When Sirens Screech: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 3)

by Nicole Zoltack

  “If you will follow me please.”

  Immediately, I fall beside him. He leads me farther down the mountain before bringing me back to the road. His car is a small black one, a speedster with only seating for two. I feel a little claustrophobic inside.

  Before I can buckle, he hands me a black silk ribbon.

  “Seriously? I know he’s in Hellertown. Is a blindfold really necessary?”

  “I’m afraid he asked for it, and what Amarok wants, he gets.”

  “So you’ll force me to wear it if I refuse?”

  “I will knock you unconscious if I must.”

  He’s dead serious too.

  “Can’t you at least buy me dinner and dessert first?” I grumble as I blindfold myself.

  Voss doesn’t chuckle, which doesn’t surprise me. I don’t expect him to have much of a sense of humor. He’s perplexing but not really a puzzle I want to solve.

  Amarok, on the other hand, now he’s an enigma, and I’m gonna have to face him again. A war of words with him, I can handle. I hope. As long as his teeth don’t gnaw on my shoulder again.

  I wince just remembering the brutal pain I experienced at his hands.

  Fangs.

  Voss drives slowly, but it doesn’t matter. We take so many turns that I can’t remember them all after the first ten. Honestly, I don’t think we headed toward Hellertown after all. It’s entirely possible Amarok arranged our meeting to be in a different spot than where he hangs his hat.

  The car finally stops and remains halted. Not a stop light this time. The car clicks as he puts it in park.

  “Hold on. I’ll come around and get you,” Voss says.

  He does just that and takes my hands so I can’t remove my blindfold. He folds my hand over his elbow, and once I’m out of the car, he shuts the door.

  Voss knows how to lead a person, walking nice and slow.

  He pauses to open a door and ushers me inside.

  “Stairs,” he murmurs.

  I take a step and stumble.

  “You could’ve told me they were descending,” I mutter.

  “My apologies,” he murmurs. “One more. We’re down.”

  Our footsteps echo. Whatever room we’re in, it’s big and spacious and empty.

  He halts and removes the blindfold, but I still can’t see. The room is pitch black.

  I jerk away from the werewolf and look all around. All I see is darkness.

  And then, before me, out of nowhere, twin eyes of molten gold appear.

  “Amarok,” I breathe.

  “Clarissa Tempest,” he says, his voice as awe-inspiring as ever. “No longer a detective. How does that make you feel?”

  The height of his eyes suggest he’s in wolf form, but then I should only be hearing his voice in my head. I definitely hear him with my ears.

  His eyes lift, and he claps his hands.

  Beside me, I feel rather than see Voss bow. He walks away, and a candle gives forth illumination. Around the room Voss goes, lighting a total of twelve candles. Their locations serve to almost make the entire warehouse visible.

  “Comfy place,” I say even though it’s not the truth. The warehouse is as cold as the air outside. I can see my breath.

  “Ah, yes. Forgive me,” Amarok says. “I forgot how thin human skin is.”

  His eyes glitter. He’s human, wearing dark pants and nothing else. Despite his lack of clothes, he appears perfectly comfortable.

  I wrinkle my nose. Amarok knows what I am. I’m sure he does.

  “Look, let’s skip the not-so-pleasant pleasantries, all right?”

  “Get right to the point. Yes. I do like your style, Tempest.”

  I wrinkle my nose. For some reason, I really wish he didn’t know my name.

  “Do you like to listen to songs?”

  “Interesting question,” he murmurs. “An even more intriguing phrasing. I enjoy music. As for songs, it depends on who is doing the singing. I thought you wished to get to the point. You are referring to sirens, are you not?”

  “Yes. Selena and Lorelei. There aren’t any others, right?”

  He chuckles. “There are only the two.”

  “Have you met them?”

  “I have not had the pleasure.”

  Damn.

  “Will their siren songs lure you into their snare?” I ask.

