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
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
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 catadamsfans@gmail.com. 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 me 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?”