Debbie Herbert - Siren's Call

Poor Nash. No wonder he’s bitter. “Tragic,” Lily quietly agreed. “Did she leave a note?”

Opal nibbled on a chicken wing and delicately wiped her mouth before answering. “None was ever found. But he’d broken up with her a couple days before.”

“How long ago did she...did this happen?”

“About a year ago. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except...” Her voice trailed off.

Lily didn’t see how the story could get any worse. “Except what?”

“I really shouldn’t say anything. It kind of slipped out, ya know?”

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Opal spooned up more salad and chewed, as if mulling over the answer. “Thing is,” she said at last, setting down the plate, “two years earlier, another of his girlfriends died. Rebecca.”

The knot of dread in Lily’s stomach grew. “How?” she whispered.

“They had an argument—probably over his lack of commitment—and she drove home. Hours later, apparently drunk, she got back in her car but lost control of it, ran off into a ditch and hit a tree.”

Goose bumps pricked Lily’s arms and legs and a chill set in that no blistering Southern sun could warm. I’m poison. Nash’s clipped words echoed round her brain like gunshots in a canyon. No wonder the guy was aloof. She’d be bitter, too.

“That’s—that’s horrible,” Lily said, putting her face in her hands. How the hell did someone cope with that much pain? One death was bad enough. But two? She shuddered.

“Sure.” Opal sighed. “The doctors said Rebecca died instantly. So there’s that.”

Lily didn’t want to hear any more details. It was too much to take in all at once. She wanted to be alone and deal with the knowledge of all Nash had suffered, was still suffering. Lily abruptly gathered up food containers and stuffed them in the picnic basket; even the smell of it nauseated her. “Don’t say anything else.” Lily shut the picnic basket with a snap. “Nash will tell me when he’s ready.”

“Sorry to spoil your lunch.” Opal eyed the pie. “Mind if I keep a piece for later this afternoon?”

Lily wrapped the whole thing in aluminum foil, her movements jerky with haste. She thrust it at Opal. “Take it.”

“Thanks. I’ll share it with Nash.”

They both rose unsteadily to their feet.

Opal frowned. “Look, I hope I didn’t scare you off Nash. He’s a great guy who’s had a bit of bad luck lately.”

“A bit of bad luck?” Lily snorted. “I’d say it’s more serious than that.”

Opal flushed. “Absolutely. You’re right. It’s— I like you, Lily. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you .”

“No need for the warning. Nothing is going to happen to me,” she said curtly, wanting to end the conversation.

“Of course not.” Opal squeezed Lily’s shoulder and dropped her hand to her side. “Just thought you should know. I’d hate to see him break your heart.”

“Some would say I have no heart to break,” Lily muttered.

“Why would they say that?”

“Not important.”

Opal’s face crumbled. “You don’t trust me to keep my mouth shut. Which I can totally understand, given how I blabbed Nash’s history during lunch.”

“It’s not that.” Lily’s fingers rubbed an itchy scratch on her leg leftover from the run in the woods. She supposed this was what girlfriends did, exchanged secrets and confided in one another. Maybe Opal had done her a favor in revealing Nash’s painful past. At least now she knew the problem and could be mentally prepared when Nash brought up the news himself.

And it would be wonderful to have a real friend because Jet and Shelly were busy now with their own lives. She drew a deep breath. “Okay, you’ll probably hear this anyway if you meet people in town, but I don’t have a great reputation.”

“Why’s that?”

“I went through a bit of a wild stage years ago and no one will let me forget it. That’s a small town for you. You’re doomed to never live down your past. Although, in my defense, rumors of my promiscuity are greatly exaggerated.”

Opal patted her shoulder. “Poor Lily. Don’t worry—I won’t say anything to Nash.”

Lily shifted uncomfortably. Opal made her feel...beholden. Guilty. As if they shared something dirty. “Doesn’t matter. He’s bound to hear the talk, too.”

“Maybe not. He and his grandfather live pretty isolated. And Nash has been reclusive the past couple of years. He doesn’t get out much.” Opal winked. “So you see, probably nothing to worry about.”

Again, a prickly unease settled over Lily. She smiled uncertainly. “If you say so,” she agreed. Her family had grown up secluded from the townsfolk, making it easier to keep their shape-shifting abilities a secret.

Secrecy was a habit she’d have to let slip if she wanted a girlfriend.

Chapter 5

Sunset through the pines cast coral and mauve spears of light across land and sea. Nash had returned to the cabin on the evening ferry, bent on a mission. Now he trudged through mosquito-infested lowland, shotgun at his side. Diseased or not, the coyote was clever at eluding him. In spite of pain and fear, the will to live was strong in the animal. Nash respected that.

The wind shifted, hot air rippling across his sweaty skin. The fresh scent of pine needles had an underlying taint. Nash followed it, back on the coyote’s track. Another fifty yards ahead, the smell of sickness grew thicker and obliterated the pine odor.

Black energy seeped inward as he drew near. Most likely the unfortunate coyote had been ousted from his pack, a threat to the group’s survival. Cold fingers of loneliness fidgeted along his spine as he sensed the animal’s toxic miasma. Nash picked up a faint, rumbling groan. Not the growl of an aggressive animal, but the mewling of one suffering.

Nash emitted a calming message. Your time has come. Let’s end the pain.

An answering whine came from behind a dense clump of saw palmetto trees not a dozen yards to his right. The coyote emerged, trembling, its amber eyes dull and flat. Mottled gray fur encased an emaciated body. Telltale foam bubbled along its tapered muzzle. Rabies had rendered the animal unable to swallow its own saliva.

Nash ever so slowly raised the shotgun, not wanting to provoke the animal. I’m sorry. This will be quick, I promise you. His right index finger crooked onto the metal trigger.

The coyote leapt, snarling and baring sharp teeth, amber eyes alit in a last-shot bid to escape death. Fur, fear and fury hurled toward Nash and he pulled the trigger.

An explosive boom rang out. The reverberation from the shot was still echoing as the dead coyote’s body hit the ground with a thump. Nash closed his eyes and drank in the silence until peace washed through the woods.

It was done.

He took out the garbage bag and latex gloves he’d tucked into the waistband of his jeans. To prevent spread of the rabies virus, it was necessary to bag the coyote and put it in a protected place until he could return in the morning with a shovel and bury the dead body.

Quickly, he attended to the last rites. You were brave. A fighter to the end. May you join a ghostly pack in happy hunting grounds. Satisfied with the work, he retraced his path. The air was a shade darker than when he’d first set out. At a fork on the dirt trail he hesitated. Better check on the old man. Grandfather had missed dinner and the thought of his eighty-two-year-old grandfather being unaccounted for left Nash uneasy. Instead of continuing home, Nash set off for the marsh. Sam often fished all day out there.

Sure enough, he found his grandfather sitting in a chair, fishing pole in hand. The tip of his cigar glowed in the gathering twilight. Nash walked up behind him.