this witch, whoever she was, was
jealous of Adriana for any reason, and
she’d touched that peanut oil, even one
drop might be deadly to Adriana. I
didn’t say this out loud. The fewer
people who knew, the better. After all,
I’m siren enough to have to worry about
it.
“King Dahlmar, is there a woman in
your past, a witch, who would have
reason to be jealous of Adriana?” I
asked in an undertone.
Dahlmar was shaking his head, but
Igor—how
had
he
heard
me?—
answered.
“Irina.
Duchess
Irina
Turescheva.”
“That was over long before I met
Adriana,” the king protested. Adriana
remained silent, staring intently at
Natasha.
“For you, perhaps. For her, not so
much, I think.” Igor turned to Natasha.
“Irina Turescheva,” he called, then
spoke firmly in
Ruslandic.
King
Dahlmar
had
stopped
translating.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a
cell phone, dialed a number from
memory, and began barking orders into
the phone. He’d had to raise his voice,
Natasha was screaming herself hoarse
and thrashing back and forth in the chair.
She gave one last shriek, her eyes rolling
back into her head, and collapsed.
Igor muttered something that was
probably an obscenity as his hand shot
out, checking for a pulse in Natasha’s
neck. Apparently he didn’t find one,
because he swiftly moved her to the
floor and began CPR compressions. I
went down on my knees next to her head
to help.
The world narrowed to the three of
us. CPR doesn’t look like hard work, but
it is: the physical labor of the
compressions, the effort of breathing for
two people. I was feeling light-headed
by the time the EMTs arrived, and Igor
looked beat. But when they hooked the
machine up and gave her a shock, her
heart started beating on its own and she
took a deep, gasping breath.
“Oh thank God,” I whispered. I sat on
the floor, knees bent, not wanting to
move. Igor used the table edge to haul
himself upright, then extended a hand to
me. I took it, grateful for the help.
“I will go to the hospital with her,”
King Dahlmar announced. “And we must
call her father.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Igor
bowed. Pulling himself together, he led
his king out the door after the
paramedics. With Dahlmar gone, I didn’t
have to wait to be seated. I fell into the
nearest chair.
Adriana gave me a long, penetrating
look. So much for your being useless.
22
By the time I went to bed that night, I
knew that Natasha was going to be fine.
She’d need to rest for a couple of days
but the doctors swore there’d be no
permanent damage even though she’d
been used in a tug-of-war between a pair
of powerful magic wielders. After
Dahlmar, Igor, and Natasha left, the
dinner party quickly broke up. I saw
Adriana to her room and left her with
trusted bodyguards, then returned to my
rooms. A few minutes later, Helen Baker
brought me a tray of delicious, nutritious
liquids.
The next morning, after a blissfully
uneventful breakfast, the bride and
groom adjourned to a morning-long
interview with the royal biographers,
which was to be followed by an
afternoon photo shoot. I was left to my
own devices.
First, I called Alex. I doubted the
Okalani, but I wanted to be sure. If they
needed a bio sample for a magical trace,
I’d get one for them. Unfortunately, my
call went straight to voice mail. I left a
message, promising myself to try again
later.
I was tense, so I decided to go for a
run. With enough clothes and sunscreen I
should be okay if I stuck to the shady
trail that wound through the compound
and adjacent nature preserve.
So I gave my security team a couple
of minutes’ warning, started out with a
few stretches, then Griffiths, Baker, and
I headed out.
It was so good to feel the wind in my
face. I was wearing a silver-gray
jogging suit with long sleeves and full-
length pants, and a baseball cap with my
ponytail pulled through the back.
Coconut-scented sunscreen protected my
face and hands. I felt the tightness in my
body ease at the steady, rhythmic
movement.
Griffiths and Baker kept pace with me
easily. They were fully armed and alert.
So was I. If we compared weaponry, I
was betting it would be a close tie. I
don’t think any of us really expected any
trouble but we didn’t let down our
guard. Natasha might not be the only
person being controlled by someone on
the outside.
The trails were absolutely stunning.
Serenity is naturally lovely, with lush
foliage in every shade of green and a
rainbow-hued array of flowers and
exotic birds. By the time we finished the
run, I was relaxed yet fully alert, ready
for whatever the day would bring.
