Siren Song Read online

  SIREN SONG

  Tor Paranormal Romance Books by

  C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp

  THE SAZI

  Hunter’s Moon

  Moon’s Web

  Captive Moon

  Howling Moon

  Moon’s Fury

  Timeless Moon

  Cold Moon Rising

  Serpent Moon

  THE THRALL

  Touch of Evil

  Touch of Madness

  Touch of Darkness

  WRITING AS CAT ADAMS

  Magic’s Design

  Blood Song

  Siren Song

  CAT ADAMS

  SIREN SONG

  A Tom Doherty Associates Book New York

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  SIREN SONG

  Copyright © 2010 by C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp

  All rights reserved.

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  ISBN 978-0-7653-2495-5

  First Edition: October 2010

  Printed in the United States of America

  0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  DEDICATION

  As always, we would first like to dedicate this book to Cie’s son, James, and Cathy’s husband, Don, and to our families and friends. Special thanks to Merrilee Heifetz and the staff at Writers House, to our wonderful editor, Melissa, and all the other wonderful folks at Tor who have helped us so much. A special thank-you to my brother, Timothy Adams, to the folks at the Jim Butcher forums, and to K. Segovia, for assistance with research. Thank you so much. You’re the best!

  A NOTE TO READERS

  In our opinion, for the most part, happy families do not make for interesting reading. We don’t know why. They do, however, make for happy writers. But every time a writer creates a character with a particularly troubled background (or a kinky sexual bent) it seems that somebody in the “real world” assumes that the writer is working from personal experience. So allow us to state for the record that Celia Graves’s background and troubles are all her own. They do not reflect any personal experience on the part of either of the authors.

  Part of the fun of writing is research. In order to make the fantasy portions more believable, you have to be very careful to get the “real” portions right. Still, inevitably, some glitches slip in. The setting of this book is Southern California. We created a fictional city in Santa Maria de Luna and slapped it down on the coast between San Juan Capistrano and Oceanside, right on top of Camp Pendleton, which obviously doesn’t exist in this reality (our apologies to the Marine Corps). Just as we created our own city, we came up with a university and rehab facility. We have used an Egyptian scrying system that is similar to a modern one but have given it its own name and made major changes to it. We have also deliberately taken liberty with dual citizenship and diplomatic immunity.

  One or two scenes are set in actual locations. While those portions of the book were researched heavily, it is possible that errors slipped in. If so, please forgive us.

  CAT ADAMS

  Fan Information

  Fans who wish to sign up for our newsletter can contact us at [email protected]. Our website is located at http://www.catadams.net.

  SIREN SONG

  1

  “Celia, everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see.” Dr. Scott gazed at me earnestly in the back of the sleek black limo, willing me with every fiber of his being to believe the words.

  Unfortunately, no matter how sincere the assurance of the handsome, dark-skinned psychiatrist with slightly silvered hair and a calming demeanor, we both knew he was lying. Nothing was ever going to be fine again. A week ago I was an ordinary human bodyguard, living a normal life in beautiful California. Now I was part vampire, part siren, and struggling to maintain not only my sense of self but also my sense of humor. He wasn’t helping either one with that line.

  I raised my brows at him as I gave him the snort his words deserved. My first meeting with him had resulted in my stalking his secretary like a deer—complete with fangs bared and red eyes glowing. I’d even chased the good doctor out of the room in a panic. I hadn’t been safe to talk to until after he locked me inside his office with a full pitcher of barely cooked beef juices, which in my sunset-induced predator mode I’d happily sucked down like a strawberry milk shake.

  I was still trying not to think about what I might have done without that pitcher of bloody juice. It had only been a few days ago and dawn was still hours away.

  His expression changed as though he knew what I was thinking. I was aware that Dr. Scott was telepathic, but ethics and the law should prevent him from “peeking” outside of official therapy sessions. Still, he couldn’t miss my physical reaction to his statement, and after a staring match where he blinked first, he finally had the decency to look chagrined.

  The sound of the driver’s door of the limo slamming shut shifted my attention away from Dr. Scott, giving him the opportunity to fiddle with the buttons on the side panel. Probably looking for another stiff drink to bolster him for the start of this adventure. We were on the way to Birchwoods, an ultra-private psychiatric facility for the very rich and famous, where I was to be evaluated before I had to appear to defend myself against charges of mind manipulation.

  While I’m neither rich nor famous, I’m not poor, either, and it was so worth the money to stay in a place that might someday release me. St. Mary’s Detention Center was the only other choice outside of the state facility. But it’s only licensed for short-term care, and with the looming legal problems caused by my newfound physical and psychic abilities I could be looking at a very long-term, even permanent, commitment.

