The Harvest: Call of the Sirens Book One

by KB Benson

  When I get to Mythology, Iris is the first one I see—her smile reaching her eyes.

  “Hey there.” I attempt to act naturally as though I didn’t just stumble onto her poorly-hidden secret. I have so many questions…

  “Hey.” A subtle shade of pink rises to her cheeks.

  Her eyes sparkle as she looks up at me, and all of a sudden I forget all of my questions. None of it matters, I just need to be with her. After hearing her angelic voice last night, I haven’t been able to think of anything else. All morning the melody played on a loop in my head. The more I think of the song, the more I fall for Iris. I let my backpack slump to the floor and take my seat next to her.

  Class starts a few minutes later. I’m so completely consumed with my thoughts that I don’t pay any attention to Demonas’ lecture. Why would Iris hide her ability to swim? Why would she feel the need to lie?

  If she didn’t want me to know she loves swimming, if she didn’t want me to know she lived with Mr. Demonas, she could have just said so. Guilt burrows in my brain. I guess she tried to tell me, but she didn’t even go home last night and she was so tired. My gaze drifts to Iris and my confusion is swept away by the uneven pounding of my heart.

  Something much deeper has got to be going on other than just the fact that Iris lives with a teacher. It doesn’t matter, though. We are meant for each other.

  “Jace,” Iris whispers, breaking through my inward rantings while Demonas’ back faces us.

  Relief floods the anxiety rolling through me as my name falls from her lips, but turmoil churns in my stomach. Something doesn’t feel right.

  “Meet me in the commons after school. I think it’s my turn to take you on a proper date.” She bats her eyelashes, putting on a sweet smile—playing.

  I nod, matching her smile, “I’ll be there.”

  The rest of the day passes by in a blur. I’ve got to tell Iris I know she can swim and that she’s Mr. Demonas’ daughter. After all, he’s the one who told me to ask her about it so it shouldn’t be a big deal. I want to confront her, but that involves telling her I followed her—distrustful; that I spied on her—suspicious; that I dug into her personal life by going to her house when I knew she didn’t want me to—outright deceitful. I need to tell her, but I don’t want to lose her. That pull inside me makes me feel… complete when I’m with her. I can’t let that go.

  When the bell rings after my last class, I throw my bag over my shoulder and rush out to the commons, trying not to bulldoze people out of my way. Iris is already there, waiting patiently.

  We climb into my truck and as I start the engine, I take a deep breath. I have to ask. “Iris, I thought you said you couldn’t swim?”

  Her brow furrows. “Why is that bothering you? A lot of people can’t swim.”

  “But you aren’t one of them.” I say, catching her off guard. “Last night I wanted to make sure you got home safely; you were so tired when I left you.”

  Her expression turns from confusion to hurt. Or is it fear?

  “I saw you disappear around the corner so I followed you. You went straight to the beach and swam for hours. Legit swimming out past the buoys, in the middle of the night. Why did you tell me you can’t swim?”

  Iris is silent. She tries to compose her face, but the fear is still there. She chews her lip.

  “And another thing,” I continue. I might as well get it all out there. “I stopped by your house this morning to check if you were okay and ran into Mr. Demonas. I feel like there’s a story there I’ve got to hear,” I say trying to remove some of the tension.

  She’s still silent, uncomfortably sitting in her seat.

  “I wanted to make sure you were doing alright this morning after I saw you crying last night—”

  “What?” she asks, terror clear in her voice. “When did you see me cry last night?”

  I shake my head. “Umm, you’d just finished singing.” There’s another thing she didn’t want to do for me. The guilt swells with each passing second. “Iris, you have an amazing voice. I can’t believe I’ve never heard it before. It’s perfect—”

  “No,” Iris all but shouts. “No, it’s not perfect, and I can’t believe you spied on me to hear it.”

  “I—I didn’t spy on you to hear it,” I defend.

  “Jace, I didn’t want you to hear it; don’t you understand that?”

