Chapter 6: Batteries Charged
The holographic wallpaper behind Cameron’s bed streamed a slow-motion nebula, blues and purples bleeding into the void. Jan lay sprawled across his chest, one hand idly stroking the coarse hair on his thigh. Her own skin was slick with drying sweat, the scent of sex and ozone thick in the climate-controlled air. Godfrey III was a white puffball at the foot of the bed, snoring softly.
“Hunt a siren,” Cameron murmured into her hair, his voice a low rumble. “You make it sound like we’re booking a safari.”
Jan traced a circle around his nipple.“More dangerous.Less paperwork. Usually.” She shifted, her full weight a comfortable pressure. “Fatima’s on it, but Aunt Calli coming to us means the Wands are twitchy.They sanitize things. I’d rather we find this bird first, see if she’s just lonely or actually malicious.”
“You think malicious,” Cameron stated. It wasn’t a question.He knew her.
“Aunt Calli doesn’t get twitchy over lonely. And if this siren’s targeting ‘promising young people’...” She let the thought hang.Rick was promising.Felicity was promising. A lot of their kids fell into that category.
Cameron’s hand, large and scarred, slid up her back, a gesture of pure grounding.“Tell me what you need.”
“My boots.Your eyes. And maybe that disruption field of yours if things get choir-y.”
He smiled, a brief flash of white in the nebula’s glow.“You got it, Red.”
They didn’t rush. They showered together, a practical, efficient affair that nonetheless turned slow and heated under the spray. Jan pushed him against the warm, ceramic wall, her mouth finding his, her hands sliding down his taut stomach. He gasped as she took his already stiffening cock in her fist, her grip firm and knowing.“Again?” he breathed, his forehead against hers.
“Warming up,” she said, her voice a husky promise. She turned around, bracing her hands on the wall, looking back at him over her shoulder.Her ass was full, pale, and inviting. “C’mon, Ranger.Don’t make me ask.”
He needed no further encouragement. He spat into his palm, slicked himself, and guided the head of his cock to her soaked entrance. He pushed in, not with a slow, romantic slide, but with a single, decisive thrust that buried him to the hilt.Jan cried out, a sharp, satisfying sound that echoed off the tiles.
“Fuck, yes,” she grunted, pushing back against him.
He set a brutal, driving pace from the start. Each thrust was a full-body impact, his balls slapping against her, the water sluicing over their joined forms. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into soft flesh, holding her steady as he hammered into her. Jan’s cries became a continuous stream of filthy encouragement.“Yeah, just like that!Pound that fucking cunt!Harder! You feel how fucking wet you make me?You feel that?”
He did. Her channel was a hot, silken vice, clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. He fucked her with the focused intensity of a mission, each snap of his hips a calculated strike. One hand left her hip and snaked around to her front, finding her clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles against the swollen nub, and her whole body seized.“Cameron! Oh, god, right there, don’t stop, fucking don’t stop!”
Her orgasm ripped through her, a violent, shaking thing. Her inner muscles milked him desperately, and with a guttural roar, he followed. He drove in as deep as he could and held, his release pumping into her in hot, pulse after pulse, his body shuddering against hers.
They stood there for a long moment, panting, the water cooling around them. He slipped out of her, and she turned, leaning into him for support, her face buried in his neck.“Okay,” she mumbled. “Now I’m warmed up.”
An hour later, they were dressed and in Jan’s beat-up hybrid, Godfrey III on her lap wearing his official-looking vest. Cameron drove, his gaze scanning the streets with unconscious tactical awareness.Their first stop was Mike and Casey’s.
The house smelled of coffee and burnt toast. In the living room, Calista was attempting to meditate while Mona buzzed around her with a tuning fork and a smudge stick. Mandy and Ben were glued to a handheld gaming device on the couch, their legs tangled together. Mike was elbow-deep in the guts of a disassembled smart-fridge.
“Where’s Casey?” Jan asked, brushing past Mona’s offered sage.“Studio. She’s pissed a gallery rejected her seascape,” Mike said, not looking up.“Something about ‘anachronistic hope’ in a post-magic world. Bullshit. It’s a picture of a damn wave.”
“Rick around?”
