Siren's Song

by Heather McCollum

  He repeats the ancient words over and over, and slowly Carly calms. Her eyelids sag. Her screams mute into whimpers.

  “What are you doing to her?” I yell.

  Eric continues to chant, but his stare pins me inside the room. He shakes his head, a silent command not to come out. He closes his eyes again and breathes deeply as he recites the words. The choppy phrases grow into a pattern of high and low, following a beat, a cadence that transforms it almost into a song. Carly slumps against him, unconscious, and he lays her on the same couch she’d been sprawled across the night her memory was wiped. Eric turns to me.

  “It’s a trap.” His gaze travels the edge of the narrow space. “You can get in, but getting out ignites the panic center in a person.”

  “Like in my mom,” I half sneer.

  “She was snooping,” he says. “But I’m sorry that happened. The hospital wouldn’t let us near her. She wouldn’t, either. So we couldn’t help undo the damage. It had to wear off on its own.” He moves closer.

  “Are you going to let me out?”

  Eric runs his ring along the perimeter of the space, briefly closing his eyes. His lips move silently. He steps back. “It’s open now.”

  I step gingerly through, but don’t feel the tingle I had before. Eric reaches up to the top shelf and pushes an old book back in place. The shelves move, shutting off the room. We stare at each other. What is he going to do? Make us forget we found the room? Will he search my pockets and find the family tree? I press back against the bookcase, cornered.

  “You’re wrong about them, Eric,” I start.

  “You’re in danger, Jule. It’s my sacred duty to protect you and ensure that you continue the bloodline. We’ve been protecting you all along.”

  We? “Who’s we?” Continue the bloodline? Like, make sure I procreate? A chill scratches up my back, but then he starts to talk again.

  “But you’re not helping. Those three are The Cursed. They murdered an innocent woman centuries ago. They want to murder you, and yet you continue to hang out with them. You trust the damned, the ones who seek to kill you.” His face contorts into a furious, self-righteous frown.

  “That’s not true!” I yell. Eric takes a step closer to me. “Maximillian killed Deidre, not them. They only tried to stop him, and his dark magic killed his wife and then himself. Maximillian is the murderer, not Luke, not Matt or Taylin.”

  Eric blinks, a look of confusion freezing his movements for a split second. But he seems to shake it off. “I belong to a long line of protectors, Jule. Guardians who witnessed the birth of the curse. They chronicled it, passed on the dictates, the honorable duty of protecting your line. The Sirens. Luke Whitmore is cursed to kill you.”

  “We’re trying to break the curse, Eric.” I slide along the wall closer to the window as Eric advances. “Help us. End this craziness. Don’t be a murderer like Maximillian and those crazy first guardians.”

  “We are protectors of the innocent, Jule.” His eyes plead. “Not murderers.”

  “Then help me help them. By trying to kill them, you might kill me, too, since I’m so close to them. And then the curse will be broken. Is that what you want?”

  He looks at me, his head tilting slightly in thought. “Is that what you want?”

  “What? No!” I deny him at top volume. But exactly who I’m yelling at, I’m not sure. Eric, or me? Doesn’t matter at the moment. “You almost killed me today by dropping that chandelier.”

  He frowns. “I don’t think it would have killed you or Taylin. It was meant to scare her. And you got in the way.”

  “Exactly what I’m saying! And that revved-up spider, that was just sadistic. Stop trying to kill people and help us break this fricking stupid curse!”

  “What spider?”

  “The one that bit Matt, like, six times. He’s in the hospital, you know.”

  “I didn’t put a spider anywhere near him.”

  “Yeah, right. Like a magically-revved black widow just happened to find its way into Matt’s football helmet.” I huff loudly. “I’m just saying, stop. Stop and come talk to them. Listen to their side of the story. Your story’s been handed down over two hundred years. Their story is first-hand.”

  Eric pauses. “I’m part of a massive organization with procedures and facts pulled from substantial data. Luke’s story is colored by blinding emotions. My side is history, and history reports the facts.”

  “Massive organization? Are they all watching me?”

  Eric’s stubborn line cracks into a small, cocky grin. “No. The Magic Alliance has evolved from a few followers protecting our founder’s bloodline to a world-wide organization tracking all types of magic. We protect those who could be harmed by dark magic and help those with natural talent to hone their white magic skills.”

