Siren's Storm by Lisa Papademetriou Read Free Book Online Page B

on the seat. He scanned the front page, then the back page. The front page of the local news section, with its obituaries and police blotter. He found a short mention of the body Angus had told Will about at the beginning of the week, but nothing about a dark-haired girl. Will conjured her in his mind and was surprised at just how clearly he could see her green sea-glass eyes, her pale skin, her high cheekbones. The way her black hair streamed behind her like ribbons as she waded into the sea.
    The whole scene had an air of unreality to it. No girl could be that beautiful. No one would wade into a violent ocean during a storm. It was like one of those nightmares that seem so real they leave you gasping with relief when you wake up and find yourself surrounded by your own walls, sleeping in your own bed.
    “What would you like?”
    Will looked up, and his heart froze. It didn’t just stop, it felt cold and fragile, as if a single tap could break it.
It’s her
.
    Luminous green eyes were trained on his face, and her black hair was tied in a knot at the back of her neck. She was wearing the standard dreary waitress uniform and had a pencil tucked behind her ear, but still, she seemed too beautiful to be real.
    “Are you all right?” she asked in a voice that foggedhis mind. Will knew that he had to say something, but he couldn’t find words. “A Coke,” he choked out finally.
    She wrote that down. When she looked up again, her head tilted slightly.
Does she recognize me, too?
    The waitress glanced down at the table, and her expression changed. “Where did you get this?” she asked. Her voice was careful, her eyes guarded.
    Will looked down at his hands, which were still holding the wooden flute. His mind felt like a scrambled radio signal—he couldn’t make sense of words. He didn’t know what to tell her.
“It may have belonged to my dead brother”? “A cop gave it to me as a memento”?
Finally his eyes landed on her name tag.
    “Asia Marin,” Will said aloud.
    Asia cocked her head again, as if she suspected that Will was pulling an elaborate joke—one she didn’t like much. “Do I know you?”
    Will wasn’t sure how to answer that.
Don’t you?
he wanted to ask.
I nearly ran you over, then tried to stop your suicide in the sea, remember?
    “No,” Will said at last. “I, uh—the man in the antiques store next door sent me. He said that you’d sold him a flute like this one.”
    Asia slipped into the seat across from Will’s. She took the flute from him with delicate fingers and studied the instrument. “Very similar, yes,” she admitted.
    She was sitting so close that Will could practically feel her breath. He was stunned at how silken her voice was. It was something to wrap yourself in. “I’m no expert.…” She looked at him, her eyes wary.
    “This isn’t
Antiques Roadshow
,” Will told her. “Just—anything you can tell me. This flute’s a complete mystery.” He pretended to lean closer to have a look at the flute, but really, he just wanted to be closer to this gorgeous girl.
    “Well … technically, this isn’t a flute. When it has holes like this, it’s called a recorder.” A slender finger indicated the rough-hewn holes. “I think this is probably European. And it’s old—as old as the one I had, maybe older. It could be four or five hundred years old. I think it’s pretty hard to date these things.”
    “How did you get yours?” Will asked.
    “It was a gift.”
    “So why did you sell it?”
    “I had no further use for it.” Asia’s eyes narrowed, as if Will had stepped to the edge of dangerous waters. “Are you asking about my flute or yours?”
    “Sorry. Mine. What kind of wood is it?” Will asked.
    Asia’s eyes met his. “Not wood,” she told him. “Bone.”
    A tiny shiver went through him, as if the temperature in the diner had dropped ten degrees.
    “Asia!” Angel bellowed from the kitchen. “Am I paying you to sit on your butt all day?”
    “Oh,