“Lorelei, you’ll be late. Aren’t you ready yet?”
Mom’s sing-song voice wafted up the double staircase. I’d been curled up with a book for over an hour already. Ready for what? Sundays were supposed to be a day of rest, weren’t they? Then I remembered. Tomorrow was my seventeenth birthday… and oh right, today was my appointment with Dr. Greenbalm. I’d forgotten. She’d booked a session with my Freudian wanna-be psychiatrist. And they think I have identity issues. Singing in this competition tomorrow was bringing nothing but trouble. The only thing I had to look forward to was the whole day being over with.
“Lorelei?”
Mom had already dropped the melody and added a note of impatience. Soon she’d hit a high completely-fed-up note and send Brigit up after me. Brigit was our housekeeper. I hated the term maid. It sounded so condescending — or perhaps it was just the way mom said it. Her people skills were limited to schmoozing the press and blowing kisses at the nameless faceless men who adored her. I’m not sure when concert pianists became objects of fandom, but judging by the number of sold out tours and autographed pictures she sent out, they were hot. Did I mention I’m the one stuck going to therapy?
I tugged on a baby blue t-shirt that was a little too fitted, considering the occasion. Whatever — let him psychoanalyze that one — my questionable judgment in event-appropriate clothing.
Heavy footsteps lumbered up the marble staircase. Took too long.
I grabbed my brush and yanked it through my willful curls. That’s how Gran described them. Thanks to Mom’s repeated insistence that I get it cut — it hung past my shoulders in loose spirals, around my slightly rounded face. Medusa minus the snakes. It was brown. Not auburn, or chestnut, or russet. Just plain brown. It was shiny through, I liked that. See? Perfectly healthy self-image.
I peered at my reflection once more, wondering if I should bother with lip gloss.
There was a light rap on the door before it swung open.
“Lorelei, you mother is waiting on you.”
It was the voice that matched the footsteps. Brigit O’Malley, our Irish housekeeper, plodded into my bedroom as I gave up and tossed the brush onto the bed. She made a face and immediately retrieved it, putting it back in its rightful place.
“Brigit, you know I would have put it away. You don’t have to clean up after me.” I gave her a warm smile.
“I know, luv, you’re the tidy one in the house.” She winked.
Brigit was Neil’s sister, and she was like a nanny to me. Upsetting her would bother me way more than upsetting my mom did. My mom and I loved one another, and usually we got along great. But I admit, I derived a sort of immature pleasure from getting her riled sometimes. Maybe I should open with that at Dr. Greenbalm's.
“Anyway, I’m ready. Just tell her to chill. For $250 an hour they can both afford to wait thirty seconds.” It was pricey to get a consult on a Sunday.
She furrowed her brows, but I could tell she was biting back a smile.
“Let’s go, missy. Enough of yer smart talk. Go on—" She gave me a gentle shove out the door.
“Remind me why I can’t just stay with you while Mom’s gone?” I sounded like a three year old. I felt like one too. Whiny and petulant were my only moods when I had to pack up my stuff to be shipped off to Camilla’s. Remember the wicked witch from every fairytale? Camilla could have been a stand in for any one of them.
Before Gran passed away, I used to look forward to Mom’s tours. I loved hanging out with her, picking herbs from her garden, and concocting what seemed like magic potions. I learned so much from her, and she was the only one who knew the full extent of my healing abilities.
“Don’t be silly, you know your mum would have none of it. And it’s not my place to meddle.”
My shoulders fell. She was right. Mom would never go for it.
She offered a sympathetic smile. Brigit knew how awful my great aunt was. Everyone did. It was simple. I disliked Camilla and I adored Brigit. She didn’t treat me like a freak, no matter how strange I acted.
“Right, now off you go.”
I scrambled out the door, just as Mom started leaning on the horn. I climbed into the passenger seat as she flashed her withering, put-out glare, the one I’d seen way too often to even register an impact.
“I have to be at the airport in less than an hour. Honestly, Lorelei, you’d think I was doing this for my own benefit.” She gave an exasperated sigh and revved the engine.
