We continued to Marin’s house silently. As much as I’d disliked the idea of going to Aldan’s this morning, I had to admit I was excited to rifle through the books he’d loaned me. Though the small book on sirens wasn’t much of a start in unraveling the mystery of my own kind, the larger book promised to be an interesting read.
When we arrived in my room, Marin was sitting on the bed, waiting for us. “Finally. I was getting bored.” She stuck her lower lip out. “So what did you end up learning?”
“Not a whole lot,” I admitted, “Aldan didn’t really know much about sirens.” I held the feeble volume up, “This was pretty much everything. He might have a bit more soon, though, he was writing in his book the entire time I was there.” It was true. Aldan answered my questions but spent the majority of the time watching my every movement, studying my features and manners, and scratching words out into his chained tome with a little red quill.
Marin grabbed my two books and eyed them. “Meh,” she said, tossing them onto the bed. “Nothing interesting here.”
“It’s interesting to me,” I said defensively.
She dismissively flapped a hand near my face, “That’s only because you don’t know any better. Well, I suppose I can get ready for my date tonight now. Have fun reading, I guess.”
She left the room before I had a chance to reply.
Another date? I knew that she played the field in school, but didn’t know just how much. I sighed, looking up. Glenn had settled into the chair in the corner. He was quietly reading The Lord of the Rings again.
I opened the tiny book on sirens and began to read.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the morning, a gentle alarm went off, though I didn’t remember setting one. It woke me about an hour and a half before school. I sat up slowly, checking the time and stretched in the bed. The book on council rules was still open, resting against my stomach. I’d fallen asleep reading.
I stood up. Glenn was in the corner, his eyes closed, but sitting straight. I wondered if that’s how he slept. It didn’t feel right to disturb him, so I grabbed another outfit and headed into the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth, I thought about what I’d learned so far about sirens. Not a whole lot. I stepped inside the hot shower and let the warm water envelop me, waking me up.
What I did know was the following:
Sirens made deals frequently with other magical races, but they were really good at making bargains and usually ended up getting the better end of the deal. There were four noted examples: the mermaids, of course, the harpies— who may or may not even be around anymore, the fey, and the dragons. The exact parameters of the bargains weren’t noted. Deals were private. The book mentioned that there were suspected deals with over fifty of the races, but who knew how high the actual number was.
Sirens were especially secretive about all their government practices and about their culture and society as a whole. This would make learning more about them difficult. They were notorious for clamming up when any other race came near and blending into human society seamlessly.
The only cultural information known on the species was based on personal anecdotes and interactions. A few phrases were known as formal, polite greetings, but the significance of the wording was unknown.
However, siren society was matriarchal. Women were definitively the authorities. They had final say. This was one of the few other cultural things that was noted frequently.
All sirens had eyes that continually shifted color, but no one knew what triggered the changes. Some speculated it didn’t mean anything. It was just all that power bouncing around inside of them. Siren magic didn’t fluctuate as much as other races because they compelled humans all the time.
Sirens spoke their own language, and only they could understand it. Their written language was unique as well. There were a few examples of it on the printed pages of the book, untranslated. The scrolling, picturesque designs on my dulcimer and music box were not just aesthetically pleasing— they were writing.
Before they died off, sirens were also long-lived, like many of the magical races. The notes on what long-lived meant in this case were vague— again, because of that secretive nature of theirs. Typically, a long-lived race had a defined lifespan of at least two hundred years, so long as they were not killed outside of natural aging. Despite their longevity, sirens were shockingly fragile for a magical race. They had no enhanced physical abilities other than their amazing voices.
Finally, I knew that sirens dealt with human beings less frequently than I’d expected. Though most of their power came from controlling humanity, they preferred solitude. As a result, sirens only spoke to other races when it was mutually beneficial.
I stepped out of the shower, dried my hair hastily with a towel, and pulled on my clothes. I didn’t bother to glance twice at the clothes or once at the mirror, I already knew I was going to look good.
Glenn was alert. His eyes were open when I came back.
“Did I wake you with the shower?” I asked apologetically.
He smiled, “I’ve been awake for a long time. No, you didn’t disturb me.”
I shrugged and gathered my things for school. My old backpack had been replaced with a shiny new book bag. Marin had insisted on it after we’d packed my things. I quickly assessed what I needed and slid it all into the bag, snapping it shut. Hesitating, I grabbed my dulcimer and slung it over my shoulder.
“You’re taking an heirloom with you?” Glenn asked.
I shrugged. “It’s one thing to leave this here when Marin is around, but…” I bit my lip. It was a siren artifact. Of course, the music box and ring were, too— but the ring was too big for my finger, and the music box was broken. I didn’t know how valuable siren artifacts were until last night. The instrument seemed precious to me. While the thought of losing any of my inheritance bothered me, the idea of losing the dulcimer completely unnerved me.
“Your call. Just don’t ask me to carry it for you when you get tired of it.”
I smiled. Getting tired of the dulcimer would be like getting tired of oxygen. It just wouldn’t happen. “So when we go,” I asked, slinging my book bag over my vacant shoulder, “the people at school— the human people,” I amended quickly, “they won’t notice that you’re… well, definitely not human?”
