15. Ecco

15

ECCO

I settle into the plush velvet chair in the quiet corner of The Moonflower Inn lobby that Mariah found for my virtual media interviews. The comforting scent of the Inn cafe's lunch service prep mingles with the gentle crackling of the hearth to create a homey ambiance.

The cozy spot should put me at ease, but my mind keeps drifting to this morning's argument with Graeme.

His words echo in my head. "Your stalker could be anywhere, anyone. Even someone you think you know."

I clench my jaw, pulse quickening with irritation. I get that it's his job to keep me safe, but I hate how his overprotectiveness is making me doubt my instincts.

"Hey, Ec, you all set?" Mariah's voice breaks through my windmilling thoughts as she adjusts the laptop camera for me. I'm lucky to have her helping me through this unexpected wrinkle in my album launch plans.

"Yeah, thanks Mar." I force a smile, pushing down my frustration. "Any word on how Velda's doing? I feel so bad."

We've known Velda for years; she was one of our teachers in middle school, and every student's favorite.

Mariah sighs and shakes her head sadly. "Still not great. Losing Myrtle hit her so hard and now this sickness messing with her powers..." She sighs. "Life keeps throwing punches and kicking her while she's down."

My heart clenches painfully for Velda. I can't imagine the grief of losing your soulmate and then getting sick and having your magic go haywire, on top of everything else. If only there was something I could do to ease her suffering, even a little.

Maybe I could?—

"Ahem." Laurelle's melodic voice draws our attention as the elf glides over, gray hair cascading elegantly down her back. "I'm at your disposal to set up the soundproofing enchantment for the illustrious Ms. Waverly's interviews."

"Perfect timing!" Mariah grins. "Thanks Laurelle, you're the best."

Laurelle smiles graciously, then winks at me before raising her slender arms and murmuring an incantation in Elvish, fingers deftly weaving patterns in the air. Glimmering tendrils of silver magic trail from her fingertips, stretching and curling to form a shimmering dome around my little interview nook.

I watch in awe as the enchantment takes shape, marveling at the casual way Laurelle wields her power. Magic never fails to fill me with wonder, even after living in a world brimming with the fantastical my whole life.

"There we are," Laurelle mouths on the other side of the barrier, but no sound gets through. She smiles with satisfaction and pops her head through the barrier to say, "No sound shall pass in or out. You should be all set for your calls."

"You're amazing, thank you so much," I beam at her.

Laurelle returns my smile with a graceful nod and then heads off to tend to other inn duties—of which there are many, I'm sure, with a full house of guests and nowhere for them to go.

I take a deep, steadying breath as I log into the virtual meeting room.

Showtime.

I push down my worries about poor Velda, about being trapped here, about a certain stubborn gargoyle, and smile. Time for the pop star sparkle.

"Hi, everyone!" I chirp brightly to the grid of entertainment reporters filling my screen. "Ecco Waverly here, coming to you live from… well, a super secret magical location! Ooooh!" I waggle my eyebrows mysteriously.

The reporters chuckle at my antics, and I relax a little as I see that my quirky charm is still working for me.

I've gotten very good at this part—hiding the messy, stressful parts of my life behind cutesy sound bites. Gotta keep it light and positive. That's what the people want from Ecco Waverly, Siren Pop Princess.

As I dive into answering questions, there's a prickling heat of eyes on me.

I glance up to see Graeme standing guard just outside the soundproof barrier, arms crossed over his muscular chest, expression unreadable as always. But those piercing ice-blue eyes seem to bore right through me.

All throughout the interviews, I can't help sneaking glances at Graeme.

At the imposing breadth of his shoulders. The way his heavy brow lowers as he scans for threats. The fluid grace rippling beneath his stony skin as he shifts position.

Gods, he really is insanely hot. It's maddening.

I swallow hard, thighs clenching under my dress. Damn it.

I shake off those dangerously tempting thoughts, plastering another neon-bright grin on my face as I charm my way through the rest of the interviews. Later, I'll figure out what to do about my growing attraction to my stubborn protector.

For now, I have a pop star persona to maintain.

