Cursed (10 page)

Some days it’s pure pleasure to walk in my front door and close the world out behind me. Some days the stupid world follows me inside. I toss my keys, bag, and work files onto the coffee table and head for the bedroom. Now that the thrill of my earlier discovery is gone, I’m feeling restless again. In a minute, I’ve stripped out of the confines of my work clothes and into my favorite robe. It’s silk. The living, breathing fabric is one of the oldest in the world. Being wrapped in it usually affords me a modicum of comfort. Not tonight.

I pour a glass of wine. An old-world red this time, the last remaining from a case I bought two years ago. It’s complex, full-bodied, and very hard to find. Before I can take a sip, my cell phone rings.

I check the caller ID.

Liz.

I’m not ready to fill her in on the Zack situation. I’m tempted to let the call roll into voice mail. But then I remember I asked her to check with Evan about the Gaslamp’s Blood Emporium.

“Have you talked to Evan?” I ask as a greeting.

A sigh. “No. He sent me a text an hour ago. He has an important hearing tomorrow that he has to prepare for. He said not to wait up.”

“So you weren’t able to ask him about the Blood Emporiums?”

“Sorry. I do have someone else I could check with, though. I’ll call him in the morning if I don’t get a chance to ask Evan tonight.”

“I’m specifically interested in the place in the Gaslamp,” I remind her. Then I take a sip of my wine, taste the earthiness in the back of my throat, swallow. “Oh. I got an invitation to that benefit on Friday, too. Compliments of one of the participating artists.”

Liz squeals into the phone. “Hey. I’ll hook you up. We can double-date.”

I almost spew out a second mouthful of wine. “No, no. I’m not bringing a date. I’m not even sure I’m going. I have nothing to wear and—”

“Don’t be stupid. You can borrow something. You have to go. Keep me company. Evan will be networking all night.”

There’s an ominous pause. I can hear the wheels turning in Liz’s brain through the phone line. Or rather, the pages of her mental Rolodex flipping from one prospect to another.

“Yes,” she says triumphantly. “Walter.”

“The werewolf?” The irony is almost laughable. “No, Liz.”

“He’s a bit of a bore, and not very bright. But he looks great in a tuxedo and he’s absolutely amazing in the sack. He has this thing he does with his tongue . . .”

Once again, I have to swallow quickly to keep from choking on a mouthful of wine. “TMI, Liz. Really.” I put the glass down on the dining room table. Never know what Liz is going to say next, and I really don’t want to waste this wine.

“Although I’d really like to meet Zack,” she says.

Shit. Did she really just say that?

“Zack?”

“Yes, Zack. Your partner. Call and ask him.”

“Can’t. Full moon tonight.”

She’s not deterred in the least. “So ask him tomorrow. Let me know what he says.”

Liz hangs up.

I’m left staring dumbstruck at the phone.

•   •   •

Even after three glasses of wine, I can’t sleep. Images from last night have been flitting through my mind off and on all day. Instead of fading, the itch seems to be growing stronger and more urgent. Try as I might to focus on something else, anything else, my thoughts are of Zack, the way he looks, the way he feels, the way he makes me feel. That moment in his kitchen last night was my doing. And yet there is more than my power sparking between us. Zack proved that this afternoon in the conference room. We agreed to keep it professional. We
need
to keep it professional. But there’s something between us, not just the simple lust we felt in Charlotte. Not even the aftereffects of my powers, which I’ve seen drive men to distraction. Something more. And it scares me.

Why don’t I just admit it?

Because I can’t.

Bitterness burns the back of my throat. I lied to him. It was for a good reason. It was for the best reason. But when I think about the way I lied—so dismissive, so condescending—my gut twists. Zack deserves better. I’d like to make things right, but how can I? What would I tell him? That I’m something very old, very rare, and very dangerous? That I have been cursed by a goddess determined to bring ruin to anyone with whom I find love? That it’s dangerous for both of us to even
think
of having a relationship? That he needs to forget what he knows, or what he thinks he knows?

Maybe I’ll call him, apologize for being so abrupt. Keep it short. Professional. Even Demeter could find no fault with that. I dial before I lose my nerve.

