Page 51 of Song of Lorelei
“Excuse me?” Lila clenched her chair’s armrests, pitch climbing, even though Walt was unharmed and completely fine. “What’s interesting about my dad getting hurt?”
“I’m sorry to hear about your father’s accident, truly, and normally, I wouldn’t ask for a doctor’s note, because honor and trust between HCMRC colleagues, right? But I’m not feeling particularly trustful right now. You say you left for a family emergency—a story your friend Miss Lovera affirms—but what I can’t wrap my head around is why you wouldn’t be there to help him.”
He flipped the tablet in his hands to face them, a still shot of the mermaid lab timestamped 10:13 a.m., and pressed play.
Lorelei stared at the video footage, too numb to feel dread. The camera didn’t catch her transformation, but the “theft of HCMRC property” was pretty damn clear. There was no mistaking that was her, Lila, and Will on screen, taking the siren and cases of virophage. Killian had never come into the lab, instead staying behind the wheel of their getaway vehicle, so the cameras didn’t catch him. Thank God.
She hadn’t expected this when she came into work today. Suspicion and a grueling interrogation, yes. A call to the Walshes to confirm their story, also yes. But hard, irrefutable evidence?
The shot was taken at about hip height over by the computer monitors, and not the usual bird’s eye view of the security camera’s they’d shut down at the start of their mission. Phil explained how he’d installed the secondary, back-up camera, one that was not connected to the main surveillance system. A measure against “tampering,” he called it.
What an inconvenient bit of foresight.
The director wasn’t smirking anymore. Whatever initial amusement or triumph he leeched from catching them in their lies had vanished.
“Dr. Branson, Ms. Roth, I think it goes without saying that you’re done here.” Though his tone was even and low for the sake of professionalism, it hid none of his fury. “I’d demand you forfeit the virophages, and give you a chance to rectify the situation, but I suspect they’re long gone by now. So, we’ll be pressing criminal charges against you both to the fullest extent of the law for theft of lab property, as well as Mr. William Branson, for his part to play.”
An anguished cry escaped Lila’s lips.
Numbness gave way to stifling panic. Heat swept up her chest to her face and spread through all her limbs, rendering them tingling and rubbery. Lorelei gripped the edge of Phil’s desk, using the last bit of strength to keep herself from falling over.
This was the true price of helping the sirens. And the true cost of her friendship. They knew they were risking their current positions, but criminal charges? Forget about being gainfully employed ever again. Would Will and Lila see jail time?
Anger ripped through her at the thought, steeling her bones and her resolve. They would not get in trouble for this, for her, not if she had anything to say about it. And she had plenty.
Lorelei leaned across the desk, lengthening claws biting into the wood and carving out splintered furrows. Phil jumped back in his plush office chair with a yelp, eyes wide, but not without snatching his office phone first, jerking the base across his desk by the cord, no doubt calling for security.
With one clawed finger, she pressed down on the switch hook, ending any attempt to make a call. “You wanna press charges, Phil?” Lorelei hissed through pointed teeth. “Fine. But leave the Bransons out of this. The only guilty party here is me.”
Fingers closed around her upper arm. “Lorelei, what are you…” She shook Lila off, giving her a firm look. The marine biologist bit her lower lip, fear creasing her brow.
Lorelei turned back to their boss and narrowed her eyes. “Director Simmons, you’re aware of siren song. It doesn’t matter how many degrees you have, how strong your willpower is, or how tight a grip you have on sanity. It will always bend a person to its will. Even someone with the mental fortitude of Dr. Branson. I compelled her and her husband to help me. They didn’t have a choice but to obey my siren song.”
Phil trembled. “You’re a…you’re a…”
“That’s right.” She hopped on top of the desk and plucked the phone out of his hand, returning it to its cradle. “You made a huge mistake thinking the sirens are just animals. You’ve had one working for you right under your nose all along. That says something, doesn’t it? That you had no idea. We could have continued working together, honor and trust between colleagues, right? That is, until you stopped caring about Nireed’s health and autonomy. What was I supposed to do—stand by while you abused my siren sister? And held her here against her will? The legal system might not know what the hell to do with this case, but that’s a blatant ethical violation I’m sure the scientific community would love to hear about. So go right ahead and press charges against me Director Simmons. Do your worst.” She tapped her talons against the desktop. “But just know that these aren’t the only claws I have, and I don’t need siren song to destroy you. You’re not the only one who can collect hard evidence of a crime.”
She slid off the desk, and without a parting glance, stormed out of Phil’s office.
There was nowhere to go but home. But home was sanctuary.
She funneled her anger into badly rage singing in the car—an eclectic playlist-mix of heavy metal and Carrie Underwood. “Before He Cheats” had no situational relevance, but the tone was chef’s kiss, and she knew all the lyrics. Slashing tires, keying cars—or clawing desks—was the most vengeful fun a pissed off gal could have. By the time she parked next to the cottage, more askew than usual, she’d sung herself hoarse.
Kicking off her shoes and flinging them further than necessary, Lorelei plopped down in the sand near the water’s edge and let out a loud aggravated screech. As the waves rolled over her feet, simultaneously cooling her body temperature and her temper, her phone pinged three times. She glanced down to see if any were worth responding to.
One message was from Phil’s secretary, a missive instructing her to schedule a time to come in and clear out her office. Good fucking riddance. That didn’t take long. They were probably going to have her escorted by security. She fired off a curt date and time for later that week. Helen didn’t deserve her ire, but she was too prickly to care.
The second message came from Lila: Wow. You really just did that. And it worked. The asshat did an about face—he apologized to me and offered “hazard pay” which smells a lot like hush money—but no criminal charges for me and Will. But WHY did you out yourself, Lorelei?!!
Lorelei replied: You’ve protected me all this past year. Now it’s my turn to protect you. Besides, with that case file you put together for Jackie, it’s only a matter of time that Phil and the board get theirs. And once they are (hopefully) ousted, HCMRC will need you to pick up the pieces and rebuild, so that nothing like this ever happens again.
Lila’s typing started and stopped several times before she evidently decided on a simple ‘thank you.’ Sometimes words were inadequate, but Lorelei felt the full weight of those two.
She scrolled to the last unread message, this one from Jackie Gaten. ‘Call me when you get this,’ it said. Falling back into the sand, Lorelei released a bitter huff of laughter. The last time Jackie said ‘call me now’ to anyone within their circle a teenage boy had gotten video footage of her in mermaid form. She was half tempted to roll herself into the water and swim away.
Instead, she tapped on Jackie’s name and phone number. The phone only rang twice before Jackie picked up. “Lorelei, I’m glad you got back to me so quickly. We’ve got a bit of a situation.”
“Figured. What happened?”