Wrapping up the last interview, I log off with a sigh of relief. The smile drops from my face and I slump back in my chair, the exhaustion hitting me like a tidal wave.

"Ready to go?"

Graeme's gruff voice makes me start. I glance up to find him pushing through the soundproof barrier, his intense blue eyes assessing me with that usual unwavering focus.

"Yeah, just give me a sec." I rub my temples, trying to will away the tension headache building behind my eyes. We're swinging by my dad's place for lunch. I gather my things and don my snowsuit before pushing out into the cold.

Graeme is never more than a step behind me, of course, scowling as he keeps pace. "I'll need to secure the perimeter when we arrive."

Of course. I suppress an eye roll, releasing a visible puff of breath. "Fine, but I doubt anyone will be lurking around outside. It's freezing out there."

"I'll be quick." He pauses, then adds, "If you want my jacket as an extra layer, you should take it. Gargoyles are impervious to temperature extremes."

I blink at him, surprised by the voluntary personal tidbit. "Really? That's… handy."

He shrugs. "Comes with the territory."

Huh. Guess there's still a lot I don't know about gargoyles. Or about him.

"I'll do a sweep, wait here." Graeme's command snaps me out of my melancholy thoughts, and I look up to see we've arrived at my Dad's.

I ignore him, pushing through the front gate and marching up the walk. I can feel his glare burning into my back but I don't care. I'm too drained to argue.

The door swings open before I can knock and then I'm being folded into my dad's arms.

"Hey, songbird." His smooth, musical voice washes over me, unknotting some of the tension in my shoulders. "Right on time."

"Hi, Dad." I hang on for an extra moment, soaking in his comforting presence.

Graeme has reappeared after a quick tour of the front and back yards. He clears his throat from the doorway, looming like a disapproving statue. "I'll be out here if you need me, Ms. Waverly."

"I won't," I mutter under my breath. Then, louder. "Take your time, Graeme. Build a snowman or something while you're out there."

I pretend not to hear his long-suffering sigh as I shut the door in his face.

Dad quirks a brow at me but doesn't comment, leading me into the kitchen instead. The scent of basil and garlic wafts from a pot bubbling on the stove, making my stomach rumble.

"Your grandma's risotto recipe," he says with a wink. "Just the thing for a cold day, eh?"

"Sounds perfect." I grab a seat at the kitchen table, watching him stir the simmering pot.

This is nice. Normal. No bodyguards, no panic about the magical snow, no one taking my picture or asking me one more question. Just me and my dad, hanging out like we used to.

I can almost pretend that the last few crazy weeks never happened.

Almost.

We make small talk while he finishes cooking, catching up on his classes and my tour plans. It's nice, even if I'm editing out some of the wilder parts of my life these days.

I also avoid mentioning anything about Graeme. That's… complicated.

I'm tucking into my bowl of risotto when Dad drops his bombshell. "So, I ran into your mom yesterday."

I stiffen, my grip tightening around my fork. "What?"

"At the market." He blows on his bite of risotto, trying to meet my eyes. I stare down at my food, stirring it anxiously.

"We talked for a bit," he continues. "She asked about you."

The mouthful of risotto I just swallowed turns sour in my stomach. Of course she did. "What did she want?" My voice comes out brittle.

Dad sighs. "To talk, I think. She said she misses you."

I let out a harsh laugh. "Sure she does. More like misses having a rising star for a daughter she can mooch off of."

"Ecco..." The disapproval in his voice makes me tense.

"What? You know it's true." I stab my fork into my risotto, no longer hungry. "She only ever cares about what other people can do for her."

"I know your mom has made mistakes," Dad says heavily. "But holding onto this anger isn't healthy. Maybe it's time to hear her out, start fresh."

"Are you serious?" Hurt and disbelief war in my chest. "After everything she did? The way she used her siren skills to manipulate people, the messes she made that you always had to clean up?"

His lips thin. "We were young and figuring things out. And your mother's powers?—"

"No, don't make excuses for her." My eyes sting and I blink hard. "She broke your heart over and over and never cared who got hurt in the process. You can forgive her if you want, but I won't."

