Demon Song

blood. Let me know if you can think of a way to spin that into non-destructive.”

She cleared her throat and swallowed hard. No surprise. Dr. Scott had had the same reaction. “Well. I can see where that could be … difficult.”

I smiled and my fangs had already grown longer. “Only for you, Gwen.” Now her pulse was starting to flutter. So was mine. A thin line of drool slid down my chin and that was it.

Without another word, I stood up and walked fast to the bathroom I knew was hidden behind a wall panel. I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. The mirror revealed the red-ringed eyes and fangs that had dropped down over my bottom lip. At least this time I wasn’t covered with bloody juices. I turned on the spigot and splashed cold water on my face three times. The shock to my system was just what I needed. I bowed my head and gripped the edge of the marble sink until I felt the solid slab of stone crack. When I looked up again my hair was wet, but at least my eyes had stopped glowing and most of my fangs were back up inside my gums where they belonged. Patting my face dry took off a little makeup, but I could still fix it once I got back to my car.

I let out a slow breath, bracing myself for her reaction. Then I opened the door. She was still in her chair, looking a little haggard. I sat back down opposite her and met her gaze with unblinking eyes. “What you just saw is what I’ve been dealing with every single night for weeks. So you can see where my life has gone a little beyond a typical touristy R and R.”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“The part nobody can tell me for sure is what will happen to me if I drink blood. It might do nothing or it might throw me over the edge. I might become a full vampire. Fingertips and toenails are all I have right now, Gwen. Yoga helps and so does exercise. But they’re not the sort of relaxation you’re thinking of, are they?”

“No. You’re right that I was thinking of something a little less active than exercise or yoga. Have you considered a spa? A facial, sauna, maybe even a massage could help in the short term. If you were relaxed when sunset arrived, your reaction might be less … intense.”

Okay, that was true. I knew I was reacting stronger to the sunset because I was still angry with Gerry. But her words resonated on another level, too—the human one. A spa. Wow. I couldn’t remember ever going to a spa. I knew Dawna and Emma both swore by spas, but I’d never accompanied them. Maybe that would work, because if I was going to be honest, I was stressed. Swimming and bubble baths had even stopped working. Calgon was no longer taking me away.

The problem was that it was the busy season. I was booked every night. But why not a day trip? “Okay. Let me see what I can clear on my calendar. Work is busy, but if Dawna’s health is at stake, I’ll do my best.” I stood up because I really needed to get something into my stomach or I was going to wind up doing something I’d regret. “Tell her doctor I’ll make the suggestion. I know Dawna well enough that if he suggests it she’ll get stubborn and claim she doesn’t need to. And,” I added with a sudden brilliant idea, “I hadn’t come up with a single idea for a Christmas gift for her or Emma. We’ll do a girls’ day out somewhere down in the Napa Valley. Maybe take in a wine tasting.”

Gwen was smiling now, most of her nervousness gone. Most, but not all. That made me sad. I’d been wrong. I’d thought Gwen being disappointed in me was second only to making Gran cry. But making Gwen afraid was worse, much worse. “Excellent. I’ll let him know.” I had my hand on the doorknob, desperate to leave before my stomach growled, when Gwen spoke: “By the way, Celia, I appreciate your candor here. Most clients are unwilling to show their … true self to a therapist. I plan to do some reading on the subject of vampirism and I look forward to spending some session time with you as soon as my license is renewed.”

That was good news. I couldn’t look at her again, but it was good news. I nodded. “I’ll look forward to that, Gwen.”

I escaped before she could respond. The world was starting to shift again and I had to get out into the darkness and the safety of a locked car. It wasn’t that Gwen was wrong. My control was going to give out someday. I just had to keep the odds in my favor and do the things I knew worked.

To give myself a chance to succeed.

8

I burst from the water and took a huge gulp of air before diving into the surf once more. I used to swim every night, relieving the stresses of the day. Since Vicki died, I hadn’t spent much time down here, in the water off Vicki’s estate. Mostly because of the restraining order that Vicki’s mom had put into place when she contested the Will. But one of my many phone messages over the past few days had been from my attorney, telling me the judge hadn’t renewed the order. I was free to go back to the estate.

I’d parked at the guesthouse—my house, for years, until Vicki’s death—and hurried to the beach, stopping just long enough to grab a couple of big towels from my linen cabinet, one to lie on and one to dry off with. The ocean was calling to me. Just hearing the waves, smelling the salt on the air, helped calm me.

I breaststroked out until the lights from Cooper Manor were just a small dot on the dark horizon. The water was cold, but I felt overheated, so it was perfect. I could feel the ocean like a living thing around me—each fish and plant made itself known without speech or effort. It had been like this my whole life, not just since I learned I was a siren. Maybe it should have occurred to me that my love of water was deeper than other beachgoers’, but I’d trusted the grade-school aptitude test that told me I had no paranormal talent.

Flipping onto my back, I stared up at the twinkling stars and felt safe and secure for the first time in days. The bullet wound in my shoulder had healed and was now nothing more than another scar in a sea of them. I floated and kicked and let the tension seep out of my body with each rise and fall of the swells. Maybe I could sleep a full night for a change.

“I was going to suggest this, but you’ve found the answer on your own.”

The female voice to my left startled me enough that I lost my buoyancy and dropped beneath the waves. I came up sputtering and blinking water out of my eyes.

Lopaka, high queen of the sirens, had watched me nearly drown with amusement. You weren’t drowning. Sirens can’t drown. The oceans won’t allow it. She spoke into my mind and I tried to answer in kind.

Where her voice was the sweetest ringing of crystal wind chimes, my telepathy sounded like the harsh squawking of gulls: I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t startle me. I’m not like other sirens. I’d hate to prove your no-drowning theory wrong.

She laughed and the water grew more alive around us. I could feel more fish come to investigate, and strands of seaweed, completely out of place this far from shore, drifted by. Lopaka plucked the narrow green fronds from the water and began to idly twist them. “I would hate that as well. Monarchs should never be proven wrong. But while I am no psychic, I am … connected to my people, in tune with my subjects. Which is why I’m here. What was causing you such distress? I felt as though your very soul was screaming in agony earlier today. But now you seem well.”

Whoa. She could feel me in pain? I so didn’t want to project my life onto anyone. “How much earlier? It’s been a busy day. I got shot around two this morning and wanted to snack on my therapist about an hour ago.”

She shook her head with mild confusion. “It wasn’t physical. I’ve learned to tune such things out. This was psychic pain—panic and heartache and fear, all rolled into one. It was strong enough that I nearly fell, but I couldn’t find the source for some time. It was as though I was being blocked when I searched.” Her hands finally stopped fiddling beneath the water and came up bearing a crown fashioned of seaweed and tiny shells. She put it on her head while I wondered where in the world she’d found the shells. When I looked closer, I realized they weren’t shells but living snails, mollusks, and tiny starfish, clinging to the stiff blades of sea grass.

We were drifting out to sea, and that was going to mean an exhausting swim back unless we started now. “First, the crown thing is a very cool talent. Second, we need to start back or I’m going to be too tired to make it to shore. Last, do you recall what time you had the panic attack?” I’d felt that kind of panic twice in the last twenty-four hours—first when Kevin was being shot at and again while at the prison. Both times I’d been behind magic barriers.

“It was late afternoon. Definitely not night.”