by Naomi Fraser
Mum wheels out a slushy machine and parks it near the marquee, but a man walks alongside her. He lifts his hand and rubs her back, then leans over to kiss her cheek.
My drink freezes halfway to my mouth. I watch. Swallow like my throat has razor blades.
She smiles up at him, and his hands lift to cup her face. Right then as though he feels my incredulous stare, he turns and meets my gaze. We stare at each other for a few seconds, wordless, and then he leans into Mum’s ear, says something and saunters over to me.
I hold my ground, though my hand trembles.
“Eloise. Happy birthday.” He nods and my gaze moves over his dark, spiky hair, the square jaw and cocoa-brown eyes. He doesn’t look like my father at all. This is an entirely different person. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Eric.” He holds out his hand, waits.
The cold eddy in my stomach is simply fear. “Hi, Eric.” I clasp his hand and shake it pleasantly.
Mum hurries over to us. He’s watching my face, and although lights dance in his eyes, he must sense my trepidation.
“This is . . .” Mum trails off. “Ah, Eric. He’s . . .” She casts him a quick glance. “The one who asked me out on a date the other night,” she says in a rush. “He wanted to get to know a few locals before he bought a house here. He owns an online business.”
I grin. Nerves attack my stomach, but I manage to control my tongue and act normal.
I turn to Mum and release Eric’s hand with my eyebrows raised in question about the situation. Why the heck do I feel like a parent right now?
“We’re . . .” she begins, dithering on her next word.
“Dating,” he finishes.
I have the sudden vision of them finishing each other’s sentences for the rest of my life and happiness grips me. Tears prick my eyes. If she’s happy, then I’m happy. I think about how much heartache she’s been through with losing Dad.
“Aww, honey.” She moves closer and rubs my shoulders, pecking my cheek.
“No, it’s OK.” I knuckle the tears from my eye and sniff. “I was just thinking you two are so cute finishing each other’s sentences.”
Eric chuckles and wraps an arm around Mum’s waist, pulling her close and kissing her temple. She giggles. Giggles! “I think your mother is very cute.”
Lakyn appears to my left and his hand slides down from my elbow to clasp my hand. I take another sip of my drink. Eric’s gaze shifts to the newcomer and he holds out a hand.
Lakyn shakes it and murmurs a greeting.
“How do so many people know about my party?” I ask Mum.
“I posted it on your Facebook timeline and tagged a few people, asking them to tag more. I invited lots of people from your classes and I guess they did the rest,” Mum says. “I know you don’t normally—”
The ground beneath my feet trembles and my heart leaps. “What the heck?”
Lakyn growls, spins around and then steps away toward the cliff.
“What was that?” I ask, frowning at his expression.
“A pulse,” he mutters and half-twists back to me, then looks around him. “There are too many people here. It was a strong one.”
Mum and Eric look at us strangely. “I didn’t feel anything,” Mum says.
“Excuse us for a sec, Mum.”
“Righto. I have that vase to clean up. We’ll just get out of your way.” Mum throws Eric an amused glance, and they move off together, disappearing back into the house.
“That was easier than I expected,” I say, watching them walk away.
Lakyn takes my free hand again. Concern darkens his eyes.
A screech of tyres echoes at the front of the house. A channel eight van stops. Cars and kids continue to arrive while a camera man and reporter hop out of the van.
“Oh, God. Reporters,” I say in a dead voice. Tightness grips my muscles. “I had a feeling they wouldn’t give up.”
Lakyn steps toward the cliff, and a sick, slow beat of foreboding thrums in my chest at the steadiness of his gaze. “They have perfect timing. The sirens are here.”
“No,” I whisper in disbelief. “You’re kidding?”
He swings back to me, and his eyes are so blue they’re nearly black. His hand rests on my shoulder. “Listen.”
I breathe in deep and slow and then close my eyes. At the high-pitched ringing, my lashes fly up. It’s a vibration beneath the hard rap blasting out of the speakers. My nostrils flare and a sharp tug crowds my insides, drawing me closer. Voices flow in a perfect melody, like sighs on the breeze. My ears flood with heat and my hands shake. The drink drops out of my hand, pink dots spilling across my wedges and the grass.
