The Siren Song

by Anne Ursu

  But Philonecron rallied. There was no point in despair. All would be well. For he was an evil genius and he had a destiny, that much was apparent. You could not be as brilliant and accomplished as he, with so many natural talents and virtues, without a destiny. And perhaps it was all for the best, really, for if he had ruled the Underworld, he might have been satisfied, he might never have spent enough time in the Upperworld to realize what despicable chaos it was in, that mortals ran around willy-nilly without even fearing the gods, that the gods had less interest in being gods than Hades had in ruling the Underworld. If that was possible. In other words, the Universe needed Philonecron.

  But that was all in good time. For he could have no peace while that bad-complexioned little Empusa who had taken his Zero from him, who had turned the great golden castle of his dreams into a pile of rubble, who had caused his humiliation and mutilation, was still breathing. There was no point in coming up with a new evil plan with her on the Earth. Philonecron knew his history, his literature—the girl was his foil, his archenemy, his nemesis, destined to thwart all his plans and finally to destroy him—unless he destroyed her first.

  Then he could get his Zero back on his side and the two of them could begin their path to conquest. As a family.

  He had planned, originally, that the girl would be taken care of before he won back Zero. He would fill Poseidon’s ears with talk of her shocking insolence toward the second most powerful god in the whole Universe, and the Lord of the Seas would take care of the rest—then whatever spell she had cast over Zero would be broken, and the boy would come willingly into his welcoming arms. But of course spells are not so easily lifted, and when Philonecron met Proteus on the yacht, he had an idea. (Typical of Poseidon not to make use of Proteus’s talents. Philonecron was surprised Poseidon didn’t make the old man take on his own form all the time, so he could look at himself all day.) If he could remove Zero without attracting the attention of the skinny-armed midget she-Dragon, then the boy would see her destruction for himself and have no choice but to turn to Philonecron. Or, as he liked to think of himself, Daddy.

  And it was all working beautifully. Poseidon might be a vulgar self-obsessed half-wit with all the worth of a Gorgon’s hairbrush, but he did know how to exact revenge. And even Philonecron had to admit that his plan was quite inspired—if not, of course, genius.

  The day of Zee’s planned arrival, Philonecron could not contain his excitement. He tried to pass the time in dignified contemplation, but mostly ended up pacing back and forth (well, rolling) in his room, thinking about all that was to come. And when Proteus’s watery henchmen appeared in the room carrying their long, thin package wrapped in white cloth, Philonecron clapped his hands together and let out a sound that could only be described as a squeal.

  “Where do you want it?” asked the men, speaking together. Their voices burbled like someone talking underwater.

  “It?” gasped Philonecron. “It?”

  “Yeah. Where do you want it?”

  Philonecron sighed heavily. “Put him on the table, there.” The men nodded curtly and began to drop their bundle on the long ebony dining room table. “Gently!” he warned, scooting quickly toward them. “Be careful!” He put his hands to his face as the men placed the package on the table. “He’s not damaged, is he?”

  The men shrugged. “Just as we found him.”

  Philonecron looked up at the men, his red eyes piercing. “Were you seen?”

  “No,” said the men together. “We were not seen.”

  “Excellent,” said Philonecron, nodding. “Now for your reward. It’s in that room over there.” With a sweet smile, he pointed to a small door at the back of his stateroom. This was another addition he’d made recently, though it wasn’t for Zero’s benefit. Philonecron rolled over and opened the door for them. “You two go on in,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  As the men headed into the small room, which was not really a room at all but more of a closet made entirely of cedar, with a small heating unit topped with steaming white rocks, Philonecron closed and barred the door behind them. Then he opened a small panel, turned the heat up as far as it would go, and closed the panel with a satisfied pat.

  “Have a nice sauna, boys,” he whispered. An unfortunate end for Proteus’s servants, but, really, it was best not to leave any…loose ends. He’d have to open the door later to let the steam escape—for one couldn’t have the dears condensing again, could one?

