surprised that I didn’t feel any,
considering the stress I was under. It
would be really sad to think that this
level of stress was my new normal. No.
But I should probably eat something,
sooner rather than later. Is there a
cafeteria at the hospital?
Can you eat solids? Her mental voice
managed to sound surprised.
Not really. Baby food, mostly, and
stuff run through a blender. Broth or
soup will do. I drink nutrition shakes in
a pinch.
Then you should be able to get
something. But take care of it quick. We
don’t want there to be any problems at
the hospital.
No. We don’t.
I silently relayed our conversation to
Baker, who had pulled out her cell
phone and begun sending text messages.
She tilted the phone to show me that she
was sending more security agents to the
hospital. One of them met us as we
arrived and handed me a nutrition shake
and some broth. Not exactly high-class
dining, but it was good enough to keep
the monster at bay while we got Gran
through the check-in process and into a
private room.
The whole time, Gran alternated
between insisting that she was fine and
worrying aloud about the cost of
hospitalization. Eventually they gave her
something to help her calm down and
rest—or maybe just to get her to shut up.
When she was sleeping, deeply and
peacefully, I sat beside her for a while,
studying her. She looked fragile, old,
and tired. Lines of care that hadn’t been
there six months ago had etched deep
creases between her brows and at the
corners of her mouth.
Oh, Gran, why didn’t you tell me?
I’d have helped. You know I would
have.
Queen
Lopaka’s
mental
voice
intruded on my thoughts, cold and
imperious. That is good to know. I was
appalled when Helen advised me of
your
grandmother’s
situation.
I
wondered how you could let my
brother’s widow sink to such depths. It
seemed like atypical behavior for you.
I sighed both physically and mentally
as tears filled my eyes. We had a
falling-out when I refused to keep
dealing with my mother. The last I
knew, Gran had banked the money from
the house sale and was living in a nice
assisted-living place on the mainland. I
knew she was visiting Mom once a
month. I’d hoped …
What had I hoped? That Gran would
stop being codependent, stop rescuing
my mom? The habits of a lifetime are a
bitch to break, even if you want to.
Which Gran didn’t. She was determined
to save my mother from herself, would
fight for her salvation to the last breath.
But I just didn’t have that in me. I felt my
mother should pay for her crimes. She’d
broken the law. Only prison could fix
what was wrong.
I should’ve checked up on her. I
should’ve stopped her somehow. I
guess I expected … I don’t know. She’s
always been the one to take care of me.
Lopaka’s voice softened in my mind.
She probably hid it from you precisely
for that reason. And she very well
might have hidden it from your
attendant spirit.
The sirens mostly consider me a true
siren because I happen to have friends
who are clairvoyants and my sister
hangs around me, even after death.
Prophets and attendant spirits are royal
attributes. I consider them mostly
coincidence.
Probably. Hiding stuff from me is
classic Gran. Yes, she’d hide her
problems from Ivy and lie to my
mother. And to me. Not to be a martyr,
nor a hero. But just because she’s
Gran.
Indeed. I see now why my brother
loved her. She might not have been
siren royalty but she was worthy to be
the mate of one. There was both
frustration and admiration in her voice.
Typical.
Lopaka’s mental voice sounded
exhausted. She’d contacted me mind-to-
mind before, even over long distances,
without strain. But this time was
different.
The
queen
might
be
recovering, but she wasn’t herself yet by
a long shot. I let out a little growl. You
need to rest.
Yes. And I will. But now I need you to
go with Agent Baker. The questioning
of the prisoner is not going well. Our
psychic believes something important
will occur tomorrow, but cannot obtain
details. While I am willing to use
torture if necessary to save lives,
Gunnar believes the man’s hatred of
you may enrage him enough that he
will be unable to guard his thoughts
from us if you are in the room.
I didn’t know who Gunnar was and
didn’t much care. I didn’t want to leave
the hospital; I wanted to stay and make
sure that nothing else happened to Gran.
There will be guards on the door at
all times. She will be protected.
“Ivy, are you still here?” I spoke both
in my head and out loud. My sister’s
ghost hadn’t done anything since letting
me know she was with us in Gran’s
apartment building, so I wasn’t sure I’d
get an answer. She used to be with me
almost always. Now, she spent her time
guarding our mom in prison. It was hard
work for the ghost of a grade-school kid,
but I was betting she was doing a
damned fine job of it. That didn’t stop
me from missing her.