After the run, I took a quick shower—
so did Baker and Griffiths, who were
briefly replaced by two other members
of the Siren Secret Service—and the
three of us headed to the far side of the
island so I could find a dressy lavalava
for the wedding.
It was early afternoon and I was on
my third or fourth shop when Baker
started acting uneasy. She kept tapping
her fingers restlessly against her leg and
checking her watch.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s just this feeling I’ve
got … not a vision, not even a
premonition exactly.”
“You’re a prophet, right? Like your
mother?” Baker’s mother had been Pili,
the queen’s own prophet. Pili had
sacrificed herself to close the demonic
rift months back.
“Yes. And I know that we have to get
to Ms. Peahi’s apartment and get her out
of there. Right now.”
Gran? Why would Baker have a
vision about my grandmother?
I hurriedly put the clothes I’d been
gathering back on the rack. I’d already
found a dress for the wedding and a
spare for other events. I could get by
witho
ut anything else. “Let’s go. But
you’ll have to lead. I’ve never been
there.”
Baker hit a number on speed dial on
her cell phone and advised her people
where we were headed. Our driver took
us through the commercial district,
where the streets were crowded with
tourists, then into more residential
neighborhoods, which were quieter.
We
soon
left
the
prettier
neighborhoods behind and drove into an
area that looked like it was badly in
need of renovation. When we pulled up
in front of one building, I was shocked.
This was where my gran was living?
The place was worse than a dump.
Baker opened the lobby door and the
scents of old urine and rotting fruit,
masked
nauseatingly
by
room
deodorizer, hit me like a punch to the
gut.
We walked across matted brown
carpet so filthy it was sticky. The sound
of a squalling baby carried clearly
through the paper-thin walls, as did the
blaring of a television news program
rehashing the investigation into the
terrorist attacks.
There were no elevators. We climbed
a steep, narrow staircase up to the
second floor, where I saw my
grandmother’s name on the door of
apartment 210, a bare three steps from
the top of the stairwell. I stared at the
dirty door with its shiny new deadbolt,
my vision blurring with tears of anger
and frustration—anger that my gran had
been reduced to this, frustration that
she’d kept it from me.
Strong emotions bring out the vampire
in me, particularly when I haven’t eaten.
So while the smells squelched any
hunger pangs I might have had, my inner
beast was very close to the surface. My
eyes shifted into vampire focus, so that I
could see each tiny hair on the back and
legs of the little gray spider lying in wait
in a web attached to the far corner of the
hall ceiling. I could clearly hear every
sound and movement in the building.
So I was able to hear the front door
opening on the floor below, the rapid
breathing and pounding heart of someone
in a hurry. I smelled my grandmother’s
distinctive perfume mixed with the
heady scent of fear—fear that made my
mouth water.
She started up the steps, her breath
almost sobbing in her chest, as the door
opened again, bringing with it the scent
of an unwashed male.
“She’s coming, and there’s someone
stalking her.” My words were a sibilant
hiss as my fangs extended, making
speech more difficult. The derringer I’d
tucked into my boot top was in my hand,
though I didn’t remember drawing it. I
was edging toward the staircase when a
strong arm grabbed hold of mine. I
turned, hissing, but Griffiths didn’t
flinch. He jabbed his finger in a silent
order for me to stand behind Baker, then
moved smoothly down the stairs before I
could argue. Baker stepped forward to
block me.
There was a muffled scream and the
sharp scent of chemicals and the
temperature dropped like a rock. Ivy
was here. Gran was in danger and my
baby sister’s ghost was here to help if
she could. I pushed past Baker, but
before I’d gone down more than two
steps I heard the sounds of a brief
struggle, then silence, except for the
ambient noise of the building and harsh
breathing.
“It’s over.” Griffiths’s voice was
calm and his breathing was steady.
Apparently he’d been able to subdue the
attacker without so much as breaking a
sweat. Then again, he’s a big guy. A big,
tough, well-trained guy. When I reached
the ground floor, I saw that he had bound
the bad guy with spelled cuffs and was
using his ever-trusty cell phone to dial
for an ambulance and backup. My
grandmother was lying at his feet.
