The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song) Read online

  off Serenity and find her long-lost father

  and brother.

  “Have you talked to her father?”

  Laka gave a frustrated snort. Granted,

  contacting Okalani’s dad was an

  obvious thing to do. But you’d be

  surprised how often people don’t

  actually do the obvious.

  “He won’t take my calls. I went to the

  address in the telephone directory. His

  ex-wife says he’s gone, and good

  riddance. I thought she might be lying,

  but there are initial divorce papers filed

  at the courthouse.”

  “What about your son?”

  Her expression saddened, growing

  haunted. “My son is dead. He was killed

  in a vampire attack after one of his high-

  school football games.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I was, too. Few

  football games are held at night because

  of the risks, but with the days so short in

  the fall and winter, sometimes games

  end after dark. The police do the best

  they can, but accidents happen. Tragic.

  “Thank you. Losing him to Ricky was

  hard. But his death … perhaps you can

  understand now why I tried so hard to

  keep Okalani from coming to the

  mainland.”

  I did, actually. The siren Isle of

  Serenity has never had a vampire, never

  known a werewolf attack. The mental

  control the queen has over the island

  residents would force them to leave. I

  could understand Laka’s desperation,

  knowing her daughter was on her own in

  circumstances unlike anything she’d ever

  experienced. That didn’t mean I could

  help her. “Laka, I’m a bodyguard, not a

  private investigator. But I know of a

  couple of reputable—”

  “No,” she interrupted me. “Please …

  Okalani likes you, she trusts you.” I

  started to explain that I wasn’t trained to

  find people, but she interrupted me

  again. “But you’re very good at

  uncovering the truth, Princess.” Okay,

  now she was interrupting thoughts I

  hadn’t spoken. Was she was rummaging

  around in my head?

  I intentionally let my thoughts about

  her daughter go blank, focusing instead

  on the room. The curtains at the balcony

  doors were open, letting in lots of bright

  sunlight that gleamed off the wide, white

  trim of the baseboards and made the pale

  peach walls look even paler than usual. I

  loved my big desk, which had two

  visitor chairs facing it; there was a

  second seating area in one corner, with a

  couch, a side chair, and a low table.

  Behind me was a large gun safe. Painted

  a dark forest green, the safe was a new

  addition to the office décor, and one I

  wasn’t entirely pleased about.

  I saw Laka’s face register confusion

  for a moment before she looked directly

  at the gun safe. Got her. Sirens are

  telepathic. The “siren call” people talk

  about is a psychic compulsion, not some

  sort of music in the air. While it’s

  considered extremely bad manners to

  intrude into other people’s heads willy-

  nilly, many of the sirens I’ve met do it a

  lot.

  Most

  of

  them

  can

  carry

  on

  conversations both audibly and mentally

  with equal ease. I’ve had to work hard

  to get good at that, but I don’t really like

  doing it unless it’s an emergency. It

  creeps people out. Hell, it creeps me

  out. I still haven’t mastered keeping

  others out of my thoughts. Then again,

  I’m only one-fourth siren and my

  abilities were brought out by the bite of

  a master vampire who was trying to turn

  me. I may technically be a siren—and

  the multi-grandniece of Queen Lopaka—

  but I hadn’t had a clue about that part of

  my heritage until the bat bite.

  Laka eavesdropping on my thoughts

  without permission ticked me off. A lot.

  Stop it! I growled the words in my

  head. I was sorely tempted to show her

  the door, enough so that I started to rise

  from my seat.

  Laka flushed, but kept talking,

  desperation forcing her words out in a

  rush. “Hear me out, please, Princess.

  Ricky, Okalani’s father, has always been

  clever

  and

  charismatic.

  Charming

  enough to win people over, to convince

  them of whatever he wants them to

  believe. He talks his way into good jobs,

  and people who meet him would swear

  he isn’t capable of stealing or conning

  people out of their money. But he is.”

  Something swam through her dark

  eyes, some memory that she wasn’t yet

  ready to reveal—and I wouldn’t dive

  into her head to pry it out. I sat back

  down, inhaling the thick scent of flowers

  that surrounded her. “When he was with

  me, on Serenity, I used my powers to

  keep him in check. Too many of my

  fellow sirens would have been easy

  pickings for Ricky, since at that time

  money didn’t have much value on

  Serenity. I didn’t allow him to take

  advantage of people. He hated that. He

  said I was manipulating him, making him

  into someone he wasn’t. In a way, he

  was correct. I could make him do what

  was right. But I couldn’t make him want

  to do it. Perhaps I was wrong to try to

  make him become a more ethical person.

