Siren Song

12

Stew is Bubba’s brother-in-law. He has the same dark good looks as Bubba’s wife, Mona, but none of her fire. Mona’s ambitious, driven in both her career and her home life. Stew, on the other hand, is a handsome, charming, cad. He has a bail bondsman’s license, but the only time he uses it is when he’s covering for Bubba. Mostly he pays bass in a band, making just enough money to pay for a cheap apartment and his booze. Food he cadges off of the most recent in a successive line of sweet young things who think that his being in a band makes him cool.

He arrived promptly, a sure indication that he was broke. While he half-listened to Bubba, enough to parrot the appropriate answers, the focus of his attention was my T-shirt. Apparently the jacket wasn’t doing as good a job of concealing things as I’d hoped. Terrific.

“You’ve got my cell number. Call me if anything comes up. If you can’t get me, call Mona.” Bubba was repeating himself, but it was probably a good idea. Sometimes you have to use a sledgehammer to drive a point home to Stewie.

“I got it already.” Stew wrenched his gaze away from my boobs long enough to glare at his brother-in-law. “It’s not like it’s the first time and it’s not like it’s rocket science. Give me some credit.”

I went downstairs to write Dottie a note about the wards before I could say anything unfortunate. Bubba followed a few minutes later.

We drove to the PharMart in Bubba’s behemoth of a four-wheel-drive truck. It’s an older model but tricked out with every conceivable luxury, including the requisite chromed mud flaps with a naked woman and a bumper sticker proclaiming him a “PROUD REDNECK.” He calls the truck Baby. His vanity plates say: BADA55. How he got that past the censors at the DMV I’ll never know.

PharMart is one of the bigger pharmacy chains. The stores are all pretty much identical: big tan brick boxes with windows all along the front. Their product selection is good and they’re not terribly overpriced. This particular store is the one where I usually get my prescriptions filled. It was also the site where Bruno, Matteo, and I had set the trap for Lilith that had gone so terribly wrong.

More important, that was where Dahlmar had given me my sire’s head.

Better than roses, in my opinion.

I felt the power of the PharMart’s wards buzz across my senses as Bubba steered the truck into the parking lot. It didn’t occur to me until we were pulling up next to the Ferrari to wonder how Creede had managed to drive three large men in that tiny two-seater. Had the king ridden in his bodyguard’s lap? Creede was leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette, looking perfectly comfortable and casual. I assumed Dahlmar was in the car, hidden behind the tinted windows. Ivan wasn’t visible, but I was betting he wasn’t in the car. Probably out of sight somewhere, keeping an eye on things.

They had passed test one. The real Dahlmar and Ivan would know about PharMart. Fakes wouldn’t. Of course I’d still spray them all down. In this game, safe was definitely better than sorry.

“So what’s the game plan?” Bubba asked. I’d filled him in on some of what was going on. Not all. I hadn’t had a chance to ask King Dahlmar if I could reveal his identity, so I hadn’t given Bubba any names.

“You stay here. I get out and make sure they’re what and who they’re supposed to be. If they are, we head out for your boat.”

“It’s going to be a little crowded if we’re all going.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But I’m hoping that getting out on the water will make it harder for people to use mundane magic to track us.” I unfastened my seat belt and turned to open the truck door.

“Mundane magic?”

I sighed. I probably shouldn’t have worded it that way. “As opposed to siren magic. Sirens are water creatures. The ocean’s their thing.”

“You’re a siren now,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I don’t have magic.” I sounded grumpy. Then again, I felt grumpy. Funny, when I was growing up, I’d wanted desperately to have some sort of paranormal talent. I’d failed the tests so miserably that they’d checked to make sure I wasn’t a null. I wasn’t. But back then, I hadn’t been a siren, either.

But so far, other than the illegal psychic manipulation and the ability to drive seagulls insane, I haven’t discovered any magical ability.

It was ironic. All of the kids I went to school with had some sort of talent. I’d wanted one so bad, just so I could fit in. Now that I did have paranormal abilities, I desperately wished I was rid of them. Some people are just never satisfied.

Bubba turned, unfastening his seat belt.

“I thought you were staying here.”

“Groceries.” He pulled out his wallet to check the contents. “More people, more supplies. We’ll need a few things. I won’t be long.”

