Outside, it was even colder than she’d expected. Stepping back inside, she grabbed one of Babushka’s woolen scarves from the coat rack before pulling the door closed. Calling softly for her dog, Giselle wound the scarf under her chin, tying the ends together behind her neck.
“Sasha? Where are you, you stupid dog?”
Giselle half suspected Sasha knew enough English to understand what stupid meant.
“I didn’t mean it,” she called softly. “Sasha?” A pause. “Sash?”
Outside, two sensations competed in her throat. One was thirst. The other was harder to name, but it closed her airways and it involved how badly she needed her dog to be alive and not run over somewhere. Scurrying down from the front porch, Giselle realized the raking sound she’d heard in her dream had probably been Sasha, clawing the glass panes of the front door. Why hadn’t her mother fixed the stupid door? Because the only promises your mother trades in are broken ones, whispered a voice in her head.
“Sasha? Come here, girl!” Giselle’s voice, soft for the sake of sleeping neighbors, drifted along the dark street. “Sasha?” The dog couldn’t have gone far. Not if she’d clawed her way out within the last few minutes.
The dog park by the river was to Giselle’s left. Lately, though, Sasha had pulled right when they took their walks together. After a few tentative steps to the right, Giselle called again. She continued to call as she passed each house, and when she’d passed the third house, she heard something. Barking, coming from the direction of the dog park. Giselle turned around and started running for the river.
A pre-dawn breeze sent leaves shivering across the sidewalk and Giselle pulled her scarf tighter, squinting because of a pair of bright headlights. Someone was delivering papers or sales flyers. The headlights gave color to everything that fell in their scope, shifting the palette from gun-metal and ash to wet greens and browns. At least her dog, white and large, would stand out against either background.
Now jogging, she risked a louder cry under cover of a rumbling pickup shuddering past.
“Sasha!”
A familiar bark answered her cry. Giselle ran faster. From the center of town, the church clock struck the half-hour: 4:30. Sasha barked again. Low and wolfish, it was a bark calculated to inspire fear. Giselle swallowed, hoping the person on the receiving end didn’t carry a Taser or heavy walking stick.
She turned down a side street that dead ended into the park by the river. Tree branches blocked her view of the mermaid statue, but she could make out the marble plinth, white in the moonlight. At the base of the statue, Sasha paced and growled.
Giselle angled across the parking lot, away from the dog park and toward the statue garden. Sasha’s sharp woof was punctuated by snarls and growls emanating from deep in her belly.
Giselle sprinted to close the gap between her and her dog.
And then she saw the sirens.
32
PAS DE DEUX
Before the river, whirling in abandon, Giselle saw dozens of white-clad dancers. Their hair flowed long and wild, tangled and eternally wet. Some paused to pull combs through their dripping tresses; others held mirrors up to admire their cold faces. Even the darkest-limbed among them had skin that appeared faded and sickly in the moonlight, and the palest ones had skin the color of bones left in the desert. They seemed altogether less human than ever, at this hour, casting their milky-white eyes to the sky.
Though their gazes appeared vacant, they were not blind. The dreadful faces found Giselle without sight, and the ones that gazed on her hissed sharply, baring rows of pointed teeth, deathly white like their eyes.
Giselle shuddered. This was no place for the living.
Sasha, who had seen or scented Giselle, now barked a sharp warning to venture no closer, and Giselle realized the warning was directed at her. The white dog, slinking back and forth as if along an invisible perimeter, growled a different warning to the maidens preening and dancing beside the river. Giselle rushed forward and grasped Sasha by the collar, holding tight even when the dog flashed bare teeth at her.
“Let’s go,” Giselle said softly, pleading. “Sasha, come on!”
The white dog, gleaming in the moon’s pale light, continued to growl and snarl at the sirens. Giselle avoided looking at them.
“Come on,” Giselle repeated, pulling against her straining dog.
Sasha ignored all of Giselle’s efforts to remove the two of them from the area. The dog weighed as much as Katya, and if it came down to dragging Sasha from the creatures on the river bank, Giselle would be hard pressed to manage it.