Yep, that’s pretty much what I thought. I ignored her, fixing my gaze dead ahead. She glanced over at me once more, her cutting blue eyes taking in my appearance from head to toe. I don’t know why, but I secretly loved the fact that I had my father’s dark brown eyes.
“That’s what you’re wearing? It’s not a rock concert.”
I’ll admit, a lot of the fights between us were my fault — I had a quick temper and a shortage of patience — but then I came by it honestly.
The car was already turning out of the driveway when I put my hand on the door handle. “Do you want me to go change? There’s my black cut off `Wanna Bite’ tank-top I’ve been dying to wear.”
Again with the withering stare. We drove the fifteen minute trip to the city in silence.
Dr. Greenbalm was always running late. It wasn't unusual to wait at least twenty minutes for my appointments. The only thing worse than a doctor’s office waiting room, was a doctor’s office waiting room trying to be something else. Greenbalm’s waiting room smacked of trying too hard not to fit the mold. Instead of uncomfortable chairs too close to one another, the room was furnished in techno nightclub decor. Complete with a reception counter which looked more like the bar, and a bleach blond receptionist-slash-bartender. Nothing about this place said “tell me your problems.” It might, however make someone want to drink their troubles away at the nearest pub.
Fortunately, the office and the doctor were more like what you’d expect to find, a Sigmund Freud-look-a-like behind a massive mahogany desk.
Dr. Greenbalm sat in his leather armchair decked in a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches — so cliché.
“Lorelei. Please, make yourself comfortable. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”
I glanced at the black leather lounger in the center of the room as I passed by and dropped into my usual seat next to the window. There was something comforting about knowing an escape was nearby even if we were on the second floor.
“How are you today?”
Well, let’s see, the head cheerleader hates my guts and plans on ruining me in a vocal competition I don’t want to go to, but have to, because my mother invited a talent scout to witness my humiliation. That is, if I don’t puke and pass out first. “I’m good.”
“Excellent. Where did we leave off?” He thumbed through his notes and then squinted up at me above the round spectacles perched on his nose. “I believe you were telling me about the dreams.”
“They weren’t dreams,” I blurted then bit down on my lip.
"No?" He arched an eyebrow.
“Um, I mean some of it… er… seemed quite real.”
“All right, Lorelei.” Scribble, scribble, scribble. “Tell me about the first night you remember the music coming to you.”
I sighed. We’d been over this before. Multiple times. Ever since Mom decided my non-existent performance two years ago must have been caused by stage fright, and I was in need of psychiatric help to fix it before I caused her any further embarrassment. I don’t know what they wanted from me exactly. What was I supposed to say? Hi, my name is Lorelei Kaylen Alundra, and I see shadow faeries? “I was about four, I think.”
“That was around the time your father left, was it not?”
“Pretty sure we covered that too,” I mumbled, chewing on my thumbnail. My twin sister died at birth; Dad couldn’t handle it and he left when I was four. A short while later, an officer showed up at our door and told us he’d been killed in an accident. I remember it because it had been pouring rain the entire day, and yet while standing in the driveway with my mom, the man in uniform had somehow remained completely dry, almost as if he repelled the water. Not that I’d tell anyone that memory. My mom fell apart, but I remember not really knowing what to think. I felt like I’d lost someone special, but I never really believed he was gone. I guess I held on to the unreasonable hope that the dark faerie would somehow keep him safe.
Since then it’s been me and Mom, for the few months of the year she’s actually in town and not touring. The rest of the time she’d leave me with Gran, and then after she passed, with Gran’s sister, Camilla. As for me, it had been years since I last heard the music. My invisible Faerie muse was probably as appalled as the rest of the crowd with my first and last live performance; although no one could have been more disappointed than my mother. Since then, I hadn’t so much as hummed a note in public, until recently.
He ignored my uncooperative attitude. “Indulge me. Tell me what you remember.”
“Fine. It’s the same dream I’ve had for years. He strolls out of my closet and into my room, hovering over me like an angel. Only I knew he wasn’t an angel. The black wings were a tip off.” Shifting in my chair, I continued. “He tells me my voice belongs to him now, and long, icy fingers reach for my throat. When I open my mouth to scream, nothing comes out and I wake up in a cold sweat. It's the same every time.”
