Sirens and Other Daemon Lovers

“That much I can do with but a smattering of the talent. The one I have arranged to bring is rich in the skills and will have the time needed to prepare herself. A pooka could not do better.”

“She’ll have to hold the shape for hours at a time,” Jordan warned. “As much as half a day.”

“She can. Depending on how you dream.”

“My dreams have been of nothing but Véronique.”

“Then your companion will be Véronique, for as long as you wish her to be.”

The visitor restored his glove, turned, and left. Jordan stayed where he was until the being was fully gone, beyond the ability to call him back. During that vigil he wondered if Véronique, wherever her spirit might be, would forgive him.

The Outsider reappeared on Friday at twilight, a juncture his kind seemed to favor. Jordan had dismissed Mrs. Cory and the other servants, leaving no human witnesses to the arrival of she who was to be his companion.

The guest recommended the lights be dimmed. Jordan agreed, and in stepped… Véronique.

The subdued illumination almost preserved the illusion. She was Véronique’s height. The body silhouette matched. The clothes and cosmetics were Véronique’s own. She would have fooled anyone casually acquainted with Jordan’s late wife, but he caught the subtle differences. The woman’s skin contained a pallid undertone at odds with Véronique’s robust complexion. She wore no jewelry. Her facial features were slightly elongated, the collarbones overly delicate. His wife’s pupils had rarely displayed such a deep, black-pool intensity.

But the attempt was as good as he had been promised, and he knew it had the potential to improve.

The male—was it male?—of the pair held out the contract. Jordan had already signed other documents, but until he added this one, the woman standing in front of him was still just a candidate, as was he to her.

Jordan signed.

The male rolled up the parchment in the manner of a scroll and slipped it into a pouch. “Follow my instructions carefully.” He produced a cord of hand-woven hemp and a long thorn of dark wood. “Tie one end of the rope to her wrist. Tie the other end to yours. Prick her finger and drip three drops of blood along the leash. Do the same with your own blood. Then recite aloud, ‘You are mine.’”

“Is all that really necessary?” Jordan asked.

“She cannot do as you require until the ritual is fulfilled.”

“I have to be sure it’s what she wants,” Jordan said.

The Outsider glanced at his companion, who at last gave up her silence.

“I undertake this bond of my own will.”

Her voice mimicked Veronique’s. The pitch was high and ethereal, the diction more formal than anything Jordan’s wife would ever have used, but the similarities raised hair on the nape of the widower’s neck.

“Very well,” Jordan replied. “But your word is enough as far as I’m concerned. That and your continuing service.” He recalled stories he had heard of such ceremonies, but in those, the cord had been tied around the woman’s neck, or her waist. In Bangkok or Saudi Arabia or Japan. This was better, but still enough to bother him, no matter how he believed in the integrity of his own motives.

“The bond will help me,” she explained. “I cannot endure this place long without it.”

“It is our way,” the male added.

Ultimately Jordan did as he was asked, proceeding methodically, checking her reaction throughout. To his astonishment, no sooner had he uttered the final words than the cord vanished. He could still feel the loop over his own wrist, snug but not confining, an invisible presence that neither chafed nor tugged nor restricted his movements in any way. Unless he focused his attention, the fingers of his other hand passed right through it.

“The compulsion is upon her,” the male said. “She is yours as long as you will have her. Just as the laws of your people bind you to the terms, the laws of the Sidhe bind her. Let neither of you violate your oaths.”

Jordan considered the signature he had placed upon the contract. An oath? He had faith that he would not abuse a single clause, but it was, after all, just an arrangement of words on paper. What the elf had committed herself to seemed alarmingly complete and inviolate, like nothing extant in human culture.

“For the rest of the evening, it is best that you see her as little as possible,” added the male. “She is still only a depiction of what you want her to be.”

“I understand,” Jordan said.

“Good. My part is done. You have been generous in your remuneration. I hope that we can do business again.”

“We each had what the other needed,” Jordan said. “All ventures should be so clear-cut.” For him, it had been a bargain. The acreage he had leased out, valuable as it was to the Outsider clan as a home and refuge, would have remained undeveloped woodland for the foreseeable future. The interim presence of the elves would not diminish its worth.