Sirens Unbound

by Laura Engelhardt

  “Things will look better in the morning,” Mira said, and knew the platitude sounded weak almost before she completed the sentence. But Cordelia didn’t even make a face. She was usually so high-strung; watching her shrink into herself like this was killing Mira.

  “I guess. Maybe I should just go to bed,” Cordelia said. It wasn’t even eight o’clock.

  “Tomorrow you should meet with Zale,” Mira encouraged.

  “I don’t want to sit down with anyone on the High Court after they hear I’m no longer on it,” Cordelia countered. “I don’t want to be around to see them gloat.”

  “Zale likes you,” Mira encouraged. “It won’t matter to him anyway. He’s always been closest to Atlantea — if anyone could help you understand her meaning, it’s Zale. And if you’re worried about running into someone who’s heard about your new status, head over early before the news has a chance to spread.”

  Mira deliberately refused to use the heightened language Cordelia did. Cordy hadn’t been fired, not really. Roles ebb and flow. This change in responsibility and status wasn’t even a setback, though Cordelia, so fixated on it, wouldn’t be able to see that now.

  “Zale is a night owl. He ends his days with an evening swim, and never gets up before noon.” Cordelia stood up, putting her soda down. “I’m going to see him now.”

  “Now?” Mira repeated. “How do you know he’ll be around? And in any event, I don’t think you’re in the proper frame of mind—”

  “No, now is perfect. I saw his face when Atlantea told us all about the prophesy. She kept it a secret even from him. That’s got to hurt. I’m going to see what this all means to him,” Cordelia announced, and strode off into her childhood bedroom in a frenetic burst of energy. Waiting until the morning wouldn’t do anything except leave her to agonize over everything all night long.

  Mira was nonplussed by the speed with which Cordelia sailed through the apartment, changing out of the rather conservative green suit she was wearing and into a more relaxed silk pareo. Not a look Cordelia typically favors, Mira thought. But if Cordelia were choosing her clothes as a kind of symbol, the insouciance of the yellow wrap shouted that she didn’t care what anyone thought. The boldness of that choice was all Cordelia, and Mira felt a sharp sense of pride at Cordelia’s resilience. Cordy would be fine.

  Transition occurs when a latent siren sires an active siren child. As with all other great spells, the axiom ‘Magick Likes Threes’ holds true with Aphrodite’s. Rarely will a latent siren’s first child be born active; typically, it is only the birth of the latent’s third child or even their third child of the same gender that will activate Aphrodite’s spell. As a parent, you are naturally concerned about making the best decisions for all of your children, active and latent alike. Transition teams have been established in all siren communities since 2000, and you should contact your local team if you need any assistance with this aspect of your transition.

  – Sirens: An Overview for the Newly-Transitioned, 3rd ed. (2015), by Mira Bant de Atlantic, p. 107.

  Chapter 7

  The swirl of energy that Cordelia brought into a room was gone in less than a heartbeat as she charged off to Atlantis House. Mira took a moment to reflect in the sudden quiet after Cordy strode out. Mira wasn’t sure that seeing Zale would actually clarify anything, but it was certainly better for Cordelia’s peace of mind than wallowing in her room all night. At least she would feel like she was making some progress.

  What had Atlantea done? Cordy was so loyal, so convinced of Atlantea’s leadership, she’d walk through water for her … and Atlantea had just stripped her of everything that mattered to her. Could this really be about placating Louisa, or was something else going on? Mira was honestly surprised that Atlantea hadn’t at least given her some warning that she was going to disclose the prophesy. She worried at the abruptness of all these changes.

  God, she hated Atlantis, with its bitter pool of hidden motives and poisonous politics! Transitioning into an active siren was only the first of the many shocks she had endured since stumbling into this odd world. Mira tried to be mindful of all the blessings that came with her new self, but got caught up again in cursing her change.

  Of course, her pre-transition life wasn’t perfect, but it had certainly been less complicated. Back then, her sole ambition had been to be a wife and mother, and all that had come abruptly to an end with Cordelia’s birth.