"Ecco—" Dad stops, and scrubs a hand over his face. He suddenly looks older, wearier. "People can change. Holding onto a grudge isn't going to fix anything."

"It's not about fixing." I push my plate away, my appetite gone. "It's about protecting myself. Deandra only ever thinks about herself. Have you forgotten the way she left you? Left us ? I was a kid, Dad. I needed my mom around."

His eyes soften. "Chickadee..."

I shake my head, my throat tightening.

"I can't, Dad. I just… I can't be around her without remembering all the crap she put us through." I glance at the clock and seize the opportunity for an escape. "I should probably head out. I told Rian I'd be at the town hall early to help set up for choir practice."

It's a flimsy excuse and we both know it, but Dad just smiles sadly and pulls me into a hug. "Okay, sweetie. Thanks for coming by."

I cling to him for a long moment. My eyes sting but I blink back the tears. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, songbird. Always."

Outside, the cold air stings my flushed cheeks and I pull my coat tighter around me. Graeme pushes off the porch railing where he's been waiting, his nostrils flaring slightly as he takes in my red-rimmed eyes and pinched expression.

"What's wrong?" His deep voice is laced with concern as he moves closer, looming over me. "Did something happen?"

I shake my head, but my chin wobbles. "It's nothing. Just… family stuff."

He reaches out as if to touch me, but seems to think better of it, his hand falling back to his side. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I start to refuse, to brush him off with a joke and a smile like I always do. But something in his steady gaze, the genuine worry in his eyes, has the words spilling out of me.

As we walk towards the town hall, I find myself unburdening all my family drama, my voice shaking as I vent my frustration with Deandra.

"She's just so… selfish, you know? Always has been. When I was a kid, she'd flirt with other men right in front of me and Dad. She thinks it's fine to just use her siren powers to manipulate men, get them to buy her drinks or give her money."

Graeme makes a low noise of disapproval, his expression thunderous. But he doesn't interrupt, just listens intently as I continue.

"She stomped all over Dad's heart. They used to get into these unbelievable arguments in front of me, and it always ended with Deandra storming out and my dad bereft. I was stuck in the middle, trying to make Dad feel better, trying to convince Deandra to change, trying to keep them both happy and keep our family together. I just wanted happy, in-love parents like I saw other kids have."

I kick at a stray pebble, sending it skittering across the sidewalk. "But Deandra never cared about what I wanted. And nothing I could do could fix them. One day she just walked out for good and didn't look back."

"That's..." Graeme seems to struggle for words, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I'm so sorry, Ecco. No child should have to go through that."

Tears blur my vision and I swipe at them angrily. "I just can't forgive her, you know? Even after all this time. What kind of mother does that to her own kid?"

He's quiet for a long moment and I glance over at him. His normally piercing eyes look clouded and stormy.

"Family is… complicated," he says finally. "It's not always black and white. People make mistakes, even parents."

There's something in his tone that makes me wonder about his own family, what kind of scars he might carry beneath that tough exterior. But I don't press.

I know all too well how some wounds never fully heal.

Instead, I bump my shoulder gently against his arm. "Thanks for listening. I know I kind of just unloaded on you there. A little outside the normal bodyguard job description, I think."

The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile but warming his stern features. "Anytime. I'm—I'm here if you need to talk."

Something flutters behind my ribs at his halting offer, the gruff sincerity in his voice. It hits me then how attuned he's become to my moods, how easily he seems to read me.

In such a short time, Graeme has come to know me better than almost anyone. Has seen beneath the bubbly pop princess facade to the real Ecco underneath.

It's unnerving.

My heart kicks against my ribs as I meet his molten gaze. The air feels charged. My whole body runs hot despite the frigid air around us.

I lick my suddenly dry lips, pulse pounding as his eyes flick down to follow the movement. "Graeme, I..."

But I never get to finish the thought. Because at that moment, a shriek rings out, high and piercing. And we round the corner to utter chaos erupting in front of the town hall.

Graeme and I pause to take in the scene. A group of children are scattering in every direction. Shouts and laughter mingle with startled yelps as a massive troll child tosses snowballs after a similarly hulking orc kid, their rambunctious game sending the other kids diving for cover.

