Made to Love

by DL Kopp

  Neither looked particularly inclined to do so. I stomped on the floor. “If you guys don't cool it, Octavius is going to leave, and I'm going up to my room to do more homework.”

  “But--” Byron looked hurt.

  “Calliope--” Octavius said.

  I held up my hand again. “You both be nice, or this is over now. Got it?”

  Byron nodded immediately. Octavius eyed him suspiciously, but he reluctantly nodded as well.

  “Good.” I walked up to Byron. “What book do you have?”

  He held it up. The title was embossed in gold on the green cover: Powering Independent Biological Tissue. It looked like the volume we needed. I nodded with pleasure.

  “This should give us some hints,” I said, flipping open the front. I skimmed the table of contents, found a promising chapter, and turned to the page in question. There was a fairly complex diagram of a motor, but I didn't find it difficult to follow. My dad would have been pleased...if he wasn't busy murdering Octavius.

  “Okay,” I said. “Most of the materials should be around here.”

  Byron came to look over my shoulder. He reached an arm over my shoulder – I shivered at the contact – and dragged his finger across the diagram.

  “I understand some of this,” he said. “But I don't see how the motor runs.”

  I pointed to a wire. “It's self-sustaining after it's started.”

  “That makes sense,” he said. “What I mean is...how does it start?”

  It was a good question.

  “Good question. Let's see...”

  I turned the page. On the next two pages were diagrams of two persons: a male, from the looks of the genitalia, and a female. It appeared wires hooked into the nervous system, which made sense, but how...

  The answer appeared. I flushed.

  Octavius noticed right away. “What?”

  Byron looked where my finger stopped. I didn't realize I was covering the male, and I pulled my hand away with a squeak. He turned his head and made a surprised sound.

  “It appears mating is the initial power source,” Byron said. “Correct?”

  “You're a fast learner,” I gasped.

  In a flash, Octavius was on his feet. He snatched the book from my hands and looked at the pages. “No,” he said. It didn't look like he understood what he was seeing, but he still seemed resigned. And horrified. “No.”

  “I don't understand the extra appendage,” Byron said.

  “Extra appendage?”

  “At the waist. I have never seen that before.”

  I goggled at him. “You mean you don't--”

  He started pulling at his pants. I cried out and covered my eyes. “I believe you! I believe you!”

  “I guess I'm incomplete,” Byron said. I peeked between my fingers, and he was leaving his trousers up, so I lowered my hands. He looked quite crestfallen.

  Octavius, on the other hand, appeared as if it was his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. “Too bad,” he said. “I guess you'll just have to make do without it.”

  “Not at all.”

  Octavius whirled on me. “What?”

  “The rest of him is constructed from various parts,” I said. “I could weld something. Or there are stores--”

  Octavius grabbed my forearm. “We're leaving.”

  And before I could protest, he whirled me out of the room.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “What are you doing?” I demanded, shaking my arm free when we reached the relative privacy of the stairs.

  “He’s been planning this all along,” Octavius said. “He—he is obsessed with you! He knew that by getting your help, you would want to help him mate and start the battery, and it is all a plan to keep you for himself!”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  He gripped my shoulders. “Calliope. I love you.”

  Octavius bent and kissed me passionately. I enjoyed it, lost in his heady scent and intoxicating taste, but I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Kissing was all we could do.

  But we have our love, I reminded myself.

  When he let me go, I frowned at him. “At least Byron is innocent. I can’t imagine him trying to deceive me. You know, when I went to on Friday, nobody even knew who you were! Not even your band!”

  “I want to be nothing but honest with you,” Octavius said. “I am a siren. My song is intoxicating. Enchanting. When I am there, my sheer presence creates a bubble universe in which I have a full, mortal life. When I am gone, I cannot do that.”

  “So when you’re there, you exist as a human, but when you’re not, nobody knows you,” I said, frowning. This was too much for me.

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

  “And how do I know you haven’t enchanted me with your song?” I asked.

  He smirked. “Oh, Calliope. I have.”

  Octavius kissed me again, laying a hand on the small of my back to bend me backward until my shoulders bumped the wall. His body pressed against mine, so cool in comparison to that of Byron, but it heated me in places I didn’t even know heated.

  He pulled away, our foreheads pressed together, and I stared into his endless eyes from inches away. “I love you too,” I breathed. “I do. I’ve never felt like this before.”

  His hands stroked me, molded to my body. “Nor have I,” Octavius murmured. Pain flashed across his face. “I don’t want you to power Byron.”

  “I’m not the only woman in the world,” I said, touching his cheek. “We’ll figure something out. But we have to finish him in the first place, and we can’t do that if you keep dragging me away from my work.”

  After a time, Octavius nodded. “Very well. But I don’t want you alone with him.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he didn’t let me speak. “It’s for your safety. Trust me, and you’ll be safe.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Anything for you.”