“Sasha, come!” Giselle tugged sharply on her dog’s collar.
Sasha responded with a flash of teeth and a warning snarl.
“Sasha!” cried Giselle, shocked and more than a little hurt.
The dog blinked and lowered her head, signs of submission, but she wouldn’t budge.
Giselle switched to a kinder tone, clear and firm. “Sasha, come on, girl. I know you don’t like them. Neither do I. Let’s go.”
Giselle glanced toward the creatures, and then, in a ghastly revelation, she saw the reason for Sasha’s steadfast refusal to leave the place. There, among the pale creatures, danced Katya.
The air in Giselle’s lungs turned to ice at the sight of her sister spinning among the creatures, and she seemed to choke on her own breath. Passing her little sister among them as though she were a toy, the sirens railed at Katya in their strange, hissing voices. They seemed to laugh as Katya stumbled. Filled with rage, Giselle dashed past her snarling dog toward the sirens.
The creatures turned their horrible white eyes on Giselle, dozens at once, and Giselle felt as though her veins were flowing with snow melt instead of warm blood. She stood frozen by their dreadful glance. Summoning all her will, she pulled her gaze from the sirens and called to her sister.
“Katya!” The cry felt as if it was clawing its way out of her throat.
Receiving neither answer nor acknowledgement, Giselle threw herself forward into the circle of dancers. They tore at her with their icy nails and Giselle registered brief, searing pain, but she pushed on to reach her sister.
“Katya!”
There was more pain as they grabbed her, clawed her, again and again, but compared to the anguish of seeing her sister caught among the creatures, this was pain that did not matter.
At last she reached Katya, who saw her and opened her mouth to speak.
“Zelya …” Katya’s voice rasped. “They aren’t hurting me. Please, step away.”
Sasha had inched past her previous invisible boundary and was now darting back and forth, snapping, but she would not brave the circle of sirens. Giselle reached for her sister, and as she did so, the maidens clawed and shoved and grasped and pushed, guarding Katya from Giselle’s reach.
A small sort of howl broke from Giselle’s throat. She could not reach her little sister. The creatures rent long gashes in Giselle’s wool coat. Her skin, when they reached it, bled and healed as it had in her dreams. The coat, however, did not re-weave itself where their nails clawed, shredding bright bits of wool.
“Zelya!” Katya’s throat was dry, but her cry was clear. “Back away! They’re hurting you!” She looked in panic from pale face to pale face. “Leave her alone!”
The goblins laughed, cruel and uncaring.
Katya tried again. “Stop! She’s my sister!”
A white haired creature grabbed Katya by the chin. “We know who she is, mortal. And whose daughter she is.” The creature drew a sharp nail along Katya’s jaw line, leaving a thin bloody trail.
Giselle swallowed hard, willing herself to bear the sight, but the planet beneath her heaved to one side and the next thing she knew, Giselle tasted dirt between her teeth. She was lying on the ground.
“Giselle!”
Katya’s cry worked like sal volatile, and Giselle pushed herself up from the grass.
“Zelya,” called Katya, “I’m here by choice. But there is something y
ou can do for me.”
“Anything,” cried Giselle, her eyes locked on her sister’s face, which had healed; the scar along her jaw was a thin white line, shining in the moonlight.
“Your highness,” called Katya, addressing the creature who had just drawn a wicked claw under her chin. The queen, terrible and majestic, turned to listen.
“Allow us to dance for you, your highness. My sister and I together. It will be something wonderful. Something marvelous. I swear it.”
The cold queen nodded. “Very well. Give room,” she commanded. Her subjects drew back, forming a large circle around the two human girls.
Katya extended a hand and Giselle rushed to take it, unimpeded by the creatures. At once, Giselle felt how exhausted her sister was.
“A pas de deux,” whispered Katya. “We’ll dance together, but you’ll have to support me.”
Giselle nodded.
“We only need to make it till dawn,” whispered Katya. “I’m bound here until then. They’ll flee at first light, just like in the stories.”
