The Scent of Salt & Sand: An Escaped Novella Read online

The shout was a clarion call that shattered the spell between them. She jerked her wrist from Dean’s grip and began to swim past him.

  “Hang on!” he called, and somehow managed to keep up with her. “Don’t go,” Dean shouted. “Not yet! Is that you? Is Melody your name?”

  With a litheness that made the bay’s graceful sea lions seem old and tired, she spun in the water to face him, somehow lifting herself up so that her hair spread around her like an erotic veil, just diaphanous enough to reveal the skin-hugging, jade-green wetsuit covering her body, displaying curves that had Dean’s blood pounding so hard that he was starting to feel dizzy.

  “Wh—what are you?” he stuttered.

  “There’s no one here; you don’t want to be here.” She spoke slowly, rhythmically, almost as if she were singing. “There’s no one here; you don’t want to be here.”

  Dean spit out a mouthful of saltwater before responding. “Yeah, I don’t want to be out here, in this freezing water, fully dressed. So, uh, how about getting a cup of nice, hot coffee?”

  She frowned. Her body sank down into the waves, so that she, once again, gracefully treaded water. “I said, there’s no one here; you don’t want to be here.”

  “I heard you. So let’s get out of here and get a cup of coffee.”

  Her frown deepened so that her smooth brow furrowed. “It isn’t working.”

  Dean tried to shrug, and another wave smacked him in the face, making him sputter and sound like he was the one who needed saving. “Sorry, ma’am. I—I’m not trying to be inappropriate. Damn, this is awkward. I’m Dean Kent, and I’m a police officer—part of the San Francisco Police Department, the SFPD. How about I help you back to shore—no strings attached.”

  She looked around as if checking for strings before saying, “That is kind of you, but as I said, I can’t drown, so I don’t need any help. And my, um, friends are missing me. Thank you for wanting to save me.” She started to swim away again, and Dean stroked forward, grabbing her ankle.

  This time when she spun around, her hair flew about her, making her look like an avenging mermaid. “Let me go!”

  Dean dropped her ankle. “Sorry—sorry. You didn’t tell me your name.”

  She met his gaze. Rising up out of the water, she said in the same, singsong voice as before, “You don’t want to know my name; there’s no one here; you don’t want to be here.”

  It was Dean’s turn to frown. “Hey, I get it. I’m sure I’m coming off as a real perv. I’m not, though. I’m really a cop. Uh, and not a pervy one.”

  In the distance sirens began to echo off the water. From the pier, the fisherman cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hang on, officer! EMTs are coming!”

  Dean pointed toward the shore. “Told you I’m a cop!”

  “Police? The authorities?”

  He nodded, still smiling. “Yep, totally aboveboard. One of the good guys. Promise. Now, will you tell me your name and let me help you out of this freezing mess?”

  “You can call me Mel.” Her smile flashed for an instant, and then she disappeared under the water, only to reappear a few heartbeats later, already yards from him, swimming with such strength and speed that she left him behind easily—making it completely clear that she had never, not for an instant, needed saving.

  Chapter Four

  Tourists traipsed down Beach Street, taking in the expanse of posters and pamphlets advertising “Award-Winning Siren Boat Tours to Alcatraz!” Melody huffed, and busied herself with tidying up the nearest display whenever eyes settled on her. She knew from the orientation she’d suffered through the night before that she was supposed to be perky and helpful when the hordes passed by, but she couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.

  Pebbles of anxiety collected within her chest, expanding into suffocating boulders when she thought about her swim to the Mortal Realm—that strange, dark creature and that frightened voice.

  “No, you’re not going to think about that.” She shook her head, driving away the memory. “And you definitely can’t say anything to anyone. The other girls already think you’re weird enough. Sharing this wouldn’t help.” She sighed. “You were just scared and seeing things, but you made it here. Everything is fine.”

  Isn’t it?