Behind the pandemonium, standing in the doorway of the building, a frazzled-looking satyr clutches a stack of sheet music to her chest, her wispy hair escaping its bun.

She looks seconds away from a full-blown meltdown.

"Jessa!" I call out, waving to catch the attention of the minotaur girl across the lawn. "What's going on?"

Jessa comes barreling toward me, her pink snow boots kicking up clumps of snow. She crashes into my legs, nearly knocking me off balance as she wraps me in an enthusiastic hug.

"Ecco! You're here!" She beams up at me, gap-toothed and adorable. "Mrs. Merriweather is trying to get everyone inside but it's just so fun out here in the snow and..." She tapers off guiltily.

I laugh, squeezing her tight. "Looks like you guys are having fun, that's for sure."

Graeme looms behind me. I can feel disapproval radiating off him in waves. "We should get them corralled before someone gets hurt," he rumbles, ever the bodyguard.

I ignore him, but internally smile.

Wading into the fray, I clap my hands to get their attention. "Alright, everyone! Who's ready to make some music?"

A cheer goes up from the assembled children, a few of them whispering to each other as they realize who I am. I still haven't gotten used to this part of the fame, being recognized by strangers, talked about. But the joy and wonder on these kids' faces is much easier to tolerate than when I accidentally make a stir among adult strangers.

I start herding them toward the door when a pink blur comes rocketing out of nowhere and collides with my midsection.

I let out an "oof" of surprise, glancing down to find a small sprite child clinging to my waist, her iridescent wings fluttering madly.

"You're Ecco Waverly!" she squeaks, luminous eyes huge in her heart-shaped face. "I love your songs! Especially ‘Enchanted Kisses'!"

Warmth balloons inside of me and I beam. "Aww, thank you sweetie! What's your name?"

"Karisse!" she chirps and promptly loses her grip, pinwheeling backwards through the air.

I catch her before she can hit the ground, scooping her up and spinning her around until she's breathless with laughter.

When I glance back, Graeme is watching us, something unreadable in his expression. For a moment, I imagine I see a flash of longing, there and gone so fast I'm not even sure it was real.

Shaking it off, I follow the last stragglers inside, Karisse still giggling in my arms. She talks my ear off the entire way, her questions for me coming a mile a minute, moving on to the next one before I can even answer.

"What's your favorite food? Mine's cotton candy, I eat it every day! What's your favorite color? I love pink, my whole room is pink! Did you always know that you wanted to be a singer? Did you have a favorite class in school? Do you have any pets? Who's your best friend? Do you have a booyyyfriend? "

The satyr—Mrs. Merriweather, Jessa called her—rushes over to me, relief etched into every line of her face. She looks like she's aged a decade in the two minutes it took to get everyone settled.

"Oh, Ms. Waverly! Thank goodness you're here," she gushes, clasping my free hand between her own and cutting off Karisse's barrage of questions. "I'm afraid we're a bit of a mess at the moment."

"Please, call me Ecco." I squeeze her hand reassuringly, taking in the general disarray—sheet music scattered everywhere, kids draped over chairs and each other. "And don't worry, this is nothing. You should see some of my studio sessions."

I wink at Karisse and she blushes and squeaks.

Mrs. Merriweather sags, some of the tension leaching from her shoulders. "I can't tell you how much we appreciate you taking the time to work with the children."

"I'm happy to help. Truly."

There's a tug at my sleeve and I look down to find Jessa. "Ecco, can you show us the new song you've been working on? The one about magic and moonlight?"

I laugh—someone's been keeping up on my latest interviews!

"Of course, Jessa." I set Karisse down in a chair and start straightening things up.

For the next hour, I lose myself in the music, all my attention focused on coaxing surprisingly lovely harmonies from this pack of rambunctious children. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of Graeme, standing guard at the door. He's as serious as always, an unmoving wall of muscle and watchful vigilance.

But every so often, when he thinks I'm not looking, I see him crack an actual smile at the antics of the unruly kids.

It makes something flutter wildly behind my ribs, a swooping sensation that could rival the chorus we're currently belting.