He shook his head, “Not one little bit.” He paused. “You want to know the trick of it? It’s a game we play when we’re kids, but you’ve never been able to see clearly until recently. What you do, if you want to see how humans see, is unfocus your eyes first.”
I sighed, following his instruction. The background became clear as I shifted my focus, and Glenn sort of blurred. He still looked like an elf to me, though.
“Now, unfocus your mind.”
“How do I do that?” I asked irritably.
“Just stop thinking about magic. Think about the little things: the grass, the carpet— anything, really.”
Not thinking about magic was going to be hard. It was practically all I could think about the past couple days. I sighed again and tried to think about my book collection, how nice it was to have it here. A couple moments after my thoughts had shifted, I began to notice that I was indeed seeing Glenn differently. My focus returned to him, but the visible changes held fast.
Glenn’s tunic, which had looked so different from any human fabric, appeared to be a green t-shirt. His pants were now blue jeans. His boots had been replaced by sneakers. His bow and quiver looked like a backpack slung carelessly over his shoulders. Everything was baggy, and he looked slender despite looking human. But the outfit was only part of it.
His hair was platinum but still blond, rather than the true silver it normally was. His eyes were a soft green, and his ears looked like they’d been lopped off and rounded. The elongation of his limbs, fingers, neck and other features was still there, but instead of having a look of elvish grace, he was awkward, imperfect, gangly. He looked like an average teenage boy.
He laughed out l
oud then, breaking the spell. He’d returned, bow and quiver, grassy tunic, silver white hair, his features graceful. “I could tell the moment when you started seeing me the way a human would. You studied me like I was an exhibit in a museum.”
“Why does that work? Why is it so easy to shift it over?” Because, really, it was easy— with proper instruction.
Glenn shrugged, “It’s better for us if the magic is simple. So most of it is based on ignoring magic entirely… something the average human is really good at.”
“What happens when someone can see through it?” I asked. With so many people, it had to have happened on occasion.
“They keep silent about it or become lunatics, generally.”
I shivered. We headed downstairs where Marin waited by the door. She looked good, she always did, but her face was screwed up in irritation. “Ugh. Monday mornings are the worst.” She tugged at my arm impatiently, “Let’s get going. We need to get there a little early today.”
I looked at her, eyebrows raising, “Why?”
“Damage control,” she said with a grin. I recognized her expression from every time she’d played a particularly nasty trick. “You’re going to give an announcement to the whole school.”
I felt the blood drain from my face and land in the pit of my stomach, a hard knot forming. “I’m not doing anything at school if I can help it!”
“The beauty of this,” she said, looping her arm through my own and leading me out the door, “is that it will help you in the end. I just get to watch you squirm, too.” We headed out to her convertible, and she clicked the buttons on her key-fob. The car made a chirping noise, and the doors unlocked. She nearly pushed me inside the passenger door, but Glenn stared at the vehicle with a tight frown.
“Get in,” Marin huffed irritably.
His eyes met hers. “I think… I think you both need girl-time. Some privacy. I’ll walk. I’ll probably be there before you arrive.”
She rolled her eyes, “Whatever.”
With a push of a button, the ignition started. Pop music blared from the speakers. It was awful, drilling a headache between my eyes instantly.
I cringed, “Ugh! Turn it off!” I whipped my hand towards the volume knob, twisting it sharply down.
Marin’s mouth twitched, “It’s not that bad—”
“It is!” I protested, “It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard—” In fact, thinking about it, I could probably create real music from nails on a chalkboard, given the proper time and— oh, god. It was because I was a siren. No wonder my mp3 player had seemed broken.
Marin just laughed, “Okay, no human music for Miss Fancy-Tastes, I guess.” She shifted the subject back, “You have to do an announcement asking people to leave you alone. The teachers can’t call on you, everyone needs to just ignore you as much as they always have. Say something about humans not speaking to you unless spoken to.”
I blanched, still not keen on the idea. Siren or not, the idea of talking in front of that many people sounded awful. Sixteen years of life avoiding these kinds of scenarios was difficult to erase. Despite this, Marin was right. It was a simple, elegant solution to an otherwise irritating dilemma. “Okay,” I muttered under my breath, “I’ll do it.”
“Of course you will,” Marin said, a triumphant smile on her face as she shifted gear, “and I get to watch.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
True to his word, Glenn was waiting for us when we pulled onto campus. He leaned against the side of the building, facing the student parking lot. It was fairly wasteful, truthfully, for Marin and I to be driving, but Glenn still had to have been moving pretty fast to arrive before us.
The announcement turned out to be less entertaining than Marin had hoped. In the few minutes of time I had in the car before school, I ran-through and re-ran-through the speech. When I sat before the microphone, I was careful with my wording, hoping to avoid problems. I stumbled a little on the “don’t speak to me unless spoken to” bit, but otherwise it flowed from my mouth smoothly.
