard.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “You gon’ tell me you never seen what a mermaid looks like? They’re curves, you know?” The man held his hands up and made an hourglass motion with his hands. “Lush. Real women. Well, fish women. But you know. None of that skin and bones crap. You could get there, you put a bit more weight on.”

  “Well, that’s refreshing to hear,” Lola laughed.

  “I mean, I’m sure you look just fine in a bikini, mind you, I’m just saying. Need some island cooking to thicken you up a bit, and then you’ll be just like the mermaids.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Lola said. “How often do you see them?”

  “Ahh, not as much as I used to. Maybe a few times a year? It’s a rare treat, and I’m not the only one, you know. There’s a museum downtown with more information. You can read all the history and the myths. But let me tell you, as a man of the sea. We know. All the fishermen know. You’re all alone out in your boat, way off shore? Yeah, they come to you. It’s a gift, that it is. One the fisherman don’t take for granted.”

  “You’ve never spoken with one, though?”

  “P
ssssh, I should be so lucky! I wish. I’m always trying to call them over. I did get a comb though. You know, in their hair? A shell comb. That was a real treat.”

  “Is that so? I’d love to see it,” Lola said, her interest piqued.

  “It’s right there. My hands all bloody, but you can look at it.” The man held up his hands full of fish innards, and Lola nodded, turning to look at the little stone garden table that held a bowl of shells and sea glass. Nestled in the top was what she’d initially thought to be just another shell.

  “May I?” Lola asked, gesturing to the gate door.

  “Of course.” The man smiled at her.

  “I’m Lola, by the way.”

  “They call me Prince.” Prince puffed out his chest and laughed that booming laugh at her as he went back to cleaning his fish. Lola bent over the dish and picked up the smooth white shell, which upon closer inspection revealed tines of a comb cut into it. The minute she touched it, her heartrate sped up.

  This was the real deal.

  A raw current of energy pulsed from the comb, washing over her, and Lola felt almost compelled to tuck the shell into her hair and dive into the ocean. She’d never wanted to feel water around her so much as she did in this moment, and everything around her seemed to fade away until all she could hear, as if it were on loudspeaker, was the lapping of the waves against the shore. Taking a deep breath, she smelled the air, heavy with salt from the sea, and her entire being craved the caress of cool water on her skin. Closing her eyes, she breathed once more before returning the comb to the bowl, the garden around her snapping back into focus.

  “You felt it then,” Prince said, his eyes on hers.

  “Ahhh,” Lola said, blinking a bit at the rush of power she’d felt wash over her. “I suppose I did.”

  “Not everyone does, you know,” Prince said, humming a bit as he casually flipped another fish over, making a long slice in the skin.

  “It… what is that? Do you feel it?”

  “I ask everybody. Nobody has the same answer. I suspect it just calls to people as needed. Or I’m thinking those who do feel it, feel it in a way that’s only meant for them.”

  “What does it do for you?”

  “For me, it brings me to laughter, childhood – a simpler time.”

  “Much simpler than this?” Lola asked, gesturing to where he cleaned his fish.

  “Sure. No businesses to run. No food to put on the table. I love fishing, but it’s for my family. It’s in my blood. Passed down over generations. But times change. Life on an island gets more costly. Keeping up can be tough for some people here. So, for me, the comb takes me to simple pleasures. Laughter. Rocking in the hammock. Racing through a garden.”

  “Fascinating,” Lola murmured, running her hand over the comb to feel the pulse of power once more. She wished she could take it with her, study it in silence in her room, and delve deeper into what she needed to learn from it.

  “What it do for you? You felt something, that’s for sure. You didn’t even hear me when I was speaking at you.”

  “The ocean. Everything faded away, except for a deep craving to be cocooned in the water.”

  “You’re mermaid then.” Prince said it so easily that Lola almost choked a laugh out.

  “Erm, I feel like I’d know if I was.”

  “It’s in the blood. Most people don’t feel that from the comb. You’re meant for the water. You’ll see. Take your time here. Look for the mermaids. They’re all over the island. You’ll see what you’re meant to see.”

  “Thank you for sharing this with me, Prince. It’s an honor,” Lola said, smiling down at him.

  “Come back and visit me, pretty lady. I’m here most days after I get in.”

  “I will. Next time I’ll buy a fish from you if you’ll sell me one.”

  “I’ll sure do that,” Prince said, whistling a tune as Lola let herself out of the gate. It wasn’t until she was far down the road that she realized he had been whistling “Under the Sea” from the movie The Little Mermaid.

  Lola laughed, her eyes drawn once again to the ocean, and she wondered… What if?

  Chapter 9

  Lola found herself in front of the dusty little museum – nothing more than a one-room hut, painted a vibrant shade of pink with faded green shutters – and she eased the door open, stepped inside, and pushed her sunglasses up on her head.

