Siren's Call (Dark Seas) Read online

  “Not that much more to tell. Grandfather said if you swam near their home, they’d grab you by the ankles and pull you under. If you stayed underwater with them more than three days, you could never return to land.”

  Fascinating. “So you would become one of the undersea people?”

  “He didn’t say. I suspect the story was told to keep children from swimming too far from home, unsupervised by their elders.”

  “Maybe.” Lily hesitated on how to proceed, recalling how touchy Nash had become in the grocery store when she’d mentioned his unusual affinity with animals. But curiosity won out. If she wanted to know more about Nash and pursue his ability to resist her siren’s call, this could be important. “Don’t get hypersensitive on me, but I wonder if you’re discounting the story too easily. There are plenty of unexplainable things in the world. We both know you have some kind of unearthly connection to animals.”

  Nash set down his fork and knife. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do,” Lily said brightly, ignoring his denial. “When we were young, you could summon birds and foxes and raccoons.”

  “I never told you I could do that.”

  “You didn’t have to. I saw it for myself. Whenever we walked together, you’d tell me some Choctaw lore about an animal and within minutes one would appear. And they didn’t display the normal wariness of a wild creature. They were as tame and domesticated as a dog.”

  “Coincidence.”

  “No.”

  His eyes were malachite-dark and hard as the stone, but Lily steeled her own sea-blue eyes and didn’t back down.

  Nash took a swallow of whiskey and Coke and set it down so sharply the liquid precariously sloshed near the rim, like a tidal wave about to engulf a beach. “What is it about this bayou? Do you all believe there’s something supernatural happening here? That it’s perfectly acceptable?”

  “Yes,” she answered immediately.

  Nash picked up the knife and fork and resumed cutting his steak. “Okay, tell me some local legends.”

  Lily twisted a lock of hair, frustrated at his refusal to open up. Maybe later, in a not-so-public place, she could coax some revelations. For now, she’d play along with his conversational detour. “Well, there’s your usual assortment of haints and—”

  “Haints?”

  “Ghosts. I can’t believe you haven’t heard that word before. Anyway, there’s also the requisite voodoo priestess, or witch, named Tia Henrietta. People seek her all the time to read their fortune, concoct a love potion—stuff like that.” She really should make time to visit Henrietta and tell her about the coyote and the phone calls.

  Nash grinned. “Have you had this witch make you a love potion?”

  Lily bit back a snort. “Never needed it.” She waited a heartbeat. “Until now.”

  Nash ignored the jibe. “What about mermaids? Are there other tales about them down here?”

  If you only knew. “Oh, there are plenty of legends. The town was even named after them. Bayou La Siryna—Siryna meaning siren.”

  “I assumed Siryna was a woman’s name.”

  Lily considered her words. Should she tell him more? Give credence to the Choctaw lore? Shelly and Jet had both found human males who accepted their mer-nature. Maybe Nash could as well one day. And if there was a possibility, she could prepare the way now.

  “I wouldn’t say mermaids don’t exist,” she began. “Earth is ninety-five percent covered in water and humans have yet to explore its deepest depths. Who are we to say what lives in its depths? Our ancestors used to believe in them—as much as modern people speculate on UFOs and alien life from other planets.”

  Nash wasn’t buying it. “I’m more prone to believe in aliens than mermaids myself.”

  “Mermaids are as plausible as other things, like the Choctaw legends of little people or shamans who see spirits,” she argued.

  He drummed his fingers along the tabletop and regarded her thoughtfully. “Grandfather is a shaman.”

  “He is? I never knew.” Lily’s respect for Sam Bowman rose even higher.

  “He mostly keeps it to himself. But there were several occasions when I saw others come to the cabin for a cure.”

  “How does it work?” Lily made a mental note to mention this to Jet in case there was any trouble with her pregnancy or childbirth. “What does he do exactly?”

  “He asks the spirits to restore a person’s spiritual power for healing. He merely serves as a link between the seen and the unseen.”