His phone rings in my ear. Six. Seven. Eight rings. Then it goes to voice mail. I panic and hang up. Of course, I’d get voice mail.

I hear the howl of a coyote drifting up from the canyon at the edge of the property. Not an unusual sound. Tonight, though, it makes me feel terribly lonely. I wander out to the courtyard and look up. The moon in a cloudless sky casts shadows on the ground. Shadows that touch my feet and draw me forward into the darkness. The air is quiet and still. I am alone. Normally I would take comfort in that. Tonight, being alone simply feels . . . lonely.

I’d say my thoughts drift back to Zack. But since we had words earlier, they haven’t been far from him. I wonder where he spends these changeling nights and with whom. Last night I felt confident that if Sarah came to him for shelter, he’d turn her away. Would he do so tonight? Did he make it home on time himself?

Even those who have risen through the ranks to a position of power as leader of a pack are subject to the pull of the moon. Only the absolute strongest Weres can resist. Fewer still can change at will. Whether they’re Alpha, Beta, or Omega, one thing all Weres have in common is that they are fiercely loyal to one another, to their pack, and to their mates. Relocation is rare.

Why did Zack leave South Carolina? And, if his relationship to Sarah ended there, why has she followed him to San Diego? To convince him to return to his home? To his pack?

So many questions.

This is the third night. Zack will be free of the moon’s hold tomorrow. The old ones used to say a waning moon is the time to eliminate negative thoughts, release all guilt.

I wish it were that easy.

Wherever Zack is, I can’t reach him tonight. But tomorrow . . . I pick up the phone, dial his number again. This time I leave a message.

“I’m coming to the beach house tomorrow morning, Zack. I’ll bring breakfast. See you about seven.”

•   •   •

Demeter comes to me in a dream. She’s standing in my garden, dressed in a long gown that sparkles, its fabric sheer and woven from ice crystals. Everything about her is ice—from her translucent alabaster skin to her piercing cobalt eyes to her stark white hair, flowing past her waist and tinged with frost. She holds a sword in one hand, a severed head in the other. Blood from it drips onto the pristine pile of snow that has formed at her feet, staining it.

“Do you know who this is, Ligea?” she asks, turning the head so I can see the face.

No matter what name I currently use, Demeter always calls me by the first.

My stomach knots. “Yes,” I whisper, head bowed.

“His fate was in your hands. You had a choice. You made the wrong one. You betrayed him with your lust.”

“Not lust,” I cry, tears streaming from my eyes. “Love. He was my husband. I loved him.”

“Silence! You haven’t earned the right to love.” Demeter’s voice thunders into the night, her sparking anger splits the darkness like lightning. “You and your sisters lost that right when you lost my daughter.”

“But you got Persephone back.” Even as the words fall from my lips, I know I’ve made a mistake. We’ve been here before, she and I. You’d think I would have learned by now. I should never challenge Demeter.

The goddess grows still. “You’d be wise to remember who you are talking to, Ligea,” she says, the soft tone of her voice more frightening than if she’d been yelling. “Or I may add another head to my trophy shelf.” A cold smile turns her features into stone as a thin layer of ice and frost forms outward from the edges of her gown, covering her skin.

She holds the head up once again. She turns it so I can see the face. A scream rips out of my throat.

This time, the head she holds is Zack’s.

My eyes fly open.

The moonlight coming in through the windows casts the room in an eerie glow. My heart is pounding, my breath comes hard and fast, freezing into mist on the bone-chilling night air. The doors to the garden have been thrown wide. I know I’d closed and locked them. With trepidation I slide out of bed. The normally warm wooden floor is ice-cold on my bare feet. I hardly register it or the thin layer of condensation that seems to be covering every surface. My gaze is fixated on the open doors, and the glass panes frosted now with a crackling web of ice. I move toward the door, not quite sure if I’ve wakened from a dream, or am in the midst of one. When I reach the threshold, I see that the deck is empty.

Except for a pool of water shining in the dark exactly where Demeter stood in my dream.

I feel as if all the air has been sucked from my body. I lean back against the wall of the house. It feels solid, real, but it’s not enough to support me. My legs give way and I slide down to the ground.