  In a few moments Philonecron had his package unwrapped and was staring down at his prize. “There, there, my boy,” he whispered, putting his hand paternally on Zee’s forehead. “It’s all right now. You’re home. You have a place here, Zero. Finally, you belong.”

  Gently Philonecron leaned over him. “Now, don’t mind me,” he murmured. “It won’t hurt a bit.” Quickly, with a practiced hand, he extracted some blood from Zee’s arm into a small vial, then tipped the vial into a small obsidian bowl. He added a small flaskful of silver fluid, whispered a quick spell over the now steaming liquid, then injected the entire concoction back into Zee’s arm.

  “We’ll have to refresh that every day, of course,” he murmured. “At least until your cousin’s…untimely demise.” He sighed. “I know, I know. I’m sorry you have to be like this, my dear boy. It’s so unfortunate. I’d much rather have us speak of great things under the stars, but it is not to be right now. I know you, you see—you might run away, and then someone on board might eat you, and we couldn’t have that, could we?”

  On the table, Zee began to stir.

  “Oh, Zero,” Philonecron said, holding his arms out magnanimously. “Can you believe, after everything that’s happened, that we’re here together at last?” He shook his head wonderingly. “You know, I was angry at first. I’ll admit that. I’d thought we’d had an understanding, you and I…I really thought we came to mean something to each other.”

  Zee’s eyelids started fluttering.

  “But”—Philonecron clasped his hands together earnestly—“it’s not your fault. I know that now. You’re under the spell of that horrible cousin of yours. That’s why you betrayed me in the Underworld. You never would have done it otherwise, after all we’d been through together. After all I’d done for you!”

  He sighed the sigh of the greatly wronged as Zee’s eyes slowly opened. “But it’s all right. I’ve forgiven you. We’re starting over, clean slate, a new beginning for the both of us. Finally, we’re a family.

  “What would you like to do first? Would you like to hear some music? Hmmm?” Philonecron wheeled himself over to the large ebony cabinet and got out his violin. “Yes, I think I’ll play for you. Won’t that be delightful?” He beamed at Zee. “Now, sit up!”

  Slowly Zee lifted himself up and squared his body around so he sat upright on the smooth dining table.

  “Oh, no, not there. Go to that chair.” He pointed at the large black armchair resting against the wall. “I had it made especially for you!”

  Zee pushed himself off the table and walked slowly, mechanically over to the chair. He sat down, his back perfectly straight, and stared at Philonecron, eyes dull.

  “Oh!” Philonecron exclaimed, beaming at Zee. Zee looked dully back. “We’re going to be so happy together!”

  PART THREE

  FISHIER

  CHAPTER 13

  Come Aboard

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, ONE WEEK AFTER ZEE arrived on the Poseidon, the Mielswetzskis got into a cab for the airport. Mrs. Mielswetzski had used all of Friday to pack and Mr. Mielswetzski had left school after his last class, but when Charlotte suggested she might also leave school at noon in order to get ready, her idea was not received with much enthusiasm.

  “You’re already missing three days of school at the end of the cruise, young lady,” said Mrs. Mielswetzski. “I think that’s quite enough.”

  “Though it really is too bad we couldn’t have left earlier,” said Mr. Mielswetzski. “There’s so much history in Charle
ston to explore.”

  “Yes, but school comes first, Mike,” said Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  “I know, Tara, but given the educational opportunities…” said Mr. Mielswetzski.

  “We’ve already discussed this, Mike,” said Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  “But I’m just saying,” said Mr. Mielswetzski.

  “Um, I think I better go pack,” said Charlotte.

  That was Thursday night. On Saturday morning she was all packed, while her parents were running around the house freaking out and calling to delay the taxi. Charlotte found it all pretty amusing.

