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)
All agencies now on high alert, law enforcers to patrol 24/7 for stray thunderbolts—-
I switched the radio off, knowing I had no choice now. Stray thunderbolts were a sure sign that Zeus’ “mood swings” had gotten worse, and I had to do whatever I could to get myself closer to the truth.
Slippery roads and the need to avoid electrocution-prone areas turned what was supposed to be a twenty-minute walk into an hour-long trek. By the time I made it to my destination, I was tired, hungry, and my mood could only be described as dour at best and irritable at worst.
A neon signage had the words The Voice Factor flashing right above the metal doors, and I could only mentally shake my head while showing my ID to security. Did pesky human issues like ‘copyright infringement’ mean nothing to the wine god? And honestly, did he really have to infringe on - not one but two – voice competition TV shows to give his kitschy karaoke lounge a name?
Management cleared my CSI badge after a minute, and security escorted me to the back of the house, where the employees’ private quarters were located. I had mentally prepared myself for lodgings that were anything from risqué to inhumane, but to my surprise the sirens’ suite of rooms was no different from other cozy homes of Silver Mist.
There were eight bedrooms in total, its doors arranged in a semi-circle around a common living space. A young woman I assumed was one of Dion’s employed sirens was seated alone at the couch, and she laughed upon catching sight of my astonished expression.
“Were you expecting something dingy?”
“Kinda,” I admitted. “Something like those awful drug dens busted on TV, actually.”
“Oh, hon. Drugs do nothing for immortals. The only kind of substance we dig is ambrosia, but one taste is enough. Any more and it would literally drive us insane.” Swinging her legs off the couch, the siren rose to her feet, saying wryly, “I’m the only one up right now, I’m afraid.” She introduced herself as Monica and gestured to the doors surrounding us, adding, “I could wake them up for you, but for the record I want you to know doing so would be a bad idea. Sirens love their sleep, and the only reason I’m up right now is because I skipped work last night.”
Since I didn’t actually have a formal order from my agency that allowed me to insist on questioning, I decided to take her word for it and handed her my card. “I’m Agent Vavrin from CSI.” Unlike INTERPOL’s fancy, magical card, our agency’s was downright mundane. I had actually asked if I could have my name printed using some nice serif font I was willing to pay out of pocket but nope. It was Times New Roman or nothing, unfortunately.
“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions,” I began.
“Oh my Gaea.” Her head jerked up. “Did I read this right?” The siren gaped at me. “You’re a witch named Blair?”
As I waited for the siren to stop laughing, I comforted myself with the thought that my name would never fail as an effective icebreaker.
Questioning the siren took only a few minutes. Not only did Monica claim that she had no idea who my Jane Doe siren was, but she was also certain the siren I was looking for had never worked at TVF.
“I’ve been here since this place opened, and we’re one of the smaller ones in Dion’s empire. By the looks of her, I think she’s probably working for one of Dion’s flashier places—-”
“By the looks of her?” I couldn’t help echoing her words curiously.
“That low-neckline gown she’s wearing,” Monica explained patiently. “I know we’ve gotten a really bad rep over the centuries because of how those stupid Greek scholars made us seem like femme fatales, but the truth is – all of those stories are fake. There was this mortal scholar who fell for one of my ancestors, and when she couldn’t make herself love him back he decided to get back on her by spreading rumors about us.”
Monica waved her hand in a vague gesture to our surroundings, saying, “We’re an extremely conservative bunch actually, and we prefer to have more clothes on than less. Nothing against dressing sexy, but it’s not just our thing – despite what others may think about us. Dion understands this, and that’s why he’s opened smaller clubs like TVF where we’re only expected to sing and entertain guests and nothing else.”
“That woman, on the other hand—-” The siren tapped on the photo I was holding and gave me an apologetic smile. “She seems more human than siren to me, if you know what I mean?”
I did, unfortunately, and I found myself mulling over the siren’s words as I stepped out of The Voice Factor and pulled the hood of my jacket back up. I had never thought of comparing humans to supernaturals and immortals before, but if I did or if I had to, I knew my opinion wouldn’t be any different from Monica’s. My life itself before training as a witch in Silver Mist taught me that. Humans were all about the material trappings, and some of them were willing to go to appalling lengths for it. Could my Jane Doe be the same? Was all this for the money – even if it meant putting so many innocent lives at risk?