Another little-known thing about sirens was that they could also transform into birds, being the offspring of the river god Achelous and a nightingale he had turned into a woman after falling in love with its, well, voice.
Hence our local aviary, I thought, which Thelxiope herself owned. She was one of the lucky few, having married a wealthy lumber baron a few hundred years back and had been his sole beneficiary as his widow. She had lived a quiet life since then, with her wealth managed by humans who were paid handsomely not to ask too many questions about her remarkable longevity.
As Paul snapped his umbrella close behind me, I could only watch in awed silence as the nightingale with its magenta-streaked wings slowly transformed itself in a shimmery, silver swirl that gradually fell away in layers of silk to reveal a woman whose hair was the same shade as her wings.
“Thelxiope.” Paul bowed his head in respect as the woman stepped out of her larger-than-life cage, built right at the center of the greenhouse.
The siren let out a musical laugh as beautiful as a stanza from one of Beethoven’s masterpieces. “Oh, my dear boy. You are charmingly old-fashioned as always. I am known as Thelma now, you know.”
“Thelma it is,” Paul agreed smilingly.
“And you?” The siren’s eyes danced in merriment. “What do you call yourself these days?”
“Just Paul,” was his easy reply but with a meaningful look slanted at my direction.
I was torn between amusement and exasperation. “Can’t you at least try to be a little more subtle about the fact you’re hiding something from me?” My words were half serious, too, but the way both of them laughed made it evident that they were doing anything but take me seriously.
“Your name, sweet witch?”
“It’s, umm, Blair, and how did you know—-” I stopped speaking.
I had to, since Thelma, as it turned out, was no different from the rest.
Paul grinned when I made a face at the way Thelma was seized by uncontrollable laughter the moment she realized I was a witch named Blair.
Cast that movie!
“I’m so sorry,” the siren said half a minute later as she wiped tears from her eyes. “It’s just that it’s such a delicious irony, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said glumly. “I do know.”
Thelma gave my hand a comforting squeeze. “Cheer up. It’s still a lot better than this other witch I know.”
“There’s something worse than being a witch named Blair?”
“Absolutely,” the siren said with a mischievous grin. “It’s called being a witch named Sand.”
“What’s so—-”
Oh.
I just had to laugh after that. True or not, that was good, and it did make me feel better about my name.
“Now then...” Thelma’s tone turned inquiring. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Fifteen minutes later, and Paul and I were saying our goodbyes to the siren. We didn’t have all the answers we needed, but we had enough. Although Thelma hadn’t recognized the siren in the photo, she had suggested we ask around at Dion’s bars outside town, which nowadays were the only place in state that sirens could find employment.
Hours of rain made the downhill road wounding all the way to the park’s gates from the greenhouse more slippery, and I found myself letting out a tiny gasp as I lost my footing and started to slip.
“Gotcha.” Paul’s strong arm curled around my waist, and I fell against him with a gasp.
“S-Sorry.” I pulled away quickly, blushing, but instead of letting me go completely he took my hand and placed it on his arm.
“Hold on to me for now,” Paul murmured.
“Really, it’s not necessa—-” I stopped speaking when Paul suddenly stiffened.
A moment later, he had shoved me behind him, the umbrella slipping out of his grip as a single gunshot rang in the air.
