Page 35 of The Sea Witch's Son

I let out a sigh, “There was a situation that required my attention.”

Calista snickers, “He’s found a new hobby. Stalking the latest transplant.”

“Is this one showing some resistance?” Tahira purses her lips, “I hategirls who don’t put up a chase.”

I watch as she teases the edge of Calista’s halter top, stroking the underside of her breast.

Calista purrs, leaning into her touch, “You should see the red hair. Almost as pretty as yours.”

“Maybe we should ask her to join us.”

Red nails rake over brown skin and painted lips brush over pale skin as the two women tease each other in front of me.

The wail of an ambulance sounds in the distance.

“The medics are coming to take care of the last girl who played with my little saint.” My lips split into a smile, “I would hate to add you both to the list.”

“Men. Always so possessive.”

Calista coos when Tahira kisses her neck. I watch for a few more minutes, feeling nothing but indifference.

The list of personality flaws I’ve been fortunate enough to inherit is long and distinguished, but oftentimes I wonder what it would be like to see the world as others do.

No. Not see the world.

Feelit.

There are many reasons why I’m drawn to the psychology of fear, but the physiological reaction is one of them. Hearing the sharp intake of breath, seeing the panic consume an individual’s mind and body is so painfully mortal that I find it rather stimulating.

“She’s in the ballroom chatting with Gus.” Calista flashes me a grin, “Looks like you have some competition after all.”

Suspicious Mindscroons out of the speakers and that’s my cue to leave. Snatching the wine bottle from the banister, I follow the atrocious portraits down the hall and into the ballroom. The unofficial dance floor is full of couples making out and swaying to Calista’s music.

I spy Melody next to the life-size statue of the Cartier family. The prodigy is standing next to her, rambling about himself no doubt, while my little saint stares solemnly at the dance floor.

I watch her observe the couples move clumsily against one another, the notes of Presley filling the air like the soundtrack of a B-list movie.

And like any good movie, her hero comes striding out of the crowd looking rather pathetic in a rumpled white t-shirt and blue jeans.

Good God. Does the man not know the iron was invented for a reason?

Chuckling to myself, I pass the wine bottle off to another couple. Leaning back against the wall, I make myself comfortable and wait for the credits to roll.

And they lived happily ever after... until I showed up.

Chapter 12

MELODY

I didn’t expect the Elvis playlist.

“It’s Calista.” Gus sighs, crossing his arms over his massive chest, “It’s her mating call.”

“Jailhouse Rockis her mating call?”

“That’s not even the freakiest part. She fucks girls more often than guys.”

I stare at him, “Aren’t you into guys?”

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