“How do you know?” asked Giselle. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve seen it happen before,” replied Katya.
Giselle gaped open-mouthed at her sister. “You what?”
“Later,” hissed Katya. “I’ll explain later. We need to start dancing. Now.”
“Lean into me as much as you need to,” murmured Giselle, throwing off her scarf and coat. “We can do the slow section of the Peasant Pas de Deux from Giselle. I’ll keep my hands on your waist and support you the whole way.”
Katya’s nod of agreement was almost imperceptible.
“And every time you strike a pose,” continued Giselle, “Arabesque or cambré or penché—anything—you hold it for a full count of eight. It will give you mini-breaks, understand?”
Katya nodded again.
The girls began a slow progression. All around them, the pallid sirens drifted. Some were more interested than others and attempted to match their steps to those of the two sisters, creating an eerie, macabre reel of their own. Overhead, the few stars that could be seen were gradually fading.
Giselle glided, bent, and twirled, all in slowest motion, her sister beside her. Katya’s weight pressed more and more heavily into Giselle’s arms as the minutes before dawn crept past.
The sirens sensed the sun’s approach before the human girls could. Peeling away from the circle, the creatures headed for the river, disappearing into its depths. Giselle felt Katya leaning toward the girls as if she meant to join them in their eerie departure. As Giselle released Katya into a series of piqué turns, Katya veered toward the river’s edge.
“No,” called Giselle, dashing forward, the steps of the dance forgotten.
Katya continued as though she couldn’t hear her sister’s warning—as though she had begun a transformation into a slippery creature of the river.
“Katya!” she cried, grasping one of her sister’s trailing hands.
Giselle stumbled along the uneven surface of the river’s edge, but her sister continued, as sure-footed as the sirens themselves. Suddenly Giselle was terrified her sister might be unable to stop. She leaped forward but slipped and fell down the wet bank.
Scrambling forward on hands and knees, Giselle cried to her sister: “No!”
The queen and one of her maidens regarded Giselle with their cold, blank pupils.
“Take me, not my sister! Take me, instead!”
The creatures seemed not to hear her as they slid into the water and Katya fell beside its edge, her eyes closed.
33
CAUSE AND EFFECT
The last of the ghostly creatures sank beneath the water. As Giselle approached her fallen sister, fear gnawed at her. Fear that Katya’s spirit had somehow parted from her body and followed the sirens into the current.
Kneeling, Giselle pressed her fingers against Katya’s cold, pale throat. A pulse thrummed under her touch. Solid. Real. Tat-a-tat, tat-a-tat, tat-a-tat.
Sasha ventured down the shallow bank, cautious, her arthritis slowing her now that the immediate danger had passed. The dog sniffed Katya’s hair and face and licked her under the chin. Giselle reached uncertainly to push Sasha away, but what did she know about the protocols for waking someone who had possibly fallen under the spell of the undead?
Katya stirred as Sasha licked her chin a second time. Drawing a slow breath, she opened her eyes.
“Giselle?” she whispered. “Is the sun up?”
To the east, a pale flush leaked across the horizon like spilled paint. Giselle leaned forward and grasped her sister’s cold body, hugging it to her own.
“Yes,” Giselle murmured. “It’s all over. They’re gone. Can you … walk?”
Katya smiled. A tiny grunted laugh escaped her lips. “Of course I can walk.”
But when she rose, the steps she took were slow and labored.
“Lean on me,” murmured Giselle. She would carry Katya if she had to.
Sasha stuck close as though an invisible leash connected the three. The dog whined when Katya stumbled and barked at passing cars and joggers.
When they were nearly home, Katya spoke.
“Mom can’t know about this,” she said. “She’s got so much on her mind with … everything. You know.”
Giselle’s neck and face warmed at the implication: she was part of the “everything.”
Katya pushed the front door open and shuffled over the threshold.
“Get back in bed,” said Giselle. “We’ll talk after you’ve had some sleep.”
“No,” said Katya. “We have to talk now.”
Giselle frowned, hesitating.