  While being trapped aboard a boat for ten days with her parents traveling through the wonderful world of American history was not Charlotte’s first idea of a good way to spend her time, she was actually looking forward to a break from her current life—which shows you how well things were going for her. Zee’s complete personality transplant was weighing on her heavily. Now that he’d taken a one-way trip to Lulu-town, she found herself feeling quite alone in the universe. She’d thought that what they’d experienced in the Underworld might stick with you for more than five months, but apparently once you discover girls, the eternal suffering of humanity just doesn’t matter anymore. Meanwhile, Maddy was inconsolable, and Charlotte used up her five-minute phone allotment listening to her sob, which was a lot of fun. Maddy would say, “He’s such a jerk!” and Charlotte could only say, “Yeah, he pretty much is.” And then, of course, there was the whole mystery of the disappearance of Jason Hart and the unanswered question of what he knew about the gods. In other words, Charlotte was glad to be on vacation. Lame vacation, yes—but it was still vacation.

  And Charlotte had prepared herself with adequate defenses against her parents. As soon as the Mielswetzskis sat down on the plane, she took out her headphones and a book for two hours of antisocial behavior. But Mr. Mielswetzski stopped her.

  “Oh, Lottie, we need you present and accounted for. We have so much to talk about!”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “We do?”

  “We have to pick cruise excursions!” Smiling, Charlotte’s father took a brochure out from his bag. “There’s so much to choose from!”

  This was the first Charlotte had heard of excursions. She had assumed that when the ship docked, all the passengers would just get off and wander around—which seemed awfully humane, given that most of the on-ship activities consisted of historical lectures, bridge tournaments, and other stuff for old people. But apparently there were organized old-people activities at every stop too.

  “See, this is the problem,” Mr. Mielswetzski said. “We’ve got just one day in Yorktown, but that’s not enough. You could spend a whole week! There’s a tour of the Jamestown settlement, the Yorktown battlefield—that’s where the British finally surrendered. The Yorktown Victory Center is supposed to have some really phenomenal exhibits. But then there’s Colonial Williamsburg. Lottie, you’d just love it. It’s a fully restored colonial town, complete with people in costume. It’s just like going back in time!”

  Charlotte could only stare at her father, bewildered. How he had gotten the impression that going to a town where everyone was in historical costume was something she’d just love, she couldn’t imagine. Sometimes parents see what they want to see.

  “Well, anyway”—her father handed her the brochure—“you should look through these and pick the ones you really want to do, okay? I’ll let you be in charge!” He beamed at her. From the other seat, Charlotte heard her mother take in a quick breath, as if she was about to say something and then stopped herself.

  With a groan, Charlotte started flipping through the brochure, looking at her options. Boring…boring…painful…boring…torturous…oh!

  “Hey!” she gasped, pointing at the page. “Look, we can go to the beach!”

  Her father started. “What?”

  “The beach!” She pointed to the page. “At Yorktown! A bus picks you up from the ship and they’ll take you to a beach! Right on the ocean!” Charlotte had never been to the ocean, but it seemed like it would be a very nice place to be.

  Mr. Mielswetzski gave her a puzzled look. “I hardly think the Clio Foundation sent me on a history cruise so I could go to the beach, Lottie.”

  “Well, didn’t they want you to have fun, too?” She gave him her most reasonable smile. “I mean, it’s an award, Dad, not a punishment.”

  From her seat right next to Charlotte, Mrs. Mielswetzski coughed slightly.

  “Charlotte,” her father said, “we can go to the beach any time. How often do we get to travel back in time?”

  “But”—she blinked—“I thought you said I was in charge.”

  Mrs. Mielswetzski leaned forward in her seat and looked at her husband. “Yes, you did say that, Mike,” she said. “I heard you.” Was it Charlotte’s imagination, or did she look like she was enjoying herself?

  “Well, yes, but I never imagined…You’re in charge of picking whichever historical experience you think would be most fun, okay?”

  Charlotte bit her lip. “Well, what if I went to the beach and you guys had a historical experience?”

  The smile left Mrs. Mielswetzski’s face. “Remember, Charlotte, you’re still grounded…. We only let you come with us because of the educational nature of the trip, and also because we thought it would be good for us, as a family, to have some time together.” She stared at Charlotte pointedly.

