Lure of Song and Magic (19 page)

Pippa's brain went into overload. Gloria had
called
Oz? Her mother had been the mysterious woman who had saved Donal the first time?

Pippa shoved back her chair and stalked away.

Oz pulled out his BlackBerry and began punching buttons.

Looking bewildered, Gloria sipped her juice.

Chapter 25

When Conan arrived at Pippa's house to return her computer, he walked in the front door as Oz had instructed. Buzzed by his brother's story of Malcolms and sirens and a mysterious connection to their family, he was ready to sit through operas if necessary to find out more. Unlike Oz, he had a secret obsession with old wives' tales about families with superpowers, for reasons he wasn't about to divulge to his cynical older brothers. He set the server box down on the kitchen counter and wandered to the glass doors leading to the pool where everyone had gathered.

Oz was striving to look relaxed and unconcerned, lounging in one of the chairs, sipping water with lime, and pounding on his laptop. But Conan had learned enough this past year to read the tension in his brother's stance. Oz was on full storm-warning alert, his formidable brain processing faster than a computer. If anyone made a wrong move, he would take them down before asking questions. Conan considered throwing a ball at him just to watch him go.

But the rest of the guests kept him in line. Sitting next to Oz, Pippa—Syrene
—
appeared as fragile as an old church window, and in a bright orange halter top and yellow capris with the sun glinting off her orange-red hair, more colorful than any dull church glass. Conan didn't have Oz's sensitivity to people, but even he could see that she wore clothes as a line of defense, letting the bright colors blind anyone from seeing the person wearing them.

She was cuddling a dirty, gray lump that might have been a stuffed animal once but lacked shape, form, and most of its fur now. The offensive bitch had a soft, vulnerable underside. He enjoyed puzzles, and she was a fascinating enigma.

Sitting under an umbrella at a table facing Oz and Pippa, an older woman with fading blonde hair and tired eyes watched Pippa with love and maybe disbelief. Conan wanted to hear her story too.

The other pair were just a couple of Oz's studio jerks, trying to look cool around the boss. He didn't know why they were there. Logic 101—he'd not hear any stories while they were around.

Conan pushed open the patio doors to make his presence known. Only Oz noticed, lifting a hand from the keyboard to signal the ice cooler. Score one for the man.

Helping himself to a bottle of water, Conan unscrewed the top and stood in the shade near the house while he got his bearings.

They were discussing set design. They'd dragged him up a mountain on Sunday morning to discuss cardboard cutouts? No effing way.

He considered flinging bottles of water into the pool until someone acknowledged his presence, but that was boring, and he wanted the minions out of here. And he knew just how to do it while setting the storytelling in motion at the same time.

Conan pulled out his iPod, selected a song, plugged it into his pocket speakers, and turned the volume up.

“The Silly Seal Song” tinkled from the miniature speakers. Even without amplification, Syrene's crystalline voice soared like birdsong at dawn.

Pippa, the old lady, and Oz sat up and spun around as if on wheels. The other pair only looked mildly puzzled.

Both Pippa and Oz dived for him. Conan dodged, but two against one wasn't fair. As he leaped across a lounge chair to avoid Pippa's full frontal grab for the iPod, Oz brought him down from the back. Pippa snatched the player, speakers and all, and flung them into the pool.

Laughing, Conan didn't struggle when they teamed up and tossed him into the water after his equipment.

It was good to see the old Oz back. Maybe now they'd see some action.

***

“No one keeled over screaming,” Oz argued while Conan sprawled in a pool chair like a lizard on a rock. Pippa wanted to dump him in the water all over again, the rat-fink bastard.

The set designers had toddled off on their business. Gloria was sketching ideas for Oz's production. And Pippa paced uselessly up and down the pool tiles, feeling as if a whirlwind occupied her insides.

“He played my song! I told him not to open those files!” She picked up the towel Conan had used and swatted him with it. The rat merely opened one eyelid, gave her the evil eye, and closed it again. She hit him a second time and then threw the wet towel over his soaked khakis.

“I'll throw him in the pool again if it helps, but that's what he does—experiments. And it worked. Your song hurt no one.”

