Elegy (Watersong #4)

by Amanda Hocking

Brian looked at her wings, but he kept his expression hard, then glared back at Alex. “You may think that because my daughter has wings and all kinds of strange powers that I won’t kick your ass if you hurt her. But you’d be wrong.”

  “Dad!” Gemma said, but she wasn’t really mad. She knew that a lot of things were out of his control now that Gemma was exposed to dangers he couldn’t fight. All he could really do was try to protect her from the things he still could, like teenage boys.

  “I understand, Mr. Fisher,” Alex said respectfully.

  “Good.” Brian nodded, and when he looked at Gemma’s wings again, he was a little awed. “Those are amazing. Good work.” He started to head back into the house, then he stopped. “Leave this door open. Okay?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Conspiring

  Her afternoon classes had ended twenty minutes ago, and Harper had just finished packing her bag when her cell phone rang. As soon as she saw the number on the screen, her heart sank. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with today.

  “Hello?” she answered the phone, and hoped that she didn’t sound as unhappy as she felt.

  “Hello, Harper, this is Becky from Briar Ridge. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she said, because what else could she say? Briar Ridge only ever called if it was important, and no matter what Harper might have planned for today, her family always came first.

  “We tried calling your house, since we know you’re away at school, but nobody answered, and we just don’t know what to do anymore,” Becky said in one hurried breath.

  “It’s fine,” Harper insisted. “Really. What’s going on? Is something wrong with my mom?”

  “She’s been very anxious since you took her to the play on Saturday, and we’ve been trying to calm her down,” Becky said. “We didn’t want to bother you, but it’s been four days, and nothing’s worked.”

  “Anxious?” Harper sat down on the bed, next to her book bag. “Like how? What is she doing?”

  “She’s been repeating lines from plays on and off, and she’s more confused than normal,” Becky explained. “We can’t get her to sit still or eat or even take her meds. And she’s been talking about you and your sister a lot, too.”

  Harper pushed her hair back off her forehead and exhaled. “You want me to come down and see what I can do?”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. We’re really at our wits’ end here, and we need to get her to take her pills.”

  “No, it’s no problem.” She forced a smile even though there was no one there to see it. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

  One added advantage of being in Sundham is that it was only ten minutes away from Briar Ridge. She was farther from home, but it made for quicker trips to see her mom.

  This wasn’t the first time that Harper had to drop what she was doing and rush out to take care of her mother, but it had been a long time. Nathalie had calmed some in recent years, but lately, everything seemed to be off-kilter with her.

  Maybe it was Harper’s fault for taking Nathalie to the play. It had been a long time since she’d been back to Capri. But even before the play, Nathalie had been acting strangely. The visit with Brian two and a half weeks ago must’ve triggered something in her.

  While she raced to Briar Ridge from Sundham, Harper blasted the radio and sang along with it, trying to calm herself since she’d already been nervous when Becky had called. This was definitely not the way she had envisioned her Wednesday going, but she had to do the right thing. Her mom needed her.

  As soon as Becky opened the door, Harper could hear Nathalie, telling them that she needed to get going.

  “You’ve all been very nice, but I need to get home. I have to make supper for my husband and kids,” Nathalie was saying firmly.

  “She thinks she has to take care of her family?” Harper asked Becky in a low voice, careful so Nathalie wouldn’t hear her.

  Becky smiled thinly at her. “She’s been going on about it all day. Maybe you can have a go at her.”

  “Sure.”

  Harper went into the house and followed the sound of her mother’s voice. She discovered her in the living room, where Nathalie was talking to another woman who worked at the group home. Her long, shapeless dress billowed out behind her as she paced.

  Nathalie’s hair was greasy and tangled, like it hadn’t been washed or brushed, which was unusual as she was normally a very clean person. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and her lips appeared dry and chapped. This was the worst Harper had seen her in ages.

  “What’s going on here?” Harper asked with as much cheer as she could muster, and the staff member quietly excused herself, leaving Harper alone to calm her mother.

  “I’ve been visiting with these nice girls, and they’ve been so kind, but I have to get going.” Nathalie stopped walking enough to look at Harper for help. “My husband will be expecting me soon, and my daughters will be home from school. I have to make supper.”

  Harper smiled and tried to keep her words soothing. “Mom, I am your daughter.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Nathalie laughed, then returned to her pacing. “You’re much too old to be my daughter.”

  “How old do you think your daughters are?” Harper asked.

  “Harper turned nine this past January, and Gemma just turned seven.” Nathalie smiled when she talked about them, appearing genuinely happy for a few seconds, before fear flickered in her golden eyes.

  “Mom.” She stepped in front of Nathalie, blocking her path and forcing her to stop and look at her. “I am Harper.”

  “No, you’re not.” Nathalie shook her head and smiled uneasily. “You’re … a woman. My daughter is a child. And I’m starting to think this joke isn’t very funny. Now, I need to be going.” She tried to brush past her, but Harper gently put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

  “Nathalie, you don’t have anywhere to be.” Harper smiled and kept her tone light. “Your husband took your kids out for supper. You’re fine here. If you had fun visiting today, why don’t we visit for a while?”

  “I don’t want to visit.” Nathalie stepped away from Harper and rubbed her arm. Her eyes darted around the room. “I want to go.”

  “Let’s sit down.” Harper sat on the couch and patted the spot next to her.

  Nathalie shook her head. “I’m not sitting down.”

  “So what have you been doing today?” Harper asked, hoping that changing the subject might relax her mom.

  “I already told you,” she snapped. “I was visiting with these girls, and I have to remember.”

  “What?”

  Nathalie had begun pacing again, and she rubbed her temple. “I have to remember to tell them to wash it away.”

  “Tell who to wash it away?” Harper asked. She stared up, her eyes following her mother as she frantically walked in circles.

  “She’ll know what it means.” Nathalie waved her off. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Okay. I won’t worry,” Harper said.

  Nathalie stopped suddenly and looked around the room like she had no idea where she was. “Where are my girls? Is Bernie watching them?”

  “Bernie?” Harper asked, surprised to hear Nathalie mention him.

  Before the accident, her mother had been friends with Bernie McAllister, but she’d hardly mentioned him in the near decade since. He’d even visited her many times, especially when Harper and Gemma had been younger, and it had been hard for their dad to take them.

  But every time he’d come in with them, Nathalie had asked who he was without any hint of recognition. It was as if he’d been erased from her memories. Until now.

  “Is he watching them?” Nathalie paused. “I have a date tonight with my husband, so Bernie must be watching them.” She nodded, as if to convince herself.

  “You remember Bernie, Mom?” Harper asked.

  “Of course I do.” She looked down at Harper like she was a crazy pe
rson. “Why do you keep calling me Mom?”

  “Sorry. It was an accident.” Harper gave her a sheepish smile. “Do you remember your husband? Brian?”

  Nathalie stared off and rubbed the back of her neck. “Bernie’s the one who told me, you know.”

  “Told you what?”

  “I already said!” She shot her a glare. “If you aren’t gonna pay attention, then I might as well go.”

  “You can’t go anywhere, Nathalie. You live here,” Harper reminded her gently.

  “I do not. Why are you lying to me?” Nathalie’s voice grew louder the more agitated she got, and she was nearly shouting now. “Why do you keep lying to me?”

  “I’m not lying to you,” Harper said evenly. “Will you please just sit down?”

  “No. I won’t sit down.” Nathalie shook her head and stomped her foot. “Not when all of you are lying and conspiring, and you’re out to get my daughters.”

  “Nobody is out to get your daughters,” Harper tried to reassure her.

  “You are! Don’t you lie to me!” Nathalie was screaming now, her pale cheeks were bright red, and her eyes were filled with tears. “He wouldn’t have told me to wash it away if you weren’t out to hurt my girls!”