  At first, Mira hadn’t even realized what had happened. Any difference in physical sensation was overwhelmed by the effort of childbirth: the pain, the exhaustion, the exultation, all had led to a blurring of reason. So in the delivery room, Mira didn’t actively process the hospital staff’s responses as abnormal.

  First the nurse, who loudly announced that other patients needed their help while roughly shoving Cordelia into her arms and stomping to the door. Then Dr. Rogers, who bubbled over with compliments for her, taking Cordelia into his arms to rock, and lingering until the nurses paged him multiple times.

  Later that day, she did wonder over the nurses’ failure to respond to her requests for water, their reluctance to give her pain medication until scolded by the resident (who hovered insistently), and the way they all looked at Jack. Jack Bant was good-looking: at thirty-four years of age, her husband had been fit, tall, and blond, with bright blue eyes. Women always noticed her husband.

  But the nurses’ noticing had been different. While other women admired, even flirted with, Jack, these women seemed caught in a tropism. At the time, she had been too tired to say anything, and could only stare, bemused, at the soap opera-worthy scene. The nurses brought blankets (after scolding Mira for requesting a blanket in August), and cooed over Cordelia (after remarking audibly to each other that Cordelia was the ugliest infant they had ever seen). One nurse literally batted her eyes at Jack (something Mira had only seen in B-movies).

  Another nurse rushed into her room, just to drop her pen in front of Jack. She bent down so close to him that when she picked it up, that her bottom practically grazed his legs. Jack seemed shocked at their behavior, blushing bright red in embarrassment.

  It seemed like every nurse on the floor had come into her room, after ignoring or insulting Mira only moments before. Finally, Jack asked them to step out to give them some privacy. Mira couldn’t believe it when one actually winked at Jack, while offering to babysit their older children. Then Dr. Rogers had come in, and there was another abrupt reversal. He smiled at Mira and asked her if she liked the room. Puffing out his chest, he explained that he had moved another mother out to ensure that Mira received the best room in the maternity ward.

  Then he looked at Jack with such anger that Jack actually took a step back. For a moment, it seemed like Dr. Rogers was going to punch him. But instead, he coldly told Jack to wait outside so he could perform his examination. Mira’s gentle protest quickly changed his mind: of course Jack could stay if that’s what Mira wanted! The doctor praised Mira’s silent stoicism during her sixteen-hour labor (Mira didn’t recall being particularly stoic, or silent for that matter), smiled at Cordelia, and cuddled her like she was his very own baby.

  Given the oddities at the hospital, Jack and Mira didn’t wait for the usual discharge date, and despite the doctor’s pleading, they left that afternoon. But the odd behavior of those around them continued, even after they got home. The ladies from their parish came every day bringing food, and even wine! As long as Jack opened the door, they were all smiles. But if Mira opened the door, they practically spit in her face. All were openly flirtatious with Jack; such abnormal behavior from women who considered themselves keepers of the faith.

  Strangest of all was Mira’s mother’s refusal to drive down to see her newest grandchild. Mary claimed she had spoken with a fortune teller a few days before Cordelia was born to find out if Mira was going to have a boy or girl. The charlatan terrified Mary by making dire threats that if she visited, the newborn baby girl would die.

  Since the “mage” had corre
ctly guessed the sex of the child, her mother was convinced the prophesy was true. Mira had tried to persuade her that it was nonsense. Even if the woman were a mage, only a small percentage of mages studied prognostication — and there was no way Mary could afford a true reading. Any real fortune teller would be sequestered in an enclave, not living in Newark, New Jersey! But Mary was adamant; neither Jack nor Mira could change her mind.

  Jack’s parents had died before they were married, so if it hadn’t been for their neighbor, Mrs. Tellman, Mira would have been lost. Frannie Tellman was the only person, it seemed, whose attitude hadn’t changed. Before and after Cordelia was born, the older woman had treated Mira and her family like the daughter and grandchildren she had never had. Mira missed her still.

  A week after Cordelia was born, Mira slipped down to the beach around dawn. Jack had gone to work earlier that morning for the first time since Cordelia’s birth. They owned a boat rental and filling station, and Labor Day weekend was a busy time for rentals. Mrs. Tellman was staying over at their house, and Mira felt the need to touch the water. She brought Cordelia with her; it was only a few blocks to the sea, and Mira decided it could never be too early for a beach baby to feel the ocean on her feet.

