Lora tumbled out of bed toward her window. She pulled back the white lace curtains and opened the glass pane so she could hear the ocean’s morning song. The sky was peppered with dark clouds again, thanks in part, she guessed, to the Sons of Orpheus.
According to Greek mythology, Orpheus lost his wife, Eurydice, to a poisonous snake bite; then, her spirit became trapped in the Underworld. Deeply in love and desperate to be reunited with her, he sailed across the Earth, past the Sirens, to the Underworld, where he convinced Hades to free his wife. Hades agreed, under one condition: Orpheus had to stay in front of Eurydice and not look back on their journey. He would have to trust she was following him until both were back on Earth. Although he tried to resist, he could not stop his anxiety when he reached the upper world. He glanced behind him to make sure she followed. As a result, Hades cast her soul permanently back to the Underworld.
In a constant state of despair over the loss of his wife, Orpheus never recovered, blaming all women for his constant pain. Sirens received the bulk of his wrath, particularly when he discovered one had survived. He brought gloom wherever he traveled, and the Sons of Orpheus do the same. For reasons unexplained, their hatred now extended to all Sirens, male or female.
Breathing deeply, she tasted the salt in the air, relishing her closeness to the ocean.
Despite the horrific murders she’d encountered in the past week, Lora found her mind wandering to Nicholas. The incident with Betsy bothered her; the entire event was unnatural. Betsy had always avoided Lora, as if sensing something supernatural about her and her friends, which didn’t surprise Lora in the least. Often, women were more intuitive to her abilities than men, which made the male sex all the more vulnerable. Women, however, perceived there was something odd about her and generally avoided confrontation. Betsy, it appeared, was an exception.
The more she considered the situation, in fact, the more she decided Eric’s perception might be correct. There might be some part of Betsy which found Nicholas attractive, as odd as that may be. It would explain her antagonism toward Lora, though the possibility did appear remote. Betsy and Nicholas were complete opposites.
Taking a deep breath, Lora rested her head on her hands and stared out upon the silent neighborhood street, the rows of Bohemian houses shrouded in cypress trees, more jagged rock on the ground than grass. She thought about Will, and a feeling of calm familiarity filled her mind.
She thought about his gray eyes, always resonating inner struggle, how he made her feel safe and comfortable, or how he always showed up when she needed him the most. They’d been friends for so long, and if she stayed honest with herself, there had been times when she ardently wished he had emerged as her counterpart. Devin told her the ocean would reveal her counterpart when they faced it together, but she and Will had stood in front of the ocean plenty of times, side by side, and there had been no indication he was the one. No amazing spectacle. No rush of feeling. Not even a small whisper. Nothing out of the ordinary happened when Lora was with Will, and she could not deny the facts; they were nothing more than close friends Plus, there had been a change in Will of late. He was acting more distant than usual, and while he rarely shared his deepest feelings with her, lately he barely spoke at all.
She often dreamed about him at night. Most of the time, they were being chased, and those dreams usually ended with Will disappearing. Dreams were windows to the soul, Devin always said, which frightened her.
The dream she’d had about Ryan last night bothered her the most. They’d been alone, standing on the sand before the ocean, late at night. His hand entwined itself in her hair. She couldn’t see his face in the dark night, though she knew it was him by the way the sea’s scent clung to his body. He held her, almost too tightly, yet she didn’t want him to let her go. As he leaned closer to kiss her, Lora had woken up. She never did see his face.
Yes, she had a longing for both men, but in different ways. And she desperately wanted Ryan to be a part of her life.
Lora repeated her mantra. He’s not a Siren. She had to stop thinking of him.
She forced herself to rise and take a long shower, washing off her unfulfilled dreams. She dressed in softly worn jeans and a red sweater. After putting on her makeup and zipping up her knee-high boots, she hurried downstairs. Will would arrive soon to take her to school. Her stomach gave an angry rumble.
Her dad sat at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him, reading the front page of the paper in silence. When Lora entered, he placed the paper on the table and regarded her with a frown. “How do you feel?”
Lora shrugged and grabbed a banana off the counter, stretching the browning peel back before taking a bite. “Fine, considering a crazy cult is killing our people,” she said, not eager to discuss her feelings, given her inappropriate dreams last night. “Have you heard from the police at all?”
“No,” he answered, taking a sip of the steaming coffee, his hands cupping the mug of liquid. “I left before they arrived that night, but Devin made the call, hoping they wouldn’t connect either you or me to the murder in any way. The less they figure out about our involvement, the better.”
“I guess they haven’t found the bodies yet,” she said. “Wouldn’t we have heard by now?”
His silence answered her. Lora’s father picked up the paper and immersed himself in the text once again.
The rift between them remained great, as if an invisible ribbon once tied them together, but had frayed and broken in two. The child in her longed to sit on his knee and bury her face in his shirt as he patted her head, promising the world was a good place where she would be safe and happy. Instead, they moved in silence, neither able to express their feelings to the other. Again, as she did so many other hours in the day, Lora grieved for her mother, longing for her presence to fix their distress.
Folding the paper, Lora’s father stood. “Is Will picking you up for school today?”
Lora nodded. He took a step toward her and smoothed her chestnut hair from her forehead as he gave her a sad smile. “I love you,” he said, bending down to kiss her head. Before she could reply, however, he left the room in long strides, shutting the front door behind him.
Forcing back raw emotion, Lora fought the tears pooling in her eyes. She left the kitchen to sit outside on the porch and enjoy the few minutes of morning silence she had left.
For the first time in days, it wasn’t raining, though dark clouds could be seen lurking beyond the horizon, threatening storms to come. Now, however, the sun spread its rays over the black street and through the thick branches of the cypress trees, sparkling on windows like a kaleidoscope. Her brown hair looked almost amber in its rays. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and listening to the sea in the distance. The wind carried Lora’s breath past her, mixing it with the cool salt air.
Movement to her left caught her eye and she turned to see Nicholas pedaling down the sidewalk with light, skittish movements, making for an awkward ride. His eyes were darting about him like a frightened animal, one hand clutching books which were too large and cumbersome to fit in his overstuffed backpack. He only stayed on the small bicycle with his free hand. When he saw her sitting on the porch he paused and gave a hesitant wave.
“Are you going to school?” she called. Nicholas started to move again down the sidewalk. He stopped, then nodded.
“I had to bike today,” he said, eyes darting to the right, then the left. “My mom couldn’t give me a ride, so I might be late.” His skinny legs propelled him forward once again. The bicycle lurched in his grip and collapsed to the ground. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s hard to ride my bike with all this stuff in my hands.”
Standing, Lora called to him. “Wait,” she said, running down the steps and over the stepping stones to the driveway. “Someone is picking me up, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind giving you a ride to school too. He’ll b
e here any minute.”
Nicholas stopped, regarding her with tiny eyes. “Why aren’t you driving to school?”
Lora hesitated. She couldn’t give him the real reason why her father had forbidden her to be alone away from the house, but she didn’t want to lie to him. Nicholas was far more perceptive than people realized. “My car needs repairs,” she said, keeping her voice steady through the lie. “I almost didn’t make it to school earlier this week, so Will offered to give me a ride.” Nicholas stiffened at the mention of Will’s name, but recovered quickly and gave a small, rigid nod. Lora couldn’t help but wonder if he would have the same reaction if she mentioned Ryan.
“If you don’t think he’d mind,” he said, shifting his backpack to his left shoulder as he pushed the bike toward her house, walking beside it instead of riding. “I’d rather not walk, and riding the bike with all this stuff has been too hard.”
Nicholas abandoned his bicycle in the driveway and followed her up to the porch. He sat with his back flat against one of the rocking chairs. His skinny legs, which were too short to touch the floor, stuck out straight in front of him.
Next to him, Lora rocked back and forth, staring into the silent morning. “Does your mom usually drive you to school?” she asked.
“Only sometimes,” he answered, staring at his dangling feet. “But I like it better than taking the bus.”
“Why couldn’t your mom drive you?”
Nicholas coughed, then scratched his leg. “She’s busy,” he answered in a detached, emotionless voice which made Lora squirm. The way he shifted uncomfortably, or perhaps the pain that resonated on his face when he spoke of his mother, bothered her. But his response sounded almost inhuman.
The silence surrounding them lingered. No cars passed; the street was quiet, lined only with large cypress trees, silent gods observing her from above. Lora picked at a hangnail, struggling to find something to say, when Nicholas piped up.
“They pick on me because they think I can’t defend myself.”
Turning, Lora noticed how dark his eyes were. “Who?” she asked.
“Jason and that jerk Douglas. They think I’m just some pathetic wimp. But they’ll see, someday.” He glared at her, his face contorted with rage, making his boyish features ugly. From the pocket inside his coat, he pulled out a black switchblade and caressed it with his thumb, studying it with careful eyes.
Chest tightening, Lora moved her body away from him. She assessed his cold eyes and hardened features, which appeared alien on his usually innocent face. The knife filled her with fear, not for herself so much as for the intended recipient. It was wrong, the way the blade rested so comfortably in his hand.
“Nicholas,” she said, trying to control the shaking which threatened to overcome her voice, “you can’t bring a knife to school.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why not?” he asked, turning it over and over in his palm. “Don’t I have the right to protect myself?”
“Yes,” she said carefully, “but if the teachers see your knife you’ll be expelled. Besides, you could kill him!” Lora tried to control the hysteria which threatened to rise in her voice. She didn’t want to believe this innocent boy would really consider killing another human being, even if that person was someone like Douglas. She searched her mind for the right thing to do. Turn him in? Grab the weapon? Hope he wasn’t remotely serious? Lora took a deep breath.
“Give me the knife,” she said, controlling her voice, trying to sound as mother-like as possible. “You can’t take it to school.”
Nicholas closed the blade and pushed it into his pocket. “I need it,” he said, his small eyes staring into hers before he looked back onto the quiet morning street. “I thought you’d understand.”
