The Siren (17 page)

Warren turned toward me in his seat. “You ready?”
 

I took a deep breath. “Yep.”

Inside the front lobby, there was a receptionist desk to our right, secured behind a large glass window. In front of us was a huge living room, and a restaurant-size kitchen was to our left. The second story walkway looked down on the lobby, and there was a young Hispanic girl watching us. She wore a San Antonio Spurs sweatshirt and blue jeans, and even from where we stood, I could see a large gold and jade cross hanging around her neck. She appeared to be around seventeen years old.
 

A young blonde in casual dress clothes peeked out from the receptionist area. “Can I help you?”
 

“We’re here to see Abigail. She told us to come by tonight.” I held up Abigail’s business card.

The woman nodded. “Can I tell her your name?”

“Sloan Jordan,” I answered.

She smiled. “You can have a seat,” she said, nodding to a padded bench behind us.

We sat down, and Warren held my hand. “This place is nice.” He was looking around at the newly tiled floors and professional paint job.

Two girls walked by us, speaking Spanish, and disappeared into the kitchen.
 

I lowered my voice. “I think it’s a home for them. A home for the girls they rescue.”

“Looks that way,” he said. “Can you imagine going from that dilapidated cantina to this?”

I shook my head and sighed. “This place is giving them their lives back.”

On a table next to us were some brochures. I picked one up and read it aloud. “Morning Star Ministries was founded in 2011 by Abigail Smith.” I scanned through the rest of it. “They bring in girls rescued from human trafficking rings around San Antonio,” I told him. “This is the main office. The one in Houston is smaller.”

The click-clack of heels against the tile announced Abigail’s entrance as she came around the corner, obviously looking for us. We both stood when she saw us. “Hi. I’m glad you came by. Both of you.” She smiled warmly as she stretched out her hand. “Sloan, is it?”

When her fingers touched mine, I jumped from the jolt. Every nerve ending from my scalp to my toes sizzled.
 
“Whoa!” I looked down at my finger, almost expecting it to be singed.

She chuckled. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

Still rubbing the tip of my finger, I looked up at Warren. “Abigail, this is my boyfriend, Warren Parish.”

Cautiously this time, she offered him her hand.
 

His eyes doubled in size when he shook it, but he didn’t freak out like me. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

“The pleasure is all mine.” She nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s go to my office where we can talk and have a bit of privacy.”

We followed her around the corner and down a long, carpeted hallway. There were plain white doors in groups of two all the way down to the end.
 

“This is a pretty impressive place you have here,” I said as we walked.

She smiled over her shoulder. “We have sixty beds in this home. We run at capacity all year long. The girls who were brought out of the cantina earlier will be on this floor till they receive proper medical attention. Then, once their physical needs are met, we will start dealing with their emotional ones.”

“What happens to them?” I asked. “When they leave here?”

“Most of them are returned to their families, the ones whose families we are able to locate. Others will remain in our care until they can be placed through the foster system,” she said.

“So this a government agency?” I asked as we walked into a humble but nice office.

She shook her head. “We work with the local government, but we are strictly funded through private donations. Once you start accepting government money, you become subject to government red tape. I vowed when I began this ministry that we would operate as an independent agency only.” She closed the door and motioned to the two chairs opposite her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Warren and I sat down in the chairs. “Thanks for seeing us. We’ve looked all over for you,” I said.

As she settled behind the cherry wood desk, her eyes widened. “Why were you looking for me?”

I exchanged a glance with Warren. “We actually thought you were murdered by a serial killer we helped take down a few weeks ago.”

She laughed and leaned back against her chair. “A serial killer? Where?”

“In Asheville, North Carolina,” I replied.

Her head tilted with confusion. “Why would you think I was murdered in Asheville?”

I shook my head. “We actually thought you were murdered in Greensboro. You were reported missing from your job there, and you seemed to fit with the profile of all the other victims.” I looked at Warren again. “We assumed you were dead because—”

“Because when you looked at my photograph, you didn’t see my soul?” she interrupted.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

She leaned forward over her desk and rested her chin on her hands. She carefully studied our faces. “That’s because I don’t have a soul.”