  “I-I’m sorry,” I splutter, faintly aware I had expected Iris to apologize, not me.

  Iris’ face has gone pale. “No,” she whispers, shaking her head back and forth. This time her rejection isn’t in response to any question I’ve asked, more like a rejection to what I just told her. Her breathing increases; and she tries to take deeper, calmer breaths, but fails. “No,” she whispers. “You heard me sing?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Iris, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

  She looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Iris’ gaze darts all around the cab of my truck. I touch her hand, sparking her attention back to me.

  “Calm down. You’re okay. I’m not mad at you; I just want to know why you told me you can’t swim?”

  She shakes her head again, biting her lip. “You heard me sing?”

  “Iris?”

  “I can’t tell you, Jace. I can’t.”

  “Trust me, Iris. You can tell me anything.”

  Her head whips from side to side faster, “Not this, not this. I have to keep you safe.” She pauses and a few tense moments pass between us. “I have to leave.”

  Iris opens the door and jumps out of my truck, racing across the parking lot to the other side of the school. I leap out right behind her to follow; but when I turn a corner in pursuit, she’s already gone.

  Chapter 20

  IRIS

  I run my hands through my hair, letting the strands flow through my fingers. What is happening? I panic as I race through the streets of Santa Cruz. This can’t be happening. I try to hold back my thoughts until I can find a safe, secluded place to think through them. Pressure swells inside of me as I fight to hold them off for just another moment or two. I pick up my speed, sprinting as my tennis shoes slap against the pavement. I concentrate on the sound and movement of my feet.

  After several minutes my lungs burst into flames. I push through it and keep running. Under the focus I’ve put on my shoes, I know I’m running away. I don’t want to stop and face what I’ve done. I imagine each footfall untangles a piece of myself—It’s not as bad as you think. Although, I know I’m wrong. It is just as bad as I think. Before I realize, I find myself in Derby Park.

  Stopping to catch my breath, I recognize the tree where I admitted my feelings to Jace. I rest my hands on my knees, letting my lungs soak up air with each ragged gasp. Slowly, I make my way to our tree and sit on the side of it facing the fence around the park. I rest my back against its trunk, leaning my head against its rough bark. I breathe deeply, trying to concentrate. How is this happening? I focus on the way my body feels—not the way it feels from running but what I feel inside.

  It’s unusual to be concerned about how I feel. I’ve never had to worry about it before because I’ve never felt anything like this before. Jace is changing me. I can feel the pull of the Harvest Moon again. It’s grown stronger over the past few weeks just like I knew it would.

  It can’t be Jace, though. I never meant for it to be Jace. I look at my watch, distinctly unique from any other. Rather than time, mine records the phases of the moon. The full moon is in a week. I will lose control in a week. A tear slips down my cheek. I can’t lose control with Jace.

  A knot forms and grows in the center of my stomach, absorbing all my energy. I shake my head at the guilt that gnaws within me. You are evil. You are death itself. You deserve to die.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “No, no, no,” I whisper.

  I think of Jace. Butterflies swarm through my stomach and dissipate the knot. With the thought, I feel free—pure. All too soon, however, I rememb
er what happened; and the knot forces its way back into my body, growing tenfold.

  I don’t love. That’s not what I am; it’s not even possible for me to love. I am a seducer, a scheming temptress who lures men toward their death with a flick of my hair. I was not created to fall in love, we are not. Any love we have is based on what makes the most sense to strengthen the whole—so how, then, do I feel like this? I don’t want to trick Jace. I just want to be with him.

  A small smile pulls up the corners of my lips at the thought. I never wanted to attract him; but that pull I feel when I’m around him, I’ve never had anything but the ocean and the moon pull at me with as much force. They are the only things that are supposed to have a claim on me. No person, no man should ever have that kind of power over a siren. It’s impossible for a siren to fall in love; it would completely upset the purpose of our existence.

