Chapter 1
“What’s with you today?”
“What do you mean?” Jolie caught the other side of the fitted sheet Mirra tossed to her, and together they made up the bed for the new arrival to the Laughing Mermaid. It was their slow season, as summers tended to be just short of unbearable with the heat, and they were pleased to have a long-term booking for one of their rooms.
“Your aura is off. Did you not sleep well?”
“My aura is fine, Mirra. Like you can even see auras. I think you’re making it up.” Jolie was constantly miffed that her and Mirra’s magicks had manifested differently.
Like being mermaid wasn’t magick enough?
It rankled when Mirra would flit around and diagnose people’s ailments or personalities based on their aura colors. And most annoying of all was the fact that Mirra was more often right than wrong.
“You always say that. Jealous much? I don’t say anything about your healing powers.”
“That’s because you’re a healer too.”
“Not as good as you are, Jolie, and you know it. Now, tell me what’s bothering you.” Mirra’s beautiful face creased in concern as she studied her sister. Though they were born twins, they were anything but identical except for the fact that they were both breathtakingly beautiful. Mirra, light to Jolie’s dark, was blond, ethereal, and soft of heart. Jolie, with her riot of dark curls, sharp blue eyes, and salacious wit, could cut through most men with a look and make them drop to their knees and beg. Mirra preferred a gentler approach; her men were often found composing poetry and planning romantic picnics. Jolie preferred the more rough-and-tumble types, and was just as happy wrapping her legs around a man in leathers on a motorcycle as she was sneaking into the captain’s quarters on a ship. As sisters, they were yin to each other’s yang, and a deep love abided between the two. When Mirra expressed concern, Jolie did her best to listen.
“I don’t know…” Jolie shrugged, smoothing a duvet, brilliant green shot through with white threads, on the foot of the bed. “I’m just off today.”
“Did you have bad dreams again?”
“Well, not the same one. A different one this time, actually.”
“Tell me,” Mirra said, moving to the sideboard to unload the basket of supplies they used to stock the rooms. Fresh fruit for the basket on the table, waters for the mini-fridge, tea and coffee by the kettle. They moved automatically, having done this change-over many times, and it soothed Jolie to work while she talked.
“This dream was about Irmine. About the night she lost him.”
“Ah. That’s an old one.”
“It is.”
“Why do you think it’s come back now?”
“For me it feels like the dream focuses on the anguish of her loss and then her determination to make something of her life. It doesn’t just end on the night she lost him, but skips ahead to how she’s used that love to grow other areas of her life.”
“So… a lesson then? How pain can lead to good?”
“Or maybe that we should still take a chance on love? Even if we can’t know what the future will hold.”
“I like that interpretation. It’s more along the lines of how I like to think.” Mirra, ever the optimist, beamed at Jolie.
“I know, which is why I’m surprised I’m thinking it.”
“Will you look for love then?”
It was a constant discussion between the sisters. Their mother, Irma, had also lost their father tragically and had mourned him ever since. It had left the girls wary of deeper relationships – Jolie preferred to love ’em and leave ’em – but at the same time, their mother urged them to grab on and love as fiercely as they could.
Finding someone worthy of that love, however, was a whole different issue.
“Haven’t I always?”
At that, Mirra let out a pretty peal of laughter, like the softest of bells chiming, and shook her head at Jolie.
“You most certainly have not. You’ve always looked for Mr. Right Now, and danced away from anything more serious. And plenty a man has wanted something more serious with you.”
“I know.” Jolie sighed, completely confident in her ability to ensnare men. “I haven’t met the right man yet.”
“How would you know? You barely give them a chance.”
“O ye of the ol’ aura readings… can’t you tell? When you know, you know.”
“I think you’ve grown bored and men come too easily to do your bidding. You need someone who’ll stand up to you.”
“I’ve dated plenty of bad boys,” Jolie said, tying back the white linen curtains that framed the glass balcony doors. Beyond the doors, the sea called to her – like it always did, a primal pulse that beat deep in her soul – and Jolie took a moment to look out at the water.
“Bad boys that you could drop to their knees. You wrap every man around your finger. After a while, even that has to grow boring.”
“I’ll let you know when it does, darling.”
“Shall we swim?” Mirra came to stand by her sister, and wrapped her arm around Jolie’s waist. She knew the water soothed as much as it excited, and was always a surefire cure for whatever ailed them.
“Yes – the room’s finished and everything else is touched up. I’ll work out my angst in the water and then we can greet our delightful guest… what’s his name again?”
“Dr. Theodore Macalister.”
“Oh, a doctor? Sounds perfect for you, Mirra.”
“You know the rules…” Mirra shot Jolie a look of censure over her shoulder.
“Right, right, don’t sleep with the guests. Got it.”
“Do you? Because Mom didn’t make that rule because of me.”
“Well, it was in place long before I shagged anyone here, so it’s not because I broke it.”
“No! You don’t think –” Mirra gasped, turning on the staircase to laugh up at Jolie.
“Mirra! Of course! You can’t think she’s been celibate since our father died, can you?”
“I’d prefer not to think of it at all, really,” Mirra said, a faint blush tinging her cheeks.
“Neither do I.”
“Well, she may have grieved our father’s death, but the woman is still living. And I’m sure she has her own needs, despite what you may think about those.”
“You’ve got a good heart, Mirra. Much better than my cold and black one.” Jolie laughed and bounced down the last couple of steps. “Let’s go to the water. The call is particularly strong today.”
“To the water then,” Mirra agreed – but the concern didn’t leave her voice.
Chapter 2
Theodore Macalister hiked the strap of his serviceable duffle bag over one shoulder and the strap of his camping pack over the other. With a tan canvas-brimmed hat to shade himself, a sweat-wicking shirt, and breathable shorts, he was as comfortable as could be in the open-air airport of Siren Island. His eyes skimmed over the tourists who fanned themselves madly, having planned poorly for their arrival in a humid climate, and he shook his head slightly. Didn’t people ever consider where their final destination would be? There was nothing worse than being unprepared, as far as he was concerned. He checked his trusty Swiss Army watch – no fancy Rolex for him, no matter how much his father tried to push him into purchasing a nicer watch – and saw that he was just a few minutes early for when Irma from the Laughing Mermaid was supposed to meet him.