Siren Sisters

by Dana Langer

  “Well, maybe I’m willing to take that risk.”

  “Then go if you want. Live in denial for one more day. You certainly wouldn’t be the first. But trust me, dear, sirens make terrible friends.”

  I push past her and run out to the parking lot and across the street to catch the bus. I keep looking back over my shoulder to make sure she isn’t following me. The bus stop is right by the Dumpsters, and the air smells like seawater and rotten fish. I cross my arms over my chest and tap my feet, muttering under my breath. “Hurry up. Hurry up!”

  At last, the bus comes chugging into view. The doors swing open, and I grab the railing and pull myself up into the cold, stale air. As we speed down Seawall Avenue, I look out the window and try to think of a plan. Maybe Jason and I could run away, leave Starbridge Cove and go someplace else, someplace the Sea Witch would never find me, someplace far from the ocean where there’s no such thing as shipwrecks. Like a desert. Or the top of a mountain. And if my sisters like being sirens so much, then they can just stay here and be as cold-blooded and beautiful as they want. They can do it without me.

  It’s totally weird being in the gym after dark. The lights are low, and there are streamers and paper stars hanging from the basketball hoop. There’s music playing but nobody’s dancing. Instead, kids are roaming the floor in packs. The gymnastics girls are all wearing the same gold sandals and pink bows in their hair. Jason is sitting by the refreshment table with the entire sailing team, but I’m too scared to go over uninvited. Meanwhile, Emma floats effortlessly between the two groups. She belongs everywhere.

  I lean against the wall across from the bleachers and glance at the clock. What if Jason changed his mind about wanting me here? What if nobody ever talks to me? What if I just stand here all night long?

  But then Jason turns around and sees me, and he smiles and starts waving me over. I can’t believe it. The entire sailing team is watching.

  I take a deep breath and push myself away from the wall.

  “Hey,” he says. “You made it.”

  I grab a cup of soda from the refreshment table and hold on tight like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling through the floor. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m here.”

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “You are? Why?”

  “At the last minute, my stepdad decided to insist on being a chaperone.” He points to the speakers, where Mr. Bergstrom is talking to Coach Bouchard. We can’t hear him over the music, but we can see that he’s upset; he’s gesturing wildly with his hands. Coach Bouchard keeps nodding and trying to back away at the same time. “It’s not like he’s here because he wanted to spend time with me either. He just wanted to ‘share some ideas’ with Coach Bouchard about the festival. And by ‘share some ideas’ he means yell at him and demand that he do everything his way.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I’m just glad you’re here. I like your necklace.”

  “Thanks. I, um, I wear it every day.”

  “Oh. Well, it looks good today.” He flips a pretzel in the air and catches it in his mouth, the way his stepbrothers always do. I can’t believe he’s coordinated enough to pull off a maneuver like that at a time like this.

  “You seem very . . . relaxed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Thankfully, before I can say any more weird things, the music changes to a slow song, and it’s like this invisible tide, swirling people into couples and dragging them out to the dance floor. Even Coach Bouchard and Nurse Claire get swept out into the crowd and start dancing with each other.

  “So?” Jason asks. “Do you want to dance?”

  “With you?”

  “I mean, yeah.”

  “Sure.”

  We drift out to the dance floor and find a place for ourselves in the crowd. He puts his hands on my waist, and I put my hands on his shoulders. We’re still about the same height, so it’s hard to avoid eye contact. But we try. We look everywhere around the room except at each other: at the basketball hoop, and the paper stars, and the refreshment table. His neck is turning red, and his hands are sweating through my dress. It’s a little gross. Still, for the next ninety seconds, we are like two totally normal kids at a middle school dance, and I kind of can’t believe it. Soon, I think, I’ll tell him my idea about running away. We’ll devise a plan and pool our resources. He’ll have some ideas about useful tools for surviving in the wilderness, like maps or rope or whatever. I’ll pack us some food from the diner, like peanut butter, which lasts a really long time, and my books, and we’ll take all of the snacks from his room, and—

  And then the power goes out.

