What had I hoped? That Gran would stop being codependent, stop rescuing my mom? The habits of a lifetime are a bitch to break, even if you want to. Which Gran didn’t. She was determined to save my mother from herself, would fight for her salvation to the last breath. But I just didn’t have that in me. I felt my mother should pay for her crimes. She’d broken the law. Only prison could fix what was wrong.
I should’ve checked up on her. I should’ve stopped her somehow. I guess I expected … I don’t know. She’s always been the one to take care of me.
Lopaka’s voice softened in my mind. She probably hid it from you precisely for that reason. And she very well might have hidden it from your attendant spirit.
The sirens mostly consider me a true siren because I happen to have friends who are clairvoyants and my sister hangs around me, even after death. Prophets and attendant spirits are royal attributes. I consider them mostly coincidence.
Probably. Hiding stuff from me is classic Gran. Yes, she’d hide her problems from Ivy and lie to my mother. And to me. Not to be a martyr, nor a hero. But just because she’s Gran.
Indeed. I see now why my brother loved her. She might not have been siren royalty but she was worthy to be the mate of one. There was both frustration and admiration in her voice. Typical.
Lopaka’s mental voice sounded exhausted. She’d contacted me mind-to-mind before, even over long distances, without strain. But this time was different. The queen might be recovering, but she wasn’t herself yet by a long shot. I let out a little growl. You need to rest.
Yes. And I will. But now I need you to go with Agent Baker. The questioning of the prisoner is not going well. Our psychic believes something important will occur tomorrow, but cannot obtain details. While I am willing to use torture if necessary to save lives, Gunnar believes the man’s hatred of you may enrage him enough that he will be unable to guard his thoughts from us if you are in the room.
I didn’t know who Gunnar was and didn’t much care. I didn’t want to leave the hospital; I wanted to stay and make sure that nothing else happened to Gran.
There will be guards on the door at all times. She will be protected.
“Ivy, are you still here?” I spoke both in my head and out loud. My sister’s ghost hadn’t done anything since letting me know she was with us in Gran’s apartment building, so I wasn’t sure I’d get an answer. She used to be with me almost always. Now, she spent her time guarding our mom in prison. It was hard work for the ghost of a grade-school kid, but I was betting she was doing a damned fine job of it. That didn’t stop me from missing her.
The overhead light flashed once. That was our code. One flash meant yes, two no.
“They want me to go question the bad guy. Can you keep an eye on Gran for me?”
The light flashed once again.
“Thanks. Love you, Ivy.” Tears stung my eyes as I looked first up at the light, then down at my grandmother on the bed. The lights flickered wildly for a few seconds. I took that to mean, Me, too.
I wanted to be there when Gran woke up. We needed to talk, about so many things. Today’s little adventure had taught me not to take her for granted. I was going to work things out with her even if that meant dealing with my mother again.
The queen’s voice tickled my mind again, the tinkling of crystal chimes. The doctors have assured Adriana that your grandmother will sleep deeply for several hours. If you go now, you may be back before she wakes.
You’re sure?
Please, niece. I will ensure my sister-in-law is safe. But there are others who are not. Lives are at stake. You must go, and quickly.
Put like that, I really didn’t have much choice. The queen was considering this a family matter.
Family. That meant a lot on this island. I’ve never had much of it. Most everyone I considered family was lying on that hospital bed. I bent down to kiss my grandmother’s cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I whispered.
The interrogation room was grim. The cinder-block walls were painted a funky pinkish-tan. Brick red trim surrounded the one-way mirror familiar to anyone who has ever seen a crime drama on television. A battered table was bolted to the floor. On it, untouched, rested two glasses and a sweating plastic pitcher of water.
Again, anyone who watches television knows why the water is there. But you’d be surprised how many people actually drink it. It’s impossible to sit in a room like this and not be nervous. Nerves make a person thirsty. But a full bladder, when there’s no possibility of emptying it, is damned uncomfortable, and pissing yourself is degrading, humiliating, and puts you at a disadvantage with the interviewers. The clock on the wall, with its big, easy-to-read numbers, is there so that the prisoner can’t help but be aware of the seconds, minutes, and hours passing.
If any of this was having an effect on the prisoner, I couldn’t see it. He sat calmly, his arms resting on the table, breathing slow and easy.
He’d obviously played this game before.
So it was time to change the rules.
A large man in a very high-end suit handed me an earpiece. Baker had introduced him as the secretary of Siren Security, Gunnar Thorsen. It was evidently a cabinet post, but with active duties. Very active lately.
He looked about as you’d expect from the name: big and Nordic. His long blond hair was pulled back into a braid, revealing chiseled features and eyes the ice blue of a winter sky. His expression was just that cold. “We have a psychic on duty,” he explained.
As if on cue, the psychic began speaking in my ear. “Testing, one, two, three, testing.” I heard her loud and clear.
“It works.”
“Good. You’ve fed?”
I blinked a little at the directness of the question. “Yes.”
“Right. We need him alive and talking.”
Um, wow. Okay. I’ve come close to losing control a time or two, but I have never actually fed off of a human. Nor do I intend to. It would send me over the edge, make me fully a vampire. I am not, and will never be, a bat. Ever.
I looked through the glass at the prisoner and felt a fine burning rage fill me. He was a terrorist. He’d tried to kidnap my gran. I had no idea what he’d intended to do with her, but I assumed it would have been bad. As it was, she’d wound up in the hospital.
I wouldn’t feed on the bastard, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to hurt him.
I beat down my rage by force of will, calming myself with slow, deep, breaths. After a moment, I was back in full control. “I’m good. Let’s do this.”
The psychic nodded in approval, so Thorsen led me out into the interrogation room.
“You!” The prisoner leapt to his feet, sending the chair crashing to the floor behind him.
“Yup. Me.” I gave him my sunniest, most saccharine smile.
He stood, snarling, breathing as heavily as if he’d been running. It was obviously all he could do not to leap across the room and attack me.
“He wants to kill you.” The psychic’s voice came clearly through the ear bud. “He’s not striking because he knows he can’t make it past Thorsen. But if he sees an opening, he’ll take it. You will need to be very careful. He’s hoping that if he kills you, we will kill him. It will keep him from revealing anything and having the curse take him. He wants to die a martyr to his cause.”