Siren Song

live with that. Emphasis on the “live.”

We made the drive in broad daylight because it had taken hours to deal with the fallout from the kidnapping attempt. I was glad for the press and for Roberto Santos. My attorney had rightfully insisted that I be moved out of the confining circle and behind tinted windows before the sun could crisp me.

I stared out the window at Birchwoods, wondering what it was that Ivan needed and wishing for about the millionth time that the damned bat had just bitten me and been done with it rather than trying to bring me over. He’d turned me into an abomination that was not vampire, human, or siren but some unholy mix of the three.

In the eyes of most of the cops I was a monster, one step below a dangerous animal, and now I’d publicly embarrassed the whole department. There were bodies on the ground and the police cars were real. Of course, the fourth suspect had gotten away. Maybe they’d catch him. Maybe not.

I had the sickening feeling this whole night was somehow going to wind up being my fault.

3

The covers went flying off the bed, but I grabbed an end and pulled the soft comforter back over me. Then the drapes opened abruptly to let in bright sunlight. I flipped the pillow so my head was underneath and returned to warm darkness.

“I don’t want to go to therapy today. Go away.” I heard a familiar squeak, like fingernails on chalkboard, and lifted up just enough of the pillow to peek out from underneath.

Have to.

The words were written in beautiful script on the dresser mirror, etched into the frost Vicki had formed on the surface. Technically, I wasn’t allowed to have a “roommate,” but there wasn’t much the staff could do about it since she was a ghost and a former resident. I let out a little growl and dropped the pillow back over my face. Yeah, I knew she was right. If I didn’t play by the rules now, they’d only get more restrictive and it would be a nurse or, worse, a mage attendant with compulsion magic who came to get me.

Another squeak and this time I smelled flowers. I lifted the pillow again and there was a single yellow daisy lying next to my face. The frost had formed a new word.

Please?

Well, hell. I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. Vicki always could cajole me into doing stuff. “Okay, okay. I’ll get up.” I spun my legs off the bed and walked to the dresser. “Let’s see, let me choose from my expansive wardrobe.”

I opened the first drawer to reveal gray T-shirts and sweatshirts. The second drawer held gray sweatpants and the third? Yep, gray undies. Everything gray except the bras. They were white. Whoo. All newbies to the Birchwoods program have their past stripped away so the healing can begin. Or so say the ads. Gray is the great equalizer among the classes. No amount of fame, money, or family title can stand against it. It’s only later, further into the program, that personalities and preferences are allowed to reemerge, under strictly controlled circumstances. I took a quick shower, pulled on my graywear, and slathered on enough sunscreen to get me through the first part of the day. A baseball cap with the facility’s logo would protect my scalp.

The windows were flung open and I got the day’s first breath of salty sea air. The room was flooded with the sound of the ever-present gulls that were probably considered nuisances by the staff and other residents. What can I say? Gulls seem to be my thing lately. They’ve been flocking around me ever since I fought against my vampire sire by pulling on my siren talents. I have no idea why, or what to do about it, which is as frustrating to me as it probably is to the birds.

I looked out the window and tried to lighten my mood. It didn’t take all that long. Birchwoods is a lovely compound, filled with flowers, stunning landscaping, and rolling, grassy hills. The view included the ever-present guards, who dress like tour guides but are actually tough and smart.

Security is tight, but that’s as much for the protection of the guests as for the public. I looked over the campus: hospital, administration building, youth facility, main residential building. It’s a good thing I’m not an autograph hound, because coming out of the youth facility at that moment was one of the biggest teen pop stars in the world. There were a lot more inside the building. The creme de la creme come here when they need to dry out or heal up and they don’t want anyone to know about it, ever. The tabloids try desperately to get through security, knowing that if they did they’d get the scoop of the century. Thus far, they’d had no success.

More squeaking and I turned my head. Hurry. Waffles today!

It made me smile. It was so Vicki. We’d learned in the interval between her death and the wake that she could carry on a full conversation with only minimal responses. Whole sentences tired her quickly, but a few carefully chosen words were enough to interact.

For a moment I wondered how the investigation into her murder was going. Alex had specifically warned me to back off, to let the police do their job. God knew they were under enough pressure already with Vicki’s parents in the mix.

Vicki’s parents were Cassandra Meadows and Jason Cooper, the Hollywood power couple and an industry unto themselves. Jason wasn’t such a bad guy, but Cassandra could be absolute hell on wheels. Not just a bitch, a raging bitch. I knew this from personal experience. The woman hates me with an unholy passion.

Another squeak underlined the Hurry. Vicki’d loved waffles in life—thick Belgian ones with malt in the batter. Coat them with fresh butter and real Vermont maple syrup and she could probably tie the Guinness record holder for number eaten in a sitting.

I let out a little chuckle as my shoes made a little hop across the floor toward me. “Okay, okay. I’m hurrying.”

I shoved my foot into a pair of (you guessed it) gray slippers. I didn’t like them much, no arch support and they were too loose to be completely comfortable, but nobody was allowed shoes with laces at Birchwoods. A precaution against suicides, no doubt, but annoying as hell.

You okay? screeched across the mirror in front of me and I smiled sadly.

“Think I’ll ever make it out of here?” I paused as the frost began to form. “Truthfully?”

There was a pause on her side, too. Vicki had been a patient at Birchwoods for a long time. There was a good chance she really had been mentally unstable, but certain traumatic events pushed her over the edge. She came to Birchwoods looking for peace and for the most part had found it. But we weren’t the same sort of people . . . our friendship was based on the “opposites attract” principle. While I like quiet, peace isn’t really my thing. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be a bodyguard for fun and profit.

Dunno . . . , was the reply, followed by a :-(

“C’mon,” I said after a long silence that threatened to ruin what small amount of good mood I had. “Let’s go do waffles.” Even though I really don’t like waffles all that much.

The frown was replaced by a :D

Text messaging from the beyond. My life is so weird.

Like most of Birchwoods, the cafeteria is bright, sunny, and clean. It looks more like the restaurant of a nice hotel than a cafeteria. Lots of plants and greenery, round wooden tables with matching chairs with a light oak finish. There are two separate sections, divided by a glass partition. Not smoking and non-smoking: suicidal and not. Those with any hint of suicidal tendencies get foods that don’t require cutting and there’s a much higher supervisor-to-patient ratio.

I have plenty of problems, but suicidal tendencies aren’t among them. So I chose a corner table just outside the reach of the sunlight shining through the windows and sat at a place set with a real china plate and actual silverware. Not that I could use it. The changes to my body mean I don’t get to eat actual solids. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Still, the waffles, even though in blended, liquid form, were actually good. Enough for seconds. My first gulp caused a surprised smile and Vicki showered me with flower petals right there in the