I couldn’t argue. It was a sensible thing to do. We were going to be out on the boat several hours at least. At least. Bubba swore he knew where the Isle of Serenity was. But the wards around the island had pushed his boat away. He’d tried, but he couldn’t even swim underneath with the poles.

I wasn’t kidding about Bubba being a fisherman. The fish near the sirens’ island stay inside the magic circle. Bubba could see them, but he couldn’t cast to them. It’s enough to drive any boat captain to drink—or to try to swim through the barrier. With his fishing pole in his mouth.

Speaking of drinking, I’d probably have to go inside and stock up on the ever-handy but God-am-I-sick-of-them diet shakes and some baby food. I swear, if the vamp that tried to sire me wasn’t already dead I’d hunt him down and kill him—as painfully as possible.

Get your mind in the game, Celia, I scolded myself. Right now I needed to chat with my client and let Creede know the plan. Then I could do the shopping and move on to the next thing.

I am not a particularly small woman, but there’s a certain knack to getting in and out of a vehicle that big. By the time I’d finished climbing down from Das Truck, Bubba was already inside the PharMart. Creede had crushed out his cigarette and the passenger window of the Ferrari had lowered to reveal Dahlmar’s profile.

I pulled out one of my little squirt guns. “Who wants to go first?” Creede rolled his eyes but extended his hand. I squeezed the gun’s trigger, just enough to lay a couple of drops of holy water onto his palm. The problem with one-shot water guns is that they hold just that . . . one shot. Pull the trigger and you might as well throw the thing away until you refill.

No reaction. Creede was Creede. Actually, I’d known that from the scent and the effect his magic had on my skin. If he noticed that all the hairs on my arms were standing at attention, he didn’t mention it.

The success with Creede didn’t keep me from repeating the process with King Dahlmar. When Ivan showed up, I’d do him, too. In the meantime, just to make sure they were comfy with me, I sprayed my own palm.

“Who was that man?” King Dahlmar snarled. Apparently “we” were still miffed about having to sleep in an office and wait twenty-four hours for a meeting. I was kind of surprised he hadn’t met Bubba during his sleepover, but there you go.

“That’s Bubba. He is a friend and he owns the boat that is going to take me to where we think the Isle of Serenity is.”

“You’ve arranged the meeting? Good.” Either he missed the “me” and the fact that I wasn’t actually sure where I was going or he was ignoring it. I was betting on the latter. “This Bubba—do you vouch for him?”

“I do.”

“I do not like it.” Ivan’s voice shattered the illusion that had made him appear to be a newspaper vending machine. It startled me enough that I let out one of those girly little yelps. Creede snickered; Ivan looked smug. I couldn’t really blame him. I’d only ever seen one other mage do that. A few weeks ago, Bruno had done an impersonation of a rubber tree so he could sit in on a meeting where he wasn’t wanted. It hadn’t been easy for him and he is one hell of a mage. That Ivan could do the same thing raised my estimation of his skill level considerably. His lips stretched into what could only loosely be termed a smile, but he held out his palm for the requisite test. He passed.

“You arranged a meeting with the sirens?” Creede was scornful. That pissed me off. Who the hell did he think he was dealing with? But I bit back the first response that came to mind and answered him politely.

“Supposedly, the queen has been wanting to see me for a while now.” I didn’t mention the fact that they were already pissed in front of the client. That was something better shared privately, when we were doing our planning, if at all.

“How’d they contact you?” he snapped.

I tried not to be too obvious about glaring at him. He was questioning my abilities, my authority, and my judgment. If this was how he thought our partnership was going to work, he was sorely mistaken.

He didn’t wilt at the look, but I hadn’t really expected him to. He’s used to running things, being the big dog. I’m used to being my own woman. If we really were going to make a business relationship work, we needed to iron out the kinks. But, again, not in front of the client.

“They left word for me at Birchwoods.”

“I do not like this,” Ivan repeated. “It could be a setup.”

“I’m with you, big guy,” Creede agreed.

“That’s all right. The three of you won’t be going to the island with me, so even if it is a setup, it doesn’t matter. You’ll stay on the boat with Bubba.”

“And how am I supposed to work my magic from the boat?” Creede asked.