  “It’s the storm!”

  “Get away from the windows!”

  The chaperones start trying to corral us all into the center of the gym, and someone starts the backup generator. The smell of gasoline fills the room, and the gym is flooded with yellow light.

  A tingling sensation shivers through my feet and ankles.

  Jason tries to grab my arm, but I pull away from him and run for the bathroom as fast as I can. I lock myself in a stall and sit on the floor with my knees drawn up to my chest. Scales are now twining their way over my feet and up my ankles like vines. Like snakes. I hug my knees tight and try not to cry.

  Under the fluorescent lights, my feet don’t even look like mine anymore. They look like alligator feet. It’s totally disgusting, and I grab the nail file from my purse and start scraping my ankles with the rough side as hard as I can. Scales fall away and land in a shimmering pile on the floor, but more immediately grow back in their place. It’s hopeless. I can’t stop them anymore.

  Outside, I hear thunder, and hail pings against the window. The storm is getting worse, and I need to leave. This was all a terrible idea. Lily was right. I never should have worn these shoes. I never should have come here. And I never should have even thought of running away. The Sea Witch could cause a hurricane to get back at me. A tornado. She could destroy our house and the school and the diner. She could destroy the whole town.

  I wipe my face with the back of my hand, and I scoop up my scales and throw them in the garbage. And then I take the silver sandals and shove them into the garbage too. Trembling, I scramble up onto the counter, push open the window, and climb outside into the pouring rain.

  I take off running across the parking lot, the silver purse banging against my hip, trying not to slip in the mud while the rain soaks my hair and Lula’s dress, and hail pelts my face and arms like it’s meant especially for me. For just one second, I glance back at the school, and I see Mr. Bergstrom standing by the main entrance wearing a green poncho and holding a flashlight. He points the flashlight at me and starts waving me over. “Lorelei Salt! I see you! Come back here!” But I keep running as fast as I can into the darkness.

  The next morning, I wake up curled in Lara’s bed. I’m still wearing Lula’s dress, which is like a cold, wet skin, and my arms and legs are streaked with mud. For a while I just lie there, staring up at the headboard with its pattern of smooth metal bars. My sisters are all awake, and the smell of coffee and bacon and the sound of their voices, laughing and teasing, float up from the kitchen. But outside, below my window, there’re these strange banging and rustling sounds.

  I peel off Lula’s dress and grab Jason’s Little League T-shirt from the back of a chair. I pull the shirt on over my head and go look outside. Two stories below, a figure stands hunched over the trash cans, pawing through bottles and newspapers, a dark, hulking shape in the foggy gray morning. At first I think it’s one of Dad’s mythical ghost bears. But then the figure straightens and pushes back his hood, and I recognize him. It’s Mr. Bergstrom. His hair is all messed up, and his eyes are wild, and he has a series of rust-colored stains sprayed across the sleeves of his jacket.

  I’m just as afraid as when I thought it was a bear.

  I back away from the window and hurry across the cold floorboards and down th
e stairs.

  “Lara!”

  “What is it?” She comes into the hall holding a wooden spoon, cheeks flushed from standing over the stove. “I was just coming to wake you. I made oatmeal.”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “You’re shaking, Lolly. What’s wrong?” She comes closer and rubs my arms. “Bad dream?”

  “Lara, I went to a dance last night.”

  “A dance?”

  “Yes. At school. I lied to you.”

  She grins. “I think you can be forgiven for that.”

  “But that’s not the worst part. I ran away because the power went out, because the Sea Witch was calling, and Mr. Bergstrom saw me. He saw me running away, and I think he knows something. About us. I told you he’s hunted sirens before, and that he said he knows how to spot them.”

  “Okay, well, it’s good you told me. I’ll just—”

  “No, but there’s more.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s outside right now. By the garbage cans. He’s here. At our house.”

  There’s a pounding on the door then, hard enough to shake the rusty dead bolt and rattle the pictures on the walls.

