The Depths: The Siren Sisters, #1

Prologue

A THICK LAYER OF EARLY morning fog had settled around the tiny port town, flooding the streets and limiting visibility to no more than a few yards at best. But the woman that glided through one of these narrow cobblestone streets welcomed the fog. It reduced the likelihood of her being seen. Bundled tightly in a wool cloak, she moved at a deliberate pace, slowing every twenty paces or so to spare a brief glance over her shoulder.

Upon reaching the end of the street, she came to a stop and hugged the wall of an old brick building while peering around the corner to gaze at the courtyard that lay beyond. The fog obscured much of the courtyard, but she was familiar enough with this town to know exactly where she needed to go. She’d spent enough time here to picture the layout as well as most people could picture the layout of their own home.

But this was not her home.

And she couldn’t stay here.

It was time to return to where she belonged. To the home that every fiber of her being longed for since the day she left.

But she had to take it one step at a time. And right now that meant crossing the courtyard before worrying about anything else. Even with the fog, the lack of cover concerned her. She could only hope it would be enough.

Was she being overcautious?

Maybe. But this was a matter of life and death. A game of cat and mouse. And like most games of cat and mouse, it never ended well for the mouse should it come out on the losing end.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled the cloak tighter around herself, making certain that her long, silky dark hair was tucked inside—a dead giveaway to her pursuers should they spot her. Then she took her first step out into the courtyard. The stones beneath her feet were slick from the moisture in the air, and the air was heavy with the salty scent of the ocean. A scent so alluring that her skin prickled the moment she got a whiff of it.

The sea was so close.

Not only could she smell it and hear the distant waves crashing against the rocks, but she could also feel herself being drawn to it.

That was her home.

That was where she belonged.

She was being called back to the depths, and it was a call that she could no longer ignore. Nearly a full year of only seeing her home from afar left her feeling like a little piece of her was dying each day.

It was now or never. To turn back would be to accept a long and agonizing death as her will to live slowly evaporated. Only once she felt the briny sea swallow her up and caress her in its comforting embrace again would she feel at home.

But she could not get ahead of herself. First, the courtyard, then the narrow street on the other side, then the harbor, and finally . . . journey's end.

About halfway across the courtyard, it dawned on her that there was no one around. The sun had hardly been up for an hour, so many of the town’s inhabitants were likely still fast asleep in their beds, but still . . . it was too quiet.

There would normally be men and women getting their shops ready to open, fishermen heading out to their boats to get an early start, and perhaps a few early rising children chasing cats and dogs in the streets. But there were no signs of life. Not even the cries of seabirds.

The wind was also strangely absent. The leaves on the trees remained utterly still, as if they had been petrified.

It was like a ghost town. And that gave her pause. She considered going back, but the lure of the ocean—closer now than it had been in many months—was too tempting for her to pass on. She continued on her way, not slowing, but picking up her pace instead. It was only a little further after all. There was no turning back now.

Reaching the other side of the courtyard, she started down the narrow street. Believing that the hardest part was over with provided her with a boost of confidence. But it wasn’t long before a sound suddenly cut through the silence and ripped that confidence away from her in a heartbeat. It was the sound of footsteps.

She came to an abrupt halt and glanced over her shoulder, but she saw nothing save for the buildings on either side of the street, roofs hidden by the dense fog that appeared to be getting thicker the closer that she got to the ocean, unless her eyes were playing tricks on her.

And perhaps her ears were too.

She continued on her way, rounded a corner, and then saw the end of the street about thirty feet ahead. Beyond that was the harbor. She knew it even though the fog was too thick for her to see any of the ships moored there.

Knowing her destination was near, thirty feet soon became twenty. And then ten. But she was forced to stop before she could go any further when three women suddenly materialized out of the fog ahead of her. Their footsteps echoing in the narrow street. They dressed in simple clothing—jeans, t-shirts, and coats—and were very similar to one another in appearance. All long-legged, slender, and tall.