  “That’s so cool. Do the spirits always help?”

  “As far as I know. He says every person is surrounded by animated human, plant and animal spirits. But some are easier to contact than others. If he’s having difficulty connecting, he’ll drum and chant. Sometimes the cure is instant, and sometimes it takes days—but I’ve never known him to fail.”

  “You’ve seen him do it?”

  “Many times.” He gave a sheepish grin. “He’s even used it with me. Anytime I came down with a cold or virus, grandfather would zap it right out of me.”

  She tried to imagine what that would feel like. “Does it hurt, or is it an immediate kind of relief?”

  Nash shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt. But immediate relief? I’m not sure. Grandfather always did it at night, right before bedtime. The process relaxed me so much I’d fall asleep almost at once. When I woke up the next day, I wouldn’t be sick.”

  “There you go,” Lily said triumphantly. “With a grandfather like that, you should keep an open mind about everything.”

  “I try to. But some things are too preposterous.” He shook his head and dug into his steak.

  “Doesn’t make it any less real.” Lily set aside what remained of the shrimp cocktail. “How can you draw a line once you’ve admitted there are spirits and circumstances beyond what the rational mind can see?”

  He took another slug of his drink. “You’re probably right. I was disrespectful when he told me of the Okwa Nahollo. I’m arrogant at times, but not so arrogant as to think I know everything.”

  Lily took heart at his words. “Keep an open mind,” she urged. Despite all his warnings about not being in the bayou long, Lily couldn’t help feeling encouraged that he might one day accept her shape-shifting. Besides, there was mystery about him as well. “Can’t help noticing you neatly sidestepped the issue of your own powers. That stuff must run in your family.”

  Nash said nothing and ate his steak in silence. She’d pushed him enough for one night. Once he got to know her better, maybe she’d gain his trust and he’d open up about his gifts and his past.

  “By the way, I buried that coyote. It did have rabies.”

  Lily shuddered, remembering the yellow-brown predatory eyes. If besieged undersea, she had the advantage of speed over most other creatures, except dolphins, which were friends anyway. But with human legs, the coyote could have easily overtaken her. “That reminds me of Sam’s warning. Since your grandfather sees things, should I be worried someone’s deceiving me?”

  “Maybe. You had any more trouble with Twyla?”

  She debated telling him about the hang-up calls, reluctant to sound like an alarmist. But if she hoped to gain his trust, she’d have to be a little more forthright herself.

  “For several days I’ve had a string of phone calls where the person hangs up as soon as I answer.”

  Knife and fork slipped from his hands and clattered on the plate. “Harassing calls,” he said slowly. His lips pursed to a fine line.

  Lily wondered at his extreme reaction. “Could be kids making prank calls.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gary teetering off the bar stool. His posse stared straight at her, smirking.

  “Coincidence,” Nash muttered. “Has to be.”

  All her attent
ion was on Gary. A trickle of sweat ran down her cleavage. Holy smokes, the guy was going to make another scene. Lily licked her dry lips. Should she make a mad dash to the ladies’ room?

  Fight or flight. Sink or swim.

  She felt trapped like a caged rabbit. Gary headed over to where they were sitting. Nash scowled, deep in his own thoughts, unaware of the oncoming disaster.

  No way to avoid trouble. Lily desperately sought a way to minimize the damage. Too late—or early, as it were—to call the waitress for their ticket and make a quick exit. Only one thing left to do. Lily lurched to her feet, hoping to head Gary off at the pass. She’d put her hand on his arm and talk sweet nothings to calm him until she and Nash could exit the restaurant. She’d even beg, promise Gary a date later to prevent him from ruining everything with Nash.

  “Hey there, Lily-Gily girl,” he slurred. “Who you with this time?” He stopped at their table and sniggered at Nash. “Well, hello there, Chief.”

  Lily gasped at the insult.

  Nash rose slowly. “Go away,” he said in a low, calm voice.

  Knowing it was too late to stop the inevitable, Lily sat.

