Page 3 of Siren Problems
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I jump. And immediately regret it.
Because standing above me, drenched in moonlight and menace, is the storm-eyed lumberjack of a man I thought I left behind in the house. Shirtless again. Wet again. Scowling like I just insulted his mom and kicked his dog at the same time.
“I could askyouthe same thing, Moby Dick,” I snap, breathless.
“This isn’t a game,” he growls, stepping closer. “You’re too close.”
“Towhat? The glow stick party under the sea?”
“Back off, now.”
The scanner lets out a warningbweep.
“Too late,” I whisper.
There’s asurge, fast and hot. The ocean lurches like it’s exhaling magic straight from its lungs. Calder grabs my arm just before I stumble, pulling me hard against him as the scanner overloads and dies in a puff of sizzling ozone.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he hisses.
“I wasresearching,” I retort, struggling out of his grip. “It’s called science. You should try it sometime.”
“This place is dangerous.”
“Then maybe put up a sign next time, Aquaman.”
He looks like he wants to throttle me. Or throw me over his shoulder. Possibly both. I stare back, chest heaving, my adrenaline buzzing in harmony with the damn ley waves.
Neither of us moves.
Without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows like some cursed sea phantom with boundary issues.
I mutter, “Iknewhe was going to be a problem.”
The tide pulses behind me, silent and strange.
CHAPTER 2
CALDER
The ley line breathes wrong tonight.
It’s a ripple under my skin, a magnetic pull that drags through my bones like the ocean’s remembering something I swore I buried. I pause mid-step in the tide, boots looped over one shoulder, saltwater soaking the frayed hem of my jeans. The wind’s changing—picking up from the south, sharp and sweet with summer rot and ozone. Storm air. Magic air.
I know what this is. Not a natural surge. Not this close to the cove.
It’s her.
The woman with the fast mouth and cursed timing.
I climb the rocks with long, practiced strides, avoiding the stretch where the ley fissures are closest to the surface. That ground’s too unstable lately—cracked from the seaquake three winters back and humming like a haunted harp ever since. The barrier spell’s weak tonight. I can feel it unraveling thread by thread under the weight of whatever she’s doing.
And then I see her.
She’s crouched near the edge of the cliff, silhouetted against the glow of a ley pulse churning in the tide below. Hair loose andwind-snarled, skin flushed in the moonlight, arms extended like she’s trying to make a deal with the sea. Her gear is scattered across the rocks—crystals, coils of wire, one of those tech-to-magic interface boxes that spit sparks if you look at them wrong.
The ley field shrieks against it.
