The Siren Song

by Anne Ursu

  She bit her lip and studied Poseidon, studied the trident, studied the room. And then the idea came to her in a flash—Charlotte had a plan. And there was no time to think about whether or not it was a good one.

  A few minutes later and Charlotte was back in her room. It was getting dark now—outside her shell-shaped window the moonlight danced over the blue-black sea. Night was falling on the Poseidon. Time was running out.

  Charlotte went over to the wardrobe, opened the shell door, and stood in front of the full-length mirror.

  “Hello?” she called.

  A moment, then the familiar face materialized. “What may I get you?” it asked. “Perhaps a gown for dinner?” He eyed her up and down. “I think green satin might be just the thing….”

  “No,” Charlotte said, “no. Can you get me one of the waitress outfits? That they wear in the Constellation Lounge?”

  The face frowned. “Why would you want something like that? It’s for the staff.” His nose wrinkled up slightly, and Charlotte rolled her eyes. Wasn’t he staff too? Charlotte didn’t know where a magical mirror face wardrobe attendant fit in the whole hierarchy thing—but apparently he did.

  “Can you get it or not?” Charlotte snapped.

  “Of course I can get it,” he said haughtily. “Will you be needing anything else?”

  “No. No, thank you.”

  “My, so polite,” he said drily. “Wait one moment.” The face in the mirror disappeared for a second, then returned holding in its hand (and no, it had not had a hand a few seconds before) a suit bag. “Your outfit,” he said, nodding slightly as if to bow. And then the white hand reached out through the mirror and handed the suit bag to Charlotte.

  Well.

  She quickly undressed, shutting the wardrobe door first for a little privacy, and put on the uniform—which fit perfectly. (Charlotte wasn’t exactly surprised; it wasn’t like she was expecting the magic mirror face to bring her an outfit from magic mirror land that was a bit snug around the waist.) Then she opened up the wardrobe again to study herself.

  She looked like she was about to play at the eighth-grade band holiday concert.

  It might work, Charlotte reflected. It would be dark in the room. But if she got too close, someone would notice it was all wrong; Charlotte’s face was not exactly elfin, and she hadn’t seen a lot of freckles on any of them.

  “Um, sir? Mr. Mirror Man?” she asked, and the face appeared again. He eyed her outfit, and a white eyebrow went up. “Do you have any, um, makeup?”

  The other eyebrow rose. “Ask the bureau,” he said laconically.

  So Charlotte closed the wardrobe door and went over to the bureau mirror, and in a few moments had secured herself some very pale foundation and some powder, which she applied quite liberally. Then she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

  It was still more eighth-grade-band-concert than elf creature—or maybe now it was eighth-grade-band-at-vampire-school—but it was going to have to do.

  Charlotte was about to let herself out of her room when she suddenly remembered—Jason!

  She’d been so busy thinking about Poseidon she’d completely forgotten about him. Had he come by? Had he found her gone? Did he think she’d been eaten by a giant squid? Was he worried? He was probably very worried; Charlotte would certainly be worried in the same situation, and she was smarter than he was.

  If she waited, just a little bit, maybe he’d come. He could help her; maybe distract Poseidon while she ran off with the trident. Even if not, well, it would be nice to have him along. Plus she was going to have to make a quick getaway, and she didn’t intend on doing that without Jason.

  In a fit of hope, Charlotte poked her head out and looked down the hallway, but there was no sign of him. She closed her eyes and sighed. She had to go; it was now or never. She had to get the trident, run to the lifeboat, hurry to the cruise ship, battle the Siren, wake everyone, and get the heck out of Dodge long before any Ketos tried to make lunch meat out of the Isis Queen.

  Charlotte went over to the desk and pulled out a Poseidon notepad and a Poseidon ballpoint pen and, after making sure the paper wasn’t sentient, scrawled:

  Jason—

  Went to the Constellation Lounge to watch the show. Meet me there?

  —Charlene

  Charlotte folded up the note, wrote Jason’s name on the outside, attached it to the shell on her door, then headed back to the Constellation Lounge.

