Siren Song

8

“You should be dead. It is that simple. Based on what I’m looking at, this mark has been here since you were a very small child. There is no possible way you could have survived through puberty.” Dr. Sloan was a dessicated little man with freckled brown skin. What hair he had stuck out in a wiry white ring around his age-spotted scalp and his heavy graying brows bristled over the top of Coke-bottle glasses that made his watery eyes seem too large for his face. He was holding my hand, palm up, staring at it with absolute absorption through a jeweler’s loupe. The rest of us might as well not have even been in the room—assuming, of course, I left my palm behind.

The three of us were crowded into Warren’s office. Despite his status within the university and the field, El Jefe had a very small and ordinary office space. Warren had chosen the L-shaped workstation with a round table and four chairs in the far corner from the university’s catalog. He’d added bookshelves along two walls, filled partially with research books but partially with odd collectibles such as an actual shrunken head and a voodoo doll that (thank heavens) didn’t resemble anyone I knew. Hanging above his desk were framed original movie posters of The Birds, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and The Curse of the Werewolf. The ugly eggplant-colored industrial-grade carpet had been covered by a Persian rug thick enough to sink into. It picked up the colors of the stained-glass window hanging from a pair of chains in front of the ordinary window. The decorating scheme was certainly eclectic, but somehow it worked. And it was very definitely Warren.

El Jefe is one of my favorite people in the world. He’s got that rare combination of brains, common sense, and a terrific sense of humor. The package is nicely rounded out with better-than-average looks. All of which he’d passed on to Kevin and Emma.

“It makes no sense.” Sloan’s words brought my attention back to the matter at hand. He ran his finger lightly over the mark and I felt a warm, tingling sensation. “This mark was made by a semidivine creature. Leaving aside the fact that there simply aren’t that many of those, the divine just don’t do curses like this, certainly not on a child. That’s more the style of the nefarious. There’s a trace of demon signature, but it appears to be the remnants of a covering illusion. But the curse itself? A demon might do it, if it thought delaying a death would cause more damage, or even if it just found it amusing.” I felt a little surge of magic as he tested the mark. “No. Definitely divine.” He shook his head as if to clear it, then looked up at me, the liquid brown eyes behind the thick glasses wistful. “I don’t suppose you’d let me—”

“Study it further?” I ended the sentence for him. It wasn’t hard. He was an academic, and to him my curse was the opportunity of a lifetime. He might have sympathy for me but only in the abstract. What was real for him, right now, was the thrill of discovery and the potential for publishable papers. “Publish or perish,” as the saying goes. Sure, he was being insensitive, but social skills aren’t the forte of a lot of professors. I knew it wasn’t personal, but that didn’t make me feel all that much better. “Not today. Maybe sometime in the future.”

He gave me a pointed look that somehow managed to contain both wheedling greed and, finally, a little real sympathy. “You may not have a future. This is a very potent piece of magic.”

“And yet I’m here. You just said that it was put on me in childhood.”

“I know.” He sounded exasperated. “It obviously was. I can tell by the way it’s affected your life line.” He turned my palm so that I could see it and started pointing at places where the mark intersected the lines palmistry buffs use to analyze your life. “And it has completely altered your career path.” He frowned, his eyebrows wiggling like caterpillars above the glasses. “Did your family ever take you to the Vatican? Get you blessed by the Pope?”

“No. Why?”

“Well, a major blessing could mitigate the curse.”

“My gran’s a true believer,” I suggested.

He made a harrumphing noise. “Shouldn’t be enough. I really need more time—”

“What kind of creature are we talking about?” Warren interrupted. I noticed that he’d opened the laptop on his desk and was discreetly taking notes.

Sloan didn’t look up from my palm. “Well, there are angels, of course, and demigods from some of the more ancient religions.”

“Egyptian?” I made it a question.

“Why do you ask?” Sloan’s voice was sharp and he met my eyes.

“The mark was invisible until I touched the Wadjeti this morning.”

He mulled that over for a moment, then shook his head no. “I suppose it’s possible, the Egyptians were known for their curses, but I don’t think so. Wadjet was an Egyptian deity, the patron of lower Egypt—there’s some debate as to whether she precedes Isis or is simply another incarnation. But this really isn’t her type of thing. What do you think, Warren?”

