by Dana Langer
The main office is small and lit with too-bright fluorescent lights. There are vending machines, a bench, and a fake plant in a wicker pot, and there’s a girl wearing a Crew sweatshirt and sleeping with her head on the desk. Behind the desk there is a Peg-Board with room keys hanging on hooks, but we’d never get one without waking her.
Jason shakes his head, and we walk back around to the side of the building, flattening ourselves against the wall to stay out of the path of the floodlights. There’s an abandoned shopping cart filled with blankets, and a jumble of paint cans and buckets in a wire cage.
“It’s scary here,” I tell him.
“No kidding,” he says. “That staircase leads up to the second floor, but I bet all the doors are locked.”
“We need to use one of the balcony windows in the back.”
“But how are we supposed to reach them?”
“I’ll climb up the drainpipe.” I take my boots off again and hand them to him. “Meet me at the door.”
Jason looks back and forth between me and the rooms, but I’m already gripping the drainpipe and bracing one foot on the bracket that bolts it to the corner of the building. The scales on my feet, it turns out, do make climbing much easier, but my fingernails break, and moths and mosquitoes flutter in my face, and I have to climb toward the floodlights with my eyes closed, trying not to inhale any insects.
I climb until I’m above the balcony and then swing myself over onto the concrete ledge. Then I jump down and peek in through the sliding glass door. And then I turn back and motion for Jason to hurry and come upstairs.
There are strong scents of bleach and paint fumes in the room. The ceiling isn’t finished yet and the carpeting hasn’t been put down, but the place is crammed with extra furniture: beds, and desks, and stacks of chairs, and hollow glass lamps filled with sand and shells. The only light comes from a ring of tiny candles, flames shivering and casting shadows on the wall. My sisters are lying there in the darkness on one of the beds, still soaking wet and fast asleep. And they’re not the only ones. There are other girls asleep in that room, girls with strange hair and scales on their feet. Girls who look a lot like us.
I run to Lara and press my face against her chest. She’s breathing, but she won’t wake up. None of them will. We call their names, and we poke and pull on their arms, but it’s no use. Jason touches Lula’s foot, running his finger over her scales. I think it’s partly to wake her and partly because he can’t believe any of this is real. In any case, she doesn’t move. It’s like they’re all under a spell, a different type of spell.
I look at Jason. He’s just standing there blinking, staring at Lula’s bare feet. I grab his arm. “We have to get them out of here!”
“I don’t think we should move them, Lolly. There’s something wrong with them. Like, really wrong. We should call a doctor.”
“We’re monsters,” I whisper. “We don’t call the police, and we don’t go to the doctor.”
“Who takes care of you, then?” he asks. “I mean, when you’re sick?”
By the time we reach the Sea Witch’s lair, the sun is starting to rise. I haven’t slept all night, and I should be even more exhausted, but instead, as we pilot my kayak through the choppy waters, I just feel dizzy and strange. My hands around the paddle are bloody and mosquito bitten, all the nails broken from my climb. The sky is a cold gray color, streaked with pink, and seagulls are starting to call and circle overhead.
We come ashore and drag the kayak to a safe resting place beneath some trees. Jason stares up at the house, and I know he must feel afraid. After all, he’s seeing it all for the first time: the weathered gray shingles, the sunken front porch, and the wind chimes made from bird feathers and bones twirling in the breeze.
As usual, the Sea Witch pretends not to know who it is, and she makes a big show of asking before she’ll open the door. “Hello? Who’s there?” When she does finally open the door, she fusses over Jason. “What an interesting boy. There’s something special about him, isn’t there?” She touches Jason’s hair, and he seems too shocked, or too scared, to do anything about it. “Oh yes. Why, he’s a born marauder. A subjugator of the high seas. You have the sea in your veins, don’t you, child?” She says it like it’s a compliment, but I know how she feels about sailors. It’s a defensive maneuver. A trap. If we didn’t have a good reason for being there, she’d probably keep on complimenting him and playing with his hair until she lured him right into her kitchen and boiled him in a stew.
“Jason doesn’t like the water,” I tell her. “He gets seasick.”
The Sea Witch snorts and steps aside to let us pass into the kitchen. “You look sickly, Lolly. What’s happened? Let me get you both some tea.” She walks over to the stove and pours more water in the kettle. “Is Earl Grey all right, young man? Do you take sugar?”
Jason clears his throat. “We don’t have time for tea.”
She turns to face him. “What?”
“Lolly’s sisters are very sick, and we have to rescue them.”
“Nonsense,” she says, and hands us each a cup. “There’s always time for tea. Drink!”
It’s nearly impossible to refuse the hospitality of a sea witch, and so Jason and I sit at her table and I take a few sips of the bitter tea. Jason holds his up to his mouth, but I know he’s just pretending.
The Sea Witch remains standing, hovering over us. Somewhere, the wolf is growling, a low, guttural sound, like the creaking of a ship.
“So what is it now, Lolly? What’s happened to your sisters? And why have you brought this little . . . marauder?”
“My sisters were captured tonight by men on a boat, the ones I told you about. Jason’s stepfather was one of them.”
