Free Mermaid in a Bowl of Tears (Exit Unicorns Series) by Cindy Brandner Page A

I’m flattered, but what ye don’t understand is that it wouldn’t matter who I was kissin’ or makin’ love to, I would still be kissin’ my wife, makin’ love to my wife. D’ye see what I’m sayin’?” he asked gently.
    She nodded, the smoke-gold eyes filling with tears. “I hope she knows how lucky she is.”
    “Aye,” he grimaced, thinking of how upset his wife likely was at this point. “I hope she knows it tomorrow, leastwise. Now ye’d best get some sleep, we’ve the devil of a day facin’ us tomorrow.”
    He dragged the bed over near the stove, and then halved the blanket so she could wrap herself in it. He’d meant to lay the blanket over the dead woman, but when he’d realized they were stuck here for the night, he knew they needed it much worse than she did.
    Emma huddled to one side. “There’s room for you. I promise to behave.”
    “I’ll bide for a bit,” Casey said, “I’m not tired just now.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but he knew he could not sleep just yet. He sat in one of the chairs, alert in every cell and fiber of his being, the hairs on his arms still standing up, despite the glow of the potbellied stove.
    Emma apparently was feeling some of this same current in the air, for she tossed and turned a bit before sighing and saying, “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”
    “Why not? Yer safe enough. I’ll keep watch for the night. It’d have to be somethin’ supernatural to get through a storm such as this one.”
    Emma looked toward the door as though she half expected some terrible spectre to come out of the blinding snow and howling winds. He shivered. He half expected it himself, truth be told.
    “I—I’m used to the noise from the streets. It’s too quiet here. You have a good voice; I’ve heard you sing down at the Rose, sing something.”
    “Have ye a favorite?” Casey asked, thinking a song might soothe his own mind.
    “My mom used to sing this lovely one about living in marble halls and longing for a lost love. Do you know the one I’m talking about?”
    “Aye I know it—it’s a sad one, are ye certain yer in the mood for it?”
    “Yes,” she said, the domed lids half-closed over her eyes, making her look absurdly young and fragile in the sift of candle flame.
    He started in low and soft on the gentle sway of notes. It was one his own mother had once sung to him. How he remembered this he did not know, most memories of his mother he had blocked out or lost in the wash of time. But the music remained.
    I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
With vassals and serfs at my side...
    The notes themselves were arranged like a slow waltz, danced alone after the lights had dimmed and the other revelers had gone home, and you were alone in the ballroom with the scent of dying flowers and regret for chances lost. His mother had sung it so, and he wondered what in her heart had infused the music with such pain that he could feel, even now so many years later, the lingerings left behind.
    But I also dreamt (which pleased me most)
That you loved me still the same,
That you loved me,
You loved me, still the same...
    Emma slept now, her breathing deep and relaxed. He was tired himself, could feel the fatigue of the day pulling on him, though he knew were he to close his eyes he would only see the image of the dead girl, cold and blue with ice crystals forming in her red curls. Nor did he want to face thoughts of the morning, of police and questions and the great dark danger he felt as heavy as the scent of blood in the air. And so he sang. For Emma, whose sleep was so often troubled, for himself, and the pain he felt for the Irish girl outside whose American dreams had come to ashes. He sang to drown the sound of wolves howling in the distance, and the hissing of ice against the windows. And last, just before his eyes closed, he sang for the mother who had once sung for him.
    That you loved me
You loved me, still the same...

    CASEY WAS ON HIS BREAK, having a