  Jace appears in my mind’s eye again and sorrow snuffs out my confusion snuffs. Everything is about to change.

  “He heard me sing,” I say, pain making my words falter. There’s only one solution: if a siren’s song is heard, then the one who hears the song must die or the siren herself will take his place.

  I love him. Because I love him, I will not kill him.

  I lean against the tree for a few minutes in my grief, completely unsure of what to do. Closing my eyes, I rest my head on my bent knees. My mind wanders off and the next thing I know, I wake to a darkened sky without a solution.

  Standing and straightening my clothes, I walk away from the tree. I walk away from Derby Park, away from Jace. I don’t know what to do, but I will not let myself be around him and lure him into the ocean. The moment I do, the beasts we are will attack; and Jace will be the next missing person case in Santa Cruz. I chew my lip as I walk aimlessly. I will come clean of my failure in bringing Jace to the ocean and my mistake in attracting him.

  I think for a few moments. Maybe if I can find an alternate person to harvest in place of Jace, it’ll satisfy my clan. I grab my head, tugging on my hair. It won’t satisfy any of them. I hate what I am; I hate how I have no control over this.

  There’s got to be a way to control it.

  Without consciously doing so, I redirect my wandering course to head back home to Mr. Demonas’ house. I need to talk this through with him. My feet softly crunch the loose gravel on the sidewalk, the sound stirring latent memories. I remember when I first met Mr. Demonas. He was one of the first few men I tried to lure into the ocean. Not because he deserved to die, but because I had run out of options.

  I walk to a coffee house for the lack of anywhere better to go. Billboards litter every corner of the streets here, the majority of them praising the Mudhouse. I’d heard talk that the “calfeen” inside the dark liquids could really buoy you up. I don’t really know what that means; but now that I find myself standing in front of the Mudhouse, I figure I should find out.

  I push open the heavy wooden door to a room scattered with booths, tables, and round stools each topped with chattering young people sipping from their mugs. Who will it be? Everyone talks with energy, and a buzz of excitement fills the room. Everywhere except in the back corner of the shop, in the farthest cubicle where a man sits alone with a steaming mug.

  The aromatic smell fills my nose, and I already feel livelier. I head straight for the man. I know he’s probably not a bad person, but that doesn’t staunch my hope. If I find out he has evil to hide, that he should die, my job is a lot easier; but it doesn’t really matter. He’ll follow me to the ocean tonight regardless of what he does—or doesn’t—have to hide. I can almost taste the blood mixed with the salt of the ocean just thinking about it. The butterflies swarm in my stomach as I prepare myself for the thrill of the hunt.

  “Hi.” I bat my eyelashes as I lean against the backrest of the seat opposite the man. His thick-rimmed glasses almost hide the dark brown pools behind them, wide with wonder.

  “Hello,” he says politely.

  “May I join you?”

  The man gestures to the seat in front of him, his little finger catching the edge of his mug, foam slopping over the side. “Of course. Nobody should have to sit alone on Christmas.”

  Christmas. I let the word play in my mouth, tasting the feel of it. It’s nice. I’ve never heard this word before, but it must explain why everything is decorated in brightly-colored lights twinkling like the stars in the night sky. It must explain why I’ve seen multiple people wearing red velvet hats with white snowballs on the tips, bobbing up and down with each step. It must explain why everywhere I go I hear music about a savior of the world. If only he could save the world from me.

  “Agreed,” I say, although I’m still not sure what I’m agreeing to.

  “My name’s Kai Demonas.” The man outstretches his hand.

  I take it in mine. “Iris.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Iris. What brings you to the Mudhouse tonight?”

  “Lack of anywhere else to go,” I blurt before realizing I’m telling the truth. Never tell your prey the truth. Each truth you tell gives you a connection and makes it that much harder to take their life.

  “No family in town?”

  “Something like that.” My finger traces designs in the evaporating foam on the glossy tabletop. “And you? Don’t you have anywhere better to be?”

