SIREN SONG
Tor Paranormal Romance Books by
C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp
THE SAZI
Hunter’s Moon
Moon’s Web
Captive Moon
Howling Moon
Moon’s Fury
Timeless Moon
Cold Moon Rising
Serpent Moon
THE THRALL
Touch of Evil
Touch of Madness
Touch of Darkness
WRITING AS CAT ADAMS
Magic’s Design
Blood Song
Siren Song
CAT ADAMS
SIREN SONG
A Tom Doherty Associates Book
New York
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author‘s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SIREN SONG
Copyright © 2010 by C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp
All rights reserved.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor ® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-2495-5
First Edition: October 2010
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
DEDICATION
As always, we would first like to dedicate this book to Cie‘s son, James, and Cathy‘s husband,
Don, and to our families and friends. Special thanks to Merrilee Heifetz and the staff at Writers
House, to our wonderful editor, Melissa, and all the other wonderful folks at Tor who have
helped us so much. A special thank-you to my brother, Timothy Adams, to the folks at the Jim
Butcher forums, and to K. Segovia, for assistance with research. Thank you so much. You‘re
the best!
A NOTE TO READERS
In our opinion, for the most part, happy families do not make for interesting reading. We don‘t
know why. They do, however, make for happy writers. But every time a writer creates a
character with a particularly troubled background (or a kinky sexual bent) it seems that
somebody in the ―real world‖ assumes that the writer is working from personal experience. So
allow us to state for the record that Celia Graves‘s background and troubles are all her own.
They do not reflect any personal experience on the part of either of the authors.
Part of the fun of writing is research. In order to make the fantasy portions more believable,
you have to be very careful to get the ―real‖ portions right. Still, inevitably, some glitches slip
in. The setting of this book is Southern California. We created a fictional city in Santa Maria
de Luna and slapped it down on the coast between San Juan Capistrano and Oceanside, right
on top of Camp Pendleton, which obviously doesn‘t exist in this reality (our apologies to the
Marine Corps). Just as we created our own city, we came up with a university and rehab
facility. We have used an Egyptian scrying system that is similar to a modern one but have
given it its own name and made major changes to it. We have also deliberately taken liberty
with dual citizenship and diplomatic immunity.
One or two scenes are set in actual locations. While those portions of the book were
researched heavily, it is possible that errors slipped in. If so, please forgive us.
CAT ADAMS
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website is located at http://www.catadams.net.
SIREN SONG
1
―Celia, everything‘s going to be fine. You‘ll see.‖ Dr. Scott gazed at me earnestly in the back
of the sleek black limo, willing me with every fiber of his being to believe the words.
Unfortunately, no matter how sincere the assurance of the handsome, dark-skinned
psychiatrist with slightly silvered hair and a calming demeanor, we both knew he was lying.
Nothing was ever going to be fine again. A week ago I was an ordinary human bodyguard,
living a normal life in beautiful California. Now I was part vampire, part siren, and struggling
to maintain not only my sense of self but also my sense of humor. He wasn‘t helping either one
with that line.
I raised my brows at him as I gave him the snort his words deserved. My first meeting with
him had resulted in my stalking his secretary like a deer—complete with fangs bared and red
eyes glowing. I‘d even chased the good doctor out of the room in a panic. I hadn‘t been safe to
talk to until after he locked me inside his office with a full pitcher of barely cooked beef juices,
which in my sunset-induced predator mode I‘d happily sucked down like a strawberry milk
shake.
I was still trying not to think about what I might have done without that pitcher of bloody
juice. It had only been a few days ago and dawn was still hours away.
His expression changed as though he knew what I was thinking. I was aware that Dr. Scott
was telepathic, but ethics and the law should prevent him from ―peeking‖ outside of official
therapy sessions. Still, he couldn‘t miss my physical reaction to his statement, and after a
staring match where he blinked first, he finally had the decency to look chagrined.
The sound of the driver‘s door of the limo slamming shut shifted my attention away from
Dr. Scott, giving him the opportunity to fiddle with the buttons on the side panel. Probably
looking for another stiff drink to bolster him for the start of this adventure. We were on the
way to Birchwoods, an ultra-private psychiatric facility for the very rich and famous, where I
was to be evaluated before I had to appear to defend myself against charges of mind
manipulation.
While I‘m neither rich nor famous, I‘m not poor, either, and it was so worth the money to
stay in a place that might someday release me. St. Mary‘s Detention Center was the only other
choice outside of the state facility. But it‘s only licensed for short-term care, and with the
looming legal problems caused by my newfound physical and psychic abilities I could be
looking at a very long-term, even permanent, commitment.