  “Welcome.” A woman in a tidy skirt, layers of beaded necklaces competing for attention, rose from where she sat behind a neat laptop at a small desk in the corner. “Are you visiting?”

  “I am. I was directed this way by Prince,” Lola said with a smile.

  “That’s nice of him. We always welcome visitors who actually like to learn about the history of our island. Feel free to wander around.” The woman gestured to the room as though it would take Lola ages to walk through.

  “Is there a fee?”

  “No. But we have a donation box on that wall if you’d like to contribute.” The woman returned to her desk. “If you have any questions, I’m happy to help, otherwise please take your time.”

  “Thank you, I’ll be sure to do that,” Lola said, her eyes already drawn to a mermaid painting in the corner. The rich hues of the ocean beckoned to her. Next to it, a large placard outlined what was titled “The Myth of Siren Island.”

  Intrigued, Lola lost herself in the story of a young fisherman named Nalachi, who quickly fell in love with a mysterious woman who only seemed to materialize around the full moon. So in love was he that he was determined to find out her secret. After one particularly passionate evening, he kept her captive – only to discover when the sun rose that she was dying. Luckily, Nalachi quickly brought the woman, Irmine, back to the sea, where she changed from human to mermaid in front of him. Desperate for Nalachi to keep her secret, Irmine promised him her love and in return, he pledged his own. The months that followed were sorrowful ones, as Nalachi was pulled to other islands to start trade routes, and he missed the full moon with Irmine. She wasn’t able to share her news with him and, distraught, she birthed their twin daughters at sea. Nalachi finally returned at a full moon, so determined to find Irmine that he ignored an impending storm and took his boat out to sea, where it shattered on a reef. With his last breaths, he sang Irmine’s song, the one she’d given to him. She found him, too far gone for her magick to work, but in their last moments together he met his daughters and Irmine knew he’d loved her all along. Taking his soul as hers, she placed it in a pearl around her neck and vowed to sing whenever the storms came, to alert sailors to the treacherous rocks.

  Lola sighed, her heart sad for the love that had been lost between the two, and wondered if she would ever love someone that way.

  * * *

  “They say she sings… particularly during storms, to keep the sailors away from the reefs,” the woman said.

  Lola turned, surprised to find she needed to wipe her eyes. “It’s a lovely story, romantic and tragic at the same time,” she said.

  “Do you want to hear the song?”

  “You know it?”

  “That I do.” The woman, her brown eyes shining, opened her mouth and sang in a surprisingly sweet soprano.

  Where the starlight kisses the sea, is where you’ll find me. It won’t be so long, for in your heart is my song.

  “It’s a lovely melody,” Lola breathed, tugging at her camera strap. “Haunting, even.”

  “It really is. You’ll hear wisps of the melody woven into our songs around the island. It’s not our anthem, but it’s there, tangled amidst all our other history.”

  “And they say she’s still here? The same mermaid? Do they age? I don’t know enough about their mythology, I suppose,” Lola said, turning back to run her eyes over the painting.

  “From my understanding, they do age, but not in the same way humans do. Maybe one century of their life equals a decade of ours, or something of that nature. It’s a little hard to pin down, as I’m sure you’d understand.” T
he woman chuckled, and then excused herself to answer a phone that buzzed on her desk.

  Lola moved on to the next display, which documented sightings from fishermen, as well as various myths about mermaids held the world over. In the case next to it were a few mermaid artifacts. Lola stared into the glass box, wondering how a museum could claim something as an artifact when the beings behind said artifacts weren’t actually real. There was the usual array of shells, a few necklaces, several combs – but it wasn’t until Lola’s eyes landed on a mirror that she felt anything.

  The rest… well, she could dismiss those as pretty shells or small art pieces. But the mirror – someone had gotten that right. It seemed almost to glow with energy. The mirror was slightly chipped, lined in gold with a lovely dusky pink pearl background. Whatever this mirror was or wherever it came from, it had power. Lola closed her eyes and went inside herself for a moment – she needed to know if it was a bad energy. All she felt, though, was a gentle wash of love and approval, as though the mirror only asked for her to look inside and love what she saw.

  Lola opened her eyes, almost snorting. Wasn’t that exactly what she was on this trip for? To look deep inside and figure out what she wanted? She didn’t think she needed or craved self-approval like some others might; she’d always generally had a high opinion of herself. Sometimes, it bothered her when others judged her and her lifestyle, but the more she’d matured, the more she realized that people judged what they didn’t truly understand. She could spend her life trying to make people understand who she was and what she wanted, or she could just live.

  Lola chose to just live.

  But… still. There had to be some sort of message here for her. There were just too many incidents – too many mermaids popping up on her horizon – to call it coincidence. Automatically, Lola took a picture of the mirror and then moved on to the next display, her mind whirling.