Hell's Belles Read online

  The shadows from the cables of the bridge fell across the walkway. I focused on them as people around me were panicking over this young girl who was standing on the edge of a railing, moments from a likely death.

  Suddenly, a familiar face. Hair so blonde it was white, tucked under a baseball cap. Zillah stood on the other side of the railing from me. My hands clutched the bars, the song still loud in my ears.

  I was confused when I saw Zillah. She smiled at me, her eyes soft and kind.

  “I hear it too, Emma,” she said.

  “You do?” I asked, somewhat relieved. “I thought I was crazy. No one else seems to hear it.”

  “Only the best people are able to hear the Sirens,” she said. People were getting upset seeing me dangling over the river. Zillah joined them for a moment, pretending to act like she was upset for me, that I was doing this out of some desperate need to douse my pain in the churning waters of the Cooper River.

  The song was more intense now. What the song was asking me to do was unthinkable. It didn’t make sense. The song beckoned me to come down toward the water. It demanded it.

  Zillah leaned close to me, where only I could hear her. “Listen to the song, Emma! If you do what it tells you, it stops. All of this stops. Don’t you want this to be over?”

  I looked at her, tears stinging my eyes.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I do. How do I make it stop?”

  “Do what the Siren is telling you, Emma,” Zillah urged.

  I took one last look at Zillah. I could hear police and fire truck alarms ringing in the distance. I knew, instinctively, they were coming for me.

  I looked down at the water. It was calm for a moment, no ships or boats around.

  I let go.

  When they interview people who have survived jumping off of bridges, every single person says they regret it the second they do it. When it’s already too late.

  Such as it was with me.

  As soon as I was in the air, the song stopped and I had my mind back. This was actually a cruel twist because now I knew exactly what was happening and exactly what I had done. I could think of nothing but terror. And the water was coming toward me very fast.

  In physics (a class I struggled with) we learned that falling from any higher than 150 feet toward water was surely a death sentence. People had survived in rare circumstances by hitting feet first, but even then the force of the impact would knock them unconscious and they would drown.

  These facts ran through my head like lightning as the water got closer and closer.

  I made sure my legs were below me, something that was difficult to do in my panicked state. I knew it was my only chance of at least surviving the fall. The bridge had to be at least 200 feet from the water where I jumped.

  Suddenly, blackness.

  I saw the face of my mother. My sister, Merritt. My sweet father. And Grandma. Their arms reached out to me and suddenly I was beyond happy. The song must have been them. They needed me back, to join them on the other side. It all made perfect sense.

  I reached out for them but they kept gliding away. My mother’s voice, “Not yet, sweetheart, there’s more for you to do.” Their faces gradually disappeared in the darkness of the abyss.

  Everything was slow. I tried to move my legs, but they felt so heavy I couldn’t make them budge. My mind was tired, my heart dense with longing. If I was going to die, I wished I would hurry up.

  In the murky abyss, I saw a flash of movement, and I had time to wonder if maybe it was a shark, and I wouldn’t drown after all. I’d be lunch. The form was lean and sleek; a very large, graceful fish, its tail powerfully cutting through the water. As it reached me, I figured I was hallucinating before my demise. The fish had a human form. Like a mermaid.

  Or in this case, a merman. It was clear the fish’s tail belonged to a lean man with broad shoulders, strong forearms, a muscled abdomen.

  And the face of Palmer Martin.

  PALMER MARTIN

  Palmer Martin knew the song of the Sirens well.

  He’d heard them singing all the way from Hobcaw Creek, close to the Wando River, at the mansion the Martin family owned on the marsh. As soon as their familiar call started, he knew something was wrong. The Sirens had been gone for decades. There was no reason for them to be back in Charleston.

  His first inclination was to ignore them, to mind his own business. His kind were bound to a truce, one that enabled them to shift to human form as long as they stayed out of the dealings of the supernatural elite.

  But there was something about the song. Something dark was afoot.