  He grew to hate me, and to hate all

  sirens, because of what I did.”

  “So you sent him away.”

  I tried not to put any particular

  emotion in my words, but my feelings

  probably showed in my mind. I don’t

  like that the sirens have historically

  considered men nothing more than tools

  of procreation. Their female-centric

  culture throws away male partners and

  male children like so much trash.

  Laka’s chin came up, her expression

  conveying pride, stubbornness, and hurt.

  It was an old wound, but I could tell

  from her expression that it still ached. “I

  did. I let him take our son, but I kept

  Okalani away from him.”

  I thought back, remembering what

  she’d said to me the first night I’d met

  her, the night Okalani had teleported

  herself onto my friend Bubba’s boat. I’d

  nearly killed the youngster, thinking she

  was an enemy intruder.

  “You told me before that he was bitter

  about being sent away?” I made it a

  question.

  She sighed. “Yes. He was … is. It

  makes no sense to me. He hated me for

  making him law-abiding, but he hated it

  even more when I rejected him.”

  “An
d you think he’ll take it out on

  your daughter by rejecting her?”

  She shook her head and her

  expression grew hard and grim. “Oh, no.

  He won’t reject her. He’ll use her.”

  The way she said that … an image

  appeared in my mind. A darkened

  building, figures in black, and a floor-to-

  ceiling vault door. Whether it was my

  own vision or projected into my head by

  Laka, I suddenly understood why she

  was so panicked.

  “You think he would use Okalani’s

  gift to steal things?”

  Her jaw tightened, like it wasn’t

  something she wanted said out loud. But

  I’m like that. If it can’t be said out loud,

  it shouldn’t be thought. “I would rather

  not think he is capable of outright theft.”

  A moment’s thought provided all too

  many ways Okalani could be of terrific

  use to a con man and thief—the

  possibilities were endless. A simple

  variation of the old shell game, where

  instead of being palmed and moved, the

  ball would simply disappear into

  Okalani’s hand while she stood several

  feet away. An apartment full of priceless

  antiques one minute, the next … empty,

  the thief chatting with the owner

  throughout the robbery. A murder

  suspect seemingly in two places at once,

  with witnesses in both places. I hid all

  that in my mind as best I could, and

  erected what few barriers I knew to

  keep Laka out. She didn’t need to know

  how dark my thoughts were.

  The siren looked beseechingly at me.

  “Please, Princess … please help me find

  my daughter.”

  Scooting back my chair, I opened my

  center desk drawer and pulled out a

  leather case that held alphabetized

  business cards. Flipping to “P,” I

  selected one from the mix of private

  investigators and handed it across the

  desk. “Call Harry Carson. He’s one of

  the best I know. I’ll do some looking

  around and I’ll talk to Okalani if I find

  her, but he’ll find her if I can’t.”

  She took the card and stared at it with

  relief plain on her face. Dark eyes filled

  with gratitude raised to meet mine.

  “Thank you, Princess. If there’s anything

  I can ever do—”

  I flinched involuntarily for at least the

  third time since she arrived. “Actually,

  there is.” I rose and stepped around the

  desk.

  She raised her eyebrows and cocked

  her head as I walked past her to the

  door, turned the knob, and opened it. My

  meaning was obvious; Laka stood and

  headed for the exit, pausing when we

  were inches apart to repeat, “Anything.”

  I sighed and looked at her wearily.

  “Stop calling me Princess.”

  3

  It was my morning for siren trouble.

  After Laka left, I started sorting through

  my messages, trying to put them in order

  of priority. The most important, and

  worrisome, were the multiple messages

  from Lopaka and her daughter Adriana. I

  knew Adriana was in the process of

  planning her weddings, plural, to King

  Dahlmar of Rusland. Other than sending

  an RSVP—regrets for the daylight

  ceremony on Serenity, because of my

  vampish skin problems; a big yes to the

  church ceremony in Rusland because

  I’ve always wanted to see Europe—I

  had no connection to the wedding. Since

  Adriana and I aren’t close, that was no

  surprise.

  Still, they were calling. Eight or ten

  times each. That meant there was a crisis

  of some sort. Crap. I so didn’t want to

  deal with whatever it was. I wanted to

  ease back into my life, try to make some

  decisions about my future when I wasn’t

  caught up in the crisis of the moment. But

  there you go. I picked up the phone and

  dialed the number Hiwahiwa, the

  queen’s assistant, had left, and got her

  assistant, who told me that the queen

  was unavailable, but would call me back

  at her convenience.