After the announcement, the day was routine. Glenn— or perhaps the council— had pulled some strings to ensure we shared every class together. Most of the time the elf even found a seat next to mine. The latest gossip, at least for all the human students, had shifted from my inexplicable appeal to the new kid.
In our first class together, Glenn mumbled out something about how we were childhood friends, that we practically grew up together, that he moved with his parents into town recently but hadn’t settled. The lies he told the class were all plausible, and while he said them smoothly, he kept his head ducked down a lot.
After that first explanation, he never had to do much more than introduce himself and wave before taking his seat. The reaction of the class was more or less to scrutinize him, the boys and girls both sizing him up for differing reasons. Glenn stuck to reading, quite quickly, the texts placed in front of him. He seemed to enjoy the learning process.
When the boys in the class had decided he wasn’t a threat to their alpha status, and the girls decided that he was perhaps a little awkward for their tastes (not nearly so handsome as the string of guys Marin tended to date), they settled down. It took the entire day before I noticed that the eyes of the students were steadily drifting from him.
It was a relief. At least my classes were back to normal. Relatively.
When the last bell had rung in PE, I was in the locker room, changing out of my gym clothes.
Marin asked, “So you want a ride, or are you walking with Captain Hot of the No-Fun?”
I shrugged, “I don’t care.”
“Good. Then take a walk,” she said, “I have swim practice, then a date.”
I chuckled, “Do you have a date every night, Marin?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, pursing her lips and staring up out of the corner of her eye before she grinned. “Yes. Pretty much.”
I shook my head, laughing, “Well, have fun.”
I tugged my sweater over my head and slung my backpack onto my shoulders. Glenn was already outside the door, propped against the wall and waiting for me to emerge. I nodded at him.
It had rained in the morning, but this afternoon was gorgeous. A few fluffy clouds broke the sky and helped take the chill out of the late September air.
Glenn was silent as we walked, and I found myself looking at his bow and quiver curiously. It was a fantasy staple, of course— swords and bows and axes— but it didn’t make sense to me, in this day and age. “Glenn?” I asked thoughtfully.
His head rolled towards me, “Sarah?”
“Why the bow?” He raised a silver brow up, questioning the question. I clarified, “I mean, why not just use a gun?”
He smiled, his eyes falling on the wet asphalt below us, “Too complex.”
“Oh. Okay,” I said, not really understanding the answer.
Glenn was silent for a few seconds, as if he was trying to figure out a good way to explain himself before saying, “It’s not effective against magical creatures because it’s too complex. That’s what I mean. There are hundreds of ways to foul up gunfire with a spell or charm, but fewer ways to manipulate the arc of an arrow, or the swing of a blade.”
“What kind of spells would affect it? Isn’t there a way to make it worthwhile? I mean, that just seems really…” I didn’t want to be rude, so I didn’t finish the sentence.
Glenn ended the phrase for me instead, “Primitive?” He smiled. “Okay, for example, take a simple pistol. There’s several potential problems: the actual trigger can be stuck; the bullet can be caught in the chamber; the bullet could be missing; the gunpowder could be replaced by something innocuous; the gun could be caused to misfire; or a hundred other things could be tweaked. Worse if it’s less simplified— more parts, more ways to stop it. Add in safeties, automatic pieces, moving parts, and it ends up being far more difficult to avoid a proper arrow than a bullet in the magical world.”
That made sense to me, at least. I sighed,
realizing we’d arrived at Marin’s massive house. I had most of Aldan’s council law book to get through tonight. I wasn’t looking forward to it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wraith
That night, I awoke in my bed with a strange, unsettled feeling, despite the light in the room. The moon waned gibbous, sending silvery beams through the cross-hairs of the window panes. I glanced over the covers. Glenn was nowhere to be found. I pulled the comforter up to my chin, snuggling beneath it nervously. Something felt wrong.
The hair on my arms stood up as the shadows in my room slunk up and down the walls. If I’d been in my room at Susan and Rick’s house, I’d have thought it was the headlights of a passing car, but that was impossible here. The windows in Marin’s guest room all faced west, towards the ocean.
Scrape…
The sound was like a knife dragging across the side of the house. My eyes were wide, darting around the room, as I tried to make sense of it.
I attempted to call out to Glenn, but only a whimper emerged from my throat.
Scrape…
It was coming from the window closest to me. I shifted my gaze to the sound, afraid of what I would see.
A humanoid shadow stood casually outside. My stomach clenched. My room was on the third story, at least thirty feet above the ground. Long, claw-like fingers reached out to the window.
Scrape…
My lower lip trembled. My breaths came harsh and quick, sounding ragged.
The dark silhouette’s fingers tapped the glass lightly. It pulled away hastily, as if it was surprised to find the interference of the window pane. The shadows slid again, the light contorting. For a split-second, I could make out a wide, jagged grin from within the darkness.
The figure placed its hand to the window. I watched in horror as the glass rippled, the pane melting into a thick liquid. It hugged the frame like honey, dripping down in fat, opaque drops.
Terror froze the blood in my veins. The glass no longer obstructing it, a clawed hand poked through the hole.
Prelude (The Rhapsody Quartet) Page 10