“I think it would be beneficial to look into what creatures are capable of this type of curse. Then perhaps we can find a way to break it.”

“Oh no! You can’t do that!” Dr. Sloan paled and dropped my hand as if burned.

I blinked a few times at his vehemence. “Why the hell not?” I asked.

He shook his head firmly. “The curse has been a part of you for too long. I can’t imagine how you’ve survived, but you have, and your body and psyche have incorporated the curse into your development, your very being. To simply break the curse now would destroy you.” I could tell he meant it.

Well, crap. “Then how do I get rid of it?”

He thought about that for a long moment. “Your best bet would be to get the person who cursed you to withdraw the curse.”

Like that was likely. Anybody who was willing to put a death curse on a little kid wasn’t likely to be the merciful sort. If they’d admit to it in the first place. After all, death curses are a felony—attempted murder.

“What if the person dies?”

He gave me a penetrating look that was fraught with disapproval. “Ms. Graves—”

“I’m not going to do anything,” I assured him. What was it with people today? Did I look like a murderer? Wait, I had fangs and glowed in the dark, so I probably did. Hell.

I hurried to reassure him, “The kind of person who uses death curses doesn’t usually live a nice, quiet life in the country, Dr. Sloan. If whoever cursed me dies, do I? Or does the curse unravel after their death?”

He tapped his lip thoughtfully with his index finger. “You’re assuming whatever being cursed you can die. Most divine and semidivine beings are immortal or the next thing to it. Still, I would guess it would unravel. Most curses do.” He turned to Warren. “I don’t suppose you have a digital camera? I would love to take a photograph of this, see if I can find anything out about its origins.”

Warren shook his head no. “Sorry.”

“Not even on your cell phone?”

“Nope.”

“I have one in my office.” Sloan looked at me. “Do you mind? You’ll wait here?”

“I’ll wait.” He scurried out, moving with remarkable speed for such an old guy. Then again, he was probably more excited than he’d been in over a decade. For an academic like him, this was big stuff. As soon as he was out of hearing range, Warren rose and shut the door. He turned to me. “Not exactly the essence of tact, is he?”

I laughed. “No. Not really. He doesn’t seem to get that while this is just a mental exercise for him, it’s life or death to me.”

Warren’s eyes darkened, his expression sobering. “He’s one of the best in the country, maybe even the world.” Warren settled back in his chair. “And he’s tenacious. Once he goes after this, he’ll keep after it. If there’s any kind of solution, he’ll find it.”

“So I just have to stay alive.”

“That would be preferable, ” he said drily.

I laughed. “I know it sounds weird, but talking to him actually made me feel better.”

Warren leaned forward so fast his chair made a thunking noise.

I hurried to explain. “Seriously. I’ve always wondered, ‘Why me?’ How could all this shit keep happening to one person? Now I know. It may not change anything that’s happened, but at least I know it’s not my fault.”

“No one ever thought it was.”

It was a nice thing for him to say. It was not, however, precisely true. Get a few drinks in people and they’d let all sorts of things slip out. As my dear gran always says, “A drunk man says what a sober man thinks.” More than once I’d been accused of “manufacturing crises” so that I could be the center of attention, as if I’m some sort of desperate drama queen. No. So no. I don’t even like being the center of attention.

I must have let the silence drag on too long. Warren said, “All right, no one sane ever did.”

I laughed again, my mind going back to identify the particular folks he was insulting. Still, it was probably time for a change of subject. “So, when is your lady friend going to conference in?”

“She should have logged in by now.” He glanced at the time indicator on his computer screen, his brows furrowing with worry. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to give her a call. She planned to drive to her office to call and probably just got caught in traffic, but—”

“Go for it. Do you want me to step down the hall so you have some privacy?”

“Do you mind?”

I rose from my chair. “Of course not. In fact, I think I’ll go grab a can of pop. Would you like one?”

“No, thanks.”

I closed the door behind me and started walking down the hall. I hadn’t quite reached the vending machine area when I heard Dr. Sloan call out, “Celia, wait. You’re not leaving, are you?”

I stopped and turned around, letting him catch up with me. “No. Warren’s making a call. I figured I’d get myself a drink.”

“Ah.” He offered me the book in his hands. “I found this on my shelves and thought it might interest you.”

