Siren Song

willing to throw her. I am not.”

Matty struggled against the guards on our side to reach her. He still believed he could talk sense into her. I was sorry for that. Knowing that she was tainted by a demon, that she’d been in the DeLuca home, in the heart of their family—that was going to haunt him. “Irene . . . think of the baby. You have to give yourself up. We can help you.”

That’s when it really struck home with me that Bruno had lain with this . . . creature. He’d dated her, made love to her, and given her a child. Had he just been bewitched by a siren’s charms, or was it a much deeper, demonic issue? That thought scared the crap out of me.

“Baby?” She sneered and there was an unpleasant edge of hysteria to it. “Ah, you mean the lie I told your fool of a brother.” She turned to me. “There was no baby. I merely convinced the doctor to tell him that. But you—” She pointed at me with a long finger that was starting to blacken from her constant brush with the demonic. “You didn’t break. I took your man from you. That should drive a true siren insane. But it didn’t. You weren’t destroyed. Not by that, not by the curse, not even when we killed your prophet. You were supposed to break, supposed to die.”

At last I knew who was behind Vicki’s death. That she’d remained in ghost form after we jailed the doctor said something was wrong. I was both relieved that she could finally have peace and heartsick that she’d been killed just to hurt me. She deserved so much better.

A man’s voice came from behind me. “You’ll never get away with this.” It was a cliche, of course, but somebody had to say it. I suppose Creede was as good a choice as anyone else. “Give up while you can.”

“I don’t think so.” She turned to Dahlmar. “Order your people to drop the barrier. Let me leave, or die with the rest.”

He stared at her and for a moment I thought he’d take his chances, such hate blazed in his eyes. She’d cost him both his sons, nearly cost him his throne. I was sure he’d have his men shoot her through Emma’s unconscious body.

I was right. At a gesture they opened fire and hit—nothing. Over and over again. The press were screaming and stampeding each other trying to find cover where there was none. Bullet holes riddled the wall behind where Eirene stood, but there was no blood. None at all.

“Cease fire!” I bellowed, trying to be heard over the deafening sound of too much gunfire in a confined space. “You’re wasting your ammo. She’s phasing in and out too fast.” It was a smart move and not something I’d have guessed she could do. But it made sense. She might not be able to move out of the room, but she could teleport a fraction of an inch within the room and be dematerialized 99 percent of the time, giving them nothing to hit.

“Cease fire,” King Dahlmar repeated, and the guns fell silent.

Eirene held the ceramic disk in front of Emma’s face where we could all see it. “No more of this. I leave. Now.”

Dahlmar’s voice was cold, hard. But he gave the order she wanted: “Let her go.”

The world lurched and they vanished. Eirene and the demon had Emma.

Oh, shit.

24

“Is this another one of Dahlmar’s plans?” It was late evening and I was sitting in a cheap motel room. There wasn’t much space, the whole place was probably only twelve-by-twelve, with most of the room taken up by a double bed. There was a dresser and a battered old television, a mini-fridge, a microwave, and one of those small prefab laminate tables, its surface pocked with cigarette scars. Helen Baker had set up a scrying bowl in the center of the table and was trying to sooth my frazzled nerves by showing me what was going on.

It wasn’t helping. I was in a foul mood and trying not to take it out on anyone. Of course the only person I could take it out on right now was Baker, and she wasn’t exactly the type to put up with it.

I looked up from the scrying bowl to the woman using it. Baker might not be as powerful a clairvoyant as her mother but had enough talent for this. She also had the added advantage of being able to do double duty and serve as a guard.

“King Dahlmar may have been involved in the planning, I’m not sure.” She gave me a puzzled look.

“It just sounds like one of his plans.” I drained the last of my packaged shake and tossed the empty can into the trash. I knew I should stop grumbling, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. A big part of it was that the plan had been foisted on me. I hadn’t been part of the process. I’d just been told what to do. I don’t obey orders well. But the people in charge of this operation were all heavy hitters and I owed more than one of them my freedom and/or my life. So I went along . . . grudgingly. It didn’t help that I thought it was damned cruel, allowing most of my friends and family to believe I was dead—to the point of actually holding the visitation and funeral. Only a very choice few were privy to the truth: King Dahlmar, Matty, Bruno, Kevin, Creede, Queen Lopaka and a couple of her people, and my grandmother. Too many, really. If you want to keep a secret a secret, you don’t tell anyone.

“They couldn’t have at least picked a high-end hotel for this?”

Baker laughed. “High-end hotels have security cameras and staff that actually pay attention to the comings and goings. Our people wouldn’t be able to stand guard unnoticed.”

True enough. But still. I couldn’t help but look at the grubby carpeting again, not really wanting to walk across it in shoes, much less barefoot.

I turned my attention back to the scene playing out in the bowl. I’d been afraid Gran wouldn’t be able to pull off the whole mourning thing, but I could see she was acting up a storm. Maybe she’d missed her true calling in life.

“You did actually die, you know. During the exorcism.” Baker sounded impressed. I was guessing it was because of the exorcism, not the death. Being in the military, she’d probably seen plenty of the latter. Then again, the sirens aren’t exactly a military superpower, so maybe not.

“So they tell me.” King Dahlmar and Matty had arranged for me to have an exorcism right at the scene. A little unusual, but Creede’s spell had actually held the demon away from me and they were afraid if they waited, the demon would be able to zero in again. I’d gone along because I wanted the demon mark off of me. If we were going after Eirene to rescue Emma, none of us could afford for me to have that kind of a weakness. First, Matty had cleansed the room, moving in smaller and smaller circles until only Creede and I were left. The closer Matty got, the worse I started to feel and the more Creede had to drain his own energy to keep the gate closed.

I didn’t really remember the actual exorcism. I only remember Matty starting to chant in a singsong voice and then hideous, intense pain engulfed me for what seemed like an eternity. The pain was followed by . . . nothing. Light, air, and absolute quiet. I remember standing with Ivy and Vicki and that they wouldn’t let me step past them. I vaguely remember Vicki pushing me down a long flight of stairs . . . and then there was pain again as apparently my soul rushed back into my body.

When I first woke, I’d been incredibly angry with Vicki. More than I had ever been before. Later, I realized what had happened and I was grateful. In what was very likely her last act on this plane of existence she’d saved me one last time.

I shuddered, my hand automatically reaching to touch the scars from where the demon had clawed me. Weird, that. Before the exorcism there hadn’t been scars—just an invisible mark that had served as a psychic tie he could follow to find me anywhere. The full rite had cut that tie. Thank God there was a medic ready with the heart machine. It wasn’t until after they revived me that the scars had appeared. I only wish I were confident that the demon mark was gone. But I didn’t think it would be until Eirene was dead.

I watched the image of Dottie moving slowly up the aisle with her walker. Her expression was solemn, not sad precisely, more worried. I wondered then, if she knew. Clairvoyant that she was, she might just have “peeked.” It was something she’d do. She looked up and I could swear her eyes met mine, that she could see me watching.

“I just don’t see the point,” I protested. “What makes anyone think my dying is