Siren's Call: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: (Eerie Investigations) by H.P. Mallory & J.R. Rain

Author:H.P. Mallory & J.R. Rain [Mallory, H.P. & Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2024-05-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Marina

Ivy Milfoil’s divination room reminded me of the one and only time I’d tried a sensory deprivation chamber.

The mundanes leaving the spa had seemed relaxed by the experience, but the high salinity had disturbed my siren and made me itch for days after. Punching the vampire who was preying on the female employees of the establishment had been a hell of a lot more cathartic. Regardless, I’d left with a hard-to-explain rash and an itchy ass. There were a lot of jokes after that one. For months, Mike had foregone his usual nickname for me and called me ‘Itchy’ instead. Bottles of calamine lotion would turn up in odd places, and Mike would guffaw every time I chucked them at his head.

My chest squeezed tight at the memory.

Ivy had set up blue lights around the room and the sounds of gulls and rolling waves echoed through the small space. As she explained to us, the beach sounds CD put her and her clients at ease, making divination, fortune-telling, and scrying easier for her. I’d never met a witch whose power ran on vibes before, but I was willing to give anything a shot at this point. We had several mysteries on our hands and no clue how to figure out who was in the ballroom with the lead pipe.

We ended up seated in rickety chairs around a large table. The distressed surface of the table might have given the impression of age to the unwary monster, but I knew better, in large part because of Mike. Not because he was a salt of the earth type, who constructed everything he had with his bare hands. No, I’d spent one too many nights camped out next to his hospital bed, marathoning home improvement shows until my brains leaked out my ears. Mike was good in a fight, but in the end, he was just a magicless mundane fighting monsters. That meant he got hurt a lot, but even so, he never backed down, deciding it was better to do what was right instead of what was safe.

I shook my head to clear it. It didn’t matter that the table was probably the product of a garage sale and several online DIY tutorials. It didn’t matter that Mike would laugh himself sick if he’d seen it. He’d never get the chance, because he was gone.

I winced when the chair let out a woody scream of protest when I sat down on it. I was on the far end of the bell curve when I stepped on a scale, but very little of that was fat. Chasing bail-jumping goblins and running from serial killer werebears was great cardio. If I was threatening the structural integrity of this sad excuse for a chair, Jean-Baptiste wouldn’t stand a chance in it. When I glanced up, I found him studying the chair next to mine with trepidation.

“Sit,” Ivy said. “Then we can begin.”

Jean-Baptiste chewed his lip thoughtfully before shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—that old chair isn’t gonna support me.

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