Her heart now pounding in her chest, the woman started to back away from the new arrivals. Then she turned around, about to hurry back the way she came—in hopes of finding another way to the harbor—but didn’t take more than two steps before being cut off again by two other women. Very similar to the others.

And just like that, she was surrounded. She turned back around to face the first three women when she heard one of them speak.

You know why we’re here. It was the one in the middle who spoke. Her hair fiery red and her eyes a vibrant shade of green. We want the child, Cyrena. Now where is he? We both know you can’t hide him from us.

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Don’t play coy with us. You gave birth to a male child. You know the law, and you know what needs to be done. Tell us where to find him, or you will be branded a traitor and face the consequences for your actions.

Do whatever you want to me, Larissa. Cyrena clenched her jaw and furrowed her brow. And tear this whole town apart brick by brick if you have to, but you’ll never find my son.

The redhead stepped closer to Cyrena and smiled without showing any teeth. Just a subtle curl of her pert lips. You’re only prolonging the inevitable. Now, I’m only going to give you one more chance. Where is the child?

Cyrena shook her head. The law is wrong. He’s not what you think he is.

You might be willing to risk finding out, but I’m not. Larissa glanced at the two women that flanked her in turn. Take her. She might not be willing to cooperate now, but I have a feeling we can change that with a little . . . persuasion.

You’re going to torture me, Larissa?

I’m going to do whatever I have to.

The two women grabbed Cyrena by her arms. She struggled against them, but it quickly became apparent that her efforts were wasted. Was this it? Had she come this far only to fail now? She glanced out at the harbor again. The fog still obscuring her view of the ocean. Then she lowered her head and ceased her struggling.

But as she did, she caught a glimpse of something familiar hidden within the inner coat pocket of the woman on her left.

Throwing her elbow into the other woman’s gut, she freed her right arm and then reached into the pocket to grasp the handle of the knife and then pull it out. She wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulders and then held the blade up to her throat.

Stay back, she shouted at the others.

They did as they were told. None of them dared to come near.

Put that down, Larissa said, holding her hands out in front of her with palms facing out. Are you really going to kill one of your own kind?

Why not? That’s what you came here to do.

That’s different. I don’t have a choice.

Cyrena let her gaze settle on the knife. Both grip and blade carved from coral. She knew the blade would be coated in a deadly venom powerful enough to stop a heart from beating within seconds. Then she looked up at Larissa.

Nor do I . . .

Larissa’s eyes widened. Cyrena, no.

Too late. Cyrena moved the blade away from her captive and then slashed herself across her own throat. Her legs grew weak mere seconds before giving out from underneath her. As the side of her head hit the cobblestone and her vision blurred, she thought of her son. Hidden far away from here . . . and safe.

•         

1

LUKE ANDERSON BROUGHT THE COVERS up over his head to shield his eyes from the sun shining in through his window, forcing itself in like an unwanted house guest. But his efforts were in vain. The sun had already torn him from his peaceful slumber, and it didn’t look like there was any going back.

Heaving a sigh, he opened his eyes, pulled the covers off, and then slowly sat up. He threw his feet over the side of the bed and then stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand beside the bed and swiped the screen to check the time. Twenty after six. He probably could have slept in another ten minutes if he really wanted to, but he was up now so there was no point.

After a quick shower, Luke took a handful of minutes to brush his teeth, run a comb through his mop of dark hair, and then throw on a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt underneath a black hoodie.

He left the bathroom and returned to the nightstand to grab his phone. And then, like he did every morning, he opened the top drawer and reached inside to retrieve the amulet.

Attached to a silver chain, the totem was made from bronze and had a greenish hue due to oxidization. It was circular in shape with a three-pronged trident design in the center. He held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, feeling the weight of it, before slipping the chain over his head. Then he zipped up his hoodie so that the amulet was hidden underneath.

He shut the drawer and was about to turn away and leave the bedroom when his eyes settled on the photograph atop the nightstand. The photo of his mother. Brown hair so dark it was nearly black, eyes gray-green, and features sharp, she was a very beautiful woman.