  CHAPTER 22

  Pucker Up

  WHEN CHARLOTTE ARRIVED, SHE FOUND THAT IN the time she’d been gone it seemed every sea god and creature on the yacht had come to the Constellation Lounge for some before-dinner entertainment. A quick scan of the room showed you could pretty much put a fish tail on just about any animal if you tried hard enough, from a lion to a wolf to a goat to a kind of giant iguana-kitty thing. There were humanoid creatures in just about every shade of flesh (sometimes on the same person) and various combinations of extraneous appendages, from fins to horns to scaly body armor to tails to extra heads. A giant tank came out of one wall, and inside it a whole group of mermaids and mermen sat in some lounge chairs of their own. It was a lot like the City of the Dead, except fishier.

  Charlotte’s eyes quickly went over to Poseidon, who was still in a corner with Calypso. Others had joined them—a tall goddess with a crown and what looked like lobster pincers coming out of her forehead (Poseidon’s wife, Charlotte realized, Queen Amphitrite); a younger god with a horse bottom, a fish tail, and a giant conch shell around his neck; and what seemed to be a huge dolphin sitting in a chair, munching on some peanuts. All five were listening intently to the singer onstage. Meanwhile, the waitresses bustled around the room, bringing drinks back and forth from the bar to the tables.

  It was nice and dark in the room, with the only illumination coming from the stage lights, the artificial stars, and some small table lights (actually, they were luminescent jellyfish swimming in little fish bowls, but Charlotte wasn’t close enough to see that)—dark enough, perhaps, to mistake a thirteen-year-old vampire school band concert refugee for an Immortal sunken-island waitress elf.

  Perhaps.

  So, her heart in her throat, Charlotte plunged into the lounge and made her way toward the bar.

  Her plan wasn’t that complicated. In her outfit, she’d be able to move around the lounge unnoticed. She’d keep her eye on Poseidon, and when he seemed to be engrossed, she’d move over quickly and take the trident. No one was paying attention to anything but the singer and their food and drink, and with any luck, Charlotte could just sneak out and make her way to the lifeboat as quickly as she could. And Jason—well, Jason would come and find her.

  Charlotte knew it wasn’t the greatest plan ever hatched, but it was, at the very least, a plan—and it wasn’t like anyone else was coming up with anything better. It was the best she could do under the circumstances, and as her gym teacher always said, all you can ever ask of someone is that they give their best.

  Resolutely, Charlotte made her way through the seats toward Poseidon’s box; she’d seen a nice corner behind the box where a girl could hang out relatively unnoticed, but as she passed by a table full of fish-tailed monkeys and other assorted simians, she was suddenly yanked back. Something had her by the shirt.

  As she jerked violently, trying to right herself, she saw the creature that had her—it was a giant, grayish blob with what must have been a hundred hands, and its slug-like eyes stared at her dully.

  “Touch-y,” it drawled, releasing Charlotte. “I just wanted to know what someone has to do to get some ahi tartare around here.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Charlotte. “I’ll be right up with that.” (Not.)

  The slug’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound right,” it said.

  “Oh, I have a—a cold. Let me get you your food.”

  Charlotte started to step away, but a hand grabbed her again and she was thrust right up to the blob’s face.

  “You don’t look righ
t either.”

  Charlotte froze. Suddenly, from the corner of the room, there was a loud thumping sound, and the whole room trembled. Everyone and everything in the lounge went still, from the singer to the waitresses to the mermaids in the tank to the jellyfish candles.

  “Uh-oh,” the big slug muttered, dropping Charlotte and turning languidly over to Poseidon’s box.

  Poseidon was standing up, clutching his trident, and staring down at one of the waitresses while the other people at his table did their best to look away.

  “What is this,” Poseidon growled, menacing the waitress with a small tumbler of a yellow, creamy liquid.

  The waitress took a step back. “It—it’s your ambrosia, my Lord.”

  He pounded his trident on the ground again, and once more, everything shook. “I ordered it on the rocks,” he spat.

  “No, Sir, I’m sorry, but you ordered it straight.”

  At the sound of her words, everyone in the room gasped. Charlotte’s every nerve was standing on end.