She frowns. “Where are they now?”
“We found them at his motel. But there was something wrong with them. They were fast asleep and nothing would wake them. Did you have something to do with this?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Lolly, why would I do this? Your sisters are my darlings, my soldiers.”
“You told me they were replaceable.”
“Well, they are. But think practically, dear. They may be replaceable, but who has the time to train a whole new group of girls? Besides, I rather like them. I like all of you. I dare say I’ve grown quite attached to you these last few months.”
Jason puts down his cup and crosses his arms. “Well, who is it, then? Who gave my stepfather the spell? Who taught him how to do something like that?”
The Sea Witch takes a seat at the table. “Sailors have their own ways. When a sea witch drafts sirens into her service, she becomes much more powerful. But it isn’t long before sailors learn to fight back, to use their own tricks and magic spells. It becomes a bit of an arms race, you see. Now, this sounds like a classic Norse Sleeping Beauty Spell to me. They were asleep, you said?”
“Yes.” Jason leans back in his seat. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at the door, like he may decide to leave at any moment and he wants her to know it.
“And there were candles in a ring?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, it’s all too familiar. To cast this particular spell, a sailor with the right magical charms need only repeat a protection prayer and then capture the siren in a net of his own making.”
“A protection prayer?”
She closes her eyes. “Odin, far-wanderer, grant me wisdom, courage, and victory. Friend Thor, grant me your strength. And both be with me.” She opens her eyes again and looks at us. “Something to that effect. I’ve lost many girls to these sorts of spells over the years. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if your sisters weren’t the only ones he’s keeping at that motel.”
“They’re not. We saw other girls asleep in there too.”
“Well, unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about this. You’ll have to go after the person who cast the spell, I’m afraid. That’s always the way.”
I put my head down on the table. “How?”
“You find his symbol, and you assume its power. Then you can undo the spell yourself.”
“What’s a symbol?” Jason asks.
“What’s a symbol? Why, a symbol is a representation, a distillation of the essential, a translation of the abstract into the concrete. Since the dawn of time, people have used symbols to make sense of the universe and its complexities. They carry tremendous power. In fact, one cannot ever dispose of a symbol. They cannot be thrown away or even tossed out into the sea. Their power can neither be created nor destroyed, but only transferred from one person to another.”
I think of my science textbook again, the part about conservation of energy, where the illustration shows silver spheres on strings that swing back and forth forever, crashing into each other and never stopping.
“Transferred to who?” Jason asks.
“To some strong, deserving person for whom it carries equal significance. Might you know anyone like that, Jason?”
He blushes. “But how . . . how would we do that?”
“You would steal it from him and bury it someplace important. Someplace meaningful.” She looks up, and her eyes catch the glow from the fire. “Someplace like Fort O’Malley.”
“That fort is named for my dad’s family,” Jason says. “My real dad. General O’Malley was a relative of ours.”
“Well.” The Sea Witch looks at him with what could maybe be mistaken for kindness. “Imagine that.”
“But it’s not there anymore. They say it was completely destroyed in the War of 1812.”
“Oh, it was destroyed more times than that!” She laughs. “For two hundred years, the army kept building it up, only to see it torn down by invading forces. Why, that fort never met a battle it could withstand. I believe it holds the record for most destroyed fort of all time.”
“Oh.” Jason slumps down a little in his seat.
“But the roots of the place, the earthworks, were incredibly strong. They withstood all of that violence and destruction for hundreds of years. And what most people don’t realize is that the original Fort O’Malley, the foundation, is still there.”
“But taking the symbol to the fort . . . why is that better than just throwing it away, throwing it into the ocean?”
“Because things have a way of returning from the bottom of the sea, don’t they? Even the heaviest items sometimes float back to the surface when you least expect them. And this act, burying the symbol in a place that has significance, this will transfer its power to you. Do you think you’re ready for something like that?”
Jason sits up straight again and pushes his shoulders back. “Yes,” he says. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”
“Well, it won’t be easy. In the old days, the Viking kings all had crowns or helmets as symbols of their power. I don’t know what kind of symbol your stepfather has.”
“He has this crown that he’s completely obsessed with. He keeps it locked up all the time and wears the key around his neck. I bet that’s his symbol. But how do we find Fort O’Malley?”
“With a map, of course.” She heaves herself up from her chair and moves across the room. “I’ll show you both.” She pulls a giant nautical map from a shelf and spreads it across the kitchen table. “Something tells me you’re a man who knows his way around a map. Is it true? Can you read a map like this?”
“Yes,” Jason says. “I study maps like this all the time.”
She nods. “As you should. Now look, this region is filled with tiny islands. Hundreds of them. Each has its own magic, its unique creatures and geological oddities. Some have waterfalls, and some have exotic animals, strange bears, and parrots, tortoises, and sea serpents—all things escaped from shipwrecks hundreds of years ago. Now, these . . .” She starts tracing one gnarled finger in circles over a place just a few miles north of us. “These are the Ursid Islands, islands riddled with canyons and volcanic craters. According to legend, you’ll find the ruins of Fort O’Malley there.”