Her answer knocked the breath out of me like a baseball bat to the chest.
 

“Are you human?” Warren asked.

A thin smile spread across her lips as she tugged at the skin on her hand. “This is human.”

The whole scene was a little unnerving. Had I not been so curious and fascinated, I probably would have been terrified. Instead, I was desperate to know more. “Are you an angel?”

She nodded slowly. Then she pointed at us. “And you
are not
.”

Warren looked at me as if to say,
I told you so.

I ran my fingers through my hair and blew out a deep sigh. “Do you know what we are?” I asked.

She tapped her fingers on her lips. “You are Seramorta.”

“Seramorta?” I had never heard the term before, and from the look on Warren’s face, he hadn’t either. I turned back to Abigail. “What does that mean?”

She leaned on her armrest. “You are half-angel, half-mortal.”

I had known for quite a while that there was something supernaturally different about me and the hunky man sitting at my side, but I was fully unprepared to have it confirmed out loud by someone in the know. I burst out laughing. Loud, crazy-person laughter.

Abigail’s eyes widened. “This amuses you?”

I reined in my cackles, pressing my palms against the sides of my head. “It’s just so…”

“Unbelievable,” Warren finished. He rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “So what happened? We had a mortal mother who got knocked up by an angel?”

Her head tilted. “Or a mortal father.”

I narrowed my eyes and wagged my finger between Warren and myself. “So, we had angel parents who abandoned us both to figure all this out for ourselves?”

She shifted in her chair. “They didn’t have a choice. It is forbidden for angels to raise their offspring.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Forbidden by who? God?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “More so forbidden by nature. The human mind is a fragile thing, especially during its developmental years. The prolonged physical contact of an angel in the early life of a Seramorta would have dire consequences for the child.”

I thought of what it felt like when she touched my hand. “Could it kill them?”

She shook her head. “No, but it can cause insanity of the worst kind.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I can imagine.” She looked over at me. “How old are you?”
 

“I’m twenty-seven. He’s twenty-nine,” I answered.
 

 
Warren leaned back and rested the ankle of his boot on his knee. “Why do Sloan and I have different abilities?”

“Because of your lineage. Much like the human race, you inherit different traits from your parents.” She studied his face. “For example, you, Warren, have the power to end life, don’t you?”

His eyes widened.

She pointed at him. “That’s because you’re the son of an Angel of Death.”

I looked at him. “Well, you were right about that.”

“So, am I evil?” he asked.

She laughed. “No one, angel nor human, is inherently evil. We are all given a choice.”
 

“What about me?” I asked. “Do you know what I am? I seem to be able to talk about people and make them show up.”

She nodded. “That’s a summoning power, shared by the Angels of Life. You have the power to influence the paths of others around you.”

I raised my hand. “Angels of Life?”

“The second choir in Heaven.”

I had no idea what that meant.

“She can heal people too,” Warren added.

“That’s not exactly been proven,” I said. “People do seem to get better around me though.”

Her face was curious as she nodded. “That’s part of your gift.”

I pointed at Warren. “He and I can’t see each other’s souls. Does that mean we don’t have them either?”

She shifted on her chair. “What you call a soul is your eternal spirit that lives in the body on this earth and then lives forever in eternity. Human spirits and angelic ones are entirely different, and you were born with both. Your human spirit and your angelic spirit are so closely knit together that you are blind to each other because your mortality doesn’t allow you to see the angelic.”

“So, that’s why we can’t see you?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes, but your angelic spirit—which is stronger—allows you to see the human souls of others, as can I.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “My brain hurts.”

“That’s another thing.” Warren leaned forward. “Whenever Sloan and I are away from each other—”

She cut him off. “You get a headache?”

“Yes,” we answered at the same time.