My brow furrowed suddenly, because I felt . . . something. It was similar to the odd, pins-
and-needles tingling sensation that I was beginning to associate with magical barriers. I‘d
never been able to get even a hint of the magical before the vampire bite. Now I‘m aware of far
too much. It was actually getting painful to walk around Los Angeles, since the city is the
hotbed of magic you‘d expect. The more power magic wielders use to guard mansions, protect
movie stars, and banish evil forces from public buildings, the more intense it feels to me. This
one hurt.
I sat bolt upright in my seat, actually flinching when I heard the automatic locks click with
what felt like an ominous finality.
―What‘s wrong?‖ As a trained observer of human behavior, Dr. Scott didn‘t like the vibe I
was giving off. He was suddenly very alert and looked completely businesslike.
―Maybe nothing,‖ I answered. My voice stayed steady but sounded uneasy. I
t didn‘t feel like
nothing. I could sense pressure building, making me want to wiggle my jaw like you do in an
airplane to get your ears to pop. There are protective spells that can be used to keep moving
objects, including vehicles, from damage. But they‘re hideously expensive, difficult to do, and
create enough friction when a car is in motion to make any model a gas hog. A limo like this
one was built like a tank. It shouldn‘t need that kind of a spell. But if it wasn‘t a protection
Maybe it was the liquor I‘d just imbibed at the wake for my recently deceased best friend,
Vicki, that had me feeling slow, but I couldn‘t think of a single reason for the powerful spell
I‘d sensed. Yes, I‘d gone to college to get a preternatural degree. But at the time, I hadn‘t been
able to feel magic. It‘s one thing to know that forces like gravity exist and relate the properties
on a test paper. It‘s another entirely to feel the weight of it on your skin and know something‘s
not right. Which made me suspicious. Well, more suspicious. I‘ve been a bodyguard so long
that I‘m always a little bit paranoid. ―Can you sense the driver?‖
The car moved smoothly away from the curb, fitting nicely in between the pair of police
cruisers I could see through the window . . . barely. Mostly I just saw my reflection on the
inside of the glass. The woman I saw was attractive but cold, hard. It was my ―business face.‖ I
use it a lot. So often that sometimes even I forget the softer me exists.
―That would be illegal.‖ Dr. Scott didn‘t bother to hide the disapproval in his voice. It was
combined with the stern look of an instructor.
I shook my head. ―No, Doctor. Reading his mind is illegal. Just sensing to see if he‘s ‗there‘
isn‘t.‖ It was a fine distinction, but I was learning a lot about those as my attorney and I
prepared for my upcoming trial. I had one of the best defense attorneys in the business. If he
was successful, I would be a free, if considerably less wealthy, woman. I could live with that.
If I stayed out of jail or a psychiatric facility, I could always earn more money.
I pretended not to notice Dr. Scott staring at me, concentrating instead on the scene outside
the glass. We‘d turned left. It wouldn‘t have been a big deal except for one little detail. We
were supposed to be heading for Birchwoods, on Ocean View. The nearest exit to Ocean View
was three blocks down and on the right.
Dr. Scott‘s eyes locked with mine in the glass. If he was checking my thoughts, I couldn‘t
tell. At the moment I wouldn‘t even mind. Best for him to find out for himself that I wasn‘t
joking. I was beginning to suspect we were in very real trouble. I watched his reflection as he
pursed his lips thoughtfully. As he seemed to reach a decision, his face went distant and blank
for a few seconds.
―That‘s odd. I can‘t sense him at all.‖ He sounded puzzled and not altogether happy.
I turned to face him. ―Null?‖ I made it a question. Psychic nulls were rare but not unheard
of. I‘d very briefly been assigned to a shrink who was a null. She was completely immune to
magic and to psychic manipulation. Which would‘ve made her the perfect doctor for someone
like me if she hadn‘t also been one of the bad guys. As it was, her drugging me and setting me
up for murder had started the chain of events leading up to my current legal woes—and did
absolutely nothing for my trust issues with psychiatrists.
―No. It feels more as if I‘m being blocked.‖
I wouldn‘t have thought I could tense any further, but I did as adrenaline pumped through
my system. We‘d just taken another left turn. While I couldn‘t be sure, yet, it appeared we
were en route to the desert, where there was miles and miles of nothing . . . right up until you
got to the state-run facility for ―rogue‖ monsters and psychics.
―Doctor, are you lying to me?‖ There was a growling, hissing tone to my voice and my skin
had started to glow, giving off a pale, gray-green light that filled the darkened passenger
compartment like water in a pool. It was decidedly spooky. In just a few days I‘ve grown to
hate it, but right now it might prove useful in scaring the doctor. If he was scared maybe, just
maybe, he‘d be honest with me. Of course, getting angry was liable to push the limits of my
control over the monster in me. But I needed the truth and I didn‘t have a lot of options as to
how I was going to get it.
