Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
As Paul snapped his umbrella close behind me, I could only watch in awed silence as the nightingale with its magenta-streaked wings slowly transformed itself in a shimmery, silver swirl that gradually fell away in layers of silk to reveal a woman whose hair was the same shade as her wings.
“Thelxiope.” Paul bowed his head in respect as the woman stepped out of her larger-than-life cage, built right at the center of the greenhouse.
The siren let out a musical laugh as beautiful as a stanza from one of Beethoven’s masterpieces. “Oh, my dear boy. You are charmingly old-fashioned as always. I am known as Thelma now, you know.”
“Thelma it is,” Paul agreed smilingly.
“And you?” The siren’s eyes danced in merriment. “What do you call yourself these days?”
“Just Paul,” was his easy reply but with a meaningful look slanted at my direction.
I was torn between amusement and exasperation. “Can’t you at least try to be a little more subtle about the fact you’re hiding something from me?” My words were half serious, too, but the way both of them laughed made it evident that they were doing anything but take me seriously.
“Your name, sweet witch?”
“It’s, umm, Blair, and how did you know—-” I stopped speaking.
I had to, since Thelma, as it turned out, was no different from the rest.
Paul grinned when I made a face at the way Thelma was seized by uncontrollable laughter the moment she realized I was a witch named Blair.
Cast that movie!
“I’m so sorry,” the siren said half a minute later as she wiped tears from her eyes. “It’s just that it’s such a delicious irony, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said glumly. “I do know.”
Thelma gave my hand a comforting squeeze. “Cheer up. It’s still a lot better than this other witch I know.”
“There’s something worse than being a witch named Blair?”
“Absolutely,” the siren said with a mischievous grin. “It’s called being a witch named Sand.”
“What’s so—-”
Oh.
I just had to laugh after that. True or not, that was good, and it did make me feel better about my name.
“Now then...” Thelma’s tone turned inquiring. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Fifteen minutes later, and Paul and I were saying our goodbyes to the siren. We didn’t have all the answers we needed, but we had enough. Although Thelma hadn’t recognized the siren in the photo, she had suggested we ask around at Dion’s bars outside town, which nowadays were the only place in state that sirens could find employment.
Hours of rain made the downhill road wounding all the way to the park’s gates from the greenhouse more slippery, and I found myself letting out a tiny gasp as I lost my footing and started to slip.
“Gotcha.” Paul’s strong arm curled around my waist, and I fell against him with a gasp.
“S-Sorry.” I pulled away quickly, blushing, but instead of letting me go completely he took my hand and placed it on his arm.
“Hold on to me for now,” Paul murmured.
“Really, it’s not necessa—-” I stopped speaking when Paul suddenly stiffened.
A moment later, he had shoved me behind him, the umbrella slipping out of his grip as a single gunshot rang in the air.
Chapter Eight
“PAUL!” The deafening rain stole the shrill edge of my voice as I clutched Paul’s shoulders and turned him to face me, fearing that he might fall to the ground any second. Another gasp slipped past my lips when I saw the bullet he was holding in his hand. “What – have you – oh my Gaea.” My gaze swung wildly to his chest, where there was a tiny telltale rip in his shirt, and relief warred with confusion.
“You were shot,” I said blankly, “and you’re not bleeding.”
“We should go.” Paul pocketed the bullet as he spoke, and after grabbing my hand, he had us running back to his SUV, his gaze all the while scanning our surroundings.
“The shooter?” I asked anxiously as soon as he joined me inside and slammed his door shut.
“Gone,” he said in a clipped tone.
Paul started the engine and drove away with such speed I was flung back against my seat. I looked out my window in tense silence, dreading and waiting for someone to start shooting at us again. “Do you think our Jane Doe did this?”
“My guts say no, but I’m not ruling anything out.” He cast a grim look at my direction. “Maybe Agent Gries was right.”
I shot up in my seat with a vehement shake of my head. “No.” If he had told me that an hour ago, I would have agreed without hesitation. But not now. Not over this. This was our case now, for better or for worse, and it wasn’t like I didn’t know of the risks associated with my job.
Paul shifted gears, driving well past the speed limits now, and I had to bite my lip hard to keep myself my instinctively from asking him to slow down. If he could survive a gunshot without bleeding, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let us get into a car accident.