The overhead light flashed once. That
was our code. One flash meant yes, two
no.
“They want me to go question the bad
guy. Can you keep an eye on Gran for
me?”
The light flashed once again.
“Thanks. Love you, Ivy.” Tears stung
my eyes as I looked first up at the light,
then down at my grandmother on the bed.
The lights flickered wildly for a few
seconds. I took that to mean, Me, too.
I wanted to be there when Gran woke
up. We needed to talk, about so many
things. Today’s little adventure had
taught me not to take her for granted. I
was going to work things out with her
even if that meant dealing with my
mother again.
The queen’s voice tickled my mind
again, the tinkling of crystal chimes. The
doctors have assured Adriana that your
grandmother will sleep deeply for
several hours. If you go now, yo
u may
be back before she wakes.
You’re sure?
Please, niece. I will ensure my
sister-in-law is safe. But there are
others who are not. Lives are at stake.
You must go, and quickly.
Put like that, I really didn’t have much
choice. The queen was considering this
a family matter.
Family. That meant a lot on this
island. I’ve never had much of it. Most
everyone I considered family was lying
on that hospital bed. I bent down to kiss
my grandmother’s cheek. “I’ll be back as
soon as I can,” I whispered.
* * *
The interrogation room was grim. The
cinder-block walls were painted a funky
pinkish-tan. Brick red trim surrounded
the one-way mirror familiar to anyone
who has ever seen a crime drama on
television. A battered table was bolted
to the floor. On it, untouched, rested two
glasses and a sweating plastic pitcher of
water.
Again, anyone who watches television
knows why the water is there. But you’d
be surprised how many people actually
drink it. It’s impossible to sit in a room
like this and not be nervous. Nerves
make a person thirsty. But a full bladder,
when there’s no possibility of emptying
it, is damned uncomfortable, and pissing
yourself is degrading, humiliating, and
puts you at a disadvantage with the
interviewers. The clock on the wall,
with its big, easy-to-read numbers, is
there so that the prisoner can’t help but
be aware of the seconds, minutes, and
hours passing.
If any of this was having an effect on
the prisoner, I couldn’t see it. He sat
calmly, his arms resting on the table,
breathing slow and easy.
He’d obviously played this game
before.
So it was time to change the rules.
A large man in a very high-end suit
handed me an earpiece. Baker had
introduced him as the secretary of Siren
Security, Gunnar Thorsen. It was
evidently a cabinet post, but with active
duties. Very active lately.
He looked about as you’d expect from
the name: big and Nordic. His long
blond hair was pulled back into a braid,
revealing chiseled features and eyes the
ice blue of a winter sky. His expression
was just that cold. “We have a psychic
on duty,” he explained.
As if on cue, the psychic began
speaking in my ear. “Testing, one, two,
three, testing.” I heard her loud and
clear.
“It works.”
“Good. You’ve fed?”
I blinked a little at the directness of
the question. “Yes.”
“Right. We need him alive and
talking.”
Um, wow. Okay. I’ve come close to
losing control a time or two, but I have
never actually fed off of a human. Nor
do I intend to. It would send me over the
edge, make me fully a vampire. I am not,
and will never be, a bat. Ever.
I looked through the glass at the
prisoner and felt a fine burning rage fill
me. He was a terrorist. He’d tried to
kidnap my gran. I had no idea what he’d
intended to do with her, but I assumed it
would have been bad. As it was, she’d
wound up in the hospital.
I wouldn’t feed on the bastard, but that
didn’t mean I didn’t want to hurt him.
I beat down my rage by force of will,
calming myself with slow, deep, breaths.
After a moment, I was back in full
control. “I’m good. Let’s do this.”
The psychic nodded in approval, so
Thorsen led me out into the interrogation
room.
“You!” The prisoner leapt to his feet,
sending the chair crashing to the floor
behind him.
“Yup. Me.” I gave him my sunniest,
most saccharine smile.
He stood, snarling, breathing as
heavily as if he’d been running. It was
obviously all he could do not to leap
across the room and attack me.