Day Four: Friday, April 13

I wake up, my face wet with tears. Demeter’s warning was clear. I can’t let my feelings for Zack rage out of control. She’s watching.

My body aches. At some point last night, I’d fallen asleep on the back deck. Again. When I awoke, my head was pounding. I’d dragged myself back into the house and fallen, exhausted, into bed. Still, I didn’t rest well. I couldn’t. Demeter’s flashing sword cut into my subconscious until my early-morning dreams, like last night’s nightmares, dripped blood.

Another warning comes when I finally tumble out of bed and look at the calendar.

Friday the thirteenth.

All the superstitions about the date flood my head, casting even more of a pall on my already dark mood.

Ridiculous.

As ridiculous as some of the myths spun around my sisters and me. Bird women? Mermaids? Luring men to their death with a song? The only death we are capable of is “le petit mort,” and so far, no man has ever complained about an orgasm that leaves him breathless and panting for more. In fact, most myths were made up by men who needed a scapegoat to avoid taking responsibility for a catastrophe of their own making. Thoughts of my sisters, of the home I may never see again, fill me with melancholy. Thoughts of the possibility I’m about to make a grave mistake fill me with dread.

Demeter’s visit has set my nerves on edge. Exactly her intention.

A cold shower clears my head. I know I’m here for a reason. To gain Demeter’s forgiveness and earn my freedom. I need to remember that. I need to do what I keep telling Zack. Keep my head in the game. I must set Zack straight once and for all. If that means being truthful, so be it. A calculated risk for the greater good. I’ll come clean. I’ll make it clear our relationship is a professional one and can be nothing else. Not ever. It’s a mantra I repeat a thousand times as I get dressed, shop for groceries, and drive out to the beach.

It’s a little after seven when I pull up to his house. Only Zack’s car is in the driveway. If Sarah was with him last night, she’s already left. I curse myself for feeling relieved.

I knock on the door. Wait. Knock again. I pull out my cell. Dial. I can hear the telephone ringing somewhere just inside the door. When it goes to voice mail, I hang up. Where is he? I give the door a try. It’s unlocked, which seems uncharacteristic, so I assume it’s for me.

I walk inside. Just as I’m about to call out, I hear the shower running. It explains why he didn’t hear me knock. This morning’s newspaper is spread out on the countertop next to the coffeemaker, which is already brewing.

I flip on the kitchen light and get to work. Zack’s cupboards are neatly organized. I have no trouble finding bowls, utensils, and an iron skillet. I put the pan on the stove to heat. Prepare blueberry pancake batter. Slide a dozen bacon strips into the skillet.

I figure the smell of the cooking bacon will draw him down.

In no time at all, it does.

Zack rounds the corner into the kitchen like a ninja—quick, deadly quiet, and intent. This ninja, however, carries not the traditional
tantoˉ
, but a standard FBI-issue Glock.

When he sees me, he drops his gun hand. “Fuck, Emma. I could have shot you.”

“No kidding. You just about gave me a heart attack.”

He slaps his gun down on the counter. “What are you doing here?”

I point to his cell. “Didn’t you get my message? I said I was coming over this morning. I thought you left the door unlocked for me.”

He shakes his head.

“Oh. Sorry. I don’t feel good about the way we left it yesterday. I thought this would be a better place than the office to try to sort things out.”

His shoulders relax, but his expression remains unyielding. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“With reflexes like yours? Unlikely. Besides, what kind of bad guy would break into someone’s house to fix breakfast?”

Zack allows a little smile to crack the shell of his irritation and goes directly to the coffeemaker. “Wait. I know this one . . . a
cereal
killer?”

“Very funny. I’ll have a cup if you’re pouring,” I say.

I watch as he gets a couple of mugs down from a cabinet. He’s barefoot, bare-chested, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. His hair is slicked back and wet. I realize the shower is still running upstairs. I clear my throat.

“I think you left the shower running.”

He pours out the two mugs and hands me one. “The better to catch an intruder,” he says. “I’ll go shut it off.”