Mandy paused her game.“He left early.Said he was meeting Felicity and some new friend about bakery stuff. Felicity texted me this morning all jazzed about it.”
Jan and Cameron exchanged a glance. “New friend,” Jan echoed.“A girl?”
“Yeah.Lorna, I think? Felicity met her at some lecture.”
The name landed like a lead weight. Jan felt the familiar, thrilling chill of a puzzle piece snapping into a dangerous place. “You have an address for this meeting?”
Ben looked up, sensing the shift in tone.“Mandy? That text you got…”
Mandy was already pulling out her phone, her thumbs flying.“She sent a pin. Looks like… that new artisanal place on Halsted? The one with the weird clay cups.”
Jan was already moving.“Mike, tell Casey we might need back-up annoyance later. C’mon, Ranger.”
They were back in the car in under thirty seconds. Cameron navigated the midday traffic with calm precision. “You think that’s her?”
“A young woman named Lorna who’s suddenly besties with a smart, impressionable girl and wants to talk bakery with a talented, directionless guy?Yeah,” Jan said, her fingers stroking Godfrey’s head. “I think that’s her.”
The cafe was all reclaimed wood and hanging ferns. They spotted them immediately, in a corner booth. Rick, looking earnest and excited, gesturing with his hands.Felicity, bright-eyed, nodding along.And between them, Lorna Dunlevy.
Jan stopped just inside the door. She didn’t use her Green Moon sight often; it was too garish, like looking at a world made of emotional neon. But she flicked it on now.
Rick was outlined in a warm, but faint and slightly confused amber—passion without a clear path. Felicity glowed a brighter, intellectual blue, but thin, shimmering strands of pinkish-red spiraled around her aura, originating from Lorna. Lorna herself was a cascade of mesmerizing, dangerous violet. Her magic wasn’t a solid aura, but a pulsing, soundless song that visually wormed its way into the space around her companions, attaching to their light like psychic leeches.“She’s feeding,” Jan whispered to Cameron.“Not just compelling. She’s sucking on their… their enthusiasm.Their potential. Making it hers.”
Cameron’s jaw tightened.“Direct approach?”
“Too public. And she’s got her hooks in deep.A scene here just makes us look crazy.” Jan let her normal sight return. She put on a wide, friendly smile and sauntered over, Cameron a steady presence behind her.
“Well, hello, kiddos!Fancy meeting you here.”
Rick looked up, surprised but pleased. “Aunt Jan!Cameron.Hey!This is Lorna. Lorna, this is my… well, she’s my Aunt Jan.”
Lorna’s smile was instant, professional, and utterly captivating.Her eyes locked onto Jan’s.“So lovely to meet you. Rick has mentioned you. The famous ‘Red Tornado.’” Her voice was like poured cream, smooth and rich.Jan felt the whisper of it against her mind, a gentle probe seeking a crack, a purchase. It found none. Green Moon initiates were resistant to external emotional manipulation; their magic worked from the inside out.“Guilty as charged,” Jan chirped, pulling over a chair without invitation. She let her power flare, just a bit. Not the Power of Exposure, but the simple, comforting warmth of the Green Moon—the sense of coming home, of shared joy. She saw Felicity blink, as if shaking off a drowse. Rick’s smile softened into something more genuinely relaxed.
Lorna’s perfect smile didn’t falter, but her water-blue eyes chilled by a degree.She’d felt the resistance.“We were just discussing Rick’s business plan. He has such a visionary palate.”
“He gets it from his mom,” Jan said easily, leaning forward.“The talent, I mean. The business sense, we’re still praying for.” She winked at Rick.“So, Lorna. Where’d you say you trained again?”
“Paris.Vienna.A little in Kyoto,” Lorna said, the names flowing like a melody. “The focus is on the alchemy of flavor. The transformation of simple ingredients into experience.” Her voice subtly emphasized transformation, experience. The psychic tendrils around Rick and Felicity throbbed.Jan’s phone buzzed loudly.She made a show of looking at it. “Oh, hell.Cameron, darling, we gotta run.Emergency at the… community center. You know how it is.” She stood, clapping Rick on the shoulder.“You kids have fun. Lorna, a real pleasure.We should have tea sometime.Swap stories. I knew a siren once.Did a mean version of ‘Jolene.’”