“He wants to kill you.” The psychic’s
voice came clearly through the ear bud.
“He’s not striking because he knows he
can’t make it past Thorsen. But if he
sees an opening, he’ll take it. You will
need to be very careful. He’s hoping
that if he kills you, we will kill him. It
will keep him from revealing anything
and having the curse take him. He
wants to die a martyr to his cause.”
Oh great, a cause. As if any religion
justified murder, or the kidnapping of
little old ladies. I stared at him and tried
to put my finger on what it was about
him that seemed so familiar. Who the
hell was this guy?
“Why do you look so familiar?”
“You don’t recognize me?” He spat
the words.
“Should I?”
“He’s thinking about a brother.
Something about a desert and a demon.
Damn it, he’s shutting it down. Keep
him engaged. ”
A desert. And a demon.
Just like that, I knew. I had never seen
him before, but I knew him all the same.
The psychic was right. I’d met his
brother. His name was Barnes. He’d
delivered me to Eirene shortly before
she called up a greater demon to devour
me and my friends. To save us, I’d used
my siren powers, engaging Eirene in a
battle to control the men working for her.
It had been too much for them. Their
minds were destroyed, snuffed out like
I shuddered, my stomach roiling at the
memory. It had been an accident. I hadn’t
meant to hurt anyone, much less kill
them. But I’d done it.
He must have seen my expression.
The memory was still raw in my mind.
He nodded and sneered. “So, you do
remember. You remember what you did
to him. Good. I want you to know that
you and that other siren bitch are the
cause of this. You reminded us why
sirens have no place in this world. We
will wipe you out like the vermin you
are.”
He wasn’t foaming at the mouth, he
w a s smiling. That was even more
terrifying. Because while I’d done
something hideous and evil by accident,
his actions were absolutely deliberate.
The tattoo on his forearm was
beginning to glow, the colors shining
like light through stained glass, like
sparkling jewels. He was talking, and
that was starting to activate the death
curse that was part of the binding oath
he’d taken to keep their secrets. I could
feel the magic coming off of him in
waves of heat. “The f
irst real blow is
tomorrow. But it won’t end until you’re
dead. Every last one of you.”
Now he was foaming at the mouth, his
eyes rolling back in his head. He made
thick, wet choking sounds, his body
spasming so strongly that he tripped over
the chair. It was like a grand mal
seizure, but magical, not physical, in
cause. A strong smell of sulfur filled the
room.
“Medic!” Thorsen’s bass bellow was
loud enough to hurt my ears. He rushed
to the still form on the floor and began
giving CPR. No artificial respiration.
The smell of sulfur and bitter almonds
hung too heavy on the body. But he kept
working to keep the prisoner’s heart
pumping until the EMTs arrived and
pronounced him dead.
23
I s a t in Thorsen’s large, airy office,
shivering in reaction, huddled over a cup
of steaming coffee.
Thorsen had
personally
taken
charge
of
my
debriefing. Undoubtedly the psychic was
being debriefed and writing a report
somewhere else.
Emotions swept over me in waves.
Guilt: I was the one who caused this. I
personally had caused an entire terrorist
organization to be formed. People were
dying, and it was all my fault. No, not all
mine. Eirene owned a share of the
blame. Of course, she was already dead,
and even half the blame was more than
enough for me.
Anger and frustration: that man had
been a terrorist and an asshole, but he
shouldn’t have had to die like that. The
guys we were up against acted as if
people were as disposable as used
tissues. That was just so wrong. That
they were heating it up and serving it as
religion only made it worse.
“When he was dying, the psychic got
the impression of a cross, and the tattoo
on his arm was of a cross as well. It’s
obviously
a
symbol
with
some
importance to them. Do you have any
idea, other than the obvious, of what it
signifies?”
“Nope.”
There was a tap on the door. A petite
brunette with a crisp uniform and a no-
nonsense attitude peeked in. “Sir. We
ran his prints through the system. They
came up for a minor infraction in
Detroit, USA, under the name Jason
Barnes. I’m running the name Barnes
through our database. We’re getting a ton
of results, but none of them seems
relevant.”
“Stay on it.”
“Yes, sir.” She ducked back out.