  God! An organization founded by the lunatics who brutally killed three teenagers. I shake my head. “Your organization has no idea what really went on in that room when Maximillian ordered your founders to slaughter three unarmed kids in retaliation for a wrong they didn’t commit. Your ‘history,’” I use quote marks in the air, “is slanted by personal emotion, too. Yet your data is old and handed down, altered to justify stalking people.” Eric frowns at my words. “But you can slow down. Hear their side of history and decide for yourself without your organization telling you what to think.”

  Eric looks down as if contemplating what I said. I hold my breath. Carly moans on the couch and we both turn to her. Eric shakes his head. “I…I have to think.” He pushes on his forehead like he has a headache.

  “That’s fine,” I say and take another step toward the window. Although how I think I can get the window open, kick out the screen, and jump through before Eric stops me, I don’t know. “Just think about it. But while you’re thinking, don’t try any more stupid stunts.”

  Eric’s eyebrows pinch together. Oops–I probably shouldn’t have said “stupid.”

  “What happened?” Carly mumbles.

  I glare at Eric. I am so angry I momentarily forget my fear. “Did you fuck with her memory again? God, Eric, you’re going to give your own sister a brain tumor!”

  Carly rubs her head. “What are you cursing about, Jule?”

  “Sorry, Jule,” Eric says and grabs for me. “You need to forget what you saw. You’re safer that way, safer not knowing how pivotal you are.”

  I dodge behind the alabaster form of some ancient goddess and the pedestal wobbles. “Carly, help!”

  Carly stands up, her hands out. “What’s going on? Eric, why are you chasing Jule?”

  Eric holds out his finger to Carly. “Wait there.” He sounds out of breath, out of control. “I’ll come back to you.”

  “Come back to her to erase her memory again, you mean!” I shriek as Eric lunges. “Carly, run!”

  Carly hesitates, but runs out of the den. Eric wraps his pumped-up biceps around me, pinning my arms to my sides. I struggle in vain, helpless against his physical superiority. He starts to yell out the Latin words from before and I scream right in his ear, a drawn out, high-pitched note, an alarm higher than that of a fire alarm. The window to my right shatters, and for a moment I think my vocal vibrations have a new use. But a large body follows the shards of glass and hits the hardwood floor with a tremendous thump and crack. The mass moves like a leaping beast and Eric is snatched away from me. I grab my arms automatically to rub away the crushing feel of Eric’s strength and then realize that I’m on the floor. I scoot back against the wall with my knees bent before me and watch. Stunned. Silent. Scared.

  Luke balances Eric over his head on extended arms, like Eric’s bulk is nothing more than the bench-press bar at a gym. Eric’s thrashing accomplishes nothing and Luke starts to spin him around, his bare arms bunching and lined with the black outlines of dragons. He uses one hand to brace against Eric’s torso and the other to whip him around like he’s a child on some psycho fair ride. I hear the ripping sounds of Eric’s twisted shirt as it twines around Luke�
��s hand, tearing at the seams. Luke’s face is a mask of rage as he searches me out. His dark eyes lock on mine. They are sharp, predatory, merciless. Eric cries out and starts to gag.

  “Luke,” I call. “Stop. You’ll hurt him.” Part of me shrugs at the possibility. Isn’t that what Eric has been doing to Luke’s family? Isn’t that what guardians plan to do to the person I’ve fallen in love with? But the core of me, the base on which my conscience stands, knows that preemptive retaliation is not the answer. Could I love someone who would kill, not in self-defense, but in rage? For rage is what Luke is full of right now. I wonder if Eric truly is the target, or maybe it’s me because I screamed. It’s obvious the curse has revved Luke full of supernatural power, power meant to spill my blood.

  I slide up the wall. “Luke.” I shake my head. “No. Don’t become Maximillian. That’s what he wanted.” I hold my hands out like I’m confronting a rabid animal. “Don’t let him win.”

  Luke stops, but still holds Eric above his head. He breathes hard and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear his mind. I can tell he’s fighting for control.