The atmosphere in the booth froze. Lorna’s gaze turned sharp as shattered glass. The melodic quality vanished from her voice, leaving something flat and cold.“Did you.”
“Mmhmm.Cellmates. Wild story.” Jan’s grin was all teeth.“Anyway.Ta-ta!”
She swept out, Cameron at her heel. Once in the car, she let the fake smile drop.“She’s powerful. And she’s dug in.She knows I know.”
Cameron started the engine. “What now?”
“Now we don’t just find her. We strip away what she’s feeding on.” Jan pulled out her phone, her mind racing. “We need to get Rick and Felicity away from her, break the contact.And we need to know what she really wants. It’s not a job at a bakery.”
She texted quickly, to a group thread labeled ‘Goddamn Weirdness Committee’: Code Lemonade.Siren located, influence confirmed. Targetting Rick & Felicity.Gathering at Rebecca’s in 1 hour. Bring insights, baked goods, and a healthy sense of outrage.
The response was almost immediate from Fatima: Understood.I have been examining the psychic residue.It is complex.I will bring clarity.
From Casey: On my way.Mike is bringing the outrage.It’s pre-packaged.
From Hank: I’ll bring the beer.This sounds like a beer thing.
Jan looked out the window as Cameron pulled into traffic, heading toward the Winkles’ sleek, shifting home. The hunt was no longer just about finding the predator. It was about surgically removing its teeth before it took a bite out of their family.She felt the old, chaotic energy stirring, the Red Tornado gathering force. This wasn’t about sanitization.This was about protection. And she was very, very good at it.
The obsidian walls of Rebecca’s dining room seemed to swallow the nervous energy of the assembled adults. Jan stood close to Rebecca, her green eyes narrowed in concentration as she performed a light diagnostic sweep, her fingers not touching but hovering near the other woman’s temples. The faint, sickly-sweet psychic residue shimmered in Jan’s sight, a gossamer cobweb of influence.
“You’ve got a touch of it, Beck,” Jan said, her voice low and clinical. “Like perfume on a coat you brushed past. Nothing like the anchor lines she’s sunk into Felicity and Rick.” Rebecca’s hand fluttered to her throat, her earlier enthusiasm now hollowed out by dread. Charlie stood rigid beside her, his face pale. Jan turned her scrutiny on him. “You’re clean. Spotless.”
Charlie’s exhale was a shudder of released tension. “I felt it,” he whispered, his voice rough. “A wrongness in the air, in her voice. I just… felt it.” The vindication in his eyes was tempered by profound relief and a deeper horror.
The rest of the crew filled the room, a murmur of urgent conversation. Mike and Casey arrived, Casey smelling of turpentine and irritation. Hank carried a case of local IPA, his usual joviality absent. Fatima stood by the shifting wall, her elegance a still point in the chaos, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as she analyzed the room’s metaphysical echoes. Bethany, in a crisp charcoal blazer, and Liam, his poet’s face drawn tight, stood close together. Brigid O’Connor, sharp-eyed and professional in cardiologist’s scrubs, listened intently. Mara and Zack, Vivian and Dale, Katie Manelli with her partner Lena—all faces etched with familiar concern. Stacy stood apart, her posture military-straight, her eyes fixed on nothing, seeing only the ghost of a future being stolen.
A large holographic screen flickered to life, revealing Yukio and her daughter Mai against a backdrop of misty, fern-choked mountains. “We’re in New Zealand tracking a Taniwha rumor,” Yukio said, her tattooed arms crossed. “But sirens? Nasty business. They don’t just persuade. They addict. This is serious. We’re portaling in ASAP.”
Charlie cleared his throat, the teacher seeking order. “We need to check Bruce MacDougal. He was at the study session last night. He may have been exposed.” The silence that followed was absolute.
Liam’s broad shoulders slumped. Bethany’s hand, which had been resting on her husband’s arm, clenched the fabric of his shirt. Their son. The horror became personal, visceral.“I’ll access the Archimedes archives,” Brigid stated, already tapping on a translucent data-slate. “Their taxonomic classifications of vampiric entities are exhaustive.”