“Before Mom and Babushka get up,” whispered Katya.
Digging her nails into her palms, Giselle followed her sister into the kitchen to learn what Katya had been doing the past two nights.
Katya sank into her chair at the kitchen table and grabbed a mug from the wall. She jiggled the samovar spigot, but nothing came out.
“I didn’t refill it after dishes last night,” Giselle confessed, rising to carry the pot over to the sink. Katya was the one who always refilled the samovar, but Katya had gone to bed early the last two nights. And now Giselle knew why.
As Giselle carried the full pot back to the table, she saw her sister rubbing her eyes, hands curled in tiny fists, which had the effect of making her look like a toddler. Giselle’s throat began to swell. What had her brave, stupid, little sister been doing?
Katya poured herself a cup of unheated water from the spigot, gulping it swiftly.
“Three nights ago,” began Katya, “I went to the river for the first time and confronted the sirens. James was dying.”
Giselle felt a chill tingling its way up her spine.
“They said—well, one of them said, the queen as it turned out—she said James owed them his soul. For … unfaithfulness.”
“Like in the stories.”
Katya nodded. “Like in Giselle.”
Tiny spiders seemed to be chasing up and down Giselle’s arms. “This is all my fault,” she murmured.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Katya. “James was to blame.”
Giselle clutched the edge of her seat. “Katya, I am the reason he went to the river that night. Instead of calling him out on what he’d done, I let him think everything was fine, so he’d sit in his car waiting for me in the cold.”
Katya frowned, nodding. “That would have been all the invitation the sirens needed. They are very … intense about unfaithful behavior. I mean, I’m all for full disclosure in relationships, but these creatures take it to a whole new level.”
“So it’s real,” murmured Giselle. “The … supernatural insights.”
“I didn’t want to believe it,” said Katya. “I didn’t believe it. I went to the river to prove it to myself, that they were just … I don’t know, humanoid looking shark-creatures or something. But then you had that memory of talking to one of them, and I thought … well, there are
a lot of anecdotes on the Internet, and they all pointed toward something more … sentient. And vengeful. And possibly … undead.”
Katya had whispered the last word and Giselle knew how badly Katya didn’t want to believe any of it. Katya was all about the science, the research, the explanations that swept away the supernatural like so many cobwebs.
Giselle shivered.
“I never should have let James think we were still on for that date,” she murmured.
“And he shouldn’t have been groping Caitlyn behind your back,” retorted Katya, a brief flash of fire in her baby-blue eyes. “Not if he didn’t have the strength to dance for hours on end with fiendish sirens.”
“They really do that?”
Katya shook her head. “Zelya, you were there. You saw it with your own eyes.”
“I know. I know. It’s just … I don’t know what I saw.” She poured herself a cup of tepid water. Then she shook her head. “Okay. I know what I saw. I just don’t want to believe it.”
Katya nodded, seeming to lose herself in a memory.
“When I went down to the river the first time, I saw something even more … unbelievable.”
Giselle raised her gaze to meet her sister’s eyes. “You mean, besides evil undead maidens?”
“Zelya, I saw James. When he should have been in Portland.”
Giselle stopped herself in the act of placing a tea bag in her cup. “You saw James.” She frowned. “James as in … James? James who just got home from OHSU?”
“His color was all wrong. Or his … substance, maybe. I saw his … his ghost. Or something very like a ghost. It was see-through.”
Giselle inhaled sharply. “Katya, I dreamed about that. About James’s … ghost dancing under the control of the Queen of the Sirens.”
Katya frowned but didn’t comment on the dream. What was there to say, now that they both knew the magic was real?
Katya continued. “The queen called the filmy image James’s soul. When he saw me, he spoke to me. He said he’d tried to leave the dance that first night but he couldn’t.” Katya grasped her empty mug more tightly. “I think when he tried to leave, his soul slipped out of his body. That was why he was lying on the ground like that when we saw him. That was why they couldn’t wake him up or figure out what was wrong at the hospital.”
Siren Spell Page 22