  “So, it would seem...”

  Check. He’s all alone; no one will miss him. We sit quietly for a few long seconds.

  Kai sits straight and tall, a book splayed open on the table’s surface, face down.

  I nod toward his book, “Did I interrupt?”

  Kai looks at the book, its pages worn. “Ah, no. I’ve read this book so many times I could almost quote it word for word by now.”

  “So, it’s a favorite then. What book is it?”

  Kai flips the book closed, handing it to me. I gently hold the book, afraid if I’m not careful I’ll be the one to split the pages. The title reads, The Iliad and the Odyssey. My fingers brush over the raised edges of the letters.

  “Looks interesting. What’s it about?”

  “You’ve never heard of ‘The Iliad and the Odyssey’?” Genuine disbelief crosses Kai’s face.

  I shake my head.

  “Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone who’s never even heard of it. I’m sorry, it’s just I’m quite a mythology buff and this tale is a classic. Sometimes I forget other people aren’t as exposed to mythology as I am. Here.” Kai pulls his bookmark from the pages and hands the book to me again. “Take it and read it. You won’t be sorry.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” I push the book back to him.

  “It’s too late for that, nobody should be able to say what you just did about never having read it let alone even heard about it.”

  I pull the book toward me hesitantly.

  “Don’t worry, educating people is what I do.”

  I look at Kai curiously.

  “I’m a teacher at the local high school,” he answers before I can ask.

  “Which one is that?” My interest peaking a little bit.

  “Santa Cruz High. I’m an English teacher there. It’s a rewarding job; but unfortunately, it took too much time away from my family. Time is a precious thing, you know? By the time I’d set my priorities straight, my wife was already gone.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Truly, genuinely sorry for his loss. I’ve heard a lot of dark secrets before—people tend to reveal what they keep most hidden when speaking with a siren. At least Kai doesn’t have anyone to live for so his death should be easy.

  “Thank you. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, Iris. I apologize for my openness. I’m not usually like this.” Kai’s eyebrows pull together quizzically.

  “Most people aren’t, but I find it refreshing to hear the truth,” I say, knowing I’m not telling him the truth.

  “As do I. As do I.”

  Kai looks down into his mug, the dark liquid and foam swirling until it looks mu
ch like a galaxy circling in space.

  “What’s your favorite part about your job as an English teacher?” I ask, breaking the silence. It’s not always bad to have some friendly chit chat before a harvest. I might be able to learn something from him before he goes. Our conversation won’t change Kai’s fate, but I enjoy speaking with him.

  “Enlightening the students’ minds. Most of the kids I teach have never heard the stories I tell, have never learned the history behind the creation of the earth and who is really watching over it. When it clicks for the students, that’s when I’m most rewarded. To see they understand, to see that they see.”

  “And you can do that through teaching English—writing and reading?”

  “Oh, no,” he chuckles. “I apologize, I’m not that type of English teacher. I teach Greek Mythology. It counts as an English credit so sometimes I forget to clarify.”

  My body stiffens for a moment, and a smile touches the corner of my lips. If he studies and teaches my history, then he must know about my people.

  “Oh! How interesting. Well, would you mind enlightening me?”

  “What would you like to be enlightened about?”

  I can’t stop my curiosity to see how much this random human knows about me.

  “How about …” I pause, pretending to think, “how about you tell me about the sirens? I’ve heard about them in books and movies.”

  “Ah, the sirens. Yes.” Kai’s eyes glaze over and a smile spreads across his face. “Illustrious creatures.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘monsters’?”

  He glances up at me, “Monsters? Heavens, no. No, the sirens aren’t monsters; they’re beautiful creatures imprisoned by the light of the moon and the waves of the sea. They do what they do to survive. Yes, some may view them as monsters; but they simply do what they were created to do.”

  “Created by whom?” I ask, curious to see how far he’ll stretch the truth to rationalize what I am.