“You won’t be doing any magic until I’ve cleared it with their queen.”

Dahlmar scowled. “I do not wish to proceed in this manner. I will meet the queen.”

Creede stared at me thoughtfully and finally nodded. “Celia’s right. She needs to lay a foundation. It makes sense to let her do the preliminary groundwork. The only way this is going to work is with the queen’s support.”

Well, hallefrickinlujah. Apparently he wasn’t going to argue every decision I made, just the ones he didn’t like. I took a deep breath and tried to look professional. I didn’t feel professional. I was angry. I didn’t need the men questioning my every move. If I’d thought it was sexism, I would’ve been even more pissed, but my gut instinct said that this was just good-old-fashioned paranoia.

Ivan didn’t argue, but I could tell from his expression that he was annoyed.

“Fine.” Dahlmar’s voice was cutting, making it clear that he didn’t like being on the sidelines and hinting that there would be nasty repercussions if things went south.

Ivan still didn’t say a word. He just looked at me, and I knew if this went badly, if anything happened to his king, he would make sure he lived long enough to kill me himself, as slowly and painfully as possible.

Peachy. Just . . . peachy.

Bubba came out of the store, laden with groceries. He loaded them into the truck bed, then strolled over to join us.

I turned to introduce him to everyone. “Bubba, you know John. This is—”

“Robert.” Ivan extended his hand. Okay, secrecy was fine from the bad guys, but for God’s sake . . . Bubba might look like a hick. He sometimes acts like a redneck. But he is well-read and he’s nobody’s fool. He knew from the international newspapers who King Dahlmar was. But Bubba shook Ivan’s hand without a word. “And this”—I gestured toward Dahlmar—“is—”

“Michael.” Dahlmar extended his hand out the open window. “But you may call me Mike.”

Bubba smiled and made nice. When the formalities were finished, he turned to me.

“What’s the plan?”

“I’ve got to get some holy water, to refill the gun I just used, and some liquid food. After that we go to the marina, get on your boat, and go to the island.”

“Are we expecting trouble while we’re on land?”

“I hope not. But it’s a possibility.”

“Fair ’nuff.” He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

I gave him a sunny smile. He’d earned it. Because while everybody else was being macho, arguing with me, and being general all-round pains in my ass, Bubba just trusted me to know what I was doing. How refreshing.

“Who’s with me?” Bubba asked.

“Robert and I will ride with you in the truck,” Dahlmar said. “No insult to you, Mr. Creede, but your vehicle is not meant for three.” He climbed out of the car and stretched. I heard a couple of the joints in his back pop.

“Fine. Bubba, give Creede directions while I go do my shopping. I won’t be long.” I walked toward the store entrance, half-listening to Bubba telling Creede where they would be heading next. I saw movement from the corner of my eye just as I reached the door and my heart skipped a beat. It was a bat, swooping under the light—but it was just the furry mammal sort, not the evil, undead sort.

I stepped inside the brightly lit store, trying to get my emotions and my blood pressure under control. I didn’t want to think about Bruno, but being here brought back the memory of that horrible night, of Matty hurt and bitten and Bruno holding his broken body. It had worked out all right in the end, but it had been touch-and-go. The events of that night were part of what had drawn Bruno and me back together.

I shook my head. I needed to stop thinking about him. If I kept this up, my emotions would get the best of me and I wouldn’t be able to think clearly enough to do the job.

Have you ever tried to not think of something? The problem, is if you’re thinking about not thinking about something, it’s already on your mind.

It didn’t take me long to go through the aisles and get what I needed. I was trying to decide which baby food I was least sick of when one of the clerks came up to me.

“Hi.”

I looked up at the same kid who’d waited on me right after I was attacked—who was, not so coincidentally, the selfsame kid we’d later saved from Lilith and her companion.

“Hey.” I smiled at him. “I’m a little surprised you’re still willing to work nights.”

He grimaced. He was a bright kid, smart enough to know just how close a call he’d had. It didn’t make much sense for him to be here. “My dad lost his job. Right now I’m the only one bringing money into the house.”

Ouch. Didn’t that just suck. But it explained him being willing to take the risk. Still, I noticed he was wearing a very conspicuous cross around his neck.