  Gary pointed at Nash’s whiskey glass. “Shouldn’t be drinking that there firewater, Chief. Will make you a Heap Big Drunk.”

  Much snickering erupted from his friends at the bar and Lily glared their way. She’d expected to be the one insulted, not Nash.

  Nash raised an eyebrow at Gary. “I can handle my liquor. Unlike you and your friends.” He raised his glass and took a long swallow with a steady hand.

  Gary switched tactics. “Got me there, Chief. Word to the wise, though, about your date.” He spit out the word as if he’d swallowed tainted moonshine. “She’s used goods. Probably every guy in this town has had Lily. And I do mean in the biblical sense.”

  Nash rose slowly to his feet and spoke in a low, deep voice. “Please go.”

  Gary opened and closed his mouth as if to speak again, but thought better of it. Something in Nash’s eyes and still posture must have penetrated his beer-sodden brain. He held up both hands. “No problem, Chief.” With an exaggerated swagger, Gary made his way back to the bar.

  Lily stiffened in her chair and snuck a peak at the other restaurant patrons. Most were busy eating, but she caught a glimpse of Twyla at a back table. Her arm rested on the shoulder of her toddler and J.P. was by her side. Twyla stared at her intently. Lily had expected a smirk, but Twyla’s face was tight and her eyes sharp with pity.

  But that couldn’t be right. To hell with anyone’s pity. She was Lily Bosarge, the great siren of the seas.

  Nash sat down and she studied his stoic face.

  “Sorry about that,” she mumbled, fiddling with her napkin.

  “No need to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Nash calmly picked up his knife and fork and resumed eating his steak.

  Respect and gratitude swept through Lily like a wave. Nash’s dignity had been a powerful weapon against Gary’s mean stupidity. She wanted to signal the waitress and escape, but she followed his lead. No sense giving Gary or anyone else the satisfaction of believing such lowness had disturbed their date. Lily took a bite of shrimp, digging in with gusto.

  They spoke little, as if by mutual pact. At long last, they finished and exited the diner with a deliberate grace. The ride home was also quiet and Lily’s stomach churned, wondering what he thought of her in light of Gary’s insults.

  He pulled into her driveway and turned off the motor. The ping of the heated engine clattered in the dark night.

  “Gary’s an asshole,” she blurted out. “I have not been with every man in the bayou.”

  Nash shrugged. “Wouldn’t matter to me if you had. I’ve had more than my share of women. Way more.”

  An unexpected tightening in her chest surprised Lily. So this was how jealousy felt. Best not to let Nash see it mattered.

  “Rumors of my promiscuity are greatly exaggerated,” she continued. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.’

  “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

  Lily cleared her dry throat. “Okay, then. Want to come in for a drink?”

  Nash strummed his fingers on the dashboard, as if debating. “Why not?” he answered in a rush. “Been some kind of evening.”

  They walked to the darkened house. Strange, she usually kept the porch light on because returning to an empty, dark home was depressing. She missed Jet and Shelly more than she’d ever anticipated. Lily fished out her keys and opened the door. In the entry, she flicked on the light switch and frowned.

  “Something wrong?” Nash asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Nothing appeared out of place, but the energy in the house felt...altered. That brush Shelly had had with a serial killer last year was making her paranoid, that’s all. And that coyote stalking hadn’t helped her peace of mind either. Nothing’s wrong.

  Yet Lily couldn’t shake off the feeling someone had been in the house. She turned on the kitchen chandelier. Everything was as she’d left it earlier this afternoon. Lily hugged her chilled arms.

  Nash pulled her to him. “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” Telling the truth would make him think she was nuts. Bad enough Gary had planted the notion in his head she was slutty. “How about a glass of Moscato? Or would you prefer a beer?”

  “Whatever you’re drinking is fine.”

  Lily pointed to the den. “Go have a seat and I’ll bring it to you.”