  After all, she had introduced their other children to the ocean when they were infants. First had been Mary, named for her mother, then Thomas and Amy. Even though Mary had been born in January, Mira had bundled her up on a bright February morning and taken her down to the gray winter ocean. The sand was frozen tight, so it had been easy to walk. And Mira sat with Mary just at the edge of the shore at high tide and watched the waves slowly recede down the beach until tiny treasures were revealed.

  That’s how Mary got her first medal. As more sand was exposed, a glint of gold caught Mira’s eye; and when she reached into the frigid water to see what kind of shell it was, she pulled up a heavy gold chain upon which a miraculous medal hung. It felt like a gift from the sea to Mary, as if the ocean knew her name and rejoiced.

  While Mira always found treasures when she walked the beach, her first visits with her children brought extra-special objects. She had found an ancient-looking gold and ruby ring when she brought Thomas to meet the sea, and a slightly tarnished emerald and silver necklace for Amy, her May baby. Jack marveled at her finds, but since he also discovered treasures during his own beach walks, it didn’t seem as unusual to them then as Mira now knew it to be.

  This time, when Mira sat with Cordelia at the shore, letting the surf roll over her feet and ankles, she was astonished to see a woman walk out of the sea. The sun gleamed behind her, framing her in a golden haze.

  Mira shifted Cordelia into one arm, and shaded her eyes, blinking, sure that it must be a trick of the light. But it was indeed a woman, dressed in what appeared to be a blue nightgown that dried as she emerged from the water. As she came to the shore, the light foam at the edge of the surf congealed on her dress, covering it in a grayish-white lace. The woman sat down next to Mira on the sand.

  Mira’s mouth fell open in surprise as she stared at her. The sound of the waves rolling, the birds calling, and the ever-present wind seemed to stop altogether as Mira stared at the woman and the woman gazed over the water. It crossed Mira’s mind that the woman might be a mage. But that was unlikely. While she had never personally met a mage, Mira recalled that Morgan le Fay had been the last of them with any power over the sea.

  The woman’s silence didn’t feel hostile, and Mira didn’t feel unacknowledged even though the woman hadn’t said a word to her. Mira had the strong impression that the woman had come to meet them … if the person sitting next to her was even a real woman. She was so beautiful: buxom and pale, with dark brown hair curling in gentle waves to her hips, and gray eyes that glowed like moonlight. Mira wondered if she were fae. She had heard of selkies who could transform from seal to person. With an effort, Mira closed her mouth. Cordelia woke up at that moment and started twisting her head back and forth.

  “Cordelia is hungry,” said the woman.

  While Mira wanted to ask how the woman knew her baby’s name, she was afraid to engage with her at all. But she was also afraid to try to leave, in case she were a faerie, and this a trap. So many Mission: Impossible episodes featured rescues of mundanes held captive by fae glamours. And there was that famous case in California where a faerie had been caught trying to steal a human baby to substitute his infant changeling in its place.

  “Will you leave my daughter and me unharmed and unchanged?” Mira tried to phrase her question as tightly as possible. She knew that the fae couldn’t outright lie, but skirting the truth was a well-honed art form with them.

  Now the woman smiled and looked at Mira. “I am certainly not fae. But that was a well-formed question,” she praised. Hints of her smile played around her eyes as her face grew more serious. “And while I’m not geas-bound to tell the truth, I don’t mean you or your daughter any harm. In fact, I came here to claim and protect you. Even though we haven’t met, I’m your father’s grandmother’s great-grandmother — so, your many-times-removed grandmother. And while I don’t intend to harm you, I very much doubt our meeting will leave you unchanged.”

  “What are you?” Mira finally asked, giving Cordelia her finger to suckle.

  “I’m a child of Aphrodite, but I transitioned centuries ago, while you are but newly active. We’re sirens — me, you, Cordelia, your man. Constructed from Aphrodite’s own genes, merged with those of the sea nymphs, and made whole by Aphrodite’s magick. I tracked you down when I felt the uptick in power that came with Cordelia’s birth. My name is Marisol. I came because I want to make sure you survive.”

  Cordelia had begun to mewl and cry softly. Mira had been so frightened; she remembered clutching Cordy even closer to conceal her trembling hands. This insane encounter felt too real for a dream, but so unreal at the same time. The woman’s name was Marisol. Mira recalled that her mother had suggested Marisol as a family name when she was pregnant with Mary.

  “Perhaps let Cordelia touch the water and she’ll calm down,” suggested Marisol, turning her gaze from Mira to watch the sea.

  Mira hesitated to follow the instruction, unsure of whether it would be more dangerous to listen to Marisol or ignore her. But Cordelia’s continued fussing made up Mira’s mind. She hoped a monster from the sea wouldn’t charge out as she shifted further down into the surf to let her right hand wet itself in the waves, before tracing Cordelia’s face gently with it.

  Cordelia’s whimpering stopped abruptly, and Mira marveled for a moment at her daughter’s sudden expression of pure joy. Cordelia seemed so delighted with the sensation that Mira unwrapped her from the light blanket to free her arm and let her feel the sea. The moment Cordelia’s hand met the water, a wave lurched up and swallowed them. Mira’s heart stopped as she experienced true terror for the first time in her life.

  But the water immediately solidified beneath her, pushing Mira and Cordelia up after a second so that it was like she was reclining in an easy chair, with a thin line of unusually warm water covering them in a gentle blanket. Cordelia began cooing and blowing bubbles, patting the top of the water with her tiny hands. Mira looked to where Marisol had been and didn’t see her. Then she turned and saw Marisol pop her head out of the water a few feet away on the other side.

  “Oh my, but the Atlantic loves Cordelia,” Marisol said. “The ocean practically drove me to you. I’ve never been pulled so fast through the waves before.”

  “This is so strange,” Mira finally said.

  Marisol leaned back to recline on the waves. “I know,” she said. “But it’s real, I assure you. Transitions are not easy. I almost died when I was reborn, and you’re only the first of my progeny I’ve found in time.” Marisol’s face became briefly shadowed in pain before relaxing into that self-satisfied expression Mira soon came to associate with her.

  “You should know that your lineage is a powerful one. You’re descended from Atlantea herself. While that probably doe
sn’t mean anything to you now, it will one day. A very powerful line indeed. And I can see that Cordelia will be a force to be reckoned with!” Marisol’s pleasure in her conjecture sounded almost threatening.

  Perhaps she doesn’t intend us any harm, but she’s not here solely out of the kindness of her heart, Mira thought, pulling Cordelia even closer.

  “Sirens are magical constructs,” Marisol continued, her voice rising and falling in inflection to mirror the water undulating around them. “Like the weres, we were created by one of the most powerful enchanters ever. Aphrodite had the strength of the sea running in her veins, and she died to give us her power.”

  Mira could hear Marisol’s voice, but she wasn’t really listening. She was distracted by the sound of the ocean. It was as if it were humming to her, singing a lullaby that she could just pick out if she listened closely.

  “Pay attention!” Marisol scolded, and Mira startled. Marisol huffed. “You’re overwhelmed. Too much change, too quickly. Listen to me. You must understand the following things, or you and Cordelia will certainly die.” The flatness in Marisol’s tone, more than the words themselves, focused Mira abruptly. Mira wished to sit up, and to her surprise, the ocean obliged, pushing her upright.

  “What you must understand—I mean, really, truly understand — is the depth of hatred female sirens inspire in fertile women,” Marisol’s voice had an odd tone to it. “They can’t abide us. Some instinct drives them to seek our destruction. They can’t help it, and they can’t be reasoned with. Women who were your best friends yesterday will seek to undermine and even hurt you today.”

  Mira started to ask a question, but Marisol raised her arm imperiously. “Do not let a woman babysit Cordelia! That’s how most siren girls are lost in infancy: killed by their female caregivers. Now, the upside is that fertile males will adore you — they can’t help that, either. Men will do anything you ask them to do. Your voice has a power of compulsion over fertile men that, with time, you’ll learn to use.”