  “Ugh. Stop it, Melody,” she scolded. “Think about something else.” Finished reorganizing the souvenir magnets for the hundredth time, Melody lazily shuffled to the checkout counter at the back of the store. Framed pictures of happy tourists waving and giving thumbs-ups hung from the exposed-brick walls around a poster-sized image of a gaggle of sightseers leaning over a Siren Tours boat, pointing at a fat, speckled sea lion poking its head out of the water curiously. It looked a lot like the one she’d seen yesterday, right before that man scared it away.

  “Mel. Ugh. Why would I ever tell anyone to call me Mel? It’s not even an entire name.” The frantic, panicked feeling returned to her chest. Her stomach clenched, and she heaved forward over the countertop. Puffs of fog invaded the outer rim of her vision before taking over completely.

  Mel, you are the most amazing person I’ve ever known.

  Red petals flickered on the floor; there, then gone and back again just as quickly. She gripped the lip of the counter, forcing herself to hold on to what she knew was real.

  I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with you.

  The specter of a kneeling man flashed with the rose petals. She squinted. His features were blurry, but she could make out a small black box resting in his open palm.

  Marry me. Make me the happiest man in the world.

  Joy flooded her chest, shining through the dark cloud of fear stifling her breath.

  She laughed, immediately clapping her hand over her mouth. That sound didn’t belong to her. Neither did the excitement, or the flowers, or the ghost of a man.

  What was happening?

  “You know, friendliness is one of the amazing qualities Siren Tours is famous for possessing,” Harmony chided, emerging from the tiny office tucked back in the corner behind the front desk.

  Melody exhaled a forceful, quivering breath.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Harmony’s sun-streaked curls brushed against Melody’s bare shoulder as she came to stand beside her. “Everything okay?”

  No! Help me! The terrified exclamations rested on her tongue. “I’m fine.” She peered down at the darkened screen of the iPad used to make sales and book tours. The mask of foundation, bronzer, and blush startled her, and she did a quick double take. The makeup she had to wear to hide the effects of rapid aging her kind was cursed with made her skin hot and itchy.

  “No, you’re not fine. Sometimes I think you forget I practically raised you. Also, you’re not a very good liar.” Harmony smiled her persuasive smile. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Melody averted her eyes from Harmony’s probing stare and looked out the store’s giant picture window and over the ocean. Goose bumps popped up on her tingling flesh as she fought the urge to race to the beach, strip off her street clothes, and dive into the nurturing waves. “My voice—it’s…part of me is broken.” She didn’t dare mention the strange, flickering images or the fearful voice she’d heard in the water. Not until she knew more.

  Harmony placed her hand on Melody’s shoulder and patted it gently. “Coming to the Mortal Realm is always difficult. More so for you because of what happened to Melisma.” She paused. “But that doesn’t mean you’re broken.”

  “I met someone yesterday. A man,” she blurted, unsure of how best to fill Harmony in on her awkward exchange. “Well, kind of met. I more just tried to get away.” She shook her head. “Anyway, when I told him he didn’t want to be there, he didn’t hear me.”

  Confusion furrowed Harmony’s brow.

  “I mean, he heard me, but he didn’t hear me hear me.”

  Harmony’s eyes widened. “Oh! Well, you hadn’t used the ability before. What you need is practice.” She trotted out the front of the store and stood
on the sun-soaked sidewalk. Her snug top was tucked into a pair of stonewashed bellbottoms that brushed against the top of her pointed heels as she moved. She spotted someone and flapped her hands, motioning for Melody to come over.

  She grimaced and stared down at her bare feet. Sparkling lime nail polish winked up at her, and she wiggled her toes before slipping them into her flats.

  “Sam, this is Melody, one of the many beautiful tour guides who work with us.”

  He nodded politely, the freckles speckling his forehead shifting as he lifted his brow.

  “I was just telling Sam that we have the best tour boats around, and the most fantastic group of ladies onboard. Maybe you can tell him a little bit more about the packages we offer, and see if you can talk him into joining a group this afternoon.” She nudged Melody with her elbow and winked.

  “Oh, yes. Let’s see. A boat leaves every thirty minutes from Pier 33, and—”

  “Wait, I’m sorry to stop you, but I really don’t have any time today and I leave town tomorrow.” A soft breeze blew in from the bay, puffing his mop of dark curls. “How about I grab one of your brochures, and next time I’m in the area, I’ll come by and set something up?” He stepped up to the carousel of tour information and plucked a pamphlet off the rack.