  For days, years, a lifetime—we kissed in the hall. And yet, there was some tiny, disappointed part of me that was frustrated we couldn’t have sex unless we were trying to breed. Octavius was amazing in every way possible, and it was crazy to think, but I could imagine breeding with him.

  If I got pregnant, though, my parents would freak.

  But only for the next month. Until I turned eighteen.

  Octavius sensed my frustration and laid kisses against the side of my throat. “Soon,” he whispered, “soon.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  We returned to work.

  Byron was distant now, casting suspicious looks in Octavius’s direction even as we sketched out plans together. We had found blueprints describing Byron as a finished product—what the scientists needed, where the parts would go.

  And there were sketches detailing where things hadn’t yet been completed. As I suspected, Byron was intended to end up entirely flesh-and-blood—why, I couldn’t understand. It was obvious the machine parts were far sturdier than his organic ones. But his “Father” – more like Geppetto -- seemed convinced in the journals that Byron would be able to live, truly live, once complete.

  “I just don’t understand where they’re getting your organic parts,” I muttered, spreading the papers across the steel work table. “They’re not documenting it.”

  “But not much machinated remains, right?” Byron asked hopefully.

  “It looks like… your heart, your eye, part of your arm, and... um…” I tried not to look at his pelvis, but that was the most obvious missing part. If the work-in-progress diagrams were up to date, he had a mechanical stand-in that allowed him to relieve toxins from his bladder.

  Octavius snorted. Oh well, at least he was being quieter.

  “What of my medications?” Byron asked. There was a complex system of tubes and beakers connected to an IV that he had to plug into his arm twice a day to ensure he could get pumped full of some cocktail that appeared to be keeping him alive.

  “I saw that somewhere,” I said, going to the bookshelf to find one of the old fo
lders I’d been looking through. I brought it back to the table and went through the papers. “Here we go. A lot of it is anti-rejection drugs—the kind of thing they give heart transplant patients. Probably so your body won’t shake apart from the different mechanical and organic parts you’ve got thrown together. Some of it is antibiotics and stimulants. And the rest seems to be nutrition and basic, run-of-the-mill saline.”

  “It is life in a tube,” he said. The look he gave his IV bag was a mingled admiration and hate.

  “I’m not going to be able to finish putting you together overnight, Byron,” I said, folding my arms to take in all the huge amounts of work remaining. “It’s just too much. Maybe in the next month, before Father returns—yes. If I have the parts.”

  “What do you plan on doing about that?” Byron asked.

  I frowned. “I just don’t know. It says exactly what he needs, but none of it makes sense. His heart needs to be from a human teenager, but I can’t imagine us getting on the donor list. The arm should be easy enough to fix—we just have to remove everything and put in a new bone, but we’ll do that right before the… uh… powering.”

  “He doesn’t need a new eye,” Byron said. “He’s obviously not blind, and he’ll be able to survive without it.”

  “If we keep him on anti-rejection drugs,” I reminded him. I turned a page over, trying to read it in the dim light of the lab. “Some of the mechanical parts actually do look like they might be supposed to stay in place. Like some complex, pseudo-neural network. It’s complicated. I’m going to have to study it further.”

  “And my penis?” Byron asked.

  Ugh.

  “That’s going to be the hardest of all. Nobody donates their…” I swallowed hard. When I spoke again, my voice was an octave higher. “You know what? Maybe I’ll take this upstairs and work for the night. We should all relax. I still have school tomorrow, too.”

  “You’re right,” Byron said. “I need to reconnect to my station soon, so I will go to bed for the evening.”

  “Great,” Octavius said, hopping off the table. “See you.”

  “I could use help.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said. I shot a shy smile at Octavius, and I leaned up to whisper in his ear. “You could stay with me tonight. Do you want to go get in bed?” Maybe he only thought he couldn’t function without breeding.

  It seemed he was thinking along the same lines, because he immediately grinned. “Yeah. I’ll get ready.”

  He disappeared up the stairs, leaving me to arrange Byron on his gurney again so he wouldn’t get pinched by the straps. “Are you sure you need these?” I asked, giving a distasteful look to the set-up. “It looks so uncomfortable.”

  “I need to sleep in this position so I can get a full dose of my medication,” he said. “Why is he staying with you?”

  “We’re friends, Byron. Close friends.” I flipped the switch, and the clamps closed on his limbs.

  “You will come back soon?” he asked anxiously.

  “I’ll let you out in the morning before school so you can keep working,” I promised. I started to head out, then hesitated. “Good night, Byron.”

  “Good night, Calliope.”

  I turned off the lights, leaving him to bubbling beakers and glowing potions.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  After a frustrating night of failing to have sex and being forced to just cuddle, I went into school on the back of Octavius's motorcycle. I wouldn't have even done that much – pressing against him was getting me bothered in all the wrong ways – if I didn't think he would be offended if I kept turning him down. Well, not that I was turning him down, but his ego had to be fragile at this point.

  We started toward the front doors. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice when Rich Coos approached, and we collided. I fell on my butt, and the papers in my arms scattered to the wind. Octavius scrambled to pick them up, and Rich offered a hand.