  “What?” Poseidon yelled.

  Realizing what she had done, the woman gasped and clasped her hands over her face, backing up two more steps. “My Lord, I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “I was wrong. Let me get you your drink. I’m so sorry.” She took another step back, as Poseidon seemed to grow before all of their eyes.

  “You dare correct me? You dare? In front of all these people? On my yacht? You think I’m stupid or something? You think I’m crazy? You don’t think I know what I ordered?”

  “No, no, Sir, I—” The waitress had backed into a chair just two feet from Charlotte and was pressing against it.

  “I’ll show you,” he boomed, lifting the trident up. The waitress screamed, and in one fluid motion, Poseidon pointed it directly at her. As Charlotte watched, frozen, a stream of green light came shooting from the trident and hit the woman. A burst of light surrounded her, and before Charlotte’s eyes she began to shrink. She shrank to half her size, and then more. Her body was changing too, her arms shrank into her torso, her legs fused together, her face narrowed, and her eyes began to bug out. As one, every single person in the room turned their eyes away as the waitress shriveled up and fell to the ground. Charlotte didn’t turn away, though—she couldn’t even if she’d wanted to. She was absolutely frozen. She watched as just feet in front of her, what was once a redheaded elf woman became a small goldfish, its eyes bugged out in horror, flopping around on the ground and desperately trying to breathe.

  “HA!” exhaled Poseidon majestically. He gazed meaningfully around the room, then turned to his entourage. “Come on!” he proclaimed. “Let’s go.” And with that, Poseidon stalked out of the room, shouting the whole way.

  Silence in the lounge. The goddesses left quietly, followed by the dolphin, who scooted out quickly on his fins. More silence, the only noise Poseidon’s voice disappearing down the hallway. Or almost the only noise; Charlotte felt she could hear the goldfish gasping and its tail pounding against the ground desperately. Of course she couldn’t hear, of course it was too small to make any real noise, but nonetheless the sounds seemed to pound in Charlotte’s head, in her whole body.

  And then the piano started playing again, and the singer started singing, and chatter filled the room. Charlotte heard someone say, “A goldfish again?”

  She looked around. No one was going to do anything. Resolutely, she rushed over to the goldfish, whose tail was now beating softly against the ground and whose gills were open as if to the heavens, and picked her up by the tail. A yellow-skinned god with a rainbow-colored shirt saw her and gaped.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  “Saving her!” Charlotte hissed back.

  The god looked right and left, then back at her. “He’ll know!”

  Charlotte glared at him, her eyes flaring. “I. Don’t. Care!” And she stood up, dangling the fish by her fingers, walked over to the nearest table, and gently plopped her into the small fishbowl lamp.

  And then, from right next to Charlotte, came a silky voice. “Well, well,” it said. “What have we here?”

  The skin on Charlotte’s neck prickled, and a great shudder passed through her body. She knew that voice.

  Charlotte’s head rose slowly, almost unwittingly, to find the source of the voice, and her eyes beheld what her heart already knew. She had come face-to-face with Philonecron.

  It had never occurred to Charlotte that he might be on the yacht; she’d been so occupied with her new enemy, she’d forgotten all about her old one.

  She could not move—terror and shock had completely frozen her, and she simply stood there, staring in horror at the god-demon who had been haunting her nightmares for five months.

  Philonecron was no happier to see her, and when her eyes met his, the sneer on his face was replaced by surprise, then pure rage.

  “You!” he breathed.

  Charlotte began to back slowly away, as if somehow that would help matters, as if she could turn time backward with each step, as if Philonecron would simply shrug and give up if she moved away from him.

  But he did not give up. He straightened and narrowed his eyes and hissed, “You can’t have him back. He’s mine now.”

  “Wha—” said Charlotte, her terror replaced for a moment by bewilderment. For no reason that she could identify, a very ill feeling washed over her, as if somebody had run his fingernails down the great chalkboard of the universe. Suddenly Philonecron was next to her, grabbing her arm and wrenching her away. Something in Charlotte’s brain registered that he was in a wheelchair and his legs hadn’t quite grown back, but somehow that didn’t make the situation any less terrifying.