  “What are you proposing?” he counters.

  “I want you to come back to Bethlehem with me to help drive out the sirens. Then you’ll leave again and go back to honoring our previous agreement.” I lift my nose into the air, challenging him to defy me.

  “And what will you give me in return?” he asks as indifferent as Voss.

  “I suppose my gratitude isn’t enough.”

  “Not at all.” He appraises me without speaking.

  Crap. I knew he wouldn’t do it for nothing. There’s no goodness in his heart. What would a wolf vamp zombie want?

  Flesh to eat.

  Blood to drink.

  People to terrorize.

  None of which I can offer him.

  So now what? Are we at an impasse?

  I clear my throat.

  Oh, man, this is such a bad idea. And it could backfire. It could be devastating.

  But what choice do I have?

  “My father.” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and wince at the sudden, awful sharp pain I feel.

  “Ah, yes. Your father.” Amarok gives me a slow, chilling smile. “Very well. I will help you against the sirens.”

  Just by mentioning my father? Oh, wow. That’s completely terrifying.

  “On one condition,” he adds as if an afterthought.

  “What is it?”

  “That you put in a good word for me to your daddy.”

  Chapter 33

  My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? A good word? You mauled me!”

  “You survived.” He shrugs royally, back to indifference and apathetic.

  My nostrils flare, and I shake my head. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “A good word with your daddy is all I require to do your dirty work for you. What is the song? Dirty deeds…”

  “Done dirt cheap,” I mutter.

  “Rather fitting, no?” His grin is back, obnoxious as ever.

  Who the Hell is my father that Amarok wants to be on his good side?

  My stomach churns, but I’m backed into a corner.

  Or am I?

  “You’ve never met the sirens. How do you know you can even handle them? Do you know how to kill them?” I demand, hands on hips.

  “Do you?” he counters. “Trust me. I’ve killed more people than you have come in contact with in your entire life.”

  “Any of those people been a siren?” I ask without a shred of hope.

  “Now that you mention it, one was.”

  “Why did you kill her?”

  “Her singing irritated me.”

  I blink in surprise and sigh. “You’ll never give a straight answer, will you?”

  “Why should I bother?” He wrinkles his nose with disdain. “Now, do we have an accord? Or are you going to continue to waste my time? I’m feeling a bit peckish. Do you want me to go to Bethlehem hungry?”

  “Only if you want to eat sirens,” I say coolly. “And peckish? Are you British? I thought…”

  “Not all you may have been told about me is accurate. Besides, do you honestly believe I have never been to Europe? Or Asia?”

  He then rattles over several sentences in various languages. I catch a word of Italian, a few in Spanish. I think I heard Japanese too.

  “You do know that no one likes a showoff, right?” I mutter.

  “You are a beggar.”

  “Yeah, yeah, can’t be a chooser.”

  I hate him. I really, really do.

  “Should we shake on it?” Amarok asks.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  I’m surprised. I’m not exactly untrustworthy, am I?

  “You think I won’t
hold up my end of the deal?” I ask.

  He’s that desperate to be on my father’s good side.

  “I’m the one that wants a hand shake. I need to know you’ll leave Bethlehem and Hellertown alone after the sirens are dealt with.”

  “Hellertown too? That was not a part of the original arrangement.”

  I cross my arms and tap my foot.

  “I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further,” I say in a slightly deeper voice than my normal tone.

  Amarok exasperatedly exhales. “I will for certain leave Bethlehem. Hellertown I will consider.”

  “If you want a good word, I need to have a reason to actually believe it. Or else when I tell my father about you, it might not sound convincing.”

  “If you don’t convince your father, I will wipe out all of Hellertown and Bethlehem within a week,” he says cheerfully.

  “I hate you,” I mutter.

  “I don’t have any love for you either,” he remarks.

  I’m a little shocked by that and then realize why.

