Page 55 of Bewitched By the Siren
“Holy shit,” I breathe, then continue reading aloud, “Some myths indicate that the siren’s song can be muted, the power cut off by a token or object spelled by a witch. If the siren wears this token, the magic is leached from his or her voice, leaving it powerless.”
The image of Hali’s shell necklace materializes in my mind. She took it off when she sang in Natasha’s recording studio. And I can’t remember, exactly, but I don’t think she had it on the two times I saw her perform the bar. I don’t remember it laying against her chest as she sang.
And––fuck––I remember her taking it off during our conversation last Sunday morning. I was following her, determined to insert myself into her life so I’d have the opportunity to change her mind about signing with me. But when she took off that necklace and told me to go home, I felt like I had no choice but to obey. And I remember feeling confused when I got back to the rental. I couldn’t understand why I’d just given up like that.
And now I’m sure I know why.
Shit.
This is all just so…unbelievable.
Closing the computer, I rub my fingertips against the ache throbbing in my temples. Aspirin hasn’t done a thing to ease the headache I’ve been dealing with all morning. Maybe I can sleep it off. I had a restless night, so I’m exhausted. I head into myroom, close the blackout curtains over my window, and collapse into bed.
My thoughts start to swirl, keeping me awake in the same way they did last night. I picture the time I spent with Hali––the conversation, the laughs, the lovemaking. Was any of it even real?
It had to be, right? I mean, the only time I saw her take that necklace off was onstage, in Natasha’s studio, and that one time she ordered me to stop following her. I can picture the shell resting against her chest as we talked and laughed. I remember the way it dangled between us when she hovered over me. My lips kissing a path around it as I tasted her skin.
I heave a sigh. Just because she wasn’t using her magic against me doesn’t make it real. She could’ve been toying with me the whole time.
But that doesn’t feel right, either. I don’t think she was toying with me, at all. She fought me at every turn until I won her over. She was hesitant and guarded. And while I got her to let her guard down with me, she obviously kept at least one wall up between us. The one that hid the truth about her.
And how could I actually expect her to be honest aboutthat? She met me a week ago. I can’t blame her for keeping her true self hidden. It’s about safety and survival for her.
But putting aside the lies and deception, completely, one thing still holds true––Hali Weston isn’t human. Not a hundred percent of the time, anyway.
And that’s the one thing I don’t know if I’ll be able to get past.
I must’ve dozed off, finally, because the next thing I know, the alarm on my phone is buzzing. Picking it up, I tap the screen to turn off the alarm as I huff out a harsh breath. It’s Monday, which means––
Right on cue, my phone vibrates with an incoming text.
Julius:I know you’re back in town. I expect to see you in my office at 9am, sharp. I hope you have something good for me.
“Shit,” I grunt, rolling over to bury my head in my pillow.
I have exactlynothingfor Julius, and he’s not going to be happy about it.
Might as well get this over with.
Rolling out of bed, I shower, shave, and dress in my sharpest suit. After I brush my teeth and style my hair, I check the time. I have a few minutes to kill, so I drive to my favorite coffeehouse near the beach for a latte and a bagel.
When I get out of the car, I inhale the salty sea air and frown. It doesn’t smell right. And the air is too dry. The wind, too warm. The water is too blue. I grab my order to-go so I can get away from the negative feelings as quickly as possible.
I pull into the lot at the Bray Agency and park fifteen minutes before my scheduled meeting with Julius. I stare at the building as I sip my coffee, the bagel still untouched in the passenger seat.
I can’t eat. I feel sick, like nothing in my life is right. Like being here, in Los Angeles,my home, is all wrong.
Setting the coffee in my cupholder, I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. I’ve got to snap out of this. I’ve got to get back to normal. To my real life.
When I reach his office, Julius’ assistant meets my gaze with worried eyes and says, “He’s waiting for you. Go on in.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, then steel my spine and swing open the door.
Striding inside, I close the door behind me firmly and turn to face the music. Or, more accurately, the lack thereof.
“I don’t have anything for you,” I say without preamble as I walk toward his desk and take a seat in one of the two chairs before it.
“What do you mean, you don’t have anything for me?” he says, his voice low and thick.
