SIREN

By Raina James
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copyright of this work.

SIREN
Copyright © 2009
Cover Art by Beverly Maxwell
ISBN AREFREE00014

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,

living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales
is coincidental. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this
may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with
out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.



“Do some more of those spinny things when you go by

the window.” Kroeger twirled his finger to illustrate. “Those
look hot.”
“Yeah, sure.” I concentrated on adjusting one of the
silvery-blue “scales” covering my breasts – barely. Almost
good to go. As soon as the adhesive was set, I could slip
into the water and leave the manager of The Siren behind.
Each opalescent scale was about the size of my
thumbnail. After four weeks on the job, my prep time was
down to just under thirty minutes. The end result was a
press-on bikini top that flowed up the curve of each breast
to curl around my nipples in a tantalizing swirl. The thin
synthetic scales were sparkly, eye-catching and had a
tendency to pinch if I didn’t apply them just so. Thankfully,
it had been weeks since I’d shed any crucial pieces on shift.
The scale motif continued on the bikini bottoms, basically a



 Siren
triangle of spangled fabric held in place with slim silver
chains. I was more grateful than I can say that I didn’t have
to glue anything on down there.
But then, the costume certainly wasn’t for my benefit. It
was aimed at the clubbers who’d made The Siren the place
to party since its doors opened to the masses a few months
ago. Aside from the ear-splitting music, overpriced drinks
and the chance to be seen rubbing shoulders and …
whatever with a who's-who roster of patrons and wannabes,
The Siren's main attraction was a pool-sized aquarium that
stretched the length of the twenty-foot bar. Or rather, the
main attraction was what was in the aquarium: Me. Discreet
lighting hidden in the man-made reef made the silver scales
shimmer and flash against my pale blue skin. Yes, blue.
Shiny and pretty worked on people just as well as it did on
fish.
The club paid fairly well, considering all they wanted
me to do was the old bump ‘n’ grind in a fish tank. The
thought made one corner of my mouth quirk up. I put the
“exotic” in dancer. Kroeger must have thanked his lucky
stars the night he saw me come through the door. I was the
only applicant to The Siren’s ad for a “sea nymph, sprite or
other aquatically-inclined female humanoid.” Go figure.
“Well, I guess I’d better get in there.” I turned toward
the pool, suppressing a shudder of distaste as Kroeger ran
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his hand down my spine. His moist palm stopped on the
curve of my ass, just below the fall of my curly sapphire-
blue mane of hair. I stepped away before it could resume its
journey south. The water’s surface barely rippled as I eased
down the ladder. Despite his somewhat permanent leer,
Kroeger’s expression also held a touch of wonder. Believe it
or not, a lot of people are still like that around the Others.
You’d think they’d have gotten used to us by now. Humans.
I sighed with pleasure as the warm water wrapped
around me, then pushed away from the ladder to prepare to
dive. A human may have taken a deep breath. I exhaled,
forcing every molecule of air from my lungs. Then I closed
my eyes and tilted my neck back to submerge my gills,
completing my transition from land to sea. I let myself sink
below the surface before I opened my eyes, leaving the
clear membranes of my inner lids in place.
Schools of brightly hued tropical fish dodged me with
synchronized precision as I began my circuit around the
tank. An iridescent purple and red coral beauty glided close
to scout for food, then reversed course with a flip of tiny
fins on its flattened body to return to mouthing the coral for
tidbits of food. A handful of almost blindingly bright yellow
tangs shot past in crazy formation, sending a spindly-legged
fire shrimp scurrying for cover under a placidly waving fan
coral. Other varieties of coral pulsed with colors both subtle
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 Siren
and vibrant. Fronds of seaweed, carefully planted to provide
ambience while leaving the vital viewing areas
unobstructed, swayed gently in the small current created by
the tank’s oxygen filters. Trevor Stone, The Siren’s owner,
hadn’t spared a cent installing his slice of the Great Barrier
Reef. Considering where he got his money, I guess he could
afford it.
The tank, lit up like a movie screen in a darkened
theater, was The Siren’s undeniable focal point. The
clubbers probably didn’t realize it, but the positioning of the
bar was designed to keep everyone at least arm’s reach
away from the aquarium. I guess Stone thought it would be
tacky to have some panting patron fogging up the glass.
Even assholes have standards.
I stopped at the edge of the viewing area, just out of
sight from any casual glance. The glass barrier was thick, as
it had to be to contain this much water, but even so the
pounding beat of the jacked-up sound system made the
water vibrate with a pseudo-alive pulse. I had an excellent
view of the four bartenders performing their own nightly
dance, taking orders, pulling drinks, mixing cocktails.
Bright lights flashed on the dance floor and in the deejay
booth, but floor-level fairy lights and subdued wall fixtures
gave the bar and seating areas an illusion of intimacy.
Considering the fact my body was designed for depths that
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rarely saw the light of day, I had no trouble keeping on eye
on everything – and everyone.
Not much to see in the club yet, though. The night was
still young. Give it a few hours, and things would really
start hopping out there. I suppressed my excitement.
Concentrate on the job.
Showtime.
One strong kick, arms outstretched, was enough to send
my slim form gliding in front of the viewing glass. As per
Kroeger’s request, I gently pulled one arm back across my
body, spreading my half-webbed fingers to start an easy
horizontal spin. My hair, a rich blue even wet, wrapped
caressingly around my neck and chest, strands clinging to
the flashy fake scales. I let a sultry smile curve my lips as I
faced the window. Even the bartenders paused to watch my
entrance. They’d get bored soon enough. The night was
young. My spin turned me away from the window, giving
them a view of bare, blue-toned back and the silver thong
secured to my hips. First pass down, and hours to go.