I lift my head. The ocean is blue on blue. Starlit velvet on crashing waves at midnight. Liquid song courses through my veins, and the wind picks at my curls one by one. Fingers of temptation. Fight it, Ellie. The bewitching tone taps into my emotions, calling up memories and longings I’d since forgotten. Heartaches drenched in pain. Consolation lies at the end of the path. At the end of the path. I need to follow the path.
“Don’t,” Lakyn warns in my ear. His arms are iron bands around my waist, his chin against my cheek. “You have to resist them, Ellie. There’s a spell. Repeat it after me.” His tongue slurs and smooths over foreign words. “Repeat them,” he urges after I listen in silence, the music still holding me prisoner.
My mouth moves, tongue fat and dry, until he sighs, then widens his stance, cradling me between his thighs. “Let’s hope you have the magic to make it last. Open your eyes. Look around you,” he says insistently.
A hard, needling sensation creeps beneath my skin. I gasp, like I’ve surfaced from a long dive. My lids open, and I stare at the cliff, where fifteen students stand as still as zombies, listening to the sirens’ song.
They will be dragged to the bottom of the sea.
I turn to Lakyn. “Let’s finish this.”
38
SOME BIRTHDAYS COME and the only thing to change are numbers. Other birthdays arrive and nothing is ever the same. When confronted with a massacre, I can’t help thinking this year will be the latter.
“Protect them,” I shout and then sprint toward the house. A stitch crushes my side and my lungs squeeze. The front door looms in the distance and the small divots in the ground almost break my ankles while I’m running in wedges. Other people mill around the open fire barrels, staring at me while I rush past. I don’t care nor stop to chat. I speed through the front door, unhook Mum’s keys and then race to my bedroom for the spear gun hidden beneath my bed.
White curls droop in front of my eyes and sweat beads my forehead, rolling down my temples. I slide on my stomach to reach the black duffel bag, grasp the straps and then slither back out before I rip open the zipper. Spear gun, extra arrows, Velcro, rope and a waterproof and shock proof cell phone case. Check, check, check.
Will it be enough? I throw in Finfolk Lore & Transformations and the Guardian Training Manual and yank off my wedges. I put my phone in the new case and lurch to my feet, then race back outside. My soles sting from pounding the old wooden floors and hard ground.
“They’re dead weight,” he says, his arms loosening around a girl he sets away from the cliff’s edge. He’s moved three people to lawn chairs. “Listen, you should go back inside the house.”
“No, I have a better idea.”
“What have you got . . .” his gaze drops then sharpens as he studies the bag, “planned?”
I pant and toss him the keys. “Take Mum’s car,” I say. “It’s the blue Mazda. Go get your gear and the guys from the hostel. We’ll need everyone we can get for this. I don’t want any of these people hurt.”
He snatches the keys mid-air, his grin predatory. “I like the way you think.”
“I’ll shoot the sirens and stop everyone from going over the edge as best I can while you’re gone.”
He cocks his head. “Shoot to kill. You might not stop them all. I don’t want you going over the edge. If you think that’s goin
g to happen—”
“It won’t. Just hurry,” I whisper, dropping the bag at my feet and raising the spear gun, ready. I can’t pick up teenagers like Lakyn can, but I can hurt a siren. I can also protect my friends by standing guard. “I can’t let the sirens kill anyone here.”
Lakyn’s expression is hard and assessing, but I glare at him. “Go,” I say.
He frowns, but pivots. He is at the car in seconds. Gravel spits from beneath the tyres as he swerves out of the driveway and onto the road. The only thing that lights the way are the streetlights since he’s forgotten to turn on the headlights.
Oh Lord, please don’t let him get killed.
With duffel bag in hand, I hurry over to the trees and wrap a length of rope around a sturdy trunk, then tie the thick ends in a triple reef knot. The Velcro on the back of my cell phone case sticks to the white square on the rope. Directing the screen toward the water, all I need is a quick button push, a swipe of apps and then the phone is set to record.