  “Mom!” Harper stood up and held her hands out in front of her. “Your girls are just fine. I am your daughter, and Gemma is safe.”

  “You are not my daughter,” Nathalie insisted, as a tear slid down her face. “Harper is a little girl.”

  “Yeah, I was,” Harper said. “Nine years ago. But you had an accident, and now we’ve grown up. Do you remember any of that, Mom?”

  Nathalie had never been able to remember the accident itself, and even Harper only had sketchy memories of it. But Nathalie usually seemed to remember that there had been some kind of accident, that she hadn’t always been like this, but now it seemed like she didn’t even know any time had passed. She was stuck in some lost moment in the days before the accident.

  “No, there was…” Nathalie wiped at her face, and she started shaking her head. “No.” She swallowed hard, then balled her hands into fists and began hitting herself on the thighs, hard enough that Harper could hear it. “No. No!”

  “Mom, stop.” Harper reached for her mother’s hands, trying to stop her before she hurt herself, but Nathalie yanked them free.

  She ran to the entertainment center, pushing off the knickknacks and movies stacked on top. Anything Nathalie could grab or break or throw, she did. She was sobbing and repeating the word “no” over and over as she pulled over a bookcase, ripped pictures off the wall, and tore cushions off the couch.

  All the commotion had alerted Becky, and both she and Harper tried to talk Nathalie down, but it was no use. Within only a few minutes, Nathalie had destroyed the room, and now she collapsed amid the mess.

  Her knees were underneath her, her head slumped against the floor. Harper knelt next to her. Cautiously, she put her hand on her mother’s back and slowly began to rub it.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Harper told her softly.

  Nathalie peered up at her and brushed her hair from her eyes. “Harper?”

  Harper smiled down at her and tried to blink back the tears in her own eyes. “Yeah, Mom, it’s me.”

  “I don’t feel very well. I think I should go lie down.”

  “That sounds like a very good idea,” Harper agreed.

  After Harper helped Nathalie to her room, she covered her up and made sure she was comfortable. Becky came in with pills and a glass of water, and Nathalie took them without argument. Her outburst seemed to have exhausted her.

  Harper bent down, kissed her mom on the cheek, and started to leave. “I love you, Mom. I’ll see you later.”

  “Harper.” Nathalie looked back at her, and Harper paused in the doorway. “Remember to wash it away. Promise me that you’ll remember.”

  “I will, Mom.”

  She closed the bedroom door behind her, then went straight to the bathroom. Leaning against the sink, Harper began to sob. As quietly as she could, she let herself once again mourn her mother. On days like this, it felt like she’d lost Nathalie all over again.

  When she’d cried long enough, Harper splashed cold water on her face, washing away the salt and smeared eyeliner. Then she dug in her purse and reapplied her makeup until she once again looked like a normal college girl and not someone whose life was falling apart.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Blood & Water

  The scroll lay on the kitchen table, weighted down with coffee grounds and a two-liter bottle of cola to keep from rolling up. Any fluid that Gemma could find in the fridge, she’d tried on it, before moving on to cleaning supplies. Now chicken broth and bleach sat puddled together on the papyrus, and the iridescent ink glowed dully through the liquid, taunting her.

  With her arms crossed over her chest, Gemma bounced on the balls of her feet, as if that would somehow knock an idea free, and she’d realize how to break the stupid curse.

  She kept thinking back to the night she had become a siren, certain that there must be some sort of clue there. Gemma had been in the bay, enjoying a night swim, and the sirens had been dancing around a fire in the cove.

  This was before Gemma knew what they really were, and Lexi sang to her, calling to her. When she swam toward them, the siren song blocked out all fear and reason, and her body moved on its own.

  When Gemma reached the shore, Lexi held out her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  Penn had been dancing with a shawl around her. It was made of some kind of gauzy gold material, and she placed it over Gemma’s shoulders. “Here. To keep you warm.”