****

It was after one in the morning when I saw what I’d

been waiting for. The crowd, a respectable turnout for a
weeknight, had started to thin out. Stone walked into the bar
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 Siren
with his customary swagger. His charcoal-black suit was
perfectly tailored to show off the best body a private health
club and personal trainer could provide. A rich, burgundy
silk tie was a slash of elegance against an equally dark dress
shirt. Stone's two musclemen were dressed in uniform-like,
lesser-quality suits. Looking neither right nor left, Stone
went directly to his reserved booth on a small dais in the
center of the room and settled into the plush bench seat.
Ownership has its privileges. The suits stood sentry to either
side of the booth. Stone draped one arm over the back of the
bench seat and gave me an appreciative look as I sinuously
pirouetted in the water. I slid one hand suggestively down
my side, along the curve of my waist and over the flare of
my hip. He’d been sending me flowers after each shift for
the past week, but I hadn't taken him up on his euphemistic
invitation for "drinks."
An inner sense warned me in time to send a hidden
glance at the club's entrance. A tall, lanky man stood just
inside The Siren’s inner doors. He took a careful survey of
the room before descending the three steps down to the
club’s main floor. Looking like he’d just stepped out of the
pages of GQ, with an edge, he wore his own suit as
comfortably as a second skin. You’d never expect to see
him in anything so blue-collar as jeans. He’d been in the
club several times to meet Stone since I’d started working at
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The Siren. Tonight was no different. Where the club’s
owner had swaggered, this man stalked, a hunter on the
move.
Ignoring the muscle, the newcomer settled in beside
Stone, exchanging handshakes and the expected Y-
chromosome pleasantries men in such situations always
seem to fall back on. As they talked, the crowd count
dropped even more. It was a work night, after all. The bar
crew had also fallen off; the two remaining bartenders were
mostly occupied with housekeeping for the next night –
stocking garnish trays, loading the glass racks, checking the
liquor levels.
The two men in the center booth seemed to have
reached a consensus. GQ eased one side of his suit jacket
open. He pulled a palm-sized minicomp out of an inner
pocket and set it up on the table. He and Stone each took
turns tapping on the screen, bypassing the voice feature.
Satisfaction rose in me as I watched the two men. The club
was almost empty by the time they’d completed their
transaction. With a last smile and, I’m sure, an exchange of
male witticisms, GQ stood up to leave. That’s when the
muscle moved in.
Stone sat in benign silence as his grunts grabbed the
leaner man by the upper arms. At first, GQ looked
arrogantly offended. Then he spoke, obviously trying to talk
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his way out of things. No go. He fell back against their grip.
When the goons moved their hands to compensate, GQ
snaked out of their hold and delivered an impressive barrage
of blows. He might have pulled it off, too, if Stone hadn’t
drawn a gun from beneath the tabletop. GQ must have
noticed the move, because he dove for cover, toppling a
nearby table. Too late. His body jerked at the impact of a
single shot before he dropped out of sight. Shit.
I didn’t wait to see more. I might’ve waited too long
already. I slapped my left hand up to wrap around the frame
of the window, digging seemingly fragile fingers deep into
the concrete, and braced my feet against the glass. I drew
my right elbow back, cocking my wrist as I concentrated on
my hand. My fingers fused into a single, narrow spike. I
jabbed it forward with the force of a battering ram, piercing
the window in a half dozen places as if the thick glass were
made of thin plastic. I drove the spike into the wall beside
my unshifted hand to brace myself and pulled my knees into
my chest before kicking out with the flats of both feet.
Weakened by the holes, the glass buckled, then shattered. I