  “Yeah, well, you tried to kill me too, so we’re even.” I roll my eyes. “Do you have a certain location you think would be best for the epic showdown?”

  “I suppose you do not want it to be within the city.”

  “I doubt we’ll be able to get them to leave.”

  “Well, then, an area that does not have a lot of people currently.”

  “South Mountain Park at night,” I suggest. “It hasn’t been populated like at all since someone killed people there. Oh. Wait. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  He shrugs modestly. “How convenient that you have a wide-open area like that for the, what did you call it? Epic showdown?”

  “Oh, right. I’m so in your debt.” I glance over toward Voss and realize he’s gone. When did he leave? Has he heard any of our conversation?

  “I don’t need him to take them on,” he says dryly.

  “No worries. I don’t doubt that you can achieve incredible levels of mayhem and devastation.” I give him the A-Okay sign.

  He does not appear amused.

  That’s fine. I’m not either. I really hate that I feel like I’ve just signed my soul to the devil.

  “How soon do you think you want to take on the sirens?” I ask. “Keep in mind that the sooner, the better is what we’re aiming for here.”

  “A week,” he says calmer.

  I’m ready to burst with anger and frustration. He has got to be kidding, but this is not a laughing matter!

  “Didn’t you hear me? You’re a wolf, right? Super hearing? I said soon.”

  “I need to feast first.”

  “Feast,” I repeat dully.

  He can’t be serious.

  “You don’t mean—” I start.

  Amarok cuts me off. “The more I eat, the more I drink, the more strength and power I acquire. I will be at optimal readiness in a week.”

  I hate him so much! How many will he “feast” on? Guilt, shame, and depression weigh on me, but my hands are tied.

  “Make it two days,” I say critically.

  He huffs.

  “Or else I’ll deal with them myself.”

  “How?” he asks. “I am serious. How do you plan on killing not one but two sirens? I will enjoy listening to this.”

  I shrug. “I figure I’ll go all ‘off with their heads.’”

  Amarok just shakes his head. “Two days then. Midnight at South Mountain Park. Rather fitting, don’t you think?”

  “I think we’re done here. I’ll just go now.” I retreat a step.

  “I apologize for not being a better host and for not offering refreshments. I did not think you would like what I have to offer.”

  “You see, that’s just an excuse. For instance, I hate mustard, but I still keep it in stock at my place because some people like it.”

  Amarok runs his tongue over his teeth. “Keep talking, and I’ll grow hungry. When I’m hungry, I don’t see straight. If you don’t want me to rip into you, I suggest you leave.”

  “Yeah, so much for your apology.” I roll my eyes and leave the warehouse.

  Before I can notice more than the sun is high in the sky, the blindfold descends. Voss brings me back to where we met and leaves, all without saying a word.

  Two days. I have two days to get the two sirens to South Mountain Park. Totally doable, right?

  Maybe it would be better for him to face one and then the other.

  Never mind. The second one would be super siren then.

  Super siren. Will their hair turn gold and shoot up skyward? Nah, but maybe their eyes will turn gold instead of silver.

  Our best bet is for Amarok to take out one and for me to take out the other. Honestly, chopping off one’s head is my best bet. She can’t sing if her head is detached. Now I just need a sharp enough weapon that I can wield that might decapitate a siren.

  Maybe it really is a good thing I’m not a cop.

  Yeah, not a cop but I still drive straight to the station. I keep my head down and avoid looking at anyone, but someone grabs my elbow.

  Marlon.

  “Are you all right?” he whispers to me.

  I stare at the floor. “As good as I can be, I guess.”

  “Hanging in there?”

  “By a thread.”

  The look he gives me is so sympathetic that I start to feel that pull toward him again. From the first time I ever met Marlon, when I joined the vice unit here, I felt a strange bond with him. I can’t explain it. It still perplexes me. It’s no wonder I’ve had a crush on him for the past two years.