  “Yeah, okay. Sure. That sounds good.” Melody feigned enthusiasm.

  Harmony leaned into Melody, her voice a gravelly whisper. “Try harder. Do not let him leave without doing what you ask.”

  Fueled with determination, she stomped toward him. “Sam! One more thing before you go.” A knot of uncertainty tightened within her throat, and she swallowed hard. “Whatever else you have planned today doesn’t matter. You want to go on this tour, and you want to go now.”

  He chuckled. “Wait, are you serious?” His glance ping-ponged between the two women.

  “Very.” Melody balled her hands and tried again. “You want to do this more than you’ve wanted anything.”

  “I can’t believe this technique really works for you.” He stuffed the brochure back into the rack. “You people are crazy, and I’ll be sure to make note of that when I leave a review on Trip Advisor.”

  Harmony darted next to Melody. Hot spikes of energy shot off of her. “You were never here. Cross the street, go on with your day, and have a lovely afternoon.”

  Sam’s eyes glazed over, and his shoulders sagged in relaxation. “I was never here. I’m going to cross the street and go on with my day,” he repeated, a grin lifting his cheeks as he stared at Melody. No, through Melody. “The afternoon is lovely, isn’t it?” He nodded to himself, checked the street for traffic, and jogged toward the park.

  Melody shielded her eyes against the sun and watched Sam head to the pier, a slight bounce in his step. “You’re really good at that.”

  “Do it enough and it’s as easy as breathing. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  Melody dropped her hand and faced Harmony. “It didn’t look like he even saw me anymore. It was like I’d disappeared.”

  “You had. To him, anyway. What human men see, the decisions they think they’re making on their own, it’s all too easy to mess with. But you shouldn’t do it often, and definitely not over and over again to the same person.”

  “So I don’t hurt someone?” She shifted nervously. She shouldn’t care about hurting a human. Especially not a man.

  Harmony shrugged. “I guess. It’s really so you don’t arouse suspicion.”

  The breeze picked up as it rolled in off the ocean. Melody breathed in the crisp, salty air. “So it’s not true, then? That there’s something wrong with me.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re fine. It takes some Sirens longer, that’s all. But you will have to practice. The ability to control what men do, think, and say is extremely important and plays a major role in our purpose here.”

  Melody folded her arms in front of her chest and stiffened against the dread hardening within her. “To find someone to have sex with, then kill.”

  “Keep your voice down!” Harmony hissed. “But evidence cleanup is something I always look forward to.” Her eyebrow arched and a sly grin curled her lips. “Men taste so good.”

  Melody’s stomach roiled even though she knew she should feel that same excited, murderous hunger. She let out a slow breath. “Yeah, yummy.” A bottle cap rested near her foot, and she kicked it with the toe of her shoe. Lazily, it tripped off the curb and vanished down the storm drain. She wished she could squeeze between the teeth of the drain and disappear under the city. She wasn’t ready to be a killer. A part of her hoped she never would be.

  “So you have to practice, focus, and know you can do it,” Harmony continued. “An important thing to ask yourself is whether or not you believe you’ll be able to uncover your ability. So, the question really is, do you think you’ll be fine?”

  Up the street, tourists disappeared inside the Franklin Bowles art gallery, and Melody’s attention shifted to a new specimen. As he stretched his arms overhead, his T-shirt lifted, revealing a sliver of his toned stomach. He looked familiar, kind of like the man she’d just mentioned to Harmony. What was his name? Doug? Dan? No, Dean. Dean had been cute in the water, drenched and wide-eyed like an otter, but this guy was handsome. Chiseled and handsome. She let her gaze wander over him. His hair was unusual. Silver flecks sparkled through the charcoal strands around his temples, but he didn’t look old. Not at all. And even from down the street she appreciated the firm line of his jaw and his wide, strong shoulders. Intrigue tickled her chest. He wasn’t just handsome. He was—what was it Harmony called it—hott with two t’s? Supposedly that meant handsome times ten. He stretched again, showing a little more of his flat abs, and Melody sighed happily.

