Siren's Song

by Kaye Draper

  Grey glanced back once as he left the room, long enough to see Luca pause to put the photo back in its resting place—face-down among the guitar picks.

  *****

  Later that night, Grey schlepped through the door and into the tiny mobile home he shared with his dad. It had been a long day at the bookstore, followed by a late lecture series at the school, then a night of noise and crowds at the Anchor. The show had been awesome, but his feet were killing him, and his mind was mush.

  Grey’s dad shuffled into the kitchen as Grