There were so many things he wanted to do to her, this new Guardian, this powerful monster who threatened to fulfill the prophecy set forth so long ago. He’d been careful to hide his innermost thoughts, however. If his brothers realized he wanted the monster for himself, wanted to take her in the sand while she cried and begged, they would be repulsed. They might even expel him from the brotherhood. Ortho would have to be very careful to kill her when he finished experimenting with her, fulfilling every fantasy he had without consequence.
He could only observe her without her noticing at school, where he would catch her gazing out the window with her large eyes, probably thinking about the ocean, as all Sirens did. She never saw him study her. Before her grandmother’s death, she lacked attention to detail, too busy searching for danger that lurked beyond her comprehension, and he could not hide his joy because he caused this distress and distraction. Now, she had stopped going to school, limiting his access to her, which maddened Ortho.
Ortho wondered if her blood would be the same as all the others, or if being a Guardian would make her blood shimmer like the ocean during a sunrise. He planned on savoring her blood, suspecting it would not have the normal metallic taste, but would instead smell and taste like fresh saltwater. Although Ortho understood and accepted the laws against loving the ocean, he could not help himself; despite his greatest efforts, he was inexplicably drawn to the sea, to its sounds, to its smells, which might explain why she didn’t repulse him the way the others did. Her draw to the ocean was much stronger than a normal Siren.
He heard the heavy metal door shut, closed his eyes, and listened. The familiar shuffle, the heavy breathing, the routine sound of his father’s cough—Ortho sighed and pushed his previous reflections aside. “Father,” he said, though venom permeated his tone.
His father sat in the chair next to him. In the dim lamplight, his gnarled hands were tree roots, dead and decayed. Very little of his father appeared alive anymore. Even his eyes were glazed, an opaque film, the color of death. He wondered if killing Sirens kept him alive all these years, because little interested him anymore. His father had always lived for the kill.
“Are your killings complete?” the old man croaked, the stone walls around them muting his voice.
One family had eluded Ortho, which his father was aware of, but had asked anyway, to dig in, to humiliate him. Ortho mustered his patience before answering. Every instinct told him to shove his jagged knife into the old man’s chest and twist.
He placed his hands on the table and glared into the dead eyes. “Not yet,” he said. His voice faltered and cracked, which made him sound weak. “They . . . left. Before I could get to them. I’ll have to leave Pacific Grove to find them if you still wish them dead.”
Silence. His father did not speak. Instead, he, regarded him with white, filmy eyes. He did not need to hear his father’s unspoken answer. “I’ll leave in a week,” Ortho said.
“No. You will leave tomorrow.”
Ortho clenched his teeth together, bone on bone, grinding them till they burned. “I won’t leave while she is still alive,” he growled. Every part of him yearned to smash his father’s face onto the table, over and over again, one grand, beautiful, bloody mess. Only his strict upbringing and his father’s position of authority stopped him from this act.
“I will kill her,” his father answered, breaking him from his fantasy. “Just me. And I will kill the boy, as well.” He swallowed, a sickly wet sound, and then cracked his knuckles. “You will move on as your Brothers have done to hunt down the rest of the Clan.” He coughed, wet, hacking, death.
Ortho clenched his hands into fists so hard his nails dug into his fleshy palms; he could feel the slight trickle of blood run down his wrists under the cuffs of his shirt. “Let me help you,” he said, though his statement sounded like less of a request than a demand.
“No.”
Taking a deep breath, Ortho said, “Please. Please let me help you.”
“No.” His father rose and made his way back toward the heavy door, pausing to place his hand on Ortho’s shoulder. “It will be best if you move on, away from the girl. You don’t belong here anymore.” He coughed again. “Do as I say, son.”
His father died before he grasped what was happening. Ortho’s knife slid into his throat as if it were made of silk, the old man’s blood running down the blade, his hacking cough turning to quiet gurgling as his legs gave way. He sank down onto the earthen floor of the basement.
For the first time in a decade, the pale, opaque eyes came alive as the old man died.
Ortho understood he must move quickly. No more games, no more playing with Lora; his hunt drew closer to its conclusion after all this time. He did not bother to move his father’s body, for his brothers had already left, searching for the monsters who had tried to escape such a short time ago. Instead, he strode through the heavy door and up the tightly curved stairwell until he emerged into the dampness of the afternoon. The moss under his shoes muffled his footsteps as he hurried to his car, shrugging his shoulders into his jacket as he walked. He preferred the clouds covering the sun, enjoyed how the overcast sky somehow muted the sounds of the ocean. His head ached from the relentless coming and going of the ocean sounds, a constant pounding, pounding, pounding.
Ortho paused, wondering if Lora had returned home as he pulled up in front of the house. Her car was parked out in front. If she had, it would end now, at this very moment, in ways he had always imagined when he lay on the bed, alone in his room, dreaming of her.
If not, well, he could find enjoyment either way.
Creeping up the cypress-lined driveway, he peeked into the garage. Through the tinted glass, he could see a car. Her father’s car. Excellent.
A quick glance behind him told him he was safe. There were no cars coming up the street, and he jogged up to the front door before anyone could see him. Ortho’s heart beat rapidly within his chest, his excitement so great that waves of shivers ran up and down his body, coursing through him with pleasure, tantalizing him with a delightful anticipation bordering on nausea. He turned the doorknob slowly so as not to make a noise. He pushed open the door, which made its familiar squeaking sound.
From the other room, Mr. Reines yelled, “Lora? Is that you?”
Ortho did not answer, but shut the door behind him, locked it, and slipped the key in his pocket after turning the deadbolt. His sneakers made the slightest padding on the tiled floor as he made his way to the back of the house where he had heard Lora’s father call out for her. Heart pounding in unending fervor, he revealed himself as Ortho to the Siren for the first time.
Robert Reines glanced up from the computer. “Oh!” he said, surprised to see him. “Is Lora with you? I thought. . .” he paused, his eyes moving from the odd expression on Ortho’s face, down his clothes stained with crimson, to his hands which still bore the fruits of his father’s death.
“Is that blood?” he asked, and Ortho smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Your mom?” Lora and Ryan echoed together. “You mean her?” Lora said, pointing to the petite woman in the picture.
Nicholas took the article from her and examined it.
“Yeah,” he said, squinting his eyes to puzzle over the picture and the strange headline surrounding it. “That’s her. But I’ve never seen this article before. Where did you find it?”
She picked up a manila envelope. “It was tucked away in here, between some of the other papers. Your mother never showed it to you?”
Nicholas shook his head. “No.” He continued to stare at the picture, using his finger to trace his mother’s delicate face. “It’s . . . strange. I mean, she used to tell me stories about . . .” He trailed off.
“Tell you stories about what?” Ryan prompted. “About saving people?”
“No. About the fire
.” His voice sounded distant, introspective. “She had a word for us.” He bit his lip. “What was the word?” Nicholas pinched his face together.
Lora turned to Ryan, furrowing her brow and shrugging her shoulders. Ryan shrugged as well.
“Typhoeus!”
Startled, Ryan and Lora turned to Nicholas. His eyes were bright and excited.
“What?” asked Ryan.
“Typhoeus. What my mother used to say.” His expression grew tender. “She used to call me her little fire monster.” He blushed. “It was just a nickname.”
Lora had no idea what Nicholas meant. She studied him in confusion.
“Wait,” Ryan said, rising from his chair. “You’re saying you are a descendant of Typhoeus?”
The memory came rushing back. Lora recognized the name and the legend. Typhoeus. A huge monster which resided in a volcano, hurling fire and rocks at the sky. Half-man, half-beast, with snakes for legs and fingers, the stories told of his mighty wing-span and ferocious features.
Before the Sirens became Sirens, they were handmaidens of Persephone. The Lord of the Underworld fell in love with fair Persephone and wanted her for himself. He kidnapped her and dragged her to his fiery domain. When Persephone’s mother, Demeter, discovered the kidnapping, she became desperate to find her daughter, but no one had seen her disappear. No one could help her find her child. In a rage, Demeter turned her wrath on the handmaidens and turned them into Sirens—half woman, half bird.
Saddened by her mother’s actions, Persephone sent Typhoeus to protect the Sirens.
“Typhoeus protected the Sirens,” Lora whispered. “Your mother.” She stared up at the scrawny boy, her mouth gaping open. “You,” she said.
Ryan laughed. “Nicholas? A Siren protector?” He snorted. “No way.”
Lora had to admit Nicholas was neither mighty nor ferocious. His spindly, knock-kneed legs shifted and he inspected his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. His boyish face brightened in awe. “Yes,” he said in a quiet voice. “My mom had so much information about Sirens. She saved the family in the article.” His voice grew louder with excitement as he beamed at Lora. “Maybe I’m your protector!”
“Wait a second,” Ryan said. “Just because your mom used to call you Typhoeus doesn’t mean you have any special powers. I’ve never heard of Typhoeus existing in our world. He’s just part of the myth. A part of the legends of our people.” He crossed to Lora and put a protective arm around her shoulders. “She doesn’t need a protector, anyway. I’m here.”
He’s jealous, Lora realized. So completely adorable. She wrapped her arm around his waist and kissed the freckles on his neck. “You’re the best protector a girl could have,” she said, poking his side playfully. “But I won’t lie. A little extra protection probably couldn’t hurt.”
“Well,” said Ryan, “he doesn’t look like Typhoeus.”
Nicholas piped up. “So? I don’t think that means anything,” he said in a defensive voice. “You don’t resemble the Siren legends either. And you’re a boy!”
Ryan shrugged. “He has a point. Okay, Nicholas. If you’re a Siren protector, how do you protect? Did your mother tell you?”
His face fell. “No,” he said.
“And the newspaper article said his mom saved the family with fire.” Lora added, her voiced rising in excitement. Nicholas could be correct. Maybe he protected Sirens. She wished she could hear the ocean right now. If she could get close enough, it might tell her if they were right, if Nicholas really was a descendant of Typhoeus. But the trees were too thick, and the ocean too far away.
Ryan picked up the article and studied it. “The witness said his mom had some kind of flame thrower.” He read further. “And the flame blazed blue. Do you remember if your mom had a flame thrower? Is there one around the house somewhere?”
Nicholas shook his head. “No, I don’t have one. I went through the whole house after she died. I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if I saw a flame thrower.”
“How else would she have produced the fire, then?” Ryan asked.
“Not sure,” Nicholas said. He inspected his hands again. “If they thought she had a flamethrower. . .”
Lora nodded. “Your hands.”
Nicholas stretched his fingers. “Maybe,” he said, his voice pensive. “But don’t you think it would have happened by now? I can tell you for sure flames never came shooting out of my hands before.” He flopped into a worn chair and slumped his shoulders. “I think you’re wrong.”
Sighing, Lora clasped her hands together. “Well, there’s only one way to find out. Let me see your hands.” She hurried over to Nicholas and grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet. His face turned a bright red as soon as she touched him.
“Um,” he stammered. “What will you do?”
Ryan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m curious too.”
Lora inspected Nicholas’ hands. They were small, with long, skinny fingers. She turned them over to examine his palms. “They seem normal,” she said. Lora pushed on his palm with her thumb. What could give away his power? Pockets beneath his skin? Heat? But she found nothing different about his hands.
In fact, his hands were freezing. Lora bit her lip and released them.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” she said.
Frustrated, Lora paced the long row of windows at the back of the house. Small red birds flitted through the trees, chasing one another in the pines. They looked so happy. No cares, no troubles.
“Okay,” Ryan said, coming up behind her. He brushed her long hair to one side and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Let’s think about this logically. If he is descended from Typhoeus, and he can wield fire, then there has to be a way to find out.” He put his arms around Lora and held her in a quiet gesture that spoke volumes. Then he raised his head and spun her around. “When do we use our abilities?”
Lora furrowed her brow. “When we’re scared. When we need them to help us.”
“Exactly.”
He turned and hurried over to Nicholas, who stood next to the worn chair. Nicholas pursed his lips in confusion. Ryan said, “If your job is to protect the Sirens, then you probably only have access to your power when they are in danger.”
“But you’re in danger now,” protested Nicholas. “The Sons of Orpheus are trying to kill off your clan.”
Ryan shook his head. “No,” he said, then, “I mean, we are in danger but not immediate danger. There are no Sons here trying to kill us at this very moment. But if there were, I bet you would be able to do . . . whatever it is you can do.”
“Fire?” suggested Lora.
“Maybe,” Ryan said. “But maybe not. I mean, all of our abilities are different, so we can’t be sure Nicholas is the same as his mother.”
Nicholas gaped at his hands in awe. “Do you think so?” he said. The small boy’s face brightened with eagerness.
Lora shrugged. “We won’t know until one of us is threatened, then, I suppose.” She said the words casually, but her stomach felt sick. She would have to face them eventually. Lora had to kill the members of the Sons of Orpheus in order to protect the members of her clan. She’d been lucky enough to stop the man with her keys, but keys were hardly a reliable weapon. How would she kill the rest of them? She didn’t even have a weapon. Lora admonished herself for not considering this before. They’d been vulnerable for weeks, no way of protecting themselves. Their powers didn’t work on the Sons.
“We haven’t thought this through,” she said, heading for the door. “We’ve been so busy trying to find information about the Sons, we haven’t considered how we’ll protect ourselves against them.”
Nicholas piped up. “That’s what I’m here for!”
“It won’t be enough,” Lora said, g
rabbing her jacket. “And we don’t even know if you can do anything yet.”
Ryan put his jacket on and followed her. “What are you thinking?” he asked. Lora opened the door, letting in the chilly breeze of the afternoon. The leaves rustled all around her. It almost sounded like the sea.
“Weapons. We need to make sure we can defend ourselves.” Lora hurried out of the house and hastily made her way to the car. Ryan followed at her side, and she heard Nicholas’s footsteps behind them, struggling to catch up.
“Wait!” he called, his voice winded. “You need me! I’m coming with you.”
Down the dirt road, past the trees, Lora could finally hear the ocean again, not speaking, but creating a quiet melody which soothed her ears.
Ryan stopped her before she ducked into the car. “Maybe we shouldn’t let him come,” he whispered. “This isn’t a game. It’s life and death, but I’m worried Nicholas doesn’t understand the danger involved.”
Lora bit her lip. Ryan was right. They were still in a dangerous situation, and she would never forgive herself if Nicholas were to get hurt. On the other hand, if he really did protect Sirens like his mother told him, their destinies were intertwined already. Having a boy who could summon fire with his hands wouldn’t be too bad, either. She turned to see Nicholas hurrying down the dirt pathway toward them. He appeared so awkward and so small. But there was a determination in his eyes, and he had been helpful so far. Lora paused.
The ocean’s melody began to change, and the murmurs of the ocean became clearer. Let him come, they whispered. Lora strained to hear what the ocean said, not sure if she had heard it correctly.
Voices of the Sea Page 21