I took the white leather volume. It was quite slender, probably not more than a couple hundred pages. Most texts have a lot more heft. The title appeared in silver foil letters on both the spine and cover: Man’s Experience of the Divine.

“There’s a chart in the first chapter of the various divine and semidivine beings, demigods and so forth, that might be useful for you. You can keep the book if you like. Consider it a thank-you for bringing me in on this and an apology for my being . . . insensitive.” He gave me an earnest look. “I realize this is your life, but this curse is simply extraordinary. The first one of its kind I’ve seen on a person. A live one, anyway.”

I gave him a wry look. “That’s one way to put it.”

He gave a sheepish laugh. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“It’s all right.” I meant that. He really was trying to help, and I needed all the help I could get.

“Thank you for being so gracious. Now, if you’ll hold your hand still, palm out, I’ll take a few pictures.” He held out a camera phone. “With your permission, I’m going to share them with some of my colleagues. If there’s a cure for this, one of them should know of it.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Yes and no.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Posting these may help you, but it’ll definitely give me bragging rights. You have no idea how jealous some of my colleagues are going to be.”

I switched the book to my other hand and moved to a spot where the light was better. Holding my hand palm up, I let him take half a dozen photographs. When he’d finished, he tucked the phone back in his pocket. “There’s one more thing I think you should know.” He looked uncomfortable and I just knew I was getting bad news.

“What?” I tried to sound casual and failed.

“Until yesterday the mark was invisible, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You encountered something magical that changed that and was powerful enough to injure both you and the other woman?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Then I’m sorry to say, there’s a very good chance that whatever happened affected the curse. It could mean that you encounter problems less frequently or that the threats are less intense.”

Sounded good to me.

“Or it could be the exact opposite.”

No shit.

“Given what you’ve said about your past, I greatly fear that you’re going to be facing more and greater dangers now. I’m very sorry.” He was all earnest now, no longer just a scholar with an interesting puzzle to work on. It’s never fun to be the bearer of bad tidings.

“It’s all right. Thanks for telling me. I’ll just have to be very careful.”

“Please do. I’d hate to see anything happen to you. Now, I have to go. But I promise I’ll look into the matter thoroughly and I’ll contact you through Warren as soon as I find out anything that might help.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you for meeting with me.” He waved and hurried off. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Bubba’s number from memory. Yeah, he’d said he’d call, but I was getting impatient. Dottie’d talked a good game going out the door, but she hadn’t looked good. Pinning the cell phone between my shoulder and ear, I dug in my pockets for a bill that was crisp enough to feed into the pop machine. He answered just as my can of “pure liquid refreshment” dropped into the dispensing bin.

“Hey, Celia. The doctors say she’s fine. Said she should get some extra rest over the next couple days, but no harm done. I did make her promise she wouldn’t be taking those stairs anymore. They’re too damned steep for a woman her age, particularly with a walker!”

“Amen to that.” I let out a silent sigh of relief. I’d tried not to worry, but I couldn’t help it. Then there was the guilt. I mean, I was absolute hell on secretaries lately. What was worse was that the death curse meant I would continue to be a danger to the people around me. I didn’t want to live in a cloister, but . . . oh, hell.

“Anyway,” Bubba continued, “she insists she is not quitting. And she told me to tell you that you’d better not fire her just because she wore herself out. You need her. She’ll just be more careful from now on. She does want to be around Minnie, and Dawna does need the help.”

He was quoting Dottie. I knew because I could hear her in the background, sounding waspish as an angry schoolmarm.

I shouldn’t agree. I knew I shouldn’t. But I also saw a lot of me in her. I knew instinctively that Dottie needed something more in her life than soap operas and cleaning her apartment. Karl had brought that to her, bringing her people to do readings for, giving her a way to use her gift and help others. Now that he was dead, she’d been set adrift.

I understood, but I was not going to push it. “Only if she promises not to overdo. She’s not going to do anyone any good if she winds up dead or in the hospital.”

He repeated what I’d said and Dottie agreed. I could hear the relief in her voice even over the phone.

She’d be careful. So would I. Until I dealt with the whole curse thing, I’d spend as much time as I could away from the office.

One step at a time, Graves. You found out about the curse. Now you find the caster and get the damned thing removed. Then you won’t have to worry so much about Dottie, Dawna, or anyone else.