  My brow furrowed suddenly, because I felt . . . something. It was similar to the odd, pins-and-needles tingling sensation that I was beginning to associate with magical barriers. I’d never been able to get even a hint of the magical before the vampire bite. Now I’m aware of far too much. It was actually getting painful to walk around Los Angeles, since the city is the hotbed of magic you’d expect. The more power magic wielders use to guard mansions, protect movie stars, and banish evil forces from public buildings, the more intense it feels to me. This one hurt.

  I sat bolt upright in my seat, actually flinching when I heard the automatic locks click with what felt like an ominous finality.

  “What’s wrong?” As a trained observer of human behavior, Dr. Scott didn’t like the vibe I was giving off. He was suddenly very alert and looked completely businesslike.

  “Maybe nothing,” I answered. My voice stayed steady but sounded uneasy. It didn’t feel like nothing. I could sense pressure building, making m
e want to wiggle my jaw like you do in an airplane to get your ears to pop. There are protective spells that can be used to keep moving objects, including vehicles, from damage. But they’re hideously expensive, difficult to do, and create enough friction when a car is in motion to make any model a gas hog. A limo like this one was built like a tank. It shouldn’t need that kind of a spell. But if it wasn’t a protection spell, then what was it?

  Maybe it was the liquor I’d just imbibed at the wake for my recently deceased best friend, Vicki, that had me feeling slow, but I couldn’t think of a single reason for the powerful spell I’d sensed. Yes, I’d gone to college to get a preternatural degree. But at the time, I hadn’t been able to feel magic. It’s one thing to know that forces like gravity exist and relate the properties on a test paper. It’s another entirely to feel the weight of it on your skin and know something’s not right. Which made me suspicious. Well, more suspicious. I’ve been a bodyguard so long that I’m always a little bit paranoid. “Can you sense the driver?”

  The car moved smoothly away from the curb, fitting nicely in between the pair of police cruisers I could see through the window . . . barely. Mostly I just saw my reflection on the inside of the glass. The woman I saw was attractive but cold, hard. It was my “business face.” I use it a lot. So often that sometimes even I forget the softer me exists.

  “That would be illegal.” Dr. Scott didn’t bother to hide the disapproval in his voice. It was combined with the stern look of an instructor.

  I shook my head. “No, Doctor. Reading his mind is illegal. Just sensing to see if he’s ‘there’ isn’t.” It was a fine distinction, but I was learning a lot about those as my attorney and I prepared for my upcoming trial. I had one of the best defense attorneys in the business. If he was successful, I would be a free, if considerably less wealthy, woman. I could live with that. If I stayed out of jail or a psychiatric facility, I could always earn more money.

  I pretended not to notice Dr. Scott staring at me, concentrating instead on the scene outside the glass. We’d turned left. It wouldn’t have been a big deal except for one little detail. We were supposed to be heading for Birchwoods, on Ocean View. The nearest exit to Ocean View was three blocks down and on the right.

  Dr. Scott’s eyes locked with mine in the glass. If he was checking my thoughts, I couldn’t tell. At the moment I wouldn’t even mind. Best for him to find out for himself that I wasn’t joking. I was beginning to suspect we were in very real trouble. I watched his reflection as he pursed his lips thoughtfully. As he seemed to reach a decision, his face went distant and blank for a few seconds.

  “That’s odd. I can’t sense him at all.” He sounded puzzled and not altogether happy.

  I turned to face him. “Null?” I made it a question. Psychic nulls were rare but not unheard of. I’d very briefly been assigned to a shrink who was a null. She was completely immune to magic and to psychic manipulation. Which would’ve made her the perfect doctor for someone like me if she hadn’t also been one of the bad guys. As it was, her drugging me and setting me up for murder had started the chain of events leading up to my current legal woes—and did absolutely nothing for my trust issues with psychiatrists.

  “No. It feels more as if I’m being blocked.”

  I wouldn’t have thought I could tense any further, but I did as adrenaline pumped through my system. We’d just taken another left turn. While I couldn’t be sure, yet, it appeared we were en route to the desert, where there was miles and miles of nothing . . . right up until you got to the state-run facility for “rogue” monsters and psychics.

  “Doctor, are you lying to me?” There was a growling, hissing tone to my voice and my skin had started to glow, giving off a pale, gray-green light that filled the darkened passenger compartment like water in a pool. It was decidedly spooky. In just a few days I’ve grown to hate it, but right now it might prove useful in scaring the doctor. If he was scared maybe, just maybe, he’d be honest with me. Of course, getting angry was liable to push the limits of my control over the monster in me. But I needed the truth and I didn’t have a lot of options as to how I was going to get it.

  He shrugged but was more interested in concentrating on whatever was pushing him away. “Why would I lie?”