Pippa wanted to hit Oz, too, but she was rational enough to know it wasn't his fault that his brother was an interfering jackal. “We're
adults
. The song is geared for children. We don't know what effect—”

“It's a children's song, Pippa. Quit overthinking it,” Gloria scolded mildly. “Be upset because he broke your trust, if you like. He deserved dunking for that alone.”

“Unfair, Gloria,” Conan protested from under the towel he'd placed over his face. “You've played those songs and didn't die. I want to hear about you, Mexico, Donal, and Alys.”

Pippa glowered, but he had the right to hear the story if he was supposed to be investigating the case, although he didn't appear to be doing more than drying out at the moment.

“There's not much to say, dear. As soon as I was mentally and physically recovered enough, I tried to look for family on the website, and the Librarian warned me to run, that I was supposed to be dead.”

Pippa had heard this once, when Oz had forced the information out of her mother earlier, but she still couldn't quite process it all. The Librarian had known who Gloria Jean Malcolm was, knew Syrene and Gloria were related…

But the all-knowing Librarian hadn't known where Syrene went. She didn't know Pippa. Or hadn't. She probably did now. Did the Librarian want to reveal Syrene's location, or was she simply trying to help Gloria find her?

“So I paid cash for a clunker,” her mother obediently continued the story, “found a driver, and moved to Mexico. I could live there on my disability checks. But I kept the email account I'd established earlier and checked it every once in a while. That's when I found the note that the Librarian was sending someone to me for protection.”

“How come she could say that much to you and she can only send me Twitter notes?” Oz asked in disgust.

“These weren't long missives. Several had gathered by the time I read my mail. One said
need
help.
Another later gave an address, just as you say she's done for you. It was a miracle I opened them in time.”

“I don't like it,” Conan said from beneath his towel. “There's too much left to chance.”

“You're the expert,” Pippa said, not bothering to keep the edge from her voice. “If someone's computer messages can be monitored, how much can they send without being discovered?”

“None,” he said succinctly. “But if the Librarian spends all day at a computer under supervision, she may simply be sending hasty messages when someone's back is turned. I still don't like it.”

Oz threw an empty water bottle at him. “We don't care what you like. The whole thing stinks.”

“I failed poor Alys,” Gloria said, ignoring the byplay. “I'm terrified I'll fail Siren and Donal as well by not giving you what you need to protect them.”

“You saved Donal,” Oz corrected. “I'm the one who lost him. What happened to Alys was completely accidental. I had her death thoroughly investigated. She was a victim of bad luck and bad driving.”

“And panic. She wasn't thinking very clearly,” Gloria admitted. “She was afraid you might be the one endangering Donal, so she didn't dare call you. She was almost hysterical when she left Donal with me. She didn't even know whether to call her family.”

Pippa stopped her pacing to squeeze Oz's shoulders when he tensed. He'd already had to endure one hysterical woman in his life, one who had endangered herself and his son. He certainly didn't need a neurotic female like her around, but they were stuck in this together.

“We all react differently to danger,” she murmured. “Alys tried to do the right thing.”

“She should have trusted me,” he said grimly.

“Like you trust others?” she asked, causing him to turn and glare. Had Alys been a passive wimp afraid to confront Oz the bully? Pippa was betting yes.

“So, how did you communicate with the Librarian?” Conan demanded, riding over the emotional interference with pragmatism.

“I didn't, dear,” Gloria said, returning to her sketching. “She sent me a message akin to ‘Siren lives' and attached songs, and I simply did what she asked without question after that. My daughter's voice is rather unique, you'll have noticed,” she said dryly. “Once I recognized the seal song and realized I wasn't hallucinating, I couldn't deny her voice.”

“Which probably means the Librarian has heard Pippa's recordings, too, and hasn't died from it,” Conan asserted. “Just as millions heard them when she was a kid. All I've done is prove the new song is harmless.”

“No, you didn't,” Pippa said sharply, hoping he'd cringe. He didn't. “All you did was prove
some
people are immune. I already know Oz is. You may be too. My mother has taught herself to tune me out. And the set designers are adults. Until you play the song for children, you know
nothing
.”

“I know the computer store where the Librarian probably stole the songs is owned by Adam Technology,” Conan said, apropos of nothing.

