Sirens and Other Daemon Lovers

She found this very funny. “I see,” she said. “We must make the desert safe for rich, white suburbanites.”

He was finding her both irritating and compelling. He would feel much better when he had her slim, muscled body lying beneath his own. He touched the back of her wrist, then took her hand.

He turned it over and stroked the underside of her forearm. “The moon isn’t up yet,” he said. “Is there any way I could persuade you to go look at the stars with me?”

“Where would you want to do that?”

He named the range of mountains that bordered the western edge of Tucson. “You can’t see the city lights from there, so the stars are really bright.” He glanced at his watch. “We could drive there in twenty minutes.”

Her dark eyes studied his, and he noticed the fine lines at their edges. Too many days under the suns of too many deserts. She’d worked in the Sinai and the Kalahari and on the blazing slopes of Mediterranean islands. The Sonora was just the latest in a string of hot, dry lands whose secrets she sought to unearth.

“You never struck me as the star-gazing type, Enrique. I think this is a not-very-well-disguised invitation to fuck.”

There was no anger in her voice, so he played it a little further. “And that’s not an invitation you’d want to take me up on? As I remember, our bodies liked each other.”

“They did, but not tonight.” She glanced at her watch. “I promised to help one of the undergrads catalog pottery shards.”

He released her arm. “Oh, that sounds fascinating.”

Her dark eyes danced with amusement. “Uh-huh.”

“Is this why you called?” he asked. “So you could tell me about pottery shards?”

“Enrique, calm your ruffled ego. I told you why I called. I brought something back for you.” She reached into the large woven bag on the seat next to her and drew out an oddly shaped object wrapped in a Mexican newspaper. “I found this in one of the mercados. It had your name on it.”

She placed the gift firmly in his hand, left money on the table to cover their coffees and tip, then stood up. She was wearing a short black skirt that revealed long, tanned legs and sandals that laced round her ankles. He got up to follow her out, remembering what it felt like to have those legs wrapped around him, pressing against his back, clasping him to her.

She stopped just outside the cafe’s door. “The clouds keep building,” she said, looking up at the dusk skies. “We wouldn’t have seen any stars anyway.” She reached up to kiss him lightly on the mouth. “Ciao, Enrique.”

She left him standing on the street, holding her gift. He was so annoyed it didn’t even occur to him to open it until he was back in his truck. Then he tore open the newsprint wrapping. He was holding a small stone carving of a voluptuous, high-breasted woman with talons for feet. And an owl’s wings folded behind her back.

He was in a mood by the time he got home. He did not like dates with women that did not end in bed. And tonight he’d wanted Liora. Wanted her badly.

What was that all about? he asked himself. Was meeting for coffee the opening move in a new flirtation or the close of an old one? Did she really just want to give him that strange little lump of stone? He resolved to call her the next day and find out.

The wind was up again and sheet lightening creased the western sky. The night had the heavy feel of a dry storm, of a rain that wouldn’t break. Still, he could hear thunder over the mountains, so once again he called the young black cat. Though she’d been gone nearly four days, he found he couldn’t give up on her. This time he made himself go out into the garden. He took a flashlight, searched the shadows. The cat wasn’t there, but under the cassia bushes the ground glittered with round, golden spangles.

He knelt to pick one up. It was made of a light metal, the weight of aluminum but the color of ancient gold. Had it fallen from her skirts the other night—or had she returned? The idea pleased him, and for the first time he let himself wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t bolted. He pocketed the golden disk, imagining how he might have taken her there under the cassias, what it would have felt like to be inside her. If opportunity presented itself again, he wouldn’t let himself get scared off by a case of the chills. And he wouldn’t let her get away so easily. He turned as he sensed a movement beyond the garden fence, but his light picked out only the form of a very large jackrabbit.