He shrugged but was more interested in concentrating on whatever was pushing him away.
―Why would I lie?‖
I waved my hand in front of his face to grab his attention and then pointed. ―Look out the
window.‖
He tried, even going so far as to press his nose to the glass. ―I can barely see through the
tinting. What am I looking for?‖
No surprise there. I had the advantage of vampire-style vision. ―Try looking out through the
sunroof.‖ I toned back on the spookometer. I wasn‘t scaring the doctor so much as pissing him
off. I couldn‘t be positive, but I was beginning to think he didn‘t know any more about what
was going on than I did, that maybe his choosing to ride in the limo with me had been an
unexpected complication for whoever was running this little show.
He stood up, flattening his hand against the seat to steady himself from the vehicle‘s
to push into the invisible barrier surrounding the car and I felt an odd lurch in my stomach as it
stretched to accommodate his movement. He noticed it, too, and pushed against it, smoothing
his hands along to test the barrier like a mime on a street corner.
―We‘re going the wrong way. We‘re headed toward the desert.‖ He sounded honestly
shocked, afraid, and more than a little sick.
―Yes.‖ My voice could‘ve frosted the glass as I watched the lights of the city become
swallowed up by the darkness.
I had to give the man credit. He had brains. ―You think I set you up?‖ There was a hint of
caution in his voice. Not fear. He was too tough for that. But he was bright enough to not want
to be locked alone in the back of a limo with an angry monster. Taking me to the state facility
would most assuredly piss me off.
―The thought did occur to me,‖ I admitted.
I watched as he waved his arm slowly.
―What are you doing?‖
―We‘ve got a police escort. I‘m trying to get their attention. But they don‘t seem to see me.‖
I doubted that. More likely they thought he was being cute and drunk. Or they were just
ignoring him. Whichever.
He lowered himself carefully onto the seat. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. ―And I can
assure you that if I‘d intended to turn you over to the state, I would not be stupid enough to
ride in the car with you. And as I told you before, I wouldn‘t consign a rabid dog to the state
facilities.‖
I gave him a humorless smile. ―I remember that.‖
―Oh good.‖ His voice practically dripped sarcasm. ―So now what?‖
―Let me try your cell phone.‖
He blinked at me but reached inside his suit jacket to retrieve it. He was slower on the
uptake than normal. The result of the liquor, no doubt, but no
t particularly helpful. My own
inebriation was long gone. There are a few benefits to my partially undead body.
―If I‘m just being paranoid, it should work just fine,‖ I explained as he passed the top-of-the-
line tech toy to me.
―And if it doesn‘t?‖
I punched the number for Alex‘s cell phone. Vicki‘s former lover had been at the wake, so
she should still be close by. She was also a cop. She could find out if this was legit. If it
wasn‘t, she could get us help. Assuming I could get a call through.
He watched expectantly as I waited for the telltale ringing and instead heard only crackling
static. Damn. I hit the ―end‖ button and flipped the phone closed. The adrenaline that began to
flow through my muscles was both invigorating and annoying. It wasn‘t just danger that was
making my body tense. The abrupt rush of fear from Dr. Scott had me alert and watching his
every movement. Yes, I‘d had my requisite nutrition shakes and no, I wasn‘t hungry. But
hunting is about more than just feeding and I was getting twitchy.
When I didn‘t answer, he repeated his question: ―And if it doesn‘t?‖
It wasn‘t an if anymore—just a statement of fact. ―We‘re screwed.‖
2
So, calling for help didn‘t work. No surprise. I passed the phone back to him and he tucked it
into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, his fingers trembling just the tiniest bit. I could hardly
blame him, so I did my best to ignore it. Fortunately, now that I realized the situation, years of
training and therapy kicked in and the dread of an unknown future faded into the background.
―We need a plan.‖ My voice was nicely calm. I doubted that the good doctor had any clue just
how impressive that was.
He raised a single, eloquent eyebrow.
―Dr. Scott, have you ever been kidnapped?‖ My voice was as coldly polite as I could
manage. I was not hysterical, though I deserved to be. But I‘ve been in life-threatening crises
before. While you never get used to it, you learn control, to cope. Either that or you lose your
mind. So far I‘ve hung on to my sanity. Barely.
―Of course not!‖ he snapped.
―Lucky you. I have.‖ I forced myself not to shudder at memories I prefer to leave in the past.
I‘d been kidnapped as a child, by men who wanted my little sister to use her talent with the