  All he could think about was the safety of Josephine. She’d told him about Emma’s arrival and what it potentially meant. Everyone knew that there was a certain sect of Charleston’s underground society that was not looking forward to the advent of the healer.

  What if the Sirens were calling for one of the Belles? Sirens never showed up anywhere unless it was to seduce trouble. They were also known for being the hired hands of Zillah and company. If they were back at the same time as Emma’s arrival, there was no way it was a coincidence.

  He would have to follow the song and try his best not to be charmed by it.

  He ran to the end of the long dock that jutted out from his family’s land. A pontoon boat puttered by and Palmer waved at the folks on board. He didn’t want to dive into the water until they had passed.

  Fortunately, no other boats were coming his way, and once the pontoon was out of his line of vision Palmer jumped, his body slicing through the muddy waters of the Hobcaw. As soon as he was deep enough, he shed his Nantucket reds, his polo shirt and his Sperry shoes. His legs fused together and within seconds he was back to his true form.

  The Martins were one of a dozen families of mermaids in the Charleston area. They had been living there for centuries, some of them coming over with the first Huguenots back in the 1600s. Their shape-shifting abilities had been at a cost back in those days. They were only allowed to be humans before dusk and after first light. But once in Charleston they made a deal with local root doctors in order to shift as they pleased. The price for this kind of freedom was simple; neutrality. Mermaids were not to ever get involved in the politics in the paranormal and arcane realm of their communities.

  But they were also expected to assist when needed by their liberators, something that, fortunately, did not happen often.

  Palmer was one of the youngest of his kind, born in the early 20th century to a mother and father who already had six children of their own. They were all still alive and thriving in their world, which wasn’t much different from the average human’s. Palmer had attended school years ago and now worked for his father’s law firm, which had an exclusive client list. He spent his days like any affluent Charlestonian of modern times. Lunches at the yacht club, summers on Sullivan’s Island, nights in the bars and pubs on King Street. It was a good life that Palmer Martin led.

  And he thought he’d been happy until he met Josephine Berkshire.

  Josephine was more than just beautiful. Being around her was intoxicating. She brought out the best in those around her and Palmer had fallen in love with her not just quickly, but deeply. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for her. Even knowing their relationship was completely forbidden, Palmer Martin admitted that if it came down to it, he would have given up his very life for hers.

  Which was why the Sirens’ song alarmed him. When it came to Josephine and anything she loved, Palmer would have climbed any mountain to make everything alright. If this had anything to do with Emma or the Belles, he had to find out. Only certain creatures could hear the Sirens and not be put under their spell. Mermen were some of the very few, but even then it could be a risk if the song was strong enough. But any of the Belles, other than Aleta and maybe Calista, would be helpless.

  Palmer swam easily and quickly through Hobcaw Creek, entering the Wando River at a speed that would have left any Olympian in his dust. Mermen were exceptionally fast
and quick and Palmer knew he could make it to the Harbor in just under ten minutes if he needed to.

  Beneath the water the song was faint, but he could still hear it. As he entered the Wando it was clear where it was coming from.

  The bridge.

  His heart pounded in his chest. There would be only one reason they would lead anyone to the great Ravenel, the towering suspension bridge that had become an iconic beacon to the Holy City. As fast as Palmer was, he knew that right now he needed to swim faster than he had ever swam in his life.

  Emma hit the water hard. She was semi-conscious when he found her, her body limp in his arms. He knew surfacing now was a risk too great for both of them. At this point, without knowing what the Sirens knew and who was out there, it was best that Emma’s fate be ambiguous. But he also knew he was the only one who could keep her alive. Emma could heal others but Palmer had no idea whether she could heal herself, or how long she needed to do that. She could still drown. He put his mouth to hers and gave her the air she needed to make the trip he knew was necessary for both of them to make it out alive.

  Going back toward Hobcaw was a bad idea. He didn’t want his family to know what had happened. They were unaware of his closeness to Josephine and it was best kept that way. Besides, there was nothing they could do to help Emma. They would probably insist he abandon her at an emergency room. The Martins stayed far away from any sort of event. They took their neutrality oath more seriously than other family and Palmer knew instinctively that taking her to them would be a huge mistake.