I look over the cliff—then look again, staring in shock. Five pale, sinewy sirens, twist like albino snakes in the water. They are long, slick things moving beneath the waves, the slip of firm flesh, then the sweep of a deadly tail. Teeth and claws. I stand there, my legs trembling. All that separates us is air, one slip, one mistake. It’s so easy to make mistakes. My breath is a harsh rasp, my heartbeat something wild.
Death is a creature. The monsters’ slick wet hair breaches the surface, revealing close-set black eyes, chopped-off noses and mouths bursting with barbs.
I stare at them, knowing what I have to do.
The sirens stop their ascent when the waves lap their shoulders. They fix dark, knowing eyes on the teenagers ready to leap, their shirts and dresses flapping in the wind. Probably feeling free for the first time in their lives.
A greyish cast clings to the sirens’ hollow shoulder bones, but their rope-like muscles tell me a real predator wants to play. A sharp screech pierces the air—the one on the right starts, then the others join in—on a high-pitched call.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but once they’re open again, I can’t seem to blink and air struggles from my throat. The throb of my heartbeat escalates and booms in my ears. Knees and arms quivering, a single-minded focus slips over my brain. I will not allow them to hunt me forever.
That’s not living. It’s accepting my death.
I raise the spear gun again and take aim. Steady the gun; adjust for the breeze and currents. Lakyn’s guidance filters into my actions, and as long as the DJ keeps pumping out loud music, the other students shouldn’t be affected.
I can’t even ensure the reporters aren’t filming what I’m doing. If they are, hopefully all they’ll capture is a crazy girl with a spear gun at a precipice. Surely, my mum has ordered them to leave.
The sirens and I first met at this spot at the back of my house, forcing me past the dark green lawn and sandy soil to the jagged cliff. I’d been unaware at the time, lured by their seductive song. I’m awake now and familiar with the awaiting nightmare, ready and able to fight for what I want.
Their undulating music flows across the waves, rising from the whitewash. The kids step forward in tandem, and the sirens’ song begins to drown out the DJ. I can’t swallow around the hard thump in my throat. I aim for the middle siren’s heart and press the trigger, but they all sink beneath the surface and the arrow slices through a patch of dark water.
“Hell,” I fume and look up. The fading sun turns the far edges of the waves to red gold, and the wind picks up speed, tossing through my hair. A tingle brushes the edge of my consciousness. My body slides to the left as though bumped. I gasp and look at my feet, but I haven’t moved.
The dark waves are choppy and more eerie than ever.
Wetness drips to my mouth and I swipe my hand against my lips. Red streaks my skin. Blood. The Guardian Training Manual describes how if the magical energy is bigger than normal, a human’s blood vessels may be damaged. That means everyone else’s will be, too.
I lower the spear gun. I have to get these people inside.
“Listen,” I yell at the first girl, trying to cut through her trance. “Get away from the cliff. Go back inside!” With a fistful of her shirt, I shove as hard as I can. A vibration trembles in my legs, rockets back down to my soles and shakes the ground beneath my feet. The pulse hits me again and blood coats my tongue. I fall to my knees, still yelling, but all the students stare straight through me.
I look up across the yard, hoping to attract someone’s attention. A person strong enough not to be caught in the spell. The reporter is a zombie; her eyes wide and blank, hands limp by her sides, microphone on the ground. The cameraman’s video recorder rests at his feet, lens pointing toward the trees. Mum then—I filter through the hundreds of heads for a certain shade of blonde—and catch her figure at the window of the house, hands tight on the sill, listening. She’s under the spell, too.
I sob and a soft howl emits from the waves, combining with the slap of water against the rocks. A shiver runs up my spine and I turn back to the sea, looking over the edge of the cliff on all fours. A gust of salt air sweeps my cheeks, blowing out my hair.
I gulp and a sudden attack of vertigo makes me sway. A soft keen rises from my throat until every atom inside my body shakes and the tone controls my legs.
“Nooo . . .” I shout.
The spell Lakyn gave me should have worked and the words flirt at the periphery of my memory, but I can’t recall them. There is magic in the books. I can wield a small amount of magic in human form. I manic crawl for the duffel bag, drag out the Guardian Training Manual and flip to an earmarked page.
