constantly trying to get messages in or out. Then again, they probably were. I tried a slightly
different tack.
―Can you check with Dr. Scott to see if he‘ll let you look into it?‖
―Fine. I‘ll check with Dr. Scott. If he says it‘s okay, I‘ll see what I can find out for you.‖
That was the best I was going to get and I knew it. So I smiled sweetly and said, ―Thanks,‖
and Heather hurried over to the table where a number of other staff members were eating. The
attendants went back to their posts, back to scanning the room.
I left the cafeteria at 8:50, giving me plenty of time to make my way to Dr. Hubbard‘s office
for my 9:00 individual therapy session. On the way I pondered whether or not I could stand
living here long term. It wasn‘t a bad place. But I was already restless, after just a couple of
weeks. And I couldn‘t stop thinking about things on the outside. I was seriously worried that I
hadn‘t heard a peep from Ivan since the night of the attack. While I tried to tell myself that the
situation, whatever it was, had probably blown over, I didn‘t believe that. I hoped Heather was
being honest about going to Dr. Scott; I hoped that Dr. Scott would be willing to let her follow
up. Neither seemed like a good bet. It made me feel helpless. I can‘t tell you how much I hate
that.
―Good morning, Celia.‖ Dr. Hubbard‘s greeting drew me out of this fairly unpleasant
reverie. She greeted me with a warm smile that lit up a face that was otherwise plain. A woman
of late middle age, she was attractive but not stunning, with ash-blond hair, minimal makeup,
and a suit that was both businesslike and unremarkable. Then again, therapy is about the
patient, not the therapist. The non-threatening, unnoticeable doctor might not bear a lot of
resemblance to the woman I‘d meet outside of work.
―Ann.‖
―So, what would you like to discuss today?‖
This was how the sessions always started. She‘d ask what I wanted to discuss, but in the end
we‘d wind up digging into all the stuff I really didn‘t want to talk about. Gotta love therapy.
An hour later, wrung out from crying, I was done with Dr. Hubbard for a few days. I‘d recover
just in time to go back and dredge more gunk out of my subconscious.
Usually I had group therapy at 10:30
, but today I‘d be skipping it. I‘d be meeting with my
A.M.
attorney instead. Doing witness prep and going over my testimony for my court hearing wasn‘t
going to be fun, but I was tired of being the center of the group‘s attention. I mean the others
had drug problems, depression, maybe out-of-control talent. Pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. My
problems, on the other hand, were spectacularly weird. My fellow patients waited for each
session like soap opera addicts. Which seriously creeped me out. The only upside I could think
of was I was meeting a lot of high-end potential clients.
We were scheduled to meet in one of the small conference rooms in the administration
building. I went there under escort. Patients don‘t get to leave the main building without.
Because of the whole siren thing, I got to be escorted by a female guard. Greta was big, blond,
Nordic, and no-nonsense. When she talked, which was seldom, she had a thick accent. Her
uniform might look like that of a tour guide, but she herself looked like a prison guard.
I‘d slathered myself with another layer of sunscreen, so I was able to walk down the sunlit
sidewalk without singeing, but I was still glad to get back indoors. I was even more glad when
Greta left me alone in the conference room, shutting the door behind her. No doubt she‘d be
waiting right outside when the meeting was over. But in the meantime, I wasn‘t sorry to see
her go.
I settled into a comfortable leather chair at a small, round table and proceeded to wait. And
wait. And wait. Since Roberto is normally excruciatingly prompt, I had to wonder what was
wrong. But nobody came to tell me anything. So I sat at the little wood-laminate table and
watched the hands on the wall clock move slowly around the dial. Forty minutes had crawled
by when the door finally opened and my attorney came in, looking harried and worried.
―What‘s wrong?‖ Okay, maybe not the best conversational foray. I mean, usually I lead with
―Hi,‖ or ―Hey, Roberto, good to see you‘ ‖ But something was obviously amiss. It wasn‘t just
that he was late. He was troubled and he wasn‘t bothering to try to hide it from me.
Shaking his head, he set a large briefcase onto the conference room table and took the seat
across from me.
―Has anyone else been here to meet with you?‖
That was an odd question, especially since Birchwoods‘ rules allowed me to meet with my
attorney and no one else. I told him as much.
―I know.‖ He took off his glasses and proceeded to clean the lenses with a snow-white
handkerchief. It was a nervous gesture and so completely out of character it threw me. Roberto
doesn‘t get nervous. He just doesn‘t. Which is why he‘s been lead counsel defending the
famous and infamous, winning the unwinnable cases.