I was kneeling next to my gran’s
unconscious body before the second
word had left Griffiths’s mouth. I pulled
her against me, getting her off of that
nasty, disgusting floor. The chill of Ivy’s
presence settled around me as I held
Gran close and checked her for injuries.
Her breathing was steady. Her heartbeat
was slowing back to normal. She was
going to be all right. I sent up a silent
prayer of thanks and twisted to look at
her attacker.
“You!” he snarled, then spat at me.
The wad of saliva missed my face,
thanks to my excellent reflexes. The
phlegm left a trail of slime as it slid
down the wall behind me.
Only the fact that I had my
grandmother in my arms kept me from
lunging at the bastard and choking the
snot out of him for what he’d done to
her. Staring across at him, I realized that
he looked familiar, but only vaguely,
like someone I’d met once, briefly. Then
again, maybe he just had one of those
faces. Average height, dark blond hair,
and ordinary features; built like he
worked out, but not excessively. He
wore ordinary jeans and a plain red T-
shirt. The only thing out of the ordinary
about him was the mark on his forearm
—a tattoo in the shape of an elaborate,
colorful cross in vivid green, red, and
gold. I felt the magic from that mark and
realized the tattoo was camouflage. He’d
taken a binding oath.
I found myself snarling, rage coloring
every syllable I uttered. “What did you
swear, and who did you swear it to?
Why were you trying to kidnap my
grandmother?”
His eyes blazed with pure hatred. If
looks could kill, I’d be dead in my
boots. But they couldn’t, and glaring was
all he could do, bound as he was by both
handcuffs and magic.
“I will tell you nothing, siren witch.”
“Oh, you’ll talk.” Griffiths’s smile
was absolutely chilling. “You’ll tell us
everything we want to know.”
If the man on the ground had any
sense, he’d be terrified. Because he was
dealing with sirens. When push comes to
shove, they can use their magic to make
a man do almost anything without
hesitation. I, myself, had used my talent
to save my life and that of my friends.
The result still haunted my nightmares.
Why did he look so familiar? Damn it.
I would swear I’d never met the guy, and
yet— Nope. I couldn’t remember, and
&nb
sp; the harder I chased the thought, the more
elusive it became.
I was still trying to remember when
the EMTs arrived a few minutes later.
“I’m going with the ambulance.” It
wasn’t a question. He’d have to bind me
tighter than he had the prisoner if he
wanted to stop me.
Baker turned to Griffiths. “Go with
the prisoner. I’ll see to Ms. Peahi. When
she’s stable, I’ll bring the princess to
headquarters. She can help with the
questioning.”
I watched as the EMTs gently placed
my unconscious grandmother on the
gurney. The man on the ground had
attacked a helpless little old woman,
would have done God alone knew what
to her before he was done. Hell, yes, I’d
help with the questioning.
I was looking forward to it.
* * *
Even in an ambulance, the drive to the
hospital took awhile. The streets were
just that crowded. Less than twenty-four
hours remained before the ceremonies
on Serenity were to take place, and
excitement was building to a fever pitch.
My grandmother began stirring after a
few minutes and soon she was asking
what had happened and complaining that
she was fine.
She didn’t remember a thing after
waking up that morning.
On the one hand, that was a relief.
She’d been so terrified, it was a mercy
for her not to have to remember.
On the other hand, she’d make a lousy
witness when it came to trial. And I was
more than a little worried by the
amnesia. The chemical on the rag was
simple chloroform; it shouldn’t have
caused memory problems.
I wanted to ask the EMTs, but I didn’t
want to alarm Gran. I concentrated hard
and sent my question directly into the
thoughts of the woman taking my
grandmother’s vital signs.
She glanced at me before returning her
attention to the gauge on the blood
pressure cuff. We’re wondering about
her memory as well. It might be the
bump on her head, but security took a
sample of the cloth he held to her
mouth to see if there’s a curse
involved, and we’ve swabbed her mouth
and nasal passages. I’m sure the
doctors will run more tests, but I’m
betting there’s magic involved. Try not
to worry. She’s old but she’s stronger
than she looks. Barring complications,
I think she’s going to be fine.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was
holding. Thank God.
How are you? Any bloodlust?
When I thought about it, I was a little