“I… I wrote a book,” Amy offered, her voice small. Jason put an arm around her. “A romance novel. ‘The Siren’s Heart.’ I did months of research into their mythological behaviors. The notes are detailed. It’s all about symbolic consumption.”
Stacy finally spoke, her voice a wire pulled taut. “She can’t have him. I didn’t wait through two decades of timeline fuckery for some songbird to swoop in and steal his mind.” The raw possessiveness in her tone was not jealousy, but a fierce, protective love forged in impossible circumstances.
Fatima stepped forward, her calm authority drawing every eye. “The immediate priority is containment. We quarantine our children from this vector. No contact. We then devise a method to sever her connections without causing psychic collateral damage.” Bethany nodded, a Golden Wand approving a tactical plan. Mara opened her mouth, a legal objection about personal autonomy forming, but she closed it, conceding to the emergency.
At that exact moment, four miles away, initiative fatally overrode instruction. Kim Powers, her curved sword in a back-scabbard under her jacket, pushed open the door of the ‘Clay Cup’ cafe. Mandy, Calista, Ben, and Maryam fanned out behind her, a wall of determined youth. Maryam hefted the Louisville Slugger on her shoulder. Calista’s right hand was clenched, tiny licks of orange flame dancing between her knuckles.
“Guys, maybe the bat and the fire are a bit… confrontational for a public coffee shop?” Ben murmured, eyeing the other patrons.
“She’s a predator,” Kim stated, her hazel eyes scanning the room. They found Lorna, sitting alone now, sipping tea and reading a tablet. “We don’t negotiate.”
They surrounded her table. Lorna looked up, her expression one of beautiful, innocent surprise. “Can I help you?”
“You’re Lorna Dunlevy,” Kim said, her voice flat. “You’re using magic on our friends. You will release them. Now.”
Lorna’s eyes widened, a perfect performance of wounded confusion. She set her cup down with a delicate clink. “Oh, my dears. There is such a tragic misunderstanding here.” Her voice washed over them, a physical wave of soothing, honeyed warmth. “I would never harm anyone. I only want to help. Rick’s bakery, Felicity’s studies… Bruce’s strong hands. I see such potential, such beautiful light. I just want to… nurture it.”
The words slithered past ears, into minds. Mandy’s defiant smirk softened into a blank, pleasant smile. Maryam’s grip on the bat loosened. Ben’s cautious posture relaxed, his eyes glazing over. Lorna’s voice tuned itself, finding the frequency of their individual desires—acceptance, purpose, belonging.
“See?” Lorna crooned, standing slowly, a vision of conciliatory grace. “We’re all friends here. There’s no dark side. Only connection.”
Kim staggered, the hilt of her sword digging into her back as she fought. She was a Green Moon initiate, but new, her discipline a fragile dam against the torrent. “No… that’s a lie…” she gritted out, sweat beading on her forehead.
Calista snarled, her half-elf heritage providing a natural buffer against enchantment. The flames in her hand flared. “Stay out of our heads, you bitch!”
Lorna’s gaze snapped to her, the melodic tone sharpening into a piercing, focused command. “You will be still.”
The compulsion hit Calista like a physical blow, but it shattered against the innate Glamour of her elven blood. It didn’t stick. She saw Mandy step closer to Lorna, nodding dreamily. She saw Ben put a placating hand on Maryam’s arm. She saw Kim’s eyes roll back as her last defense crumbled, her body slumping sideways toward the floor.
Terror, cold and pure, electrified Calista. Her friends were gone, their faces smoothing into identical, adoring masks turned toward Lorna. She acted. She dropped her fire, lunged forward, and caught Kim’s unconscious form before it hit the ground.
Lorna laughed, a sound like crystal wind chimes. “Run along, little elf. Tell the adults their children are in better hands now.”
“Mandy! Ben! Snap out of it!” Calista cried, hauling Kim up.
Her sister and her friends didn’t hear her. They were focused on Lorna, their expressions eager and blank. “What can we do for you?” Mandy asked, her voice monotone.
“How can we please you?” Ben echoed.
Calista turned and ran, Kim a dead weight in her arms, the sound of Lorna’s laughter and the sycophantic murmurs of her thralls chasing her out into the cold afternoon.