When he returns he’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. He pulls a chair out from the dining room table and slumps into it, watching me from beneath lowered eyebrows. He looks tired. I guess I’m going to have to start the conversation.

“So, where is it?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

“Where is what?”

“The cage. Where you spend the night during the full moon?” I grin. “Or do you chain yourself up? You know, some women might find that kinky.”

“How do you know I didn’t go rampaging through the city?”

“I listened to the news on the way over. No reports of a rampaging wolf.” I take a sip of the coffee.

He does not look amused. “You shouldn’t tease.” His voice is rough. Not from sleep or desire, from something else. “The sun is barely up. My wolf is still restless. New area, not able to roam.” He takes a gulp of coffee before skewering me with a look that’s part anger, part smoldering seduction. “And it’s mating season.” He punctuates the last with another sip before adding, “The cage is upstairs. Right next to my bedroom. I’d invite you up to see, but I don’t want to be accused of misreading your signals again.”

His words send blood rushing to my face. I turn away, busy myself with finishing the pancakes. “Got any syrup?”

Zack comes into the kitchen, reaches over my head to a cabinet just above me. I smell the soap on his skin, or perhaps his aftershave. It’s a blend of spice and citrus that reminds me of bay rum. I feel the heat of his body. I’m sure he feels the heat of mine. His proximity is distracting. But I can’t let my resolve crumble. I close my eyes for a moment, then move away.

He follows.

I can’t deny it. Something is in play here. Something I don’t understand.

Demeter’s face flashes in my head.

I’m kidding myself. I know exactly what this is, what’s happening.

And I have to stop it.

“Damn it, Zack.” I slam the plate of pancakes down on the corner and turn to face him.

“What the hell? I’m just getting the syrup.”

“Your coming here was a mistake.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Is that what you came to tell me?”

“Yes.” Partly. I move to the dining room, sink into a chair.

He follows again, taking a seat beside me. “What are you afraid of?”

Afraid
is exactly the right word. In a rare moment of honesty, I answer, “You.”

He looks surprised. “Because we’re attracted to each other?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Then simplify it.”

It takes me a minute to gather my thoughts. Zack sits quietly, his expression calm, expectant.

Okay. I can do this.

I start with the obvious. “There are so many reasons why we can’t give in to this attraction, the least of which is that we are partners. Even if we’re not breaking any rules, we have to work together. We have an important job to do, one that’s sometimes dangerous. We can’t afford to lose focus. The job has to come first.”

“You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself. But you said you were scared. Why?” he says. “Come on, Emma. Take a risk, just a little one. Trust me.”

My heart beats like a jackhammer in my chest. So many years. So many secrets. Can I trust him with mine? He already suspects I’m not what I seem. For the first time, I have a partner I can be honest with. Should I be? His gaze, so steady, so patient, coaxes the words from my lips. “You were right yesterday when you said I’m not purely human.”

He smiles. “I already knew that.”

“How did you know? When did you know?”

He taps the side of his nose with a finger. “Everyone has their own scent. Yours changes. It’s subtle, but discernible. The night before last, here in the kitchen, I’ve never smelled anything like it. It was . . . extremely compelling. So much so that I forgot myself and mentioned it. You deflected the question.”

“And you let me.”

Zack nodded. “When I was training, when I was in the field, I came across it all. But I’ve never crossed paths with anyone, anything that smells so intoxicating. What
are
you?”

I swallow. “There are only three of us.”

“In the area?”

“In existence. I’m a Siren, Zack. I . . .” The words catch in my throat.

His expression grows skeptical. “A Siren? Like in the story about Ulysses?”

“No. That’s a stupid myth,” I snap. I regret the heat of my reply when Zack sits back. Goddamn Homer and his idiotic story of the Sirens’ song. How I wish Leucosia, the elder of my sisters, had never met him and never scorned him. Homer was the reason we had a falling-out. The reason we decided it would be best to go our separate ways, to seek our separate redemptions. “I don’t sing and I don’t drive men insane. And . . . I’m
real
.”

“Are you sure about the insane part? Because you do drive me just a little—”

I glare at him.