  There was only one person who could help Emma. And he lived on Frogmore Island.

  Chapter 22

  I awoke with a jolt, searing pain in the small of my back, aches all over, and a desperate need to take a deep breath. All the air and life had been knocked out of me. Panic like I'd felt only once in my life, upon receiving the tragic news of the accident that took my family, raced through my veins.

  “Emma, we're here. Josephine and I. Try not to move. You had a terrible accident. You're safe. Focus on me. You're safe. No harm can come to you here.”

  The voice, if you can call something spoken directly into your brain a “voice,” belonged unmistakably to Aleta. “You're healing. On your own, your ability is healing your body. You'll be fine. We've brought you here to my uncle. He can help and protect you. Try to slow your breathing, try to relax.”

  While Aleta was “speaking” directly into my mind, I felt Josephine run her fingers through my hair and gently caress my face, her gift flowing through me, chasing away fear and panic, filling me with serenity and calm. My heart rate slowed. Tranquility flowed through my mind and body.

  “You scared us so badly, Em.” Josephine's touch was working wonders on me, but her voice had none of its customary effervescence. She was clearly shaken, trying to hold it together for my benefit, it seemed.

  Aleta spoke aloud now, sitting on the other side of the bed and taking my hand. “Emma, you're a guest of my uncle, Dr. Ibis.” For the first time, I realized there were four of us in the small room, as a man stepped into my field of view at the foot of the bed.

  “Honored to meet you, Miss Emma. I feel sad that it's under such circumstances, but I know how much you mean to Miss Virginia and these girls. You're among family here, make no mistake.” I could see in the dim lighting of the room that Dr. Ibis was impossibly old, tissue paper skin stretched over what must have been brittle bones. I tried to reply, but struggling to breathe precluded speech for the moment.

  “I’ve made you something, Miss Emma. It’s my most special tea, which will help you to catch your breath and help your insides stitch themselves back up. Just sip it real slow, now.”

  The wizened doctor handed Aleta a steaming mug, which she brought to my lips. The steam instantly opened everything up again, feeling like it alone was re-inflating both my lungs. The tea itself tasted like an earthy honey. It was somehow bitter, spicy, and sweet all at the same time. It went down smoothly and, true to his word, seemed to go straight to where I felt pain. It was a shiatsu massage in liquid form. However strange he seemed, Dr. Ibis brewed a wonderful cup of tea.

  “Whoa, slow down, sweetie. That's powerful medicine. Slowly. Slowly. Breathe deeply, just inhale the steam,” Aleta withdrew the tea, letting the mist linger in front of my face. Josephine held both my hands and Dr. Ibis busied himself in the corner of the room, his back to us, hunched over some sort of workbench.

  Aleta let me sip again, and Josephine began to speak. “There's my girl. Your color is coming back already. Are you feeling better?”

  Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply through my nostrils, I found my voice. “I'm…I… yes, I'm feeling better. Much better. I'm so confused, where are we? What happened? Palmer...” My voice trailed away as Aleta interrupted with more tea.

  “You're in my uncle's home. He lives on an island, Frogmore Island. It's near Charleston. We can do more for you here than at a regular hospital. And we'll try to answer your questions rather than interrogate you.” Aleta set the mug down, gazing off for a moment as if distracted. “Calista is with Virginia. Virginia is furious. Emma, you wouldn't believe this, but Calista is a basket-case.” Josephine and Aleta both chuckled. “That doesn't happen very often, as you might imagine. I just let Virginia know that you'll be staying here with me for a few days. Jo, you'll have to get back to the house as soon as possible. The house is probably being watched very carefully by the ones who did this to Emma. Fiona is on her way to pick you up.”

  Josephine nodded and squeezed my hand. The combination of the tea and Josephine had me floating on a painless cloud.

  “Emma, have you ever read any Homer? Or studied Greek mythology?” Aleta's questions were interrupted by Josephine.

