Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [44]
Forty-two roaring minutes later, we approached the island. I hadn’t expected it to be visible until we touched down, but the helicopter’s lights bounced off a breaker of white—the bony hulls of ships that had been dashed upon the edges of the siren’s island.
Thank God we hadn’t come in a boat.
The island was covered in trees but for two small clearings—one that held a structure, probably Lorelei’s home, and a smaller area closer to shore. We touched down there. The pilot switched off the rotors, and pulled off her headphones.
“This is spooky,” she said, peering out into the darkness, then looked at me. “I’ve got to make another flight in a couple of hours. You think that’s enough time for you to do whatever you need to do?”
“I certainly hope so,” I said, then climbed out of the copter. I glanced back at her. “If I’m not back by the time you need to leave, call my grandfather and bring out the troops.”
She laughed like I was kidding.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t.
A path led into the woods, and I couldn’t help thinking about Dorothy and Little Red Riding Hood and all the others who had dreaded that walk. But the pilot had a schedule to keep, so I needed to get the show on the road.
I took one step, and then another, until the clearing disappeared behind me and I was ensconced in a forest alive with noise. All manner of animals not yet bedded down for the coming winter shuffled through the underbrush, and the canopy of trees above the path created a fretwork of moonlight on the ground.
Recalling I was a vampire—and a sharp-sensed predator myself—I let my senses off the leash. My night vision sharpened. I could smell damp soil and the faint musk of animals in the trees. Acrid smoke and the greenish smell of fresh resin drifted down the path from what I assumed was Lorelei’s house. Someone had been chopping wood, maybe.
The night was alive with things most humans would rarely see or consider, an entire world that turned while they were unconscious. Would it frighten them, I wondered, to imagine how much went on while they were oblivious?
I walked for a little less than ten minutes. The path moved gently uphill, and I emerged onto a plateau that, during the day, probably would have afforded a beautiful view of the lake. I considered it a good thing my father didn’t know the property existed; he’d have razed Lorelei’s house to make way for a luxury lodge.
The house glowed in the middle of the clearing. It was low, with walls that alternated between curvy glass and long swaths of wood. The house spread low across the earth like it might simply have grown there, like it might melt back into the ground if you turned your back long enough. A tamped dirt path led across the grass to a giant wooden door I assumed was the main entrance.
I stood at the edge of the woods for a moment and savored the irony. A few minutes ago, I’d been afraid to enter them. Now, I was dreading the exit. Sure, I was supposedly immune to Lorelei’s siren call, but that didn’t exactly calm my nerves. I’d seen the boats at the shoreline. What had happened to their captains?
In the silence while I waited, I heard the singing for the first time. It sounded like a low dirge of mourning, sung by a woman with perfect pitch and a sensual tone.
The siren.
I closed my eyes and waited for a moment . . . but nothing happened. I didn’t feel compelled to stalk her, or live out the rest of my immortal nights on her island. Other than feeling a little lightheaded from relative lack of blood—horrible timing on Frank’s part—all was well.
I blew out a breath, walked toward the door, and knocked on it.
No more than a second later, a heavyset woman in her fifties or sixties opened the door, her eyes narrowed. “What?”
Surely this woman, who wore a T-shirt and cut-off stretch pants and held a feather duster in one hand, wasn’t the siren of the lake. But the singing continued from somewhere in the house, so this couldn’t have been her.