She smiled. “The connection you have on a spiritual level affects your human physiology. When you remove that connection, your body is starved for that flow of spiritual energy.”

“You were right, Warren.” I looked over at him. “It’s like detoxing off of each other.”

Abigail nodded. “That’s exactly what it is.”

I looked at her seriously. “Is it dangerous?”

She shrugged. “It could be dangerous if your body is already compromised for some reason. Humans die all the time from complications of detoxing.”

“Does it just happen with me and Sloan?” Warren asked.

She shook her head. “No. It happens with all angels who walk among humans. Some angels stay exclusively with other angels, while others, like me, prefer to be alone. I will suffer when you leave town.”

“You’ll have a migraine?” Warren asked.

She nodded. “Yes.”

I rubbed my face. “That’s fascinating, and I’m really sorry.”

The telephone on her desk beeped. “Abigail, Mr. Parker is on line two for you.”

“Thank you. Ask him to hold for a moment,” Abigail replied. She glanced down at her watch before looking at us again. “I hope I have been of some help. I would like to speak with you more, but I’m sure you understand how busy I am right now.”

I nodded. “Of course. Thank you for meeting with us.”

She offered me her hand and I shook it, this time less jarred by her powerful energy. “Call me anytime.” She examined my face carefully. “I mean it.”

I smiled. “Thanks. I probably will.” I pointed toward the door. “We will see ourselves out.”

Abigail turned and picked up her telephone as we walked out of the office, and Warren quietly closed the door behind us. “Well, that went well,” he said.

I looped my arm through his. “We’re angels.”

He laughed. “You called it,” he said. “Are you happy to have some answers now?”

I sighed and rested my head against his shoulder. “So happy I could cry!”
 

He held the front door open, and we walked out into the warm night air. He squeezed my hand. “I say we go somewhere and celebrate.”

I gripped his arm. “I want to go to the hotel and get Nathan. We’ve got to tell him the good news!”

He stopped and looked at me. Then he shook his head and laughed.

“What?” I asked as he opened my car door.

He rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Let’s go find Nate.”

Nathan met us at the bar in the hotel lobby when we got back. Per my request, Shannon wasn’t with him. “How’d it go?” he asked as we settled into a booth in the corner.

I shuddered with happiness. “It was awesome.” I leaned across the table toward him. “Guess what?”

He produced a bag of Skittles from his pocket and poured a handful. “What?”

“We’re angels.” I dramatically dropped my jaw.

Nathan laughed and a green Skittle tumbled off his lip. “Sure you are.” He tapped his chest. “Hell, so am I.”
 

I threw a sugar packet at his head. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Tell me,” he said, smiling around a mouthful of candy.

Before I began, a waiter stopped at our table and Warren ordered us all a round of beers. When he was out of earshot, I lowered my voice. “She said we are Seramorta.”

Nathan blinked. “Sera-whatta?”

“Seramorta,” I said. “Half-angel, half-human.”
 

He started chuckling again. “Are you going to sprout wings?”

I ignored him. “She said Warren is the son of an Angel of Death and I was born from an Angel of Life. I have the power to influence the paths of the people around me.”

Nathan nodded and looked at Warren. “That’s the truest thing I’ve ever heard. Wouldn’t you agree?”
 

“Absolutely,” Warren said and they slapped a high five across the table.
 

The waiter delivered our drinks, and Nathan held his high in the air like he was about to propose a toast. Instead, he said, “You’re welcome.”

My head fell to the side. “Huh?”

He placed his glass on the table. “Well, if it weren’t for me being such a pain in your ass, as you constantly tell me, you never would have known Abigail even existed. So, you’re welcome.”

I smiled and held my glass toward him. “Thank you, Nathan.”

He clinked his beer with mine and winked. “I’m happy for you both.”

Warren squeezed my shoulder.

In my purse, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out and saw my father’s picture on the screen. It was nearly midnight in North Carolina. “That’s weird.” I answered the call. “Hey, Dad.”