  So I hung up and dialed Adriana.

  Now my great-aunt and I get along

  well, despite the fact that she’s royal,

  and I’m an American and pretty

  irreverent besides. But Adriana? That’s

  a whole ’nother story. The princess can

  be very … princessy. A diva’s diva. She

  has a crown and an attitude, and

  definitely knows how to use both. On top

  of that she was busy getting ready for the

  impending nuptials, so I figured I’d get

  shunted off to an even longer line of

  assistants. Instead, she answered herself

  and on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Celia Graves—”

  She interrupted me before I could

  finish. “Celia, thank God! Tell me

  you’re back from Mexico.” She spoke in

  a rush, her voice breathless. At a guess

  I’d have said she was desperate, but that

  was so out of character as to be

  completely unbelievable.

  “I’m back.”

  “Oh good.” The relief in her voice

  was palpable. What the hell was going

  on? “How soon can you make it down to

  the docks? We need to talk.”

  I glanced at the wall clock. Not even

  ten thirty, my first day back, and I was

  already hip deep in crises. Not a record

  for me, but close. “Give me an hour.”

  I grabbed my Bluetooth earpiece and

  headed for my car. I might as well make

  a couple of calls on the way. I had to

  leave a message on Bruno’s voice mail,

  but got hold of Emma. A clairvoyant, she

  wasn’t exactly surprised that I’d made it

  back, but she did sound hugely relieved.

  She didn’t admit it, but I was guessing

  she’d “peeked” in the mirror she

  sometimes used as a focus. If she’d been

  watching me in Mexico, she’d probably

  gotten quite the eyeful.

  We didn’t chat long. She had a class

  to teach and traffic was getting heavy

  enough that I needed to concentrate on

  my driving.

  Despite the traffic, I made it to the

  marina with time to spare. I knew my

  way around from back when a good

  friend kept his fishing boat here, so it

  was easy to find Adriana’s slip.

  Actually, it would have been easy for

  anyone who knew anything about sirens

  —all you had to do was follow the gulls.

  They led the way, soaring and swooping

  and cawing with excitement, to the nicest

  yacht in the place.

  Calling Adriana’s vessel a boat was

  like calling the Hope Diamond a pretty

  rock. Her ship was freaking huge, with

  hand-carved teak and brass fittings. The

  stair
way was steep. Not a gangplank—

  actual stairs. Everything was elegant

  and perfect, very much like Adriana

  herself.

  Though I had to admit she wasn’t

  entirely perfect. As Queen Lopaka’s

  only daughter, Adriana should have been

  heir to the throne. Unfortunately, she

  wasn’t siren enough, because like Emma

  Landingham, she was a clairvoyant.

  “True” siren talent can’t coexist with

  any other paranormal or magical

  abilities, so she would never take her

  mother’s throne. Worse, she probably

  had already seen in a vision just who

  would.

  Fate can be so cruel.

  She would never rule the Isle of

  Serenity, but Adriana was every inch a

  princess. It’s all about the attitude.

  Today she was wearing big movie-star

  sunglasses, a man’s dress shirt in white,

  blue jeans, and boat shoes. On her, it all

  looked like the height of fashion. Her

  long red hair had been tied back in a

  loose tail that did not distract from the

  amazing bone structure of her face. She

  was stunning. On my best day I don’t

  look that good. That bothers me more

  than it probably should.

  Adriana met me at the gangplank and

  invited me on board.

  “Thank you for coming on such short

  notice.” She smiled, and dolphins began

  jumping and playing in the water next to

  the boat. Overhead, my seagull escort

  wheeled and cawed happily before

  settling down on various high spots to

  watch.

  Ever the gracious hostess, Adriana

  led me to a pair of built-in benches

  around a small table near the entrance to

  the cabin area. “Would you like

  something to drink?” She signaled and a

  servant

  instantly

  appeared

  from

  somewhere. “We’ll have brunch now.”

  “Of course, Princess.” He bowed

  low, backing away.

  She sat and drummed her manicured

  fingers restlessly on the tabletop.

  I waited for a little bit, letting her

  squirm. But I’m not really all that

  patient, and at the rate she was going, it

  would be next week before she got past

  the pleasantries. “Why don’t you just

  spit it out?”

  “Excuse me?” She blinked, obviously

  shocked.

  I smiled. I didn’t get an advantage

  over her often. She’s been trained to be

  poised in almost any situation. But it

  was obvious she needed something and

  just as obvious that she was not used to

  having to ask. I realized that it was