That stopped Pippa's pacing. Even Oz quit typing to stare.

Conan lifted the towel to peer out. “Anyone heard of them?”

“Can't say that I have, dear.” Gloria held her sketch up to the light to examine it and then passed it on to Oz.

Pippa wanted to jump up and down in frustration. “I will start detesting you shortly,” she warned Conan. “Loathing isn't far behind.”

He covered his face again. “Adam Technology also owns the website of Malcolm genealogy and the server to which you're backing up your files. Very busy people. Lots of moola. Connected to every cyberspace corporation known to mankind and maybe some I can't track on Mars, which may be where the owners live. It's not a public company, and I can't find the owners, but I'm betting your Librarian has access to their servers.”

Even Gloria and Oz were staring at him now. Pippa grabbed a bottle of water, took a chair, and settled into a lotus position. Conan apparently liked attention. Oz should give him his own show. She refused to rise to his bait.

“The dates line up,” Conan continued from beneath the towel. “Gloria's accident was in the news twenty-three-and-a-half years ago, to be precise. Seven-day wonder, before a missing hiker and a wildfire took over the headlines. Driver dead at the scene. Woman paralyzed and comatose. No family members to contact. No identity.”

“My grandmother was a Wainwright and lived in Texas. She was old and frail, and I didn't list her as an emergency contact, so even if my purse didn't go up in flames with the car, no one would know to call her,” Gloria said, returning to her sketching.

Pippa sighed and asked the obvious. “Your grandmother wasn't a Malcolm? So how did she know about my Voice?”

“Oh, she had Malcolms on her family tree too. That's how she knew you were a siren. You got it from Nana's mother. I met Jordie at a Malcolm reunion when we were both teenagers. He didn't have an ounce of talent, but he had excellent instincts as a cop.”

“And your parents?” Oz asked.

“We moved to California when I was a baby so they could work with South American archeologists. They went on an expedition when I was ten and never returned.” Gloria sounded ineffably sad. “I was too young to see the pattern then, but I wish I'd seen it later, when I learned Jordie was an orphan too. I didn't start making the connections until I started recovering, years after the accident—too late for everyone. Our family is disaster prone.”

“Just because your accident was deliberate doesn't mean they all were,” Oz said.

“Besides, how could anyone track Malcolms before there was an Internet?” Philippa protested, unwilling to believe anyone would deliberately target a widespread family, no matter what inane reason.

“Want to bet that if there is an evil villain, he's someone who knew Gloria's family, maybe even someone at one of those family reunions?” Conan asked idly. “There's always one troublemaker in every family.”

“He's talking about Moron, our middle brother,” Oz said, striving for humor to ease the pall.

“Moron?” Philippa had to ask. Dylan and Conan were bad enough. She couldn't imagine naming a child Moron.

Conan laughed. “Magnus. Our grandmother was nuts about using family names. She wanted to call him Mervyn. Dad had to draw the line somewhere.”

“So we all have nuts on the family tree,” Oz said. “I still think the pattern is random. I'm not saying I believe Malcolms have mysterious abilities, but people with talent attract attention, some of it adverse. My competitors would probably love to kill me. Pippa's managers used her talent to get rich. Jordie might even have had an empathic talent,” he said that with skepticism, “that made him a good cop and got him killed, but that's all I'm seeing here. Talent has a tendency to take risks others don't.”

Pippa couldn't find her center with a painful conversation like this flowing around her. Even humming wasn't helping. She could hear Oz's pain through his logic. “The news reports didn't mention me?” she asked, to divert his anguish and place it back on herself.

“Ah, she speaks to me again.” Conan threw off the towel, sat up, and looked about brightly. “Does this mean your beastly Voice has freed me from its spell?”

Pippa flung her water bottle at him. He ducked and let it bounce off the wall behind him.

“I'll quit paying you, bro,” Oz said ominously.

“Now there's a voice I respond to.” He stood up and circled the pool to take the laptop from Oz. “You've seen the news stories. You know they don't mention any wandering toddlers at the crash site.” He keyed a code in and set the machine on Pippa's lap. “But the date from the Bakersfield crap sheets report an abandoned toddler twenty-four hours after the
Times
reported the accident on the coast.”