Chapter Seven
PAUL HAD JUST TAKEN a left turn at Rainbow Street when I finally broke the silence between us by clearing my throat. “So...”
Paul turned to face me with a knowing look. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I made a face, realizing that he had only remained silent in the ten minutes we had been in the car as a way of teasing me. “It was that bad, and you know it.”
“There’s no need to torture yourself over anything. Agent Gries should’ve known better than to try to take over the case that way.”
“But she had a valid point, Paul. And I am worried that you and Dike made a big mistake—-”
“In choosing CSI over CIA?”
I shot him an exasperated look. “You know it’s not just that.”
“Then what is it?”
I didn’t like the way he was forcing me to spell out things, and I frowned unhappily while watching Paul steer his SUV into a vacant parking space closest to the gates of Silver Mist Park.
At about nine-thirty on a weekday, the local park was as empty as expected, with only a handful of grandmothers doing tai chi next to the playground.
They might look harmless in most people’s eyes, but I only had to live in this town long enough to recognize our local baddies.
And those grandmothers stretching and bending like they were the next Avatar?
They were the meanest of the bunch, witches made easily irritable because they had reached the retirement age of 90 and were no longer allowed to ride their brooms in post-daylight hours.
I felt for them, really. I could imagine it was like having to obey a curfew even when you were a full-fledged, fully functioning adult.
On the other hand, I also didn’t think curtailed broom activities made up a valid reason to temporarily transform human boys into frogs just for being rude enough to play loud music at 3AM.
Paul let out a mock sigh when he saw me shrugging me into my CSI-issued windbreaker and pulling its hood up before letting him help me out of his car. “And to think I was looking forward to have us snuggle under an umbrella.”
I made a face. “Not funny.” Just remembering the feel of his hand on my back was enough to make me feel faint, and I quickly changed the subject, asking, “Are you really sure it wouldn’t be better if you worked with Agent Gries?
” I hated the idea of relinquishing a case, but what I hated more than that was the possibility that I could end up hampering everyone’s efforts to stop Zeus from destroying the world.
“We’ve shared all we know about this case with Agent Gries.
That should be enough for her.” Paul’s tone was one of finality.
“Now, let’s not waste our time talking about her, yes?
We still have work to do.” He gestured to the park’s on-site greenhouse, located on top of a small hill with a winding road leading up to it.
“That’s where Thelxiope lives. Ready to talk to the world’s oldest siren? ”
SIRENS HAD IT PRETTY bad compared to most immortals.
They weren’t gifted with extraordinary strength like the Amazons or blessed with impossibly good looks like the nymphs.
They just had really lovely voices, but that didn’t mean much these days with the birth of auto-tune.
If they wanted to live in this world, they had to work for a living like humans did, and knowing this did have me thinking.
Could someone have paid our siren off to poison or brainwash Zeus?
Another little-known thing about sirens was that they could also transform into birds, being the offspring of the river god Achelous and a nightingale he had turned into a woman after falling in love with its, well, voice.
Hence our local aviary, I thought, which Thelxiope herself owned.
She was one of the lucky few, having married a wealthy lumber baron a few hundred years back and had been his sole beneficiary as his widow.
She had lived a quiet life since then, with her wealth managed by humans who were paid handsomely not to ask too many questions about her remarkable longevity.
As Paul snapped his umbrella close behind me, I could only watch in awed silence as the nightingale with its magenta-streaked wings slowly transformed itself in a shimmery, silver swirl that gradually fell away in layers of silk to reveal a woman whose hair was the same shade as her wings.
“Thelxiope.” Paul bowed his head in respect as the woman stepped out of her larger-than-life cage, built right at the center of the greenhouse.
The siren let out a musical laugh as beautiful as a stanza from one of Beethoven’s masterpieces. “Oh, my dear boy. You are charmingly old-fashioned as always. I am known as Thelma now, you know.”
“Thelma it is,” Paul agreed smilingly.
“And you?” The siren’s eyes danced in merriment. “What do you call yourself these days?”
“Just Paul,” was his easy reply but with a meaningful look slanted at my direction.
I was torn between amusement and exasperation. “Can’t you at least try to be a little more subtle about the fact you’re hiding something from me?” My words were half serious, too, but the way both of them laughed made it evident that they were doing anything but take me seriously.
“Your name, sweet witch?”
“It’s, umm, Blair, and how did you know—-” I stopped speaking.
I had to, since Thelma, as it turned out, was no different from the rest.
Paul grinned when I made a face at the way Thelma was seized by uncontrollable laughter the moment she realized I was a witch named Blair.
Cast that movie!
“I’m so sorry,” the siren said half a minute later as she wiped tears from her eyes. “It’s just that it’s such a delicious irony, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said glumly. “I do know.”
Thelma gave my hand a comforting squeeze. “Cheer up. It’s still a lot better than this other witch I know.”
“There’s something worse than being a witch named Blair?”
“Absolutely,” the siren said with a mischievous grin. “It’s called being a witch named Sand.”
“What’s so—-”
Oh.
I just had to laugh after that. True or not, that was good, and it did make me feel better about my name.
“Now then...” Thelma’s tone turned inquiring. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Fifteen minutes later, and Paul and I were saying our goodbyes to the siren.
We didn’t have all the answers we needed, but we had enough.
Although Thelma hadn’t recognized the siren in the photo, she had suggested we ask around at Dion’s bars outside town, which nowadays were the only place in state that sirens could find employment.
Hours of rain made the downhill road wounding all the way to the park’s gates from the greenhouse more slippery, and I found myself letting out a tiny gasp as I lost my footing and started to slip.
“Gotcha.” Paul’s strong arm curled around my waist, and I fell against him with a gasp.
“S-Sorry.” I pulled away quickly, blushing, but instead of letting me go completely he took my hand and placed it on his arm.
“Hold on to me for now,” Paul murmured.
“Really, it’s not necessa—-” I stopped speaking when Paul suddenly stiffened.
A moment later, he had shoved me behind him, the umbrella slipping out of his grip as a single gunshot rang in the air.