  “Put me down!” Eric yells through gritted teeth. His face is bright red, his eyes wide. He struggles up in the air to grab Luke, but Luke hardly notices the useless attempts.

  I nod. “Put him down. Let’s go find Taylin. She can help you calm down. Okay?”

  “He’s a fucking monster!” Eric yells from his position near the ceiling. “Don’t go anywhere with him, Jule!”

  “You’re not helping, Eric,” I warn without moving my eyes from Luke’s. Luke breathes in and out, large gulps of air. “That’s it, Luke.” I smile encouragement. “You aren’t a monster. You’re stronger than Maximillian’s curse.” I can’t help but throw a glare at Eric. “See what your little cult is based on? A psycho narcissist powerful enough with dark magic to change a normal person into a lethal, out-of-control killer.”

  Luke suddenly strides to the couch and throws Eric down on it. He swivels and I gasp as he scoops me up, an arm under my knees.

  “Stop!” Eric leaps up. Luke strides out of the den, through the kitchen to the back door. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t drop her.”

  Over Luke’s shoulder, I see Eric rush off somewhere upstairs. I wrap my arms tightly around Luke’s neck. “He’s getting a gun! Run, Luke, run!” I bury my face against his shoulder as he catapults across the yard. If Luke gets shot, if he gets killed, it will be my fault. My scream called him here. I’m his Siren. My love called the demon within him. My fault.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as we dash across the driveway and into the woods flanking the Ashes’ property. Branches crack and fly beneath his heavy footfalls. He cradles me close against his chest. I feel the muscles working in his body, his legs pumping smoothly beneath us, the heat radiating out of him. I inhale his natural scent. After what I just witnessed, I suppose his scent should trigger panic in me, but it doesn’t.

  My breathing slows to match Luke’s unlabored breath. I peek up over his shoulder at the surrounding woods. We’re moving so fast that it’s like riding in a car. Red and yellow maples blur by as he dodges them. Grazed saplings quiver. Vines sway in the breeze of our wake. Occasionally the arm supporting my back extends to snap a branch out of the way, but the speed continues. I can’t see the Ashes’ house. I don’t even think we’re on their property anymore.

  My eyes focus on the black lines of the dragon tattoos on the arm holding my legs. The serpents twine around Luke’s muscles as if they control them. The thought releases a shiver through my body. I glance up at his pinched, angry face. His eyes are dark and focused ahead. I close mine and bury my head in his chest.

  I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t think he knows, either. I notice that we’ve broken through the edge of the woods when I hear his feet hitting pavement. I blink at the blackness around us. Night has fully descended. Luke continues, ducking back behind buildings as we move through town. Leaves scatter as we tear past. He dodges dumpsters and parked cars in an alleyway without slowing. We reach the edge of town minutes later. Luke veers off the side of the road to jog parallel to it, slowing somewhat. Gravel crunches and spits underfoot. Silence and wind hit me as he vaults streams and narrow creeks. Can he even see where he’s running? When will he burn through the adrenaline? Will he suddenly stop, collapse? Maybe that’s his plan. If he’s too exhausted to stand, will he be too exhausted to kill me?

  I curl into him and let him run. I feel my cell phone vibrate in my pocket but don’t dare let go to answer it. Any number of people might be wondering where I am: Carly, Taylin, Mom, Eric. Eric! What if Eric installed some tracking device in my cell? I fish around in my dark, scrunched lap for my pocket. The vibrations stop as I drag it out.

  “I…it could have a tracking chip or something, remember?” I say against the soft cotton of his shirt. With a flick of my wrist, before I can chicken out, I throw away my lifeline. The phone hits a tree as we fly by. I stomp on the panic rising higher into my chest, crushing against my lungs, making them difficult to fill. I’ve already chosen, I remind myself. I’m all in. “I love you,” I whisper against the steady drum of his heart.

  The combination of a groan and a furious roar tumbles up and out of Luke. It’s the sound of the battle within him, the clash of his will and the curse in an agonizing, torturous tone. Slowly, his crushing grip on me loosens enough for me to relax again in his hold. I force a deep inhale. Oxygen, enemy of panic, squelches my traitorous, self-preserving thoughts. Even if I could escape Luke, I won’t. I close my eyes and cuddle as best I can into his shoulder as he continues onward, slowing finally to a fast walk.