Luke shared her dark hair and gray-green eyes, but the similarities pretty much ended there. His features were much softer, his cheeks were covered in freckles, and his hair was curly where’s hers was straight.

He could only imagine those features came from his father. Someone he never met and knew nothing about. Even his uncle knew nothing about him since he was never in the picture.

Luke thought about his parents a lot when he was a small child, but the older that he got, the less they crossed his mind. Now that he was sixteen, he was much more focused on other things like friends, school, helping out his uncle, and—like most guys his age—a girl.

Grabbing his backpack on his way out, Luke left the room and then started to head for the narrow stairwell that led to the first floor. The upstairs and downstairs of the small two-story structure were separated—doubling as a home upstairs and his uncle’s fishing supply store down below.

His uncle had been running the store for as long as Luke could remember, and he started helping out in the store when he was about fourteen. Now he found himself knowing more about fishing than he ever wanted to. He could manage the store pretty much on his own, which he often did when his uncle was out on one of his fishing trips—sometimes for several days. It wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but his uncle would give him a little money at the end of the day each time, so it was worth it.

Reaching the foot of the rickety stairs, Luke pushed open a door and entered the store. It was as disorderly as ever. He once made the mistake of telling his uncle that he should straighten the place up. All that got him was an afternoon of tidying up the store, which wouldn’t have been so bad had it not ended up just as messy less than a week later.

His uncle wasn’t an organized man. Both the house and the store reflected that. Things just placed wherever was convenient with no real order or purpose to it all. It drove Luke crazy, but his uncle’s usual customers—half the fisherman in the small coastal town of Anchor Shores—weren’t bothered in the slightest.

Luke was already halfway across the store when he heard his uncle’s deep, gruff voice call out his name, bringing his feet to a swift halt. He looked over his shoulder at the stairwell.

Come back up here, his uncle said, voice sounding like it was coming from the top of the stairs. I need to have a quick word with you.

Luke rolled his eyes. Can’t we talk later, Uncle Earl? I don’t want to miss the bus.

You’re not going to miss the bus. Now come back up here. I’ll be in the kitchen.

That put an end to any further arguing on Luke’s part. No one was more stubborn than Earl Fitzpatrick. Luke had learned that the hard way growing up under his roof. It was always a forgone conclusion who would win in a battle of wills between the two of them.

Marching back up the stairs, Luke went to the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe and peered inside to find his uncle sitting at the table, eating a bowl of oatmeal and raisins.

Man, I must be hungry if that looks good, Luke thought. He wished that he had gotten up early enough to eat breakfast—a reoccurring problem for him.

So what do you want to talk about? Luke asked, trying hard not to allow his impatience to shine through in his voice.

Have a seat. His uncle gestured to the chair beside his with his spoon before shoving the spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth.

Luke frowned. He got the feeling this talk wasn’t going to be as brief as his uncle led him to believe. Regardless, he did as he was told and sat down in the seat that his uncle pointed out. He leaned back with his arms folded. Then stared at his uncle, waiting for him to speak.

Uncle Earl definitely looked the part of the seasoned fisherman that he was. A head of receding dark hair streaked with gray hidden beneath a mariner’s cap, tanned and leathery skin, a permanent five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache like a caterpillar living just beneath his nose. He wore the same outfit virtually every day—an old button down blue-gray shirt, worn jeans, and a fishing vest.

I’m really going to miss the bus, Luke said after growing tired of waiting for his uncle to speak up. Can’t we do this later?

Are you wearing your mother’s amulet? his uncle asked, scooping up another spoonful of oatmeal without even looking at Luke.

Yes, I am. Luke unzipped the top of his hoodie so that his uncle could see the amulet.

But his uncle didn’t look. Good, he said. You know your mother wanted you to wear it all the time. It was her last wish before she died.

Yeah. I know. You’ve told me that, like, a million times. He wasn’t surprised by the question. It was the same question his uncle asked him every morning before he left for school. "So is that really what