“Good. Now let me ask you again, why are you so certain this was not your subconscious dealing with the death of your father?”
I straightened, and glared at him. “Because it had nothing to do with my father. I know he’s gone. How can I miss someone I never really knew?”
Dr. Greenbalm peered across his long desk at me, the pale grey sky reflecting off his lenses.
“Yes, when we last spoke you were adamant about that. I’d like to know why. How do you know?”
“I don’t know how I know… I just know.” My gaze wandered to the window. We’d arrived at the same impasse we’d hit so many times before. I knew this wasn’t about my father, because it wasn’t a dream. Not even close.
More scribbling. What was he writing anyway?
“Let’s move on. Next you said you met him.” He waited for my reply.
“I didn’t recognize him. But I knew who he was. We were in a bookstore, reaching for the same book at the same time. I remember it well, because the book was glaringly out of place — dark fairytales in the midst of the healthy cooking section. Plus, there was also the temperature thing.”
“The temperature thing?”
“The unbelievable cold of his touch wasn’t something I could forget… like the icy hand of death.” I paused.
“And the third dream?” I must have made a face or something because he corrected himself. “Or rather, the third occasion?”
“Two years ago.” My patience was as short as his memory. This whole session had started off wrong. I wasn’t usually this easily irritated… unfocused.
“Only this time you spoke to him?”
“Yes. Well, no. I mean sort of. Look, I’ve already told you this,” I snapped, pulling my knees up under my chin in the oversized armchair.
He gave me a patient nod, making more notes. “Tell me about it again,” he encouraged.
I wondered what he’d write if I jumped up and smacked him with his own notebook.
“It was his figure… backstage… when I was about to perform. He warned me I owed him, and only him, my song. That if I chose to sing without his consent I’d…”
I could tell by the look on his face there was no use in continuing. What was the point, anyway? There was only so much I could say. I could never tell him the truth and expect to walk out of his office. If I told him what really happened to me in my room that night, he’d have me strapped in a straight-jacket and checked into the nearest psych ward.
Perhaps he sensed my mood because Greenbalm changed his tactics. Removing his glasses, he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands under his chin. “So, Lorelei, you believe this man gave you your singing voice? And without his permission you will not be able to perform. Is that correct?”
“More or less… It’s really just… complicated.” I’ve always heard music in my head. But not the way real musicians do, like connecting to a muse. This was a disembodied voice in the darkness that sang to me since I was a kid… and then composed the score for me to sing. The weird part is I can’t sing… except for his music. Everything else comes out in a croak. “The last time I tried to sing in public, I stood in front of a room full of people at the swanky charity benefit Mom had organized, and threw up. Not a single note came out. That was two years ago. I left the stage in tears. Mom was mortified — hence the therapy,” I said, motioning to him. I returned to gazing out the window, desperately wishing I was on the outside looking in.
The walls were going up. I could feel them, that protective fortress I’d hidden behind my whole life. It was safer to hide than to trust.
“Since then I’ve thrown up before any type of performance. Not that I perform much anymore.”
“Until tomorrow,” he said gently.
I nodded. A cool breeze blew past me, carrying the faint tang of herbs. I stared at the window. It was closed, sealed shut.
“Lorelei, where did you go? Did you have a breakthrough?” He actually looked sincere.
Yeah right, you are such a brilliant shrink. I finally see the misplaced Electra complex manifested as performance anxiety brought on by latent psychosexual tendencies.
“No. But I’m sure I’ll survive tomorrow night,” I lied.
I looked at the clock. It was annoyingly large for someone so often late.
“Well…” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “It seems we’re not getting anywhere today. You’re distracted — Less expressive than usual. Not yourself.”
Must be one of my other personalities.
“Perhaps we should call it a day.”
My jaw dropped. Call it a day? We never finished early — ever. “But… there’s still another half hour…” What are you doing? Stop talking.
“I realize that, but I see no use in continuing on this way. Perhaps we should start fresh next week. Agreed?”
It wasn’t really a question.