  “Fine,” said Charlotte, in a way that conveyed how incredibly not fine it was.

  “Don’t ‘fine’ me, young lady. You’re lucky we let you come at all. Just because you’re thirteen doesn’t mean you have a license to be rude to your parents.”

  Charlotte slumped in her seat and glowered at the chair in front of her.

  “Now,” said her father. “About Jamestown. Do you know they have a recreated Powhatan village? The Powhatan were the tribe of Pocahontas, Charlotte, but of course the true story of Pocahontas has very little to do with the myth. See…”

  It was going to be a long trip.

  The Mielswetzskis spent the night at a hotel in Charleston. The next morning, they got up entirely too early and dragged Charlotte to some historical house where some guy had done something, then the Mielswetzskis had lunch and took a taxi down to the pier, and Charlotte had to admit that when she got out and beheld the cruise ship, she felt the tiniest pang of excitement. The Isis Queen seemed enormous to Charlotte (“Actually, it’s a small-ship cruise, which means we can dock in many ports a larger ship can’t!” her father explained cheerfully) and looked, well, not entirely lame. The ship was gleaming white, as long as a football field, and as tall as a three-story house. It seemed almost luxurious, almost—well—like something that could even be…fun.

  They walked up a portable staircase and into the ship, where a bunch of crew members were lined up to greet them. A man in a tuxedo handed them each a glass of champagne, and as he saw Charlotte, he eyed the Mielswetzskis questioningly.

  “Aw, give her one,” said Mr. Mielswetzski.

  “Mike!” said Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  “Just a couple sips. For toasting!”

  “She’s thirteen! You want to start her drinking?”

  “T, it’s not going to kill her. Anyway, we don’t want to create some sort of mystique around alcohol, do we? We talked about this.”

  “Uh,” said Charlotte, smiling up at the champagne man, “no thanks.” Maddy’s father had given her a sip of champagne once at New Year’s and it made her feel like there were bubbles in her nose.

  The crew directed them up another flight of stairs and to a lounge for check-in, and as they made their way, Charlotte scanned her fellow passengers for other kids whose parents had dragged them on this journey through the heart of lameness. Maybe there would be people worth hanging out with and they could stand at the back of the tours and make fun of everything. But as they waited in line at the check-in, she realized that the people closest to her age on board were her parents.

 
“Is this cruise all old people?” Charlotte not-really-whispered to her mother.

  “Shhhh,” Mrs. Mielswetzski hushed, then glanced surreptitiously around them. “Well, it looks like it, doesn’t it? Frankly, I’m surprised. Given the educational mission, I would have expected more parents to jump at the opportunity.”

  “Right,” said Charlotte.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, because this is a family trip, right? Charlotte, think of this as an opportunity. Why don’t you use this chance to show us how trustworthy you are!”

  Charlotte was about to gag, when it occurred to her that perhaps she should play along. If her mother thought it was an opportunity, well, then, fine. Charlotte would be the model of good behavior, and then maybe when they got home she’d be able to leave the house without a police escort. Anything was worth that. Anything.

  “You’re right, Mom,” she said with an innocent smile. “I will.”

  “Oh, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Mielswetzski. “I’m proud of you. Now, let’s get our rooms…. Where did your father get to?”

  After reclaiming Mr. Mielswetzski, who had wandered off to chat up the people at the excursion office, they walked up one flight of stairs to Deck Five. Charlotte saw, to her immense relief, that she actually had her own room for the cruise. Her father explained that the rooms would be much too small to add a bed and the prize specifically allowed for an extra room for family members, which made Charlotte like the Historical Torture Association, or whatever it was called, a little better. The rooms were still right next to each other, and her parents would be able to knock at any moment, but at least she could shut her door and have some peace and pretend she was on a cruise to somewhere cool. Charlotte had a potent imagination and she was fully prepared to use it.