  Like he’d heard her silent praise, he turned toward her, shattering the hott daydream she was creating in her mind.

  His shockingly blue eyes met hers. They widened in happy surprise.

  Dean?

  She looked away hastily.

  “No. Oh, no.” Melody retreated into the store, pulled the door closed, and pressed herself against the brick wall.

  Harmony opened the door with a huff. “There’s no reason to be so dramatic. We all go through it.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s him.” She slid down the wall and dropped her forehead against her knees. “I thought the Mortal Realm was too big for this.”

  “Sam? That’s not possible. I just got rid of him.” Harmony propped open the door and poked her head outside.

  “It’s not Sam, it’s Dean. The guy from yesterday.” She groaned.

  “Ooooh.” Harmony stepped inside and busied herself straightening T-shirts that didn’t need straightening.

  “Ooooh?” Melody lifted her head. “What do you mean, ooooh? I need your help. Stand in front of me so I can hide behind you.”

  Harmony shook her head, her stormy eyes brightening as she chuckled. “You need to meet a man, and this man may actually want to talk with you. Be grateful.” Her brow furrowed. “And stop crouching in the corner.”

  “What are you talking about?” She crawled over to Harmony, positioning herself behind her before she stood. “He’s not actually coming over here, is he?” She peeked out from behind Harmony’s mass of thick curls and scanned the pedestrians.

  “Of course he’s coming over here. You’re beautiful and desirable—everything a Siren should be. Now, relax and smile. I’ll do the rest.”

  “No, I can’t—” Melody began, but the bell above the door interrupted her.

  Smiling, Dean stepped into the store.

  Chapter Five

  Dean loved his condo. He’d hardly believed his luck the year before when the building that had been a crumbling fire hazard beside the Buena Vista bar was bought by his Nana’s old college roommate and renovated into slick lofts—and he’d been invited to move in, with rent control, as long as he promised to be seen in his SFPD uniform. A lot. Dean jumped at the chance to live opposite Fisherman’s Wharf, waking up every day to what
he considered to be the best view in San Francisco.

  “Gotta remember to call Nana and see if she wants to go out to dinner this week,” Dean mumbled to himself as he trotted down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  “Good afternoon, Officer Kent. Or I suppose I should say good morning.” The man closed his mailbox and leaned against the row of gold postboxes before continuing, “Are you ever going to get off that wretched night shift and join the living?”

  Dean chuckled at his neighbor. “Hi there, Stephan. You know I like the night shift—it keeps life interesting. Hey, nice shirt.”

  Stephan shifted his handful of mail and tossed back his sparkly gold lamé headscarf as if it were a mane of hair. He batted big, brown eyes at Dean, lashes fluttering flirtatiously. “Boyfriend, are you one hundred percent positive you’re not just a tiny bit gay? You always notice my T-shirts, which is not usually a hetero guy thing.”

  “It might not be a hetero guy thing, but paying attention to details is definitely a cop thing. Plus, I’m a Superman fan.” Dean pointed to Stephan’s shirt, which read CLARK KENT WAS VEGAN in big, bold letters.

  “Well, if you decide to give dick a try, promise I’ll be the first to know about it.”

  “I promise.” Dean squinted out the glass front door of the condo complex and then gasped in mock horror. “What is that yellow ball of fire in the sky? The sun? In the summer? In San Francisco?”

  “Yaaasss, honey. And in the late afternoon, too. Not even a hint of fog today and it might be almost sixty-five degrees out there. Lucky you if it’s your day off,” Stephan said.

  “It is! Damn, I’ve never been so glad I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Trouble sleeping? I could help you with that.” Stephan’s grin was that of a cat licking cream.

  “I’ll take it if the help is a redhead named Mel.”

  “A ginge? Really? No wonder you couldn’t sleep. She’s probably already started to suck out your soul.”

  Dean laughed. “Just because she has red hair doesn’t mean she’s soulless.”