“Oookaaay?”
I got up slowly, and headed for the door. I couldn’t shake the idea that he was trying to get rid of me. Not that I minded, I was more than happy to go, but it was weird.
“And, Lorelei, let me offer you one piece of advice. Go, sing your heart out. Put yourself out there at least one more time. Give it another chance. You may be surprised by the results. One episode of performance anxiety is not the end of the world.” He smiled. “Personally, I think your mother might be overreacting. But we can discuss her another time. You have within you the power to do anything you set your mind to — with or without the acceptance of others.” He grinned at me and then winked.
I could only stare at him, my mouth half open. Was this the same man I was talking to?
“You can do it Lorelei, all you have to do is believe.”
I doubted my dark Faerie muse would agree, but I nodded mutely.
“So… until next week then?” I said, still processing.
“Goodbye, Lorelei,” he said, scribbling more notes without looking up.
Pausing, I tried to think of something remotely intelligent to say and then let myself out without another word.
****
The fluorescent lights of the waiting room greeted me like a cold shower. I blinked, unable to focus, and slammed face first into someone. His hand reached out at supernatural speed to steady me.
“Sorry.” The way my cheeks burned meant I had to be blushing.
“Lemon Balm, right?” His velvety voice filled the room.
My eyes swept upwards. Nicely hung, faded blue jeans ripped at the knee, black t-shirt, and a leather coat. Dark hair that fell in soft waves framed the most incredible eyes — the heat of the sun with laser beam intensity. My breath caught in my throat when his gaze locked on mine. It was hard to think with the overpowering aroma of thyme in the air, but at some point in my delirium I recognized him. The mystery guy from the café.
He smiled and my stomach twirled. Everything about him was astonishingly beautiful.
“We met the other night.” He paused, looking at me through impossibly long lashes. “At the café? What are you doing here?”
“Right… I remember.” As if forgetting someone like him was humanly possible.
“You were serving a cheerleader, if I recall correctly.” His mouth quirked into a crooked grin.
“That part, I’d rather forget.” I groaned, jamming my hands into the pockets of my jacket.
“So, you didn’t answer my question,” he said.
I frowned, slightly confused.
“What are you doing here?”
“I assumed you were joking.”
“No joke.”
“And who wants to know? What, are you with the press or something?” I replied, sounding sickeningly like my mother.
“Adrius Thanduir.” He stretched out his hand. “Nightly News.”
Wow, he smelled good. Outdoorsy like the forest after it rains, with a hint of cologne. I looked at his hand. It was easier to breathe focusing on that. His nails were well-manicured and his palms slightly stained, like a mechanic who’d been tinkering with engines for decades. Not that he looked old enough to have been doing anything for decades. I guess I stared too long because he withdrew his hand with a crooked grin. “Sorry, axle grease. From my bike,” he said, pulling out a handkerchief from a pocket inside his jacket.
“No, no, it’s fine.” I smiled, surprised that a guy would carry something like that. Maybe he was older than he looked. “Ten speed?” I asked suppressing a smile.
“Kawasaki, Ninja 9000,” he replied evenly, matching my smirk.
“Ahh.” A biker guy — noted and filed for future reference.
His perfect face leaned toward me and my heart stopped. He had no concept of personal space.
“I didn’t catch your name.”
“That would be because I didn’t throw it.” Whoa, what was with the Ice Princess routine? Some small part of me enjoyed the fact that he wanted to know my name, even though common sense told me not to give it to him. He was waiting to see a shrink after all.
“You know, you can tell a lot from someone by their name.” He kept watching me. “It’s like a window into their soul. Some even believe knowing someone’s name is like owning a piece of them.” When he smiled that sexy boyish grin it made my stomach flutter.
I’d never had such a visceral experience looking at someone before. It was an exciting flirtation, innocent with a touch of danger — real or imagined. His gaze held mine expectantly.
I reminded myself to breathe. “So, if I understand correctly, you’re asking for a piece of me,” I said, eyebrows arched. That should give him a taste of his own medicine. Let him be the one uncomfortable for a while.
But this guy didn’t miss a beat.