OFFENSIVE MAGIC.
Perfect, seeing how it’s the best form of defence. I speak the words into the sea, one hand holding open the pages while my head hangs over the edge. My blood drips bright red, falling out of sight and into the water.
A salty, tangy breeze assaults my nostrils, and magic streaks through my limbs, catching me in a paroxysm of black lightning. I hunch, blood smearing my fingers and the pages of the book. Grass spikes up between the rocks into my palms and I cough up a mouthful of blood onto the tufts, but words still emerge from my lips. I bark out the last syllable, and then the ocean roars its obedience. The waves climb higher than I ever believed possible.
The height—a memory slips into my brain—I haven’t been to this spot since my accident, but my muscles jerk, recalling the terror of sweeping water.
I’m in the same place. A different person. I choose who I become, no matter what external things smack me down.
On I read to the next spell, my voice slipping over the foreign words until my call vibrates at the back of my throat in sweet tones of seduction. Pain ebbs from my legs, and I manage to stand, one hand high above my head while the other holds the book. A dark grey cloud hovers over the ocean, sliding across the sky.
Tingles separate into moments of time, so clear I can almost grasp them. Power is the shift into another reality, and this dimension wavers. An electric current travels from my tiptoes to the top of my head and I hold my palm forward, then push out at the air. The set of waves immediately collapse in the centre, and then I scoop my hand backward, careful to do it exactly how I practiced. My fingers are red and sticky with blood, darker than the dying sun behind the horizon.
Ralph’s soul is out there, calling to mine.
That’s my music, coming out of my mouth, my song so broken ever since Dad passed away. When I had no direction, no faith, but now I put my heart into the enchantment as the watery blue whips, revealing pale bodies beneath the surface.
I breathe in the scent of salt and blood. My voice rises with the incantation and power throbs in my muscles. A sudden wall of water sweeps the sirens back a couple of hundred metres. I crush my hand into a fist. Waves slam them from all directions, spouts of water slipping over the top, pressing in upon itself with extreme force.
Mesmerising sounds spin upon my breath, and I step back f
rom the edge, one footfall after another.
I shouldn’t have been capable of magic so powerful. Not in human form, at least. But I’m not complaining. The sirens are strong enough to come back if the pulse that made me bleed is anything to go by. The students form one group who follow my retreat.
“Ellie.”
I turn to Paul, Owen and Patrick who stand behind me with orange plugs in their ears. Clever. I don’t stop singing but point to the people and then my house. Take them inside. Keep them safe.
They nod at my wordless order and break into the crowd, grabbing some by their shirts, picking others up over their shoulders and rushing for the house. The camera man and reporter remain. The hostel guys are going for the youngest first.
Where the hell is Lakyn?
A dark figure leaps from the cliff farther along the tree line. With a spear gun in his hands, and so many weapons against his back, the fading light glints silver off the metal. He slices into the water, disappearing in a second.
My heart swells with hope as he surfaces and then fights the sirens like a man possessed. The ocean boils with all the bodies trying to escape his arrows, and I gasp trying to count the sirens as they reveal themselves. There’s more than thirty. I grab the spear gun again.
“Ellie!”
Lakyn points to the cliff where two girls bend their knees, ready to jump off the edge into the water. They land with hard splats and then disappear into the blue.
“Lakyn,” I scream. “Help them.”
Two more people try to follow, but I stand between them and the sea, pushing back. My heels hang over the edge, although I manage to lean into their bodies to stop them from going over the cliff. But I can’t shoot and hold the girls at the same time, which means Lakyn is all alone trying to save the two girls who leapt over.
I frantically look down for the book, find it, drop the gun and grab the open book again, flicking to the stronger spells. The strange words trip off my tongue. The air jerks, stills and then swirls me. Magic unwinds in a clear stream, and before I know it, a glittering energy bathes me in power. Angled toward a group of sirens swimming to Lakyn, I lift my hand, and a huge wave sweeps them up and then slams them against the cliff face. They scream as their bodies break in two. Dark liquid seeps into the sea, but I pick up the wave again and slam it against the rocks.