held on as water roared past me, flooding the bar and
drowning out the shocked cries of the few patrons and
staffers left in The Siren.
I jumped to the swamped floor, then vaulted the bar,
tucking and rolling before I’d even landed on the other side.
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The spike shifted back into fingers as I bobbed up from my
crouch for an assessing look around the quickly clearing
club. No time to find GQ. Gotta get the man with the gun.
One of the bodyguards looked like he was down for the
count. The other appeared dazed, but ready to dance. He
didn’t even pause before taking a swing at The Siren’s
exotic aquatic dancer. Credit for trying, idiot. I used his
own momentum to flip him, delivering a paralyzing chop to
the neck as he passed me mid-flight.
Surprisingly, Stone wasn’t as quick as his bodyguard to
recognize me as a threat. He gaped like a landed shark, all
white teeth and dumb shock. Kind of appropriate, I thought,
since GQ and I had pretty much reeled him in. I put one
hand on the edge of his table and shoved it – hard – into his
midsection. I scooped the gun out of his hand while he was
still wheezing for breath, trapped in a tight squeeze between
the table and the back of the bench seat. I used it to gesture
at Stone to place his hands on top of his head. Numbly, he
complied.
GQ pulled himself out from behind the toppled table.
Clutching his shoulder, he crawled over to sit beside my
feet. He leaned back against the base of one bench seat with
a pained groan.
The microscopic radio receiver implanted in my ear
canal whispered urgently as the drug squad leader
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 Siren
demanded a status report. The transmitter in the hollow of
my throat looked like a small blue freckle.
“Yes, sir. Situation temporarily secure. Officer down,
medical assistance required.” I listened as he cracked orders
to the other members of our team. Sirens, at first audible
only over my receiver but growing louder, screamed in the
distance as the police and rescue vehicles approached the
club. Crouching down, eyes and gun never leaving Stone, I
pulled one of the unconscious bodyguards closer and
yanked a good-sized strip of cloth from the back of his suit
coat.
“Hey, GQ, how’s it going?” Going by feel alone, I used
one hand to wad the strip of fabric against his injured
shoulder.
Irritably nudging my hand away, Detective Logan
Somers took over, pressing the makeshift compress against
the sluggishly bleeding bullet wound. “Christ, Tia, you
know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Why do you think I do it?” I kept my eyes, and the
gun, on Stone. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just a scratch. Get it?”
“Chief says yes. Audio clear as a bell, visual in full,
living color. Computer geeks are riding the tracer virus on
the bank transfer as we speak.”
He grunted in acknowledgement, then added gruffly,
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“Thanks.” He didn’t need to elaborate.
I bumped my shoulder gently against his. “What are
partners for?”
That finally drew a reaction from Stone. “Partners? But
you’re a nymph!”
I gave him a slumberous, sexy grin and delicately
waggled the fingers of my restored hand at him. None of
these humans knew what I really was, even GQ, the friend
of my heart. “Am I?”
I must have showed a hint of too-sharp teeth, because
Stone, a bully and a dealer who had become rich by preying
on the weak and vulnerable, quailed.
Sometimes, I love my job.

The End

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About the Author:
Some skepticism about the earning value of an English
degree made Raina James turn to a career in journalism.
While almost two decades as an editor at a daily newspaper
have made her revise that opinion, there's still no thrill quite
like getting the paper to press on a heavy news day with an
early deadline.

At home, when not riding herd on her four children -- two

girls and two boys -- or trying to squeeze in some writing
time, Raina can most often be found reading the work of her
favorite authors, new and old.
Also By Author:
Serena’s Song, Siren-Bookstrand
Sinful, Siren-Bookstrand
Three For All, Siren-Bookstrand