He laughed. “Are you offering?” His eyes pinned me in a way that was too intense, too inviting, and too intimate for me not to look away.
Oh, he was good. I bit back a smile and pasted on my untouchable look.
“It’s so not your lucky day,” I said, my heart beat quickening. “You’re not getting either.”
The heavy office door opened and Phyllis came out, four-inch heels clicking on the mahogany floor. “He’s ready for you, Adrius. And Lorelei, we can schedule your next session if you’d like.”
Crap.
Adrius grinned victoriously. “It’s very nice to meet you… Lorelei.” He threw a wry smile over his shoulder, before disappearing into Greenbalm’s office.
Phyllis looked up at me through clumped lashes. “How’s next Saturday at nine?”
“Could we make it two?” I really wasn’t a morning person. The door to Greenbalm’s office clicked shut, leaving the room void of the only eye candy worth looking at. I was tempted to ask when his next appointment was, but then realized that would be ten different kinds of inappropriate.
I took the date card and went to grab my cell — my bag… I’d left it in the office. Phyllis had disappeared again, leaving no other choice but to interrupt them. That or hang out for another hour or more until they were done. My hand was poised, and I fully intended to knock on the metal door right away. Someone violating my doctor-patient confidentiality would tick me off, even if there wasn’t anything worth overhearing. The voices behind the door were loud — muffled, but clearly raised in anger. That was especially strange. Greenbalm was known for his maddeningly neutral unemotional responses; getting into a heated discussion with a possible delinquent seemed completely out of character. I leaned closer and paused, my fist suspended in knocking position.
“Perhaps you’d rather I let them take her. Or worse — end up like you!”
The door swung open. I gasped and reeled forward. Golden olive eyes flashed as a hand reached out impossibly fast to keep me from falling — again.
Adrius gave a slow smile. “Forget something, Lorelei?” If everyone said my name like him, I’d walk around with it written on my shirt.
“My, um…” I pointed. “Forgot my bag.”
There it was, innocently betraying me at the foot of the desk. Dr. Greenbalm glanced up briefly. “Come in, Lorelei.”
The room felt warmer than it had a short time ago. And the strange scent of herbs still hung in the air. My face flushed.
“Sorry to interrupt, I didn’t mean to…” Adrius looked like he was enjoying my discomfort a little too much. Greenbalm had already forgotten I was in the room. I grabbed my bag and darted for the door. “Sorry, for the interruption,” I muttered, fumbling with the handle. Greenbalm looked up at me perplexed for a moment by my profuse apologizing.
“Lorelei, this is Adrius—” He paused. “My son.” Then he went back to his paperwork.
Son. That changed things.
Adrius gave me a conspiratorial wink. “We’ve met,” he said.
I stepped out of Greenbalm’s office, feeling more like an idiot than I had last night. Rescuing my cell from its jewel-toned case, I dialed my friend Abby’s number and listened to ring after ring. Finally, I got her voice mail.
“I’m away all weekend. Leave a message. Or don’t. It’s not like I care. Beeeeep.”
Right… How did I forget that? So much for my ride.
Mom would have left for the airport by now. No point calling Camilla, she’d tell me to take the bus. And it was after ten, Brigit would be up to her eyes in errands by now. That left a taxi. More good news sneered at me as I stepped outside to discover it was raining. Not the soft spring shower kind, but the teeming, frigid, soak-to-the-skin-even-with-an-umbrella kind. And I didn’t have an umbrella.
I took out my phone to call a cab. The screen flashed and then went out. Dead battery. Perfect. This whole morning had been one aggravation after another. Cars sped through the miniature ocean spreading from the gutters, sending surf onto the sidewalk. Jumping aside, I missed one wave only to be drenched by the next one. Icy wetness dripped down my back, plastered my hair to my face. I wanted to cry but what would be the use?
A sleek black Mercedes pulled up next to me. Get lost creep. I’m so not in the mood. I picked up the pace, but the car remained parallel. Eggplant tinted windows slowly lowered and I mentally braced myself.
“Lorelei, can I give you a lift?”