―Why do you ask?‖
He met my gaze, dark eyes earnest. ―I have messages for you from Bruno DeLuca, and the
Landinghams—Warren, Emma, and Kevin. And I was contacted by a representative of King
Dahlmar—‖
―Ivan?‖ I leaned forward eagerly. ―Did he get in touch with you? Tell you what it was he
needed?‖
Roberto nodded. ―Ivan Stefanovich came to my office yesterday. He presented his
identification and said that he had to see you as soon as possible. He indicated that it was a
matter of national security. He asked that he be allowed to accompany me to this meeting. I
was reluctant. But I called the embassy and checked on him and he voluntarily submitted to a
truth spell. So I agreed to let him come in with me, pretending to be my co-counsel. He was
going to say his piece, then leave, so that we could go over your case.‖
―Only he didn‘t show?‖
―Exactly.‖
―That‘s bad. Really bad.‖
―I waited for a half hour, then called the number he gave me. It‘s not in service. When I
called the embassy, this time they said he was out of the country. Do you have any idea what
this is about?‖
―No more than you do. He tried to talk to me the night of Vicki‘s wake, but the police
separated us. He‘s a telepath. I half-figured he‘d try to get in touch with me mind-to-mind, but
I guess they have protections up against that here.‖
―Yes. They do.‖
―So what do we do?‖
―I guess we just go forward with our trial prep. I‘ll try to find out more when we‘re done.
Maybe whatever it was resolved itself. Or maybe he‘ll get back in touch with me. But for now,
your hearing is the day after tomorrow and we‘ve got to get ready for it.‖
So that was what we did. But in the back of my mind I couldn‘t help worrying, wondering
what was going on out in the real world while I was tucked safely in the nuthouse.
4
I spent the rest of the day going through the motions, my mind caught up in worries about the
court date, about whatever the hell was going on with Ivan, and, oddly, about Bruno.
Bruno DeLuca is the love of my lif
e. I know, corny. But he is. We met in college. He‘d
come out west to study with Warren Landingham in one of the best Paranormal Studies
departments in the world. And to put a little distance between him and his very large, very
domineering Italian-American family.
We hit it off almost from the start. He‘s smart, fun, and sexy as hell. He also had enough of
a sense of humor not to take himself (or much of anything else) too seriously. No situation was
ever too dire for Bruno Deluca to crack wise about it.
We dated, fell in love, got engaged.
And then I met the family.
Oh boy. Wasn‘t that a load of fun. Not. His mother didn‘t just hate me. She loathed me. All
of the other daughters-in-law hated me, too. And there are a lot of them. Uncle Sal was okay
with me, so was cousin Joey. But that was it. Everybody else, no.
Then there were the arguments about where we were going to live—East Coast vs. West.
Children? Him: yes, lots. Me: uh, no. I like kids, but my life has been a series of dangerous
disasters since I was little. I was not going to put an innocent child through that.
They say love conquers all. They lie. We loved each other desperately, but there were too
many things pulling us apart. We broke up. And we stayed broken up for years. Right up until
he reappeared in my life a few weeks ago.
God, I‘d missed him. Miracle of miracles, he missed me, too. So, older, maybe a little wiser,
we were giving it another shot.
In my mind I went over the messages he‘d sent with Roberto, short verbal messages on a
flash drive from the law firm‘s computer answering service. ―The trip home to tell the family
went pretty much the way I expected.‖ That meant badly. ―Job negotiations are going well.
Uncle Sal went with me to meet with Creede and Miller.‖ Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that
meeting. ―I love you. If you can get a day pass I‘ll show you just how much.‖ Just thinking
about that made my body react. Even when things hadn‘t been going well emotionally, sex
with Bruno had been spectacular.
I had to get out of here. Soon. Which meant the hearing had to go well.
A long day bled into a sleepless night. After a few hours of tossing and turning I gave up on
the idea of sleep altogether.
I showered and dressed, wondering what I was going to do to kill the hours until the
cafeteria opened and the day actually started. I needn‘t have worried. I‘d no more than pulled
on my slippers when there was a tap at my door.
To my surprise a tall, slender woman stood in front of me, her long auburn hair pulled back
to reveal a heart-shaped face with exotic features dominated by large eyes the rich blue-green
color of the waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Her silk wrap dress was of the same shade and
had been cut to make the most of a figure that was designed to turn men‘s heads. She was too
perfect to be true. Still, I‘d have sworn that every inch of her was absolutely natural. I certainly
didn‘t feel any of the magic I‘d come to associate with attractiveness charms and there were no
obvious signs of cosmetic surgery. In fact, she didn‘t even appear to be wearing much in the
way of makeup.
―Good morning, Celia.‖ I got the full weight of those extraordinary eyes. And just like that I
knew. She was a siren.
―Good morning.‖
―Dr. Scott was good enough to give me permission to see you.‖
Not by choice he didn’t. I thought it to myself, but I was surprised when she answered.
No. Not by choice. She admitted it inside my skull. Eek. There will be about forty-five
minutes that he can’t remember. He’ll assume it’s just one more sign of post-traumatic stress
and schedule an appointment for an assessment.
But it’s not.
No, she admitted with a small smile. I manipulated him. But he is having problems. He
should make the appointment anyway. If this pushes him to get help sooner, is that such a bad
thing?