  I rolled my eyes, but took the hand. At least there was one guy around that was pretty simple to understand.

  When the skin of our hands contacted, I felt a jolt. It was so strong that I fell backward again. My eyes unfocused briefly, and I saw a hint of sunlight around Rich's head. But it wasn't just sunlight; there seemed to be something more, something... something...

  He yanked me to my feet and caressed my hand before letting go of it.

  “Watch yourself, Calliope!” he exclaimed, his voice booming. “You'll hurt yourself if you keep that up.”

  “You were the one to run into me,” I said, but without the oomph that I was hoping it would have. If anything, I was close to weeping, and I didn't know why. It didn't necessarily seem like I was sad, either. I couldn't put my finger on it.

  Octavius came up to me with an armful of papers. “Is he bothering you?”

  Rich and I both looked at him. Octavius seemed like a slight shadow next to Rich's golden rays. I couldn't understand it. Octavius was way more attractive than this doofus... wasn't he?

  “I think you're the only one bothering anyone right now,” Rich said. “Buzz off.”

  Octavius started to heave my things to the ground, but I stepped in front of him and took everything back. “It's okay,” I said. “We were just leaving.”

  “Sure,” Rich said. “We can go any time you'd like, clown boy.”

  “Clown boy?” Octavius hissed. I could see the edges of his wings appear behind his back. It looked like I was right about the fragile ego.

  I gave the papers back to Octavius and turned around. “Apologize right now!” I demanded.

  Rich crossed his arms. “Why should I?”

  “Because...you're being a jerk!” I said. I realized it was feeble, but I still thought I was doing better than Octavius. At least I wasn't going to go siren on a poor human, dumb though he may be.

  Without warning, Rich leaned in and laid a peck on my lips. I jumped back and wiped my mouth on my sleeve and did my best to ignore the tingle that started there. Or the fact that my knees were wobbly. Or the fact that my stomach dropped. Or...

  Before I could catalog everything, Octavius slammed my papers to the ground and lunged for Rich. I crouched on the ground to pick up my papers with a sigh. I had definitely reached my quota of guys fighting around me, and I just wanted a little normalcy.

  By the time I had most of my things back – and much soggier than before, I noted with a loud exhalation – Octavius and Rich were standing apart, their chests heaving. Even as sick of it as I was, I couldn't help but notice how particularly masculine both of them looked. And sweaty.

  I needed a slap across the face. Or a cold shower. Possibly both.

  Without looking at either of them again, I stormed toward the building and went inside. I wasn't surprised to see that neither of them followed me.

  But I was a little disappointed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Octavius went into a sulk and disappeared for lunch, leaving me with a group of people who suddenly had no idea who he was. I decided to waste the terrible, boring half-hour that was lunch without him by writing poetry on a bench outside, enjoying the first break from the rain I had seen all week.

  It all has changed

  My life, my soul

  Pain

  Sorrow

  No reason to live

  A fading dream

  I sighed. Misery suited me—it helped me write great poetry. The preoccupation Byron and Octavius provided, though, was keeping me from my depression. I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not. Probably not.

  “Hey, Cal! What are you doing out here?”

  I looked up to see Rich approaching, and I sighed, shutting my notebook. “I was trying to have peace and quiet,” I said. “What are you doing out here?”

  He plopped onto bench across from me, propping his chin up on his fists. “Looking for you,” Rich said. “I wanted to talk to you about this morning.”

  “What about it?”

  “You know. My fight with Octavius.”r />
  My eyes widened. With the siren nowhere to be found, nobody should have known of him, even if they had been tussling with him. It was a defense mechanism. That way he could be gone for weeks at a time doing whatever it was sirens did, and still come back to an unsuspecting school.

  Had he come back already? I cast my gaze around, searching the school grounds I could see, but Octavius was nowhere to be seen.

  “What are you doing?” Rich asked, laughing at my paranoid expression.

  “Nothing,” I said, “nothing. Sorry Octavius attacked you. He just loves me so much. He has to protect me.”

  “I was just messing with you,” he said, reaching across the table to nudge my elbow. “So I guess since you’re hanging around him so much now, you know the truth, huh?”

  I stared. “What?”

  “You know. The truth.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rich couldn’t possibly know that Octavius was a siren, could he? His family did run Coos Bay. Maybe they knew everything.

  “He hasn’t told you?” Rich looked surprised.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to tell,” I said.

  “Someone must have told you what you’re destined to do by now,” he persisted.

  “What I’m destined to do?” I stood, gathering my notebook and pencil. “You’re acting weird, Rich, and I have no idea what you’re getting at. I’m going to go skip my last class and go home. I don’t think I feel very good.”

  He got up, too, following me as I hurried toward the parking lot. “I’m not trying to freak you out!” Rich insisted. “But you have to know the truth about yourself sometime!”

  I spun on him. “And who’s going to tell me? You?”

  Rich shook his head. “I’m not allowed.”