Siren's Call. Debbie Herbert

Lily leaned against a large oak and listened to bird calls—the distant screech of seagulls, thrush and coots. He’d taught her so much, passed on everything his grandfather had taught him, including Choctaw animal folklore and legends.

      How she’d longed to share her undersea world in return, show him their sea vegetable garden and swim past the salt marshes and explore a different, equally fascinating new world. But her family’s vow of secrecy was absolute. If one mermaid was exposed, their entire race was in danger.

      Her eyes swept the clearing, then doubled back to the far edge of the tree line.

      A coyote fixed its gaze on her, unmoving, eyes gleaming with intelligence and feral hunger. Lily didn’t move either and didn’t break eye contact. Coyote is a trickster, she remembered, a sign of an ending and a new beginning. She wasn’t alarmed, but aware. Nash used to say that was the most important thing—to stay aware. He’d even admitted once that he could sense what animals were thinking. Become one with them or some such thing.

      The coyote lowered its head and took a step closer, still staring. Its copper eyes held a feral sheen that made Lily quiver from her scalp to the soles of her borrowed sneakers.

      To hell with spiritual communication.

      Lily turned and ran back down the trail. Twilight had deepened and the trees cast long shadows. Spanish moss hung from live oaks, fluttering in the breeze like ghosts. The cushioned, pine-needled ground gave way to a labyrinth of twisted, jutting tree roots. Lily stumbled but stayed on her feet. I’m being ridiculous. It isn’t after me.

      Yet she ran on. The sound of blood roared in her ears as if she were swimming undersea against a powerful current. Lily wanted to peek over her shoulder but didn’t dare divert her attention from avoiding the tree roots, which now appeared as black and deadly as the moccasins that slithered through the swamps.

      She ran and ran and ran until the accelerated beat of her heart matched the panicked cadence of her thoughts. Coyote is the end. Coyote is the end.

       The end, the end, the end.

      * * *

      A violent cracking of twigs, the rustle of leaves and snapping branches, a vibration under his bare feet—Nash stilled and searched the woods. Something was spooked and running toward the cabin. He focused on the dark edge of the tree line and felt to his right for the shotgun. Smooth metal cooled his fingers. Found it.

      He soundlessly exited the porch, shotgun at the ready. Unlikely it was a chased animal—he hadn’t sensed that faint odor of musk and sweat or picked up the panicked energy of an animal hell-bent on escape.

      An apparition of white burst into the clearing, like flood waters over a dam. A ghost? Grandfather told tales of the kwanokasha, or Kowi Anukasha—the tiny, fairy people of the forest. But this was no pygmy-sized being. His eyes narrowed, and like a camera lens focusing on a subject, the wall of white morphed into detail: a tall woman with waist-length, pale hair lifted in every direction by the sea breeze.

      “Lily?” he called out, his voice sharp and biting. It was as if his own brooding melancholy had summoned her from the forest’s darkness. He scanned her white shorts and T-shirt and the scratches decorating her arms and legs like tattoos.

      But no blood; she was unharmed. His relief quickly gave way to anger. Was someone after her? Nash’s right index finger curled on the shotgun trigger and he searched behind Lily for the danger.

      Nothing was there.

      He hurried forward. “What happened? Is someone chasing you?”

      Lily looked back. “I don’t know.” She turned to him with a sheepish half smile on her paler-than-usual face. She drew a jagged, uneven breath. “It may not have even followed me.”

      “It?”

      She rubbed her arms, stomach heaving with labored breath. “A coyote.”

      He raised a brow. “I’ve never known coyote to chase humans. It’s probably more afraid of you than you of it.”

      “Not this coyote.” She shook her head. “The way it looked at me...” She bit her lip. “As if he were sizing me up for dinner. Instead of running off, it lowered its head and stepped toward me. I didn’t hang around to see if it chased me or not.”

      He’d accuse Lily of making a ploy for attention, but she didn’t know he’d returned to the cabin and he could see her fear was real. “Go up on the porch and I’ll take a look around.”

      “Why?”

      “If a coyote really chased you, it must be eat-up with rabies. It’s not normal behavior. If it’s got rabies, the kindest thing would be to put it out of its misery. And it sure as hell doesn’t need to infect other animals and cause an epidemic.”

      “Be careful,” she said in a trembling, faint voice.

      Lily’s vulnerability left him flushed with an overwhelming desire to protect her from all danger. And he didn’t like the feeling a bit, didn’t like the peculiar pull she had on his senses. He stalked toward the woods and tried to concentrate on the immediate problem. If the animal was sick or deadly, he’d pick up on it easily. He’d been near infected, diseased creatures before. Rabies had a metallic smell of pus combined with sweaty musk from an animal’s scrambling terror over its changed condition.

      Nash entered the tangle of trees and shrubs, into a world he was uniquely attuned and equipped to master. A world where sound was amplified and the energy of every living thing—animal, mineral and insect—vibrated inside him at a cellular level. Even the energy of trees, moss and stone whispered its presence. The rustling of the wind in branches and leaves was nature’s murmur and sigh.

      He used to struggle more against this odd communion, creeped out by the immersion of his senses. He’d even tried staying indoors most of the time, only emerging to go places in the city surrounded by people and the noisy clutter of civilization. But it was no use. The abstinence made him restless and edgy. Midway through college he changed from a business degree to photography, determined to put his skills to use as a wildlife photographer.

      But it was an uneasy compromise. Yes, he worked outdoors. But he erected strict mental barriers to keep from being entirely sucked in by his senses. Lily disturbed this equilibrium. Something about her was too different...too intense. She drew him to her like a force of nature.

      Nash inhaled deeply and slipped into the woods’ living essence. Beneath the pervasive undercurrent of sea brine nestled the scent of pine and leaf mold. He paused, listening. A faint crackle of dry leaves, a bit of rustling of branches from above, a squirrel several yards away scrambling up an oak. He went farther up the trail, which he well-remembered traversing with Lily. What had she been doing out here? Was the woman determined to hound him? He’d come home to escape that kind of attention.

      There. Faint, but detectable, was the smell of sickness. A rabid animal had indeed run along the trail. But the scent was so subtle, he knew it was no longer in the area. He’d have to be on the lookout for the coyote and alert a wildlife management officer of the potential danger.

      Nash trudged back down to the cabin where Lily waited on the steps, eyes troubled.

      “Did you see it? I didn’t hear a shot.”

      “It was long gone.” Nash walked past her and put the shotgun away. “I did pick up a trace of something, though.”

      “How do you do that?”

      He shrugged. “You get a feel for it when you’re in the woods for long stretches all your life.” Nobody’s business about his freakish talent.

      “Hmm,” Lily said, cocking her head, as if assessing something left unsaid between them.

      Nash crossed his arms, daring her to challenge his answer.

      “So you say,” she drawled.

      He stared into mesmerizing blue eyes that he was sure had enticed