“Well, be careful, okay?”

“Oh, I’m being careful all right. And the store’s doing their part, too. The manager’s arranged for the wards to get recharged every week now.”

“Good.”

He shuffled his feet. I didn’t blame him for feeling awkward. I did, too. “Look, I didn’t get the chance to thank you.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“I mean, I know your friend got hurt real bad and all. And I’m really grateful, so, thanks.” He smiled again. It was a nice smile. He was a good kid. Seeing him here, alive and well, made me feel good, like I’d done at least one thing right.

He changed the subject. “So, baby food and liquid protein shakes. Doesn’t look particularly appetizing.”

“It’s not,” I admitted, “but it’s what I’m stuck with, at least for now.” I pushed the cart up to the cash register with him at my side. He introduced me to the girl behind the counter as the woman who had rescued him. He made me sound really impressive. It improved my mood when I’d thought nothing could. In fact, I was actually feeling pretty good as I paid my bill and took my bags. The good feeling lasted right up until the automatic doors whooshed open.

The parking lot looked empty.

It wasn’t.

I could smell them. There were three of them. One wore cheap aftershave and I tried to remember who I knew who favored that scent. It mingled with the smells of gun oil, fresh shoe polish, and stale beer. There were other smells, too, but those were the most prevalent . . . until a man stumbled out of the shadows, covered in blood.

My pulse pounded. My vision shifted into hyperfocus; I could see every pore of his skin, that there were no actual injuries under the shredded T-shirt, that the mouthwatering blood he wore was not his. It was the blond cop from court . . . Officer Clarke. I felt a growl escape from between my lips. He would be easy prey. He believed he had the upper hand here and his fear when he realized he didn’t would make his blood taste all that much sweeter.

I looked around for Creede and the others. No surprise Bubba’s truck was gone, but where had Creede got to?

I forced myself to turn back into the store, shouting at the girl at the nearest cash register, “There’s an injured man in the parking lot. You need to go help him.” The clerk I knew started to run past me, but I grabbed him by the arm. I whispered urgently in his ear, “It’s a setup. Someone’s trying to frame me for this. I need to get out of here. Back door?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. He pointed toward the swinging doors at the back of the store, then dashed out the front after his coworker. I didn’t waste any time, racing toward the back, plastic bags of groceries banging against my leg as I ran. Yeah, I should have dropped them, but what good is surviving if I’m still hungry when I get to safety? That really would endanger the client.

I have to admit I was proud of myself for thinking of that while running for my life.

I burst out of the back door onto the loading dock, moving at vampire speed. All of my senses were ramped up—which was a good thing, because they’d thought to put reinforcements on the back exit. Gerry, nice guy Gerry, who now apparently thought I should be put down like a dog, shouted something to the other two as he reached under his jacket for his gun. I didn’t dare hit him—they wanted me to fight, wanted the excuse to execute me. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. But the monster within me was very close to the surface now that I’d smelled fresh blood. So I gave Gerry a gentle shove, intending to throw him off balance, keep him from clearing his weapon. But adrenaline and vampire strength gave more oomph to the move than I intended. He went flying, body slamming against the building with a sickening thud and a crunch that I hoped wasn’t his spine breaking.

I didn’t slow, just kept running, leaping right off the edge of the dock between two trucks. There were gunshots and I felt a sharp stinging in my legs. But it didn’t hurt enough to be a gunshot wound, so I kept going. I spun, making a sharp right, putting a parked car between me and the shooter. Seconds later I heard more shots and the explosion of car glass shattering.

A hard left took me up a driveway and into the welcome embrace of the shadowed alley between a pair of boxy warehouse-style buildings. I passed a vampire feeding on some hapless drunk. I only caught a glimpse of his shocked expression before I was out the other end of the alley, pelting down Ocean View.

I glanced backward as a squeal of tires and the roar of a high-performance engine raced past me in a blur of red and the scent of gasoline. A familiar Ferrari pulled to the curb just ahead of me, the passenger door swinging open before it was even stopped. I caught a whiff of Creede’s distinctive cologne and felt his magic rake over my skin. I hurled myself into the car, slamming the door shut. As we peeled away from the curb, I caught sight of four armed men converging on the spot where I’d just been.