  Then Lexi had put an arm around her, and at her touch the hairs on the back of Gemma’s neck stood up. Instinctively, Gemma pulled away, but then Lexi began singing again, and the siren song trapped her there.

  “Come join us.” Penn had kept her eyes on Gemma and stepped backwards, toward the fire.

  Lexi reached into the front of her dress and pulled out a small copper flask. “Let’s have a drink.”

  “Sorry, I don’t drink.”

  “Gemma,” Lexi said, her voice a song again. She held out the flask, but Gemma hesitated. “Drink.”

  Then Gemma didn’t seem to have a choice. She couldn’t even consider refusing. Her hands moved on their own, taking the flask from Lexi, unscrewing the top, and putting it to her lips. It seemed involuntary, like breathing.

  The liquid was thick, and it tasted bitter and salty on her tongue. It burned going down her throat. It felt too heavy and hot to swallow, and she gagged.

  Much later, Penn would tell her what the liquid had really been made of—blood of a siren, blood of a mortal, and blood of the sea. When Gemma had found out, she’d nearly thrown up.

  The cove had seemed to pitch to the side after she’d managed to swallow the mixture, and Gemma grabbed on to Lexi to keep from falling. Everything was swayed. She tried to stand up and nearly tipped forward into the fire, but Penn caught her, and then the world faded to black.

  After she’d passed out, Penn had wrapped her in the shawl completely and then tossed her into the ocean. If the curse worked, Gemma would awaken as a siren the next morning. And if it didn’t, she would drown.

  Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how she looked at it—the curse had worked, and Gemma had woken up on the rocky shore a siren.

  “What am I missing?” Gemma whispered to herself now in her kitchen. “There has to be something that made the curse that will also help break it.” Then it hit her. “Blood.”

  The instant she said it, she was reminded of a text that Harper had sent her on Monday after she’d visited with her professor. He hadn’t been able to translate much of the scroll, and he wasn’t certain about what little he had. But a phrase he’d guessed at stood out.

  “The blood can’t become water,” she recited, repeating what Harper had messaged her.

  When she’d woken up this morning, Gemma had run down to the bay
and filled up a jar with saltwater from the ocean. She’d tried it on the scroll, and other than glowing a little, nothing much had happened, and the mason jar sat on the kitchen table, still half full of seawater.

  “It can’t be that simple,” she said as she eyed the jar, but she went over to the kitchen drawer and pulled out a sharp steak knife.

  Biting her lip to steel herself against the pain, she sliced the blade down her finger. As soon as the blood started flowing, she held her finger over the scroll and squeezed it, dripping it down on the words.

  Quickly, she picked up the jar and poured a little bit of water over the blood. The words began to glow brighter than she’d seen them before, and using her cut finger, she smeared the blood and water together, pushing it deeper into the paper.

  The words continued to glow for a few more seconds, but then they just faded back to normal. Truthfully, Gemma hadn’t expected anything much different. The mixture that Penn had used to turn Gemma into a siren had been the blood of a siren, the blood of a mortal, and the blood of the ocean.

  She had the siren and ocean part covered. Now all she needed was a mortal, and, fortunately, she thought she knew of one who would be eager to give up her blood. Gemma pulled out her phone and quickly wrote a text.

  Within ten minutes of sending Marcy the message, her friend was knocking at the front door. While she’d been waiting for her, Gemma had tried an experiment with just her blood, and although she hadn’t expected it to work, she had to give it a shot.

  When Gemma answered the front door, Marcy was standing on the front step, and Kirby stood on the step below her, offering her a sheepish smile when Gemma looked at him in surprise.

  “Oh. I didn’t realize you were bringing Kirby,” Gemma said.

  “We were hanging out, so I thought he’d tag along,” Marcy explained. “Besides, you said it was an emergency.”

  “I never said it was an emergency. I asked if you could come over real quick,” Gemma corrected her. “But thanks for being so speedy.”

  “Is it a problem that I’m here?” Kirby asked. “I can leave or go wait in Marcy’s car or something.”