  “Aren’t we brave,” Philonecron whispered, pulling her over so her ear was right in front of his lips. Charlotte was aware of a great and terrible coldness surrounding him. “Coming all the way over here, playing the hero again. It’s very touching, really. Inspiring, even!” He wrenched her arm up farther, and tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes. “But, alas, it is all for naught. You are going to die tonight, my plucky young friend.” Philonecron ran a long, cold finger along her jaw. “You were going to die on your mortal ship, but here is just as good. Either way, my dear, you are going to die.”

  And with that, Philonecron threw her to the ground, tapped twice on the table, and called, “Security!”

  Suddenly a hole in the ground opened up underneath Charlotte, and she plummeted into darkness. She was inside some kind of metal tube, half sliding, half tumbling downward in pitch blackness. Down she went, turning head over heels, slamming against the metal walls, flailing for something to grab onto. Her left hand hit one part of the smooth, cold wall just as her body bounced off the other, and her wrist twisted, sending pain shooting up her arm. Still she fell on.

  It may have been only a few seconds, it may have been an eternity that Charlotte fell through the twisting, turning tube before she saw light again. It was streaming from somewhere below her, and she was falling into it—no, she was falling through it. And then, suddenly, the tube ended, and Charlotte tumbled out into a vast, bright room. She landed on the floor with a bang, her whole body crying out upon impact. Cradling her wrist, she looked upward and realized she was lying in a heap right at Poseidon’s feet.

  Charlotte was in the middle of the vast throne room, and it was impossible, really, that she could have landed so far in the middle of the room, it was impossible that she was here at all, for there was no evidence of any tube, any chute, any opening in a wall—there was just Charlotte, huddled and broken, and Poseidon, towering and terrible.

  The throne room was like the rest of the boat, only more so. Images of Poseidon were everywhere, from the murals on the walls and ceiling to the carvings in the trim to the statues and busts, even the relief on his throne. At the end of the room, two great iron automatons with long spears blocked the big golden doorway. And in a nook in the back corner of the room, the giant dolphin sat at a desk flipping through Poseidon’s correspondence.


  Poseidon stared down at Charlotte, eyes flaring.

  “Charlotte Mielswetzski,” he intoned threateningly.

  Charlotte huddled on the floor at his feet, shielding her eyes from the strange glow his blue skin seemed to give off.

  “Who do you think you are?” he spat. “How dare you? How dare you come on my yacht?”

  Charlotte opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It didn’t seem like he wanted an answer anyway.

  “Did you want to humiliate me in front of my guests, is that it? Did you think that you would show me up?”

  Poseidon’s voice filled Charlotte’s ears and reverberated through her head, then her whole body, so at every word she trembled.

  “You want to take us all on? Is that it?” he sneered. “You thought that you could just waltz around my ship like you did the Underworld? You thought I might let you go like my pantywaist brother did? Hades is nothing. Nothing!”

  He hit his trident against the ground, and the whole room shuddered so hard Charlotte’s teeth knocked together.

  “How did you get here? Who helped you? Who?” He banged the trident on the floor again.

  “N—nobody,” Charlotte stuttered.

  “Nobody? Nobody? You’re a mortal. You didn’t get here by yourself.”

  “Why not?” Charlotte said, gasping slightly. “I got to the Underworld by myself.”

  Poseidon raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t entirely true, of course. Philonecron had lured them into the Underworld. And she had had Zee.

  “You have powers, then?” Poseidon asked, beginning to pace back and forth slightly. “Vision? Prophecy? Does that make you feel that you somehow have the right to challenge the gods? You?” He banged the trident on the ground again—boom! “A mortal?” Boom! “A child?” Boom!

  Charlotte’s whole body convulsed with the shaking of the floor, every muscle screaming from her fall down the chute. There was nothing she could say. There was nothing she could do. Poseidon had caught her, and she was going to die. She was going to die right here, and her parents were going to die too, and Ben the nice waiter, and Bettina the stewardess, and a whole cruise ship full of parents and children and husbands and wives and friends and cousins were all going to be swallowed up by a sea monster.