“Okay,” Zack says, raising his hands as if fending off a blow. He chooses his next words carefully. “How did you become a Siren?”

“You don’t
become
a Siren. I was born, of Gaia. It was very long ago—a different time, a different world.”

“You’re talking about the world of the Titans and Olympians? Seriously? If you tell me you’re here to destroy the world or save mankind, I’m going to have to trade this coffee in for a stiff bourbon.”

“I’m here for one reason: to save the innocent from peril, to find and bring home the missing.”

Zack stares at me long and hard. “You expect me to believe that?”

“You change into a wolf once a month. You expect me to believe that?”

Again, just the hint of a smile ghosts his lips. “Touché.”

“It’s my sentence, my punishment,” I continue.

I can hear the weight of emotion in my voice.

Zack must hear it, too. He stands abruptly, heads for the credenza, and splashes two fingers of bourbon into a couple of glasses and brings them back to the table. He thrusts one at me. “Punishment for what?”

I take the glass, sip. The bourbon burns, grounding me. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing. “For allowing Persephone to be taken. For not finding her quickly enough. For failing. Finding Amy Patterson and others like her may bring me one step closer to redemption.”

“Then what? You go back to . . .”

“Olympus. I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve been at this a long time. I could be at it a lot longer. One thing I do know is that this, between us, it shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be feeling any attraction to me. My powers are suppressed and yet—”

“What powers?”

I have trouble maintaining eye contact. “I can insinuate myself into the minds of others.”

“You’ve been reading my mind?”

I shake my head. “It’s not like that. No. I can plant an idea, or a command really.”

“You’re
compelling
me to be attracted to you?”

“Of course not. But I can compel someone to reveal the truth.”

“Like a vampire’s thrall?”

“A vampire can play with memories. I can’t. If I question someone, or command them, they’ll remember it.”

“There’s more to it.” His tone tells me he knows I’m holding something back. This time, he’s not going to let me get away with it.

My mouth is dry. “Sirens were made to be seductresses. But I live in a mortal world. I try to live a mortal life. If I use,
when
I use my powers to get someone to reveal the truth, there are consequences—”

“And you did it to me, the other night, to find out if I was on the take.”

“Yes.”

“And what were the consequences?” He pauses, studying me. “You think the attraction between us is a consequence?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

Zack reaches for my hand. “Maybe it wasn’t a consequence. Maybe it was already there. From before.”

“Was it?” Our eyes meet.

He nods. “Yes.”

I gently pull my hand from his. “That makes pursuing a relationship even more dangerous.”

“Dangerous? That’s a strong word.”

Shit. I don’t know how to respond. I let the silence drag on too long and Zack has looked away, his eyes distant and unfocused. After a few more seconds of silence, they again find mine.

“I don’t know how having a relationship with you could be dangerous. But you obviously do,” he says.

I swallow. His words hang in the air. The memory of Demeter’s nocturnal visit is too fresh. I’m still shaken by it. I need to do what I came here to do. Put my partnership with Zack back on course. He can be an asset. I need to
look
at him as an asset.

He knocks back the last of the bourbon. The sound the empty glass makes when he sets it down on the table has a ring of finality to it—a decision’s been made.

“I could argue with you,” Zack says. “Tell you we are both adults and can handle whatever is thrown at us. Tell you that precisely because we are different from others, we could make it work. Tell you there could be something special between us and that we’ll figure this out, whatever it is, together.” He leans back in his chair. “But you have to want it, too. It needs to be real. And it needs to be right, for both of us.” His expression is solemn, serious. “If there’s going to be another move, it’s going to have to come from you.”

“And if that never happens?”

“We just focus on the case, then the next one, then the one after that. We go on living our quiet little lives,” he says, echoing my words from two nights ago. His eyes flicker away and he nods toward the kitchen. “Think those pancakes are still warm? I’m starved.”

The change of subject is like whiplash to my brain. I don’t know whether to feel relieved, disappointed, or irritated. In fact, I feel them all. I jump up from the table, glad for a chance to hide my face from Zack’s intent gaze. Aren’t I the one who just pointed out how impossible a relationship would be? And did he not react not only like a professional, but like a gentleman?