I knew that voice. Peering through the streams of water running from my hair into my eyes, I stared into olive eyes. It was Adrius. My mind went into that internal debate mode. He looks like a bad boy, but he’s also a doctor’s kid. Although if they’re anything like preacher’s kids, I’m safer hitchhiking. And then I remembered my wallet… sitting nicely on my dresser… at home. Buses and cabs were out, and it was an hour’s walk in decent weather.
“Well, are you getting in?” he pressed. “Or do you enjoy surfing without a board?”
Seriously, how bad could he possibly be? “Not so much,” I said tentatively, reaching for the door.
He jumped out and was at my side before I could lift the handle.
“Allow me.” The door swung open as an umbrella popped up over my head, shielding me from the impossibility of getting any wetter and looking more like a drowned raccoon than I already did. He certainly didn’t need it, with hair as sexy wet as it was dry.
“I don’t want to get your seats soaked.”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Get in.”
My fingers were starting to prune, so I didn’t need any more encouragement to slip into the buttery black leather seat — correction — heated seat. Nice. It still had that new car smell; I had an impulse to ask if it was stolen. Doctor’s kid, remember. With the rates Greenbalm charged, of course, his kid would drive a posh car. We sat in silence for a while, watching the wipers try futilely to the clear the view.
“I didn’t know Dr. Greenbalm had a son.” There were no family photos lining his desk.
Adrius didn’t say anything. So I kept up a nervous ramble. “So are you new here? It’s a pretty small town, and I don’t remember seeing you before.” Believe me, I’d remember if I had.
He shifted. “You could say that. I’ve only been here a few days.”
Well, that explained it. “Where were you before?”
“You wouldn’t know it.”
“You’re still in high school though, right? Oakland High?” Did that sound too hopeful?
“No.” He caught me staring at him. “…Drearyton Collegiate.”
“That’s where I go.”
“I know.”
It occurred to me to ask how, but he interrupted. “So, what are we doing?” He glanced in my direction and I had the strange inkling he was hinting at more than where I lived.
“Do you know the Venti Terrace Estates?”
He let out a low whistle. “Nice area.”
I cringed. Gran’s little two-bedroom cottage by the beach had always felt more like home than Mom’s overly demonstrative Victorian. Of course, I’d take it over Camilla’s dilapidated shack any day. One of these days she’s going to have to trust me enough to stay home on my own.
“Yeah, it’s not bad if you like that whole cloned look.”
“Oh, I don’t know, black-and-white isn’t all that cookie-cutter. Although the red door might turn some heads.”
“I know, but …” My head snapped toward him and the hair on the back of my neck rose. “How do you know my house is black and white? …With a red door?” On my street every house is some indescribable shade of beige… except for ours.
He didn’t look at me, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to answer. It was more than a little freakish that he knew where I lived. Inching toward the door handle, I wondered if people really could jump out of a moving car.
Finally, he looked over, seeming embarrassed, he shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
“Right.” I sat back in my seat, rethinking my dramatic escape. It’s not that I felt unsafe with him, but I felt something. I just couldn’t figure out if that something was a risk.
Staring at the soggy streets, it dawned on me we were only three blocks from the café.
“You know what? I almost forgot. I actually have to put in an extra shift today at the cafe.” I hoped I sounded calmer than I felt. The butterflies in my stomach were slam dancing. Really it was more of an excuse than a direct lie. I was always working and figured a short shift was better than none at all. Being there was relaxing, on most occasions.
He nodded, seeming slightly relieved as well. Moments later we pulled into the parking lot of the Lemon Balm.
I hopped out of the car before he put it into park. “Thanks.” I said, momentarily getting lost in his eyes. “I appreciate the save.”
“Anytime. I’m always at your service.” The engine revved an impatient growl. “Better get inside, where it’s safe. You’re getting soaked.” He gazed at me, only this time his eyes were empty. Void of any emotion. “I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.” Then he was in reverse, the wheels of his expensive car spitting gravel as he peeled out of the parking lot. My thoughts flickered again and again to the strange things he’d said… and knew. I watched him drive away, my feet drowning inside rain filled shoes, trying to untangle the conflicting emotions.