Probably not, but that didn‘t make me like it any better. Life had been a lot more
comfortable for me before I realized just how easy it was for the psychically gifted to
manipulate people. The more I found out, the more I could sympathize with the law‘s hard-line
policy. If only it didn‘t apply to me. Damn the luck.
The big siren gift is to enthrall men to the point that they‘d do whatever the siren needed
even to the point of death. They betray their families, their countries, whatever, with a smile on
their face and a song in their heart. It completely takes away their free will. Which is just
wrong, on so many levels. I‘m a big believer in free will.
―You‘re not what I expected.‖ She tapped a manicured fingernail against her lip as she
looked me up and down.
―Really? What were you expecting?‖
―I didn‘t think you‘d be so . . .‖ She hesitated and I saw in her mind what she was about to
say, which was ―pretty.‖ She smiled and it was as beautiful as the first light of dawn after a
long, cold night. I‘m not gay, but I can appreciate gorgeous and this woman made the top-tier
most beautiful in Hollywood look like day-old dog meat. I certainly wasn‘t in her league. Oh, I
do all right, better than some. But there‘s a big step between playing in Little League and in the
pros.
―Uh, right.‖ I didn‘t believe her and it showed.
―I‘m serious.‖ Her expression sobered. ―I expected you to look more human, or more
vampire. But there‘s more than a trace of us in you. In fact, you bear more of a resemblance to
Queen Lopaka than Adriana does. Except for the teeth, of course.‖ She smirked and even that
I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, so I couldn‘t answer. Probably best that I stay
quiet anyway.
She must have taken my silence to mean I was insulted. ―I meant no offense. It‘s never a bad
thing to have people underestimate you.‖
―Particularly my enemies.‖ I kept my tone light, but I‘ll admit to being a teeny bit worried.
My first encounter with my grandfather‘s relatives had been at Vicki‘s wake. While my current
visitor actually spoke in American idiom and seemed friendly, it was entirely possible she was
giving me a line of bull.
―You don‘t trust me.‖
―It‘s nothing personal.‖ I gave her a polite smile. ―I don‘t trust anybody.‖
That was the honest truth, put bluntly enough to make her blink and give me a long look
through narrowed eyelids. ―You mean that.‖
―I tend to say what I mean. It‘s easier.‖ I gave her a grin that was only partly manufactured.
―Of course I can lie, if the occasion calls for it.‖
―Of course. We all can.‖ She walked over to the window, pulling aside the curtain with one
hand and turning to watch the waves hitting the beach. ―May I ask what arrangements you‘ve
made about your hearing?‖
A siren had crashed Vicki‘s wake to tell me that I would have to attend a hearing on the
siren island. They seem to think the vampire bite has made me a monster that may need to be
put down. I‘ll have to go there and deal with it—assuming I get through the court hearing
okay. ―I haven‘t made any. Why?‖
Sh
e whipped around so fast she pulled down the curtain, rod and all. She stared
openmouthed at me, delicate peach-colored cotton in a death grip in her fist and puddled at her
feet
I shrugged. ―The other one . . . Adriana?‖ I made the name a question and she nodded.
―Didn‘t tell me squat. She showed up, caused a scene, challenged me to a duel, said I‘d be put
up before the tribunal of Pacific lords. Then she left.‖
―A duel? The Pacific lords?‖
―To the death. And yes.‖
She blinked a couple of times, batting lashes almost long enough to create a breeze. ―Oh my.
You certainly have managed to antagonize her.‖
―It wasn‘t hard.‖ My tone was dry. ―She was monumentally rude and looking to take
offense.‖
My visitor threw back her head and let out a peal of honest laughter. ―That would be
Adriana all right.‖
―I don‘t suppose you‘re going to tell me where the ‗Isle of Serenity‘ is and when I‘m
supposed to be there? Or are you the escort?‖
The woman‘s head tipped down, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Her voice took on a
dangerous purr. ―She truly didn‘t tell you?‖
―Nope. Got pissy, issued her challenge, and told me that since I wouldn‘t treat her like a
proper princess she didn‘t feel compelled to tell me squat.‖
― That is also like Adriana and completely unacceptable.‖ The woman smiled again, but this
time it was more a baring of teeth. ―As you guessed, I‘m a siren; in fact, I‘m as much a
princess as Adriana and as you. ‖
She sounded defiant about it, as if she expected me to argue with her, and I did, but
obviously not in the way she expected. ―I‘m no princess. Not even a little.‖
―Oh, but you are.‖ She shook her head, her blue-green eyes dancing with mischief. ―You
come from a royal line. Your great-grandfather was brother to the queen. In fact, you come
from the Pacific royal line, just like Adriana. And she has pissed off so many of the other
royals that having an alternative, even an unlettered heathen like you, will put her in a very
precarious position indeed.‖
―Unlettered heathen?‖ I tried not to sound as hideously insulted as I felt but didn‘t quite
manage it.
―You don‘t know the first thing about our culture, do you?‖ Her smile was poisonously