  Lara grabs my elbow and pulls me to her side. “Lula! Come in here!”

  The pounding gets louder, and Lula and Lily both come into the hallway in their pajamas and socks. Lula’s still holding a bowl of oatmeal. “What’s all that banging? What’s going on?”

  “Erik Bergstrom is outside. I’m going to go talk to him. Just take them down to the basement in case— Well, Dad’s gun is there.”

  “It doesn’t have any bullets!” Lily reminds everyone.

  Lara puts her finger to her lips. Then she opens the front door and steps out onto the porch, and the three of us ignore her instructions and hide in the living room where we can see everything through the window.

  “Can I help you?” Lara can ask that question like the wrong answer might get your head chopped off, but Mr. Bergstrom doesn’t seem concerned.

  “Where’s your father?”

  “He isn’t home. What is this regarding?”

  “What is this regarding? It’s regarding your little sister. She ran away from an official school function last night, in the middle of the storm. I’d like to know where she thought she was going.”

  I can feel Lily glaring at me, but I refuse to look at her.

  “How is that any of your business?”

  “I was an official chaperone at the function,” he explains. “So that gives me jurisdiction.”

  “I see. Well, she’s here now. She’s fine. Thank you for . . . following up. Now I’d like you to leave.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or I’m calling the police.”

  “The police?” We can hear Mr. Bergstrom laugh and then his steps on the porch stairs. “Why do you think this town even has a police force? I’m the biggest donor and fund-raiser in Sunrise County. I own the police.”

  Even from this distance, I can tell Lara’s a little scared now. She keeps biting her lip and raking her hands through her hair, and I think she looks a lot smaller, too, without the rest of us around her.

  “What about you, young lady? Pretty bad storm we had last night. Where were you?”

  “Leave us alone.”

  “You know I’m a hunter, right?”

  Lara shakes her head. “I don’t know you at all.”

  Mr. Bergstrom raises his eyebrows. “Well, let me tell you something about me, then. I’m a developer by trade, okay? A visionary. I have a vision for a place, and then I eliminate all the obstacles in my way. You understand? Hunting is just a part of that.”

  He takes another step, and Lily and I scoot closer together and push the curtain aside to see. Now Mr. Bergstrom has one palm braced against the wall and he’s leaning close to Lara’s face. “I don’t care how fearsome a creature seems, how big it is, what it’s capable of. If it’s in my way, it’ll be hanging on my wall by dinnertime.”

  Lula starts trying to stand up, but she slips in her socks, and Lily grabs her hand and pulls her back down. “Wait,” she hisses. “He’s leaving.”

  Mr. Bergstrom turns and walks back out to his truck, and Lara comes inside and shuts the door. The three of us trip over each other trying to get back to her.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” she says. “Family meeting.”

  We all head down to the basement, which is a place I don’t really like going to anymore. It smells like mold and cobwebs, and it’s full of cardboard boxes and our mom’s old records and clothes.

  “He obviously knows about us,” Lily says, and points at me. “Thanks to her.”

  “It’s not my fault. He already knew!” I say.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard him at the diner telling Mr. Bishop that he knows sirens are real. That he can spot them and that he’s hunted them before.”

  “Well, why didn’t you tell us, then?”

  “I tried! I told Lara, but she—”

  Lara sighs and pushes her bangs out of her face. “She did. I didn’t listen to her.”

  For a while nobody says anything. Then Lula pulls the spoon out of her oatmeal and frowns at the hardened clumps. “I can’t eat this now.”

  “Look,” Lara says. “Somebody just has to go explain all of this to the Sea Witch. She shouldn’t call for us for a while. Just in case. It’s too dangerous.”

  Lily calls out, “Not it!” and puts her finger on her nose, which is supposed to be like some sort of guaranteed protection against anyone ever making her do anything. It’s the same way she always calls the window seat in the truck; then nobody can ever make her smush in the middle.

  I’m always in the middle.

  I raise my hand. “I’ll go.”

  Lara smiles. “That’s very brave of you, Lolly. Thank you.”