  Not that he showed any signs of interest besides friendship. He’s easy to talk to, easy on the eyes, someone you can count on to have your back. You know you aren’t in danger ever when Marlon’s around. He would lay down his life for his friends.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

  “I should talk to the lieutenant,” I mutter.

  “You can always talk to me. You know that, right?”

  “About anything?” I smirk, and some of my tension and anxiety melts away. Something about him always calms me. “Even guy talk?”

  He blinks in surprise. “Sure, if that’s what you need.”

  I laugh and punch his arm. “Nah. I’m good.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks more seriously.

  “What do you think?” I hardly refrain from rolling my eyes.

  I mean, there are two sirens. I’ve made another deal with the wolf vamp zombie Amarok. I’m not a detective anymore. I’ve lost a huge part of my identity.

  I’m naked without my badge. My sense of right and wrong has been gray for so long. I don’t know if I can stay on the path without my badge to keep me in check.

  “Whatever you need, I’m here for you,” Marlon says.

  I stare at him and slowly shake my head. He’s as straight and narrow as they come. I won’t risk tainting him. Out of all of us in vice together, he took it the hardest when we would come across teens messed up with drugs. Or a family ripped apart. The darkness of the underbelly affected him more. His heart is pure.

  Maybe that’s why I like him so much. Despite the cruelty of the world, he has a measure of peace to him that I long to steal. Anger, fury, frustration, worry, they’re what I give off, I’m sure.

  It’s amazing that anyone would want to spend any time with me.

  I clasp a hand to his shoulder. “Thanks,” I mutter.

  His arm raises, and I think he’s going to pat my hand. Then the door to the lieutenant’s office opens, and I’m off like a bat out of Hell.

  “Sir!” I call. I stroll inside like I still wear a badge.

  He’s staring at the window, hands on the sill, back to me.

  “Tempest.”

  There’s none of the anger or frustration that’s been coloring his tone when he says my name like it has lately.

  “Have any of the bombs gone off? How many have been recovered?” I ask, fearful, anxious.
>
  “Two went off during the dismantling. Three injured as a result. The bombs had been set up improperly, which is why they exploded. As for how many, over five hundred. More are being found yet.”

  I step forward and notice a map on his corkboard, hundreds of pushpins littered all over it.

  “Are these the locations?”

  He finally turns around. “Yes. I can’t see any rhyme or reason to their locations. Some are near homes or businesses, but a few wouldn’t hurt anyone. I don’t understand the motivation for all of this. Why have bombs set up everywhere without setting them to go off? Why have we been allowed to go in and find them, disarm them?”

  “It’s to distract us, I’m sure,” I mumble.

  The lieutenant snorts. “Of course,” he says dryly, “but we don’t have an idea of just what we’re being distracted from.”

  “No.” I take a few steps back and squint.

  “Do you see anything?” he asks critically.

  “Nah, I thought the spots might’ve lined up to kinda make a star, but no.”

  “You just here to check up on me?” he asks bitterly. “Could’ve called for that. Kat is—”

  “She was fine when I left her. Sir, I can listen to the siren’s sing and not be affected, but I can’t take out the two of them. And they need to be taken out at the same time or else the remaining one will become too powerful.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, perplexed.

  “The last one will gain the other’s power. They need to die simultaneously.” I take a deep breath and hesitate. “Sir, you’re really not going to like this.”

  “What?” he grumbles. “Silver not enough? You need gold bullets? A golden blade? Come on, Tempest, I don’t have all day.

  As if on cue, his phone rings. He answers, barks orders at the person, and hangs up.

  “Crisis time,” he reminds me with the patience of a spoiled two-year-old. “Spit it out. I thought we’ve been over this.”

  “I have reason to believe that there is only one other person in the world who can hear them and not be influenced.”

  “Hold up.” He lifts a hand to stop me. “Are you saying that their singing doesn’t influence you? Why not?”

  “I wish I knew, sir. Let’s just chalk it up to luck.”