How (Not) to Soothe a Siren (Cindy Eller Book 9) by Elizabeth A Reeves Page A
Authors: Elizabeth A Reeves
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from my brain.
My heart thudded as I realized just what easy prey we made.
On my chest, Asher screamed, his face turning bright red. He struck out with his hands and feet, his mouth open in a round O of frustration. His face was already an angry red. Tears poured out of his tightly-clenched eyes
He could still hear the siren’s song. Despite his age, he apparently wasn’t immune to its effect.
My mother, for once, had been wrong. The siren’s song did have an effect on babies—and Asher wasn’t handling his exposure well.
I fumbled for the earplugs my mother had given me for him, in case her theory was wrong and he was effected by the song as the rest of us were. I would have torn the plugs out of my own ears for him, if I weren’t so afraid that I would succumb to the song and be made useless by it.
My hands shook as I tried to dodge my son’s swinging arms and legs and tried to remember which pocket held the ear plugs. The faster I searched, the clumsier my hands became. I would have had an easier time trying to search my pockets with lobster claws.
I shot Timothy a panicked look.
He reached for our son. I let him take Asher into his arms as I searched. I fumbled through my pockets, more frantic by the moment, for the ear plugs. Where had I put them? I had believed my mother when she had told me not to worry. I should have trusted my own instincts. Why hadn’t I kept them with my own?
At last, I found them, deep in a pocket I had already searched several times. With a smile of triumph, I held them out to Timothy.
Even through my earplugs, I could hear the silence. The mist was so thick that I could see nothing, hear nothing at all. I was blanketed in evergreen and salt. The only sensation I could feel was the clammy caress of the salty mist that surrounded me.
I whirled around, the names of my husband and child on my lips.
“Timothy!” I shouted, my tongue loosened by a burning wave of fear. “Asher! Where are you?”
The sunlight burst down upon us with the heavy beating of swan’s wings. Golden light blazed against pure, white feathers, filling the air with the scent of clean, green grass.
Under the barrage of swan wings, the mist turned to vapor and disappeared.
My lungs drew in an aching breath. My hands clenched the saddle in front of me. My heart wrenched in my chest.
Timothy and Asher were gone.
Even Timothy’s horse, Whisper, had vanished with the mist. There was no sign of them, no proof that they had ever existed.
Nothing.
My empty arms ached.
My mother appeared by my side before I could even fully process what had happened. I tore the ear plugs from my ears with shaking hands.
“Can you feel them?” she asked. “Timothy and Asher—use your Magic to find them. Can you do it?”
I took a steadying breath, trying to calm myself enough that I could access my Magic. I had felt fear before, even terror, but never of this caliber. Breathing, moving—it all was impossible. My heart was still beating strongly. How could that be so? How could life not pause? My world was shaken, and yet I remained.
Blank. My world was blank. Empty. I could perceive and conceive of nothing. I was turned to stone, unable to think or reason.
Beneath me, Gealbhan let out a whinny that shook his entire body. The motion jerked me back into the land of the living. In fact, I had to grab onto his mane with both hands, so as not to be unseated.
It worked as well as being slapped across the face would have. The world came back to me in a rush of sensation and color. I gasped as if I had been holding my breath.
Gealbhan whinnied again, dancing to the side and bobbing his head like a marionette. His legs bunched under him. For a moment, I thought he might try to bolt with me, or buck. He spun on his haunches and danced in place, his hooves cutting up the turf below them.
It took all of my skill as an intermediate sort of rider to stay in the saddle. I grabbed onto his mane. What had happened to my ever
My heart thudded as I realized just what easy prey we made.
On my chest, Asher screamed, his face turning bright red. He struck out with his hands and feet, his mouth open in a round O of frustration. His face was already an angry red. Tears poured out of his tightly-clenched eyes
He could still hear the siren’s song. Despite his age, he apparently wasn’t immune to its effect.
My mother, for once, had been wrong. The siren’s song did have an effect on babies—and Asher wasn’t handling his exposure well.
I fumbled for the earplugs my mother had given me for him, in case her theory was wrong and he was effected by the song as the rest of us were. I would have torn the plugs out of my own ears for him, if I weren’t so afraid that I would succumb to the song and be made useless by it.
My hands shook as I tried to dodge my son’s swinging arms and legs and tried to remember which pocket held the ear plugs. The faster I searched, the clumsier my hands became. I would have had an easier time trying to search my pockets with lobster claws.
I shot Timothy a panicked look.
He reached for our son. I let him take Asher into his arms as I searched. I fumbled through my pockets, more frantic by the moment, for the ear plugs. Where had I put them? I had believed my mother when she had told me not to worry. I should have trusted my own instincts. Why hadn’t I kept them with my own?
At last, I found them, deep in a pocket I had already searched several times. With a smile of triumph, I held them out to Timothy.
Even through my earplugs, I could hear the silence. The mist was so thick that I could see nothing, hear nothing at all. I was blanketed in evergreen and salt. The only sensation I could feel was the clammy caress of the salty mist that surrounded me.
I whirled around, the names of my husband and child on my lips.
“Timothy!” I shouted, my tongue loosened by a burning wave of fear. “Asher! Where are you?”
The sunlight burst down upon us with the heavy beating of swan’s wings. Golden light blazed against pure, white feathers, filling the air with the scent of clean, green grass.
Under the barrage of swan wings, the mist turned to vapor and disappeared.
My lungs drew in an aching breath. My hands clenched the saddle in front of me. My heart wrenched in my chest.
Timothy and Asher were gone.
Even Timothy’s horse, Whisper, had vanished with the mist. There was no sign of them, no proof that they had ever existed.
Nothing.
My empty arms ached.
My mother appeared by my side before I could even fully process what had happened. I tore the ear plugs from my ears with shaking hands.
“Can you feel them?” she asked. “Timothy and Asher—use your Magic to find them. Can you do it?”
I took a steadying breath, trying to calm myself enough that I could access my Magic. I had felt fear before, even terror, but never of this caliber. Breathing, moving—it all was impossible. My heart was still beating strongly. How could that be so? How could life not pause? My world was shaken, and yet I remained.
Blank. My world was blank. Empty. I could perceive and conceive of nothing. I was turned to stone, unable to think or reason.
Beneath me, Gealbhan let out a whinny that shook his entire body. The motion jerked me back into the land of the living. In fact, I had to grab onto his mane with both hands, so as not to be unseated.
It worked as well as being slapped across the face would have. The world came back to me in a rush of sensation and color. I gasped as if I had been holding my breath.
Gealbhan whinnied again, dancing to the side and bobbing his head like a marionette. His legs bunched under him. For a moment, I thought he might try to bolt with me, or buck. He spun on his haunches and danced in place, his hooves cutting up the turf below them.
It took all of my skill as an intermediate sort of rider to stay in the saddle. I grabbed onto his mane. What had happened to my ever
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