Lora pitied him. She did understand his desperation, but worried he might hurt someone unintentionally, or intentionally, which disturbed her even more. Holding out her hand, she stood. “Give me the knife, Nicholas.”
Nicholas shook his head.
“No.”
The sound of a car broke the silence, and they both turned their heads toward the noise. Will’s car drove up the street and turned into her driveway, a welcome sight. He honked the horn in greeting. Nicholas grabbed his backpack and hustled down the stairs toward the vehicle, with Lora close behind. He left his bicycle in front of her house and ducked into the back seat, giving Will a reluctant smile of gratitude.
“Lora said you could give me a ride to school,” he muttered as he put on his seat belt.
“No problem,” Will answered, smiling at Lora, but the worried expression on her face stopped him. He studied her, as if trying to read her mind, but she turned away and looked out the window. She couldn’t talk about the knife in front of Nicholas, but she couldn’t ignore the facts, either. Nicholas was dangerous.
“Will,” she said, getting his attention. He glanced her way.
“He έχει ένα μαχαίρι.” He has a knife, she said, immensely satisfied with her solution to the problem. The chance that Nicholas understood the ancient Greek language was virtually nonexistent, making any conversation between her and Will a secret. Though she hated it as a child, Lora said a silent thank you to her parents for forcing her to learn the language.
Will’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, but he didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and sternly glared out the front window, his mouth a thin line.
“What did you say?” Nicholas piped from the back seat.
“Nothing,” Lora said. “Just practicing for my Latin exam today.” She didn’t take Latin, but counted on Nicholas’ ignorance to conceal the lie.
“Oh,” he said, writing his name in the fog on the window with his finger. “Are you in the same class?”
“Yes,” she lied, glancing at Will. His neck and shoulders were tense. “Did you hear me? He έχει ένα μαχαίρι,” she said, touching his arm, hoping for a positive response. Nicholas still had the knife in his jacket. The weapon was so close. Maybe Will could figure out what to do, how to handle the boy.
“Will,” she said again, touching his arm. “Did you hear me?”
Will shook his head. “I take Spanish, not Latin.”
Will’s words shocked Lora into silence. Every Siren she’d ever met understood Greek. The Clan ingrained the language as a part of their heritage, not to mention one of their key forms of secret communication, should the situation present itself. Yes, Will had grown up in another town, but she’d met other Sirens from different areas, and they’d all been raised with the same fundamental knowledge.
“Greek. I spoke Greek, not Latin,” Lora answered, removing her hand from his arm, her mind in denial over this revelation. Her lie lay exposed before Nicholas, but Lora didn’t care. How could she and Will have been friends for so long without her realizing he couldn’t speak Greek?
“Guess I need to brush up on my languages,” he said, turning into the school parking lot, but his voice sounded icy. As they left the car, Lora grabbed Will’s arm and pulled him back, waiting until Nicholas moved out of earshot.
“What was that about?” she said. I told you Nicholas has a knife!”
Will appeared startled. “A knife? For what?”
“To protect himself against Douglas and Jason. I hoped we could get it away from him before he brought it to school, but you acted like you didn’t know what I said. What the hell? Didn’t your parents teach you Greek? Every Siren speaks Greek!”’
Will frowned and poked the ground with his foot. “I don’t speak Greek,” he said.
Lora gaped at him with her mouth open. “I don’t understand. Doesn’t every Siren learn the language?”
“Well, I didn’t,” he said, taking a step away from her. “My parents never taught me.” Flinging his backpack on his shoulder, Will lumbered
toward the school. “Just be human and speak English next time you need to tell me something important.” He strode across the parking lot, not waiting for her. “I’ll see you after school,” he called back. “And don’t forget about the meeting tonight.” Lora stared helplessly as he stalked away, left in a puddle of doubt and confusion. Nicholas stayed far ahead of them, his jacket pulled closely to his chest, the knife concealed within.
She’d obviously touched on a sore subject for Will. He didn’t turn back to her as he stomped away, but the nagging confusion refused to dissipate. Lora had always believed she and Will were closer than this. She frowned. She needed to talk to him more, to apologize for upsetting him, first, and then delve into his hidden past.
Did she really have any information about his upbringing? She rifled through her memories. She had met him when she was twelve years old—five years ago. He’d come from . . . where? Lora wasn’t sure, actually. As far as she could remember, he’d arrived, unannounced, at his aunt and uncle’s house one day. She’d asked him about his past and why he’d left his parents to come to Pacific Grove once or twice, but he’d always refused to talk about it. He’d become part of her life at such an early age, and she never pressed the issue.
She did remember when she learned of the accident. When they were fourteen years old, Lora asked his aunt and uncle about his talent, since he never talked about it. He never talked about being a Siren at all, in fact, and Lora’s curious nature got the better of her. They told her he played the violin. So she borrowed one from her music teacher and brought it to him, hoping he would play it for her. Instead, he’d glared at her and then at the violin, in disgust, and stormed away. Will didn’t talk to Lora for almost a week afterwards, leaving her with a helpless, hollow feeling. She didn’t understand what she’d done wrong.
Voices of the Sea Page 11