  She found the wine bottle in the refrigerator and poured some into two antique crystal glasses as she admired the dancing of light in the pale citrine liquid. The fruity aroma tantalized, and she took a sip and closed her eyes, savoring the shot of jeweled ambrosia as it warmed her stomach. Another sip and the unease evaporated like fog in daylight. Nash waited in the den and she intended to get to know him better—in every way.

  “It’s as I remembered,” Nash commented as she entered the den. He stood before an opened curio cabinet, running his fingers along a rare pottery vase. “Enough collectibles here to fill a small museum. As a kid, I imagined this place as a pirate’s secret cache for his stash of treasures.”

  A fitting description. “Is that so?”

  Nash closed the cabinet door and moved to the mantel, festooned with marine astrolabes positioned below a collection of antique swords. “Very cool.” He examined one of the brass instruments and set it back on the mantel. “Your home’s a stark contrast to my grandfather’s cabin.”

  “But his is charming in its own way. Minimalistic without being stark.” She hadn’t considered the differences before. The ornate style of the Bosarge Victorian home, with its plethora of plundered goodies, jasmine scent and overall feminine vibe, was a counterpoint to the Bowman utilitarian aesthetic. The cabin was woodsy, everything in it had a purpose, and it held the faint, unique smell of burnt sage from smudging rituals to ward off sickness and negative energy.

  Yin and yang.

  Lily held out the wineglass. Their fingers touched against the delicate stemware as he took the drink, sending Lily longing for more intimacy.

  Nash raised his glass for a toast. “To friendship.” Green eyes bore into her, his expression intense but unfathomable.

  “I want...” Her voice trailed off, afraid to give voice to her wish only to have it rebuffed once more. She took a deep breath. “I want more.”

  “More of what? This?” He leaned into her and kissed her, his lips hot and pressing, full of passion and promise.

  Anxiety fisted through desire and Lily pulled away. “Did you reconsider seeing me because of what Gary said tonight?”

  Nash cocked his head to the side. “I’m not following you.”

  Geez, he was going to make her say it. “You figured I would be...you know, easy. Easy to have and easy to
leave.” Not that her bold overtures to Nash contradicted anything Gary had said, but her former boyfriend’s words made everything appear cheap and ugly.

  With Nash it will be special, she vowed.

  “Hell, no. I don’t think you’re easy,” he growled. “I can’t believe you’d say that.” His face softened. “C’mon, Lily. You were the first girl I ever kissed, my childhood friend. I would never think badly of you.”

  The tight tangle of her heart loosened. “Really?” she whispered.

  “Really.” Very deliberately, Nash took the wineglass out of her hand and set his and hers both down on the coffee table. Time thickened, grew heavy, as if the weight of air pressed down, making every movement languid and deliberate. Nash faced her and pulled her body alongside his own. His eyes lowered to her mouth and he cupped her cheeks with calloused hands. Ever so slowly, he leaned down to join their lips.

  The kiss was sensuous and steamy with a touch of gentle wonder. Lily twined her arms around his neck, reveling in his closeness. Nash’s mouth opened and she tasted a combination of citrus, peach and apricots from the Moscato. Her body felt as liquid and weightless as if she were afloat at sea. His arms wrapped around the small of her back, pressing—an anchor in the maelstrom of desire.

  Nash withdrew and leaned his forehead against hers. Their deep breaths mingled and merged as one. Passion ebbed, replaced by an undertow of tenderness, like an unspoken prayer.

  She’d never come close to a kiss such as this, although with each new man she’d been searching, always hopeful.

  Nash straightened. “I should go.”

  Lily opened her mouth to tell him to stay, but thought better of it. He liked and respected her—why ruin it tonight with sex? The timing was wrong. It might reinforce Gary’s accusations, despite Nash’s claim to the contrary. She wanted his respect, wanted his opinion of her to be different from everyone else’s in the bayou.

  She squeezed his hand. “Yes. It might be for the best.” They strolled to the entrance, holding hands. If Nash was disappointed at her quick agreement, he didn’t show it.