  Time loses meaning. I know I haven’t dozed. I mean, how could I? But the mental and physical battles of the day and subsequent exhaustion cut the wires to my internal clock. The darkness and trees, the few times I glance up, give no indication of time or place. The night is disorienting.

  A shift startles me. Luke transfers me in his steel arms, as if he can feel my weight. I try to straighten up, but he doesn’t help. I can’t see his arm in the pitch-black night under the trees. Are the dragons still wrapped around him? I look up. He looks down at me, but I can’t see his eyes.

  I tense as he repositions me, and I realize that I really need to pee. “Uh…are you okay?” I ask softly. He doesn’t answer. “Because I kind of need to use the bathroom.” Not that I think there’s a rest area here in the woods, but a bush and some privacy will do. He turns, his strides still long but human. After a few more minutes, we break through the edge of the woods into a dim parking lot.

  A dozen campers and trailers are parked in the lot, apparently being stored. He stops before a large Winnebago and lowers my feet to the ground. My legs give way, but he holds me around the waist so I don’t fall. The moon flashes across his face. Haggard, worried, guilt-engulfed. His expression is hollow, like he’s run out all of his emotions.

  He turns to the door and the lock clicks. “That’s right,” I whisper with a slight grin. “You’re good with locks.”

  We climb into the plush interior. It smells new. Luke flips on a dim light over a built-in couch that looks like it opens into a fairly large bed. Blankets are folded neatly on a chair beside it. A pack of gum sits on a table with several folded maps. I feel along the wall toward the back until I find a switch and then, thank God, the bathroom.

  The toilet flushes, but the water doesn’t come on in the sink. I walk silently back toward the couch, clicking off the hall light as I go. No need to advertise that we’re inside. Luke slumps against the cushions on the couch, head limp, chin against his chest. I rush to him, but then gingerly sit next to him. “Luke?”

  Very slowly, Luke turns his head toward me, forcing it to rise. In the low light of the entryway behind Luke’s head, I can tell that his eyes are closed. He looks half-asleep, but then he shoves himself closer to me. I reach for his hand. It’s clenched into a fist against his leg. As I work at unlocking the tight knot of his fingers, Luke�
�s eyes slowly open. I stare into his gaze and promptly choke on a gasp.

  19

  “We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies.”

  ~Shirley Abbott

  Blue light swirls within his orbs, an icy burning. I’m not sure if he’s Luke, but then he talks. “Jule,” he whispers, his voice rough. He grips my hand, though his fingers still feel tight and curled like talons. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I release my breath quickly and nod in the dark. “Yeah, but I’m not the one who just ran for an hour holding a girl with an infamous sweet tooth.”

  “Thirty-seven minutes, and you don’t weigh much.”

  “Uh, thanks, but still, that’s a long time. Are you okay now?” I ask, ignoring the glow in his eyes. Obviously, he’s not completely himself yet.

  “I’ve been better.” He lets out a breath and leans back into the cushions. “I sort of lost it.”

  I curl up by his side. “Did you run until you could control the curse?”

  I think I see him nod, his hair sliding against the dark, curtained window. “When you screamed—”

  “I’m so sorry,” I interrupt.

  He turns to me again and my shoulders relax. His eyes look normal in the dim lighting. The dragons on his arms have vanished.

  He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have let you confront Eric alone. He’s too dangerous.”

  “He thinks he’s in the right.”

  “Most madmen do. Not many people wake up and decide to be evil.”

  I turn to him, pulling my knee up onto the cushion. “He belongs to an organization founded by those guardians who originally killed you just after Maximillian formed the curse. It’s grown into something called the Magic Alliance. He said it was worldwide. They go after people who they consider dangerous, not just the three of you.

  “I’ve been Eric’s responsibility. He’s been protecting me, he says, and he’s convinced that his only duty is to keep you away from me.” I shake my head. “I thought I was getting through to him, but then he got nervous when Carly woke up. He frickin’ erased her memory again.” I ramble through the details after Eric found us. I feel the folded lump of paper in my back pocket, outlining the horror of my ancestry. I shift and squirm against it, trying to get comfortable, like there’s a pea under my mattress.