“According to legend? You’ve never been there yourself?”
“Oh, goodness no. The coastline is far too dangerous up there, shallow and rocky. There’s nowhere to properly dock a boat, and I certainly don’t fancy a swim. But if you were willing to go, I would gladly assist in any way I could.”
“But how do we know we can trust you?” Jason asks. “I mean, Lolly says you’re supposed to be some sort of witch, right? And what if that’s not even true? What if you’re actually just some crazy person?”
She narrows her eyes. “Young man, ‘witch’ is in the eye of the beholder. It’s just a name. A label. For example, I might call you a ‘little marauder’ just because you are clearly a descendant of the very seafaring people who first colonized this land, treated me like an animal, and banished me to this lonesome existence, and therefore you are my enemy.”
“You did call me that.”
“Well, there you are. But we also have an enemy in common, which, some would say, makes us allies. So let’s not talk of witches and thieves and try to figure out who is or isn’t crazy. That’s nearly always a waste of time. Names, labels, they mean whatever you want them to mean. And a word that means whatever you want it to mean is actually, well, meaningless.”
Jason frowns. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am.” The Sea Witch taps the map with her finger. “Now then, let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we?”
“How would we even steal the crown, though?” I ask. “I mean, he never lets that key out of his sight.”
The Sea Witch dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand. “I can give you a potion that will render your stepfather temporarily unconscious, knock him out long enough for you to steal his crown. How does that sound?”
Jason looks totally on board now. “I think that sounds great!”
She walks across the room to a massive wardrobe that stands beside the fireplace. She unlocks the cupboard, and the doors creak on their hinges and sweep apart, revealing shelves filled with tiny jars. Each of the jars contains a potion that bubbles or shimmers or changes color in the light. She chooses one and holds it up, and a thick, sparkling liquid swirls inside. “You must be careful with it, of course,” she warns us. “A few drops are powerful enough to rob a grown man of all his strength. Dissolve it in a person’s drink, and he will be incapacitated for hours.”
“That’s exactly what we need.” Jason gets up and tries to grab the potion, and the Sea Witch holds the jar above her head.
“Young man,” she says. “A sea witch will neither suffer fools nor tolerate rudeness.”
“I’m sorry.” He looks at the floor. “May I have the potion, please?”
“Yes you may.”
She hands it to him, and he slips it in his pocket.
“But giving my stepfather this potion, robbing him of his strength, that won’t be enough to break the spell?”
“Correct,” she tells us. “Now, this point is important, so listen closely, all right? It is not enough to hurt him. To wound him. To kill him, even. That does nothing for you. You have to assume his power yourself, and then you have to be the one to undo the spell. Like this.”
She reaches across the table and traces a crescent shape on my forehead with her finger. “Smear one of them with the dirt from the place where you bury the crown, and then say these words.” She says some words in a language I can’t understand. “You see?”
Jason seems a little uncertain. “I have to do that to her sisters?”
“You can do it to Lolly, if you prefer. She’ll be a siren then too. Perform that spell on any one of them, you see, and you wake up all the others. Think you’ve got it?”
Jason repeats the spell back perfectly, and the Sea Witch takes a seat. “Well done,” she says. “You learn quickly.”
“He’s in honors Spanish,” I tell her.
Then she leans sideways and whispers in his ear. “You have quite the interesting friendship here, you know. A boy with the sea in his blood and t
he newest siren in Starbridge Cove. Aren’t you just the tiniest bit worried? Afraid she’ll break your heart? Or worse?”
Jason pushes her away. “Why don’t you just let them all go?”
For a moment, the Sea Witch appears paralyzed. “You mean, return them to their former human state?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. Why are you doing this to them?”
She tosses her shawl over her shoulders and the mocking smile disappears from her face. “Young man, this is not a thing that I am doing to them. This is a thing that they asked me for. In fact, if I told you what I know about the night their mother died, you would not be so quick to judge me or speak to me in this tone.”
“What are you talking about?”
She folds her arms prettily on the table and looks at me. “I am not at liberty to say.”
I lean forward in my chair, as desperate to hear what she knows as the sailors are to hear whatever it is they hear when we sing to them. “If you know something about my mom,” I tell her, “about that night, I want to know it too. Please.”
The Sea Witch reaches for the teapot, and the angles of her collarbone protrude. “Your mother . . . she was not alone out there on the bridge that night like everybody thinks she was.”
“What do you mean?”
She pours more tea in my cup. “I mean you were out there too. Do you understand? You were with her in the car.”
“But I don’t—”
“No, you wouldn’t remember, dear. But that’s the real reason your sisters made this bargain. They’d lost you, you see. You drowned in the river along with your mother. And so they came to me in the dead of night, pale and hollowed out with grief, and they sat right here at my table, right where you are now, and they told me they were desperate to have you back. I told them they could make a trade: their souls for their sister. And they agreed. That’s always what this was about, Lorelei. This was a sacrifice they made.”
Jason gets up from the table. “No,” he says. “No! Don’t believe her, Lolly. She’s just trying to hurt you.” He turns to the Sea Witch. “Why would you tell her something like that? You’re horrible.”
