Cat Adams - Blood Song

but also quite possibly singing it better than the Broadway version.

As everyone stared at her, completely entranced, the only thing I could think was how indescribably

rude it was to interrupt the eulogies. Even Vicki was annoyed and began to pick up larger objects, not

just confetti but candles from the tables and sharp cutlery. But although the ghostly wind tried to heave

them at the singer, Vicki never connected. It was as though the singer was immune to the missiles.

When she finished her song minutes later, the place erupted into applause, with the exception of me,

Bruno, Alex, and a few others, who glared at the intruder with righteous indignation. She had to be an

intruder, because I hadn’t remembered seeing her as I passed around the room earlier. And I would

have noticed her.

She slunk down from the stage, the spotlight turning her luxurious red mane of hair into something

fluid and shimmery as she walked. The crowd parted as she passed and she did it with the air of a

goddess—as though she ful y expected people to part for her.

Of course, maybe she was royalty and I just didn’t know it. The king and his retinue had returned

home to Rusland to get ready for Prince Rezza’s wedding. I’d been told to expect an invitation, but the

court refused to let me out of the country. I have it on good authority that the king has been putting

discreet pressure on our government to make sure I don’t wind up jailed or permanently

institutionalized. I appreciate that even more than the sizable deposit that was wired into my bank

account. Rezza’s been rethinking his al egiance to a group who’d hire a demon and kidnap his brother,

which is probably for the best. He might not be as big on the American ideal as his father, but at least

Rezza won’t be a sworn enemy if he winds up on the throne.

This woman had that same air—more like Rezza than his father. Rezza’s father felt more like a

commoner than a king, but Rezza had that otherness that made you want to bow or grovel.

“You must be the abomination.” The woman held out her hand when she reached me.

I didn’t take the offered limp fingers. “And you must be rude.” She reared back in surprise, like I’d

intended. “I’m sorry,” I said with narrowed eyes and just a hint of fang showing (I’m learning how to do

that better), “but didn’t you hear that people were trying to talk over here—trying to honor the people

we came here to celebrate? Just who do you think you are?”

Now the eyes grew stormy. They looked a little like mine, gray with swirls of blue and green. I felt

pressure against my head, as if someone were squeezing it with both hands. She glared harder and

the pressure grew. Bruno realized what was happening but wasn’t sure what to do about it. It didn’t

seem to be any sort of spel , although she did have that evil witch look about her. Sort of Jessica

Rabbit meets Snow White’s stepmother.

“ I think I am Princess Adriana Kalino, heir apparent of the Pacific sirens. And I think you have just

insulted me, abomination. What body part do you wish to lose to make reparations?”

Oh, fuck a duck . This was not how I imagined I was going to meet Granddad’s side of the family.

Most of the crowd started to move backward to get out of fal out range. Bruno stepped forward, being

the nice guy he is, but I reached an arm back to stop him. Interestingly, John Creede also stepped

forward, as did Emma and Alex. But I shook my head.

Two could play this game. “No … I didn’t insult you. You stormed into a solemn occasion and decided

to show off your body and voice for no good reason. I think that’s rude in pretty much any culture. How

do you plan to make reparations to me ?”

She seemed taken aback at that, as though nobody had ever real y stood up to her before. I was

wil ing to be the first. “We have an impasse. Very wel . Then we agree to battle to satisfy our

grievances. At the stroke of ten, after you have appeared at your hearing before the Pacific lords on

the Isle of Serenity to defend your right to exist, and if you survive, then we wil fight to settle this.”

Whoa, whoa ! “Back up, Your Royal Siren-ness. What the hel are you talking about? What hearing,

and who are the ‘Pacific lords’? And where is the Isle of Serenity?”

She smiled, and while it was beautiful, it was also mocking. “Had you greeted me as a siren princess

is entitled, I would feel inclined to answer your questions. As it is—” She shrugged. “I can be every bit

as stubborn as you appear to be. When you complete your court-ordered stay in the treatment facility,

you wil be collected to appear for the hearing.”

She turned on her heel and started to walk back through the crowd, slinking and twitching those

perfectly formed hips. As hard as I tried to fol ow so I could kick that perfect ass into next Tuesday, I

couldn’t. My feet flat wouldn’t move. Bruno either couldn’t move, either, or chose not to, since he was

squeezing my arm in a signal not to fol ow her. Maybe he was stopping me.

Or maybe she was.

Not good.

Just before she walked out the double doors, which two officers in tan were holding for her with the

rapt expression of starving puppies, she turned and raised one brow. “If I were you, I’d use my time in

the treatment facility to study siren culture and heritage. Perhaps once you understand why you have

to die, you’l do the honorable thing and commit suicide. Otherwise, we’l simply kil you.” She smiled

pleasantly to the rest of the crowd—most of whom smiled back. “Please, the rest of you enjoy the

remainder of the party. You might include the hostess in your remembrances. This may be the last time

you’l see her alive.”

Another smile that was a chil y baring of teeth was directed to me. “The next time we meet, dear

cousin, wil be the last.”

Dear cousin ?

Well … shit. Didn’t my life just suck moss-covered swamp rocks?