  Lily rolls her eyes. “It’s about time she did something useful.”

  By the time I leave the basement, thick gray storm clouds are gathering overhead. This time, I manage to extricate my own bottle-green raincoat and rubber boots from the mess of the hall closet, and I slosh out into the misty morning. Aside from a trail of heavy boot prints in the mud, there’s no sign of Mr. Bergstrom, and I walk alone until the shoreline comes into view and then head down to the dock where we keep our family’s kayak.

  Practically every family in Starbridge Cove has some sort of kayak, and by the time they’re nine or ten, most kids can pilot one all on their own. I climb into the little boat, take a seat on one of the benches, and slide the paddle into my hands. The little vessel tips and sways a bit, and I try to steady myself, to keep my balance. Once I’m settled and I start paddling in a steady rhythm, the vessel moves quickly across the inlet, gliding, as if the water were glass. The Sea Witch’s house comes into view, a rickety old cottage in the center of a tiny island, barely big enough for the house and a large rock and three scrawny trees, and it occurs to me that I’ve never actually been there before by myself.

  I dip the paddle into the water to slow down, and I guide the kayak into a space by her dock. I drag the boat up onto the shore and leave it overturned with the paddle inside. Then I approach the front porch. I duck beneath the wind chimes, made of feather and bone, and knock at the door.

  “Just a second!” The Sea Witch has terrible eyesight, but she can smell human flesh from miles away; she probably already knows that it’s me. Still, she opens the door a crack and pokes her nose out and sniffs the air to be sure. Then she lets the door swing wide. “Lorelei! What a lovely surprise.” She winks. “How was your evening?”

  I roll my eyes and step past her into the musty little kitchen.

  She sniffs the air again. “It’s dark in here, isn’t it? Excuse me for a moment. There’s tea on the table. You may help yourself.”

  The room is so cluttered, there’s barely space to move. In the growing darkness, I can see all of her treasures—the spinning wheels, the nets, buoys, tele
scopes, treasure boxes, and statues, everything she’s stolen from shipwrecks over the years—stacked in the corners and suspended from the ceiling. Some of the items she sells at flea markets and fancy antique shops. Others she uses in her spells.

  There’s a low growling sound, and her monstrous pet wolf comes lumbering out of the shadows. I hold my breath and try not to move, but he comes right over and starts licking my arms, slobbering all over my boots.

  “There we are!” The Sea Witch sweeps back into the room with a lighted candle and sits at the table, wrapped in her glamorous, sea witch movie- star shawl. The wolf lies flat at her feet. “Sit, dear. Please.” She pours us each a cup of tea. “Now, tell me, what brings you here today?”

  “My sisters sent me. They want you to know that you can’t call for us for a while. We need a break.”

  “A break?” The Sea Witch makes a face as if she’s just smelled something hideous. “This isn’t some sort of part-time job, you know.”

  “Yes, but we’re scared. We think someone in town, someone powerful, knows what we are. We think he’s trying to protect the harbor from us.”

  “I’m protecting the harbor,” she says. “From him.”

  “Well, he doesn’t see it that way.”

  The Sea Witch sips her tea. “I’m sorry, Lolly, but this is unacceptable. What if I need you?”

  I try to make my voice sound strong, like Lara’s, but it’s hard to argue with her now. I’ve seen what she’s capable of. “We just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Well, my dear, it isn’t up to you. Nor is it up to your sisters. In fact, it’s barely up to me. This is in the hands of a magic that’s bigger than all of us. But your sisters signed on fair and square. They knew the deal.”

  I trace my finger over a place in the table where somebody carved a set of initials in a heart shape. “But . . . what if we get caught? What if we get hurt?”

  “Then you get caught. And I find myself new sirens. Replacements. It’s happened before. Don’t think you girls are the only siren candidates in town. Now, I’ll hear no more about this.” She shakes her head and holds up her hands. “And don’t look at me like that, child. I’m not your mother, for goodness’ sake. I’m a sea witch! It isn’t my job to protect you.”