Page 7 of Song of Lorelei

They’d started first thing in the morning, but it was nearly five o’clock by the time they’d finished.

Dr. Something-or-Whatever sighed heavily, drumming his fingernails against the underside of his clipboard in an impatient tattoo. Peering over his glasses at the mermaid, he arched one scraggly caterpillar of an eyebrow, and in a snide tone said, “Do you understand what we mean by ‘informed consent?’ now? And that we need you to be able to give it before we begin testing?”

For someone whose job it was to establish research compliance and subject consent, he really was rather a dick about it, as if the whole process was a complete waste of his time, and that attitude wasn’t lost in translation, even though much of the paperwork had been.

Nireed shot out of her chair, slapping the clipboard out of his hand. It launched across the room, and Lila yelped, barely ducking in time, as the clipboard grazed her halo of springy, corkscrew curls. It smacked the wall behind her before clattering to the floor.

A furious storm brewed in Nireed’s eyes, and her lips curled back in a snarl, pointed teeth flashing in the florescent light. And while Lorelei sympathized with her, half wanting to eat the man herself, letting the siren devour someone didn’t bode well for anyone. So, she stepped in between them, her hands outstretched, and fingers splayed. She motioned downward, parallel to the ground, with the flat palms of her hands, trying to get Nireed to calm down.

The cocky attitude disappeared.

Fear radiated off the scientist behind her in a fog so thick, Lorelei gagged on it, but her stomach grumbled, too, and saliva filled her mouth. That was bad. She’d even eaten canned pork with her breakfast that morning, but it wasn’t really helping.

If she started hunting, too, Dr. Dickhead was as good as dead, and Lila not far behind.

That could not happen.

Nireed’s nostrils flared, eyes locking onto the frightened scientist with laser precision. In response, Lorelei widened her stance, the hair on the back of her neck bristling. If only the reaction was purely protective, but the way her gums and nail beds ached, on the verge of unsheathing the sharp teeth and claws beneath, it was also an instinctual reaction to a challenger over prey.

“Shit.”

In her periphery, Lorelei saw Lila snatch a can of potted meat from the lab’s supply cabinet. They kept it well stocked with the canned meat. Cracking open the can, Lila waved it about as if to get its scent in the air, reminiscent of Dr. Grant distracting a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a flare in Jurassic Park.

Lorelei sniffed the air—make that Ian Malcolm. The overpowering scent of fear seared her olfactory senses. Not even a whiff of canned meat. And if Lorelei couldn’t smell it, Nireed couldn’t either. Lorelei pinched her nose and shook her head. Lila swore again and slid the can across the floor.

It hit Nireed’s bare foot.

The siren jumped, claws out and ready to eviscerate whatever touched her. If it weren’t for the gravity of the situation, Lorelei might have laughed at how cat-like it was.

Recognizing the blue and yellow can for what it was, Nireed crouched down and gobbled its contents. “No sudden movements,” Lila said in a low, firm tone. “Just back away slowly.”

“Should I call security?” the other scientist asked.

“No. We’ll be fine. Just do what I say, for once.”

Shoes scuffed against the tiled floor, followed by the lab door opening and clicking shut. Lorelei glanced over her shoulder. Dr. What’s-His-Face hadn’t gone far. He reappeared behind the shatterproof glass window, separating this part of the lab from the observation room. Through an intercom system, he could listen in and speak to them.

Lorelei sniffed again—just canned pork and Lila’s perfume. She sighed. That had been close. But the relief she felt wasn’t only for her colleague’s safety. It was her unburdening conscience. “We can have you out of here by the end of the day.”

“Uh…” Lila scrunched up her face. “What?”

Nireed rose to her feet, glaring at them in turn. “No.”

Lorelei furrowed her brow. “No?”

All that stood between the siren and freedom was a series of doors, two sets of security guards, a sidewalk, and the rocky shore. If she wanted to leave immediately, Lila could probably get her out of the building. Haven Cove Marine Research Center staff didn’t question the lead researcher too much.

The siren jabbed one clawed finger in Lorelei’s direction. “You wasted our time. Start the testing NOW.” She slapped the back of one hand against her palm. “We need the cure. You promised!”

The scientist behind the glass insisted that Nireed’s verbal consent wasn’t enough. It needed to be documented in writing. Nireed hissed at him. “You will not work unless I write on a piece of dead tree?”

“Uh, yeaaah.”

Lorelei could wring his neck.

While Dr. Asshole didn’t follow with a “duh,” she heard it plainly in his tone. Safe behind a wall of shatterproof glass, he could afford to have an attitude again, but the research team owed Nireed more patience and understanding. Not only was there a lingual, social, and cultural barrier to bridge—they weren’t even the same species.

“Those are the dumbest words I have ever heard, Two-Legger.”

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