  I waved my hand in front of his face to grab his attention and then pointed. “Look out the window.”

  He tried, even going so far as to press his nose to the glass. “I can barely see through the tinting. What am I looking for?”

  No surprise there. I had the advantage of vampire-style vision. “Try looking out through the sunroof.” I toned back on the spookometer. I wasn’t scaring the doctor so much as pissing him off. I couldn’t be positive, but I was beginning to think he didn’t know any more about what was going on than I did, that maybe his choosing to ride in the limo with me had been an unexpected complication for whoever was running this little show.

  He stood up, flattening his hand against the seat to steady himself from the vehicle’s movement and the drinks he’d had earlier, at the wake. He’d been Vicki’s doctor, too. He had to push into the invisible barrier surrounding the car and I felt an odd lurch in my stomach as it stretched to accommodate his movement. He noticed it, too, and pushed against it, smoothing his hands along to test the barrier like a mime on a street corner.

  “We’re going the wrong way. We’re headed toward the desert.” He sounded honestly shocked, afraid, and more than a little sick.

  “Yes.” My voice could’ve frosted the glass as I watched the lights of the city become swallowed up by the darkness.

  I had to give the man credit. He had brains. “You think I set you up?” There was a hint of caution in his voice. Not fear. He was too tough for that. But he was bright enough to not want to be locked alone in the back of a limo with an angry monster. Taking me to the state facility would most assuredly piss me off.

  “The thought did occur to me,” I admitted.

  I watched as he waved his arm slowly.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’ve got a police escort. I’m trying to get their attention. But they don’t seem to see me.”

  I doubted that. More likely they thought he was being cute and drunk. Or they were just ignoring him. Whichever.

  He lowered himself carefully onto the seat. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. “And I can assure you that if I’d intended to turn you over to the state, I would not be stupid enough to ride in the car with you. And as I told you before, I wouldn’t consign a rabid dog to the state facilities.”

  I gave him a humorless smile. “I remember that.”

  “Oh good.” His voice practically dripped sarcasm. “So now what?”

  “Let me try your cell phone.”

  He blinked at me but reached inside his suit jacket to retrieve it. He was slower on the uptake than normal. The result of the liquor, no doubt, but not particularly helpful. My own inebriation was long gone. There are a few benefits to my partially undead body.

  “If I’m just being paranoid, it should work just fine,” I explained as he passed the top-of-the-line tech toy to me.

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  I punched the number for Alex’s cell phone. Vicki’s former lover had been at the wake, so she should still be close by. She was also a cop. She could find out if this was legit. If it wasn’t, she could get us help. Assuming I could get a call through.

  He watched expectantly as I waited for the telltale ringing and instead heard only crackling static. Damn. I hit the “end” button and flipped the phone closed. The adrenaline that began to flow through my muscles was both invigorating and annoying. It wasn’t just danger that was making my body tense. The abrupt rush of fear from Dr. Scott had me alert and watching his every movement. Yes, I’d had my requisite nutrition shakes and no, I wasn’t hungry. But hunting is about more than just feeding and I was getting twitchy.

  When I didn’t answer, he repeated his question: “And if it doesn’t?”

  It
wasn’t an if anymore—just a statement of fact. “We’re screwed.”

  2

  So, calling for help didn’t work. No surprise. I passed the phone back to him and he tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, his fingers trembling just the tiniest bit. I could hardly blame him, so I did my best to ignore it. Fortunately, now that I realized the situation, years of training and therapy kicked in and the dread of an unknown future faded into the background. “We need a plan.” My voice was nicely calm. I doubted that the good doctor had any clue just how impressive that was.

  He raised a single, eloquent eyebrow.

  “Dr. Scott, have you ever been kidnapped?” My voice was as coldly polite as I could manage. I was not hysterical, though I deserved to be. But I’ve been in life-threatening crises before. While you never get used to it, you learn control, to cope. Either that or you lose your mind. So far I’ve hung on to my sanity. Barely.

  “Of course not!” he snapped.

  “Lucky you. I have.” I forced myself not to shudder at memories I prefer to leave in the past. I’d been kidnapped as a child, by men who wanted my little sister to use her talent with the dead to find them treasure, like they’d read of a little boy doing in Florida. I had scars, physical and mental, but I’d gotten through it. She hadn’t. My sister’s ghost is a daily reminder of the experience. She’d attached to me after death and, much like Vicki—whose ghost had been the life of the party at her own wake—we weren’t really certain what business she had yet to complete while she was tied to this realm.

  Oh, and I’d also been drugged and set up for a murder charge just a few short days ago. “Trust me, this is the fun part. It only gets worse from here. If you’re not going to help me, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way. Because I don’t intend to go down quietly.”