  “Or seen O Brother Where Art Thou?” Josephine raised her eyebrows up and down.

  “No, yes, and yes,” I replied. “George Clooney, of course.” I managed my first real smile since waking up.

  “Ok, then you may remember the Sirens?” Aleta looked at me searchingly, answering my nod with her own. “Well, they're not mythical. They're very real. And a few nasty ones visit Charleston Harbor from time to time. You met them earlier today. Or heard them, to be more precise. They're 'Team Zillah' all the way.”

  “I saw Zillah,” I said, shifting to sit up a bit. Josephine gasped at the revelation.

  I continued, “She was on the bridge. She was there, she was right in front of me. She spoke to me.”

  I remembered her voice over the cries of the crowd: Listen to the song, Emma. I shuddered.

  Aleta made eye contact with Josephine for a moment and then furrowed her brow with concentration.

  Josephine puffed up with sudden pride, “Calista said, and I quote, 'I'm going to end that bitch!' See, Emma, Calista may not like you, I mean I don't think she likes much of anybody, but we're all sisters. You could do a lot worse than having her in your corner.”

  Where was Calista? And Virginia? Shouldn’t she be here by my side? A part of me longed for her matriarchal presence.

  “Why isn't she here, too?” I asked. “Calista, I mean. And Virginia?”

  Aleta's voice was again beamed directly into my head. “Calista cannot set foot on this island. It’s a long story, but she physically can’t visit Frogmore. Nobody knows that. Not even Josephine. Calista would end me if she knew I told you. And if she could.”

  Dr. Ibis had quietly slipped outside during our conversation, but he now reappeared at my bedside. “Did the tea help, Miss Emma?”

  “Yes, thank you so much. It's amazing. Starbucks would pay big money for the recipe, I bet.”

  Dr. Ibis chuckled, his laugh echoing off the walls of the cabin. “Child, only the doctor can brew that tea. Just like nobody can make Benne Wafers like Miss Chantelle.” Dr. Ibis was cackling away, a contagious laugh so pleasant it had the rest of us joining him in his mirth.

  Despite the relief of being near Aleta and Josephine, I was wary of my surroundings. My thoughts traveled back to
my last moments in the water, when Palmer Martin showed up out of nowhere. Or had I dreamt it?

  “Did Palmer bring me here?” I asked. Josephine glanced at Aleta who nodded.

  “Yes,” Josephine said holding my hand. “He saved you, Emma. Palmer saved your life.”

  I nodded. “It’s just good to know I’m not crazy. So Palmer is… a fish? A mermaid? Merman?”

  Josephine smiled. “He’s a merman. All the Martins are. It’s why we’re not supposed to be together. Mers aren’t allowed to be with anyone besides other mers. It all gets a little incestuous, if you ask me.”

  “So he’s a part-time merman? How does that work?” I asked, sipping more of Dr. Ibis’s tea.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that. He’s a shape-shifter. He can be a human or a merman but he spends almost all of his time in human form. I honestly forget he’s a merman half the time. Which is why it makes it hard to keep it all a secret.”

  “Where is he now?” I asked. “I should probably thank him. Or ask him how he even knew to find me.”

  Aleta came forward. “He had to go. No one can know he was here at all. What Palmer did put him at great risk, even with his own family. It’s probably better you never mention him again, for his own safety. Especially since it’s clear we don’t know exactly how this happened. Although knowing Zillah was on the bridge with you gives us an idea.”

  Josephine nodded. “Emma, I can tell him what you said…”

  “No, Josephine,” Aleta’s tone was sharp, especially for her. “You cannot see Palmer again. It’s too risky.”

  Josephine’s face crumbled and everything darkened. “Why can’t I see him? Even in secret?”

  Aleta glared at her. “Josephine, after what’s happened there are going to be more eyes on us than there have been in decades. You attempting to do anything in secret will not work. You put yourself in danger and you put Palmer in even more danger. If you truly love that boy you will leave him be.”