The Devil's Chord

“So you said you’ve been living with a man for three years and he won’t release you?” Annja posited.

The mythology on selkies fascinated Annja, but she didn’t believe in them for a moment. The idea of a seal-like creature coming to shore and shedding its skin to transform into a beautiful woman... Well.

On the other hand, this was exactly the sort of story Chasing History’s Monsters sought. Something her fans would eat up.

“Yes. Matteo has hidden my pelt so I cannot go home,” Sirena said. She toyed with the ends of her seaweed-colored hair. Bright, glossy gray eyes always seemed to be filled with tears, but not a one ever ran down her cheek. “I love him, but...” She glanced out the bistro’s window. Across the street the shore sat close. Seagulls swept down from the blue sky and tourists headed for the beach.

“But your home is in the sea,” Annja finished for her. She glanced to Ian. He gave her a thumbs-up. The guy was good at hiding his smirk. So long as he got this conversation on film, that was all that mattered. “Do you ever go in the water now? Swim in the sea? What would happen if you did?”

“I’d sink,” Sirena said. The waif sighed heavily. “When in this human form I am bulky and unskilled in the water. But I do like to soak in the bathtub for hours. Matteo laughs at me because I insist on remaining even after the water has grown cold.” She shivered and pushed aside her empty coffee cup.

Annja was not a good judge of another couple’s relationship. But something about Sirena seemed wrong. And it wasn’t at all related to the bleak possibility she may have once lived in the water.

She reached across the table and placed a hand over Sirena’s, knowing Doug would whoop when he saw the footage. Whenever she could capture an emotional moment, her producer always rubbed his fingers together in the universal money sign. Ratings gold, he’d say.

But she wasn’t forcing this feeling. She was genuinely concerned for Sirena.

“Are you and Matteo okay, Sirena? Is he...harming you?”

The woman’s head snapped up, and her gaze met Annja’s briefly. She pulled her hand from Annja’s and reached for the macramé purse at her hip and slid out of the booth so quickly, Annja slammed into Ian in an attempt to follow her.

The cameraman shuffled out of the booth, allowing Annja to pursue the escaping interviewee.

“I’m sorry, the interview is over,” Sirena said firmly. “I thought you wanted to know about my kind, not delve into my personal life. I have to leave now. Please don’t follow me. You are not welcome at my home.”

“Sirena, I’ll tell him to turn off the camera.”

Annja nodded to Ian, and he lowered the camera. She rushed after the anxious woman, who hustled outside.

On the sidewalk, Annja grabbed Sirena by the arm, standing so close she got a whiff of salt, as if Sirena had been swimming in the ocean and hadn’t rinsed off. “Wait. You can talk to me, Sirena. Woman to woman.”

Sirena tugged away from Annja’s grasp. “You could never understand the sacrifice I made for love.”

With that, she scampered across the street, and for the first time, Annja noticed that beneath the long skirt dusting her ankles, Serena was barefoot. A bohemian refugee plunked in the middle of a seaside village? Probably not a drastic leap to concoct and believe in her story of waves and woe.

“You think she’s going to be okay?” Ian asked from behind Annja.

“I’m not sure.”

Sirena stopped at a beat-up red pickup truck. A man slid out from behind the wheel and kissed her. When she spoke to him, his eyes darted across the street and targeted Annja.

“I guess that’s the boyfriend.” Annja offered a wave, then, sensing she wasn’t getting a warm stare in return, she nodded to Ian. “Let’s head back to the hotel and look over the footage. See if we have enough for a segment or if we need to entice Sirena to talk some more.”

After an afternoon of going through the footage, Annja determined they did have some great shots. She could cobble together a short segment for the show. Though Doug would still want to see fins slapping the water’s surface or some other bit of silliness. He could add that himself.

During supper Ian suggested they do a follow-up with Sirena, perhaps in a week or two. By then she would have had some time to think about what Annja had said to her today. It sounded like a good idea. Annja was not beyond extending her stay in Italy for a few weeks. If Doug would cover her expenses, she’d dig around for another story idea. She’d start with Rosalia, the patron of Palermo, who had lived during the twelfth century and saved the city from the plague. Her bones were interred here.

After supper, and still waiting for the okay from Doug to stick around in Italy, Annja and Ian headed back to the shore to capture some night shots. Moonlight glimmered across the water’s surface. She stood back, toeing a thatch of ragged grass while Ian strode the rocky shore.

The clatter of stones and footsteps alerted her just as someone grabbed Ian’s camera and shoved him hard enough to make her colleague fall backward and land on the ground.

Recognizing the man who’d pushed Ian, Annja rushed him and prevented him from swinging a fist toward the fallen cameraman.

“Shove off!” Matteo hissed at Annja as he wrestled away from her. “You two get out of town and stop harassing Sirena.”

“We’re filming a story,” Annja defended. “And we were invited by Sirena. Is there something you want to tell us?”

“I just did. Keep away from Sirena. You are not putting footage of her on TV.”

“Why? Because she believes she is a selkie?”

The dark-haired bruiser with a few days’ beard growth stared at her. He seemed overly worked up considering the circumstances. Why was he so uptight about them and what Sirena could tell them? Annja noted the reek of alcohol, which was likely only fortifying his mean streak.

Sirena had been afraid of him.

Matteo lunged for her. Annja bent at the waist, twisting, and kicked low, catching him below the knee. He yelped and toppled forward, but managed to grip her by the hair as he went down. She rolled over his body, landed on the loose shore stones and came up to her feet in a squat.

“Do you hurt her, Matteo?” she asked.

He sneered and pushed off the ground, coming to a stand.

Annja jumped up before him. She could feel the sword hum from within the otherwhere, there if she needed it. But she didn’t want to introduce a weapon to this scuffle. She didn’t suspect Matteo was armed with anything more than fear of exposure.

“She tells lies,” he hissed.

“So you’re not keeping her with you against her will?”

“She...she said that? You’re lying to me!” He swung at Annja, but she dodged him easily. The man wasn’t so drunk. He maintained his footing and, bouncing back and forth, showed her his fists. “Stay away from her!”

Out the corner of her eye, Annja saw Ian fumble to his feet. He didn’t go for his camera. Thankfully, he had the good sense that this would not make for good television.

Matteo dived for her and gripped her about the waist, pushing them both to the hard ground. “You give me what’s on that camera.” He punched, landing a bruising set of knuckles against her throat.

Annja kicked, connecting her boot toe with his gut, but not hard enough to injure. Instead, she flipped him onto his back and crawled on top of him, straddling his hips. A right fist to his jaw spattered blood across the rocks. She’d never backed away from a fight, and admittedly, it adrenalized her. Frankly, it was easy when she fought against a man like this.

“You let her go,” she insisted, landing another punch that served to loosen his tense jaw muscles.

His shoulders dropped and Matteo stopped fighting, though he hadn’t been knocked out.

“Let her do as she wishes. If Sirena wants to leave you, let her go.”

“But...” He fisted the ground at his sides. Growling in frustration, he sputtered, “I don’t know where it is!”

“Where what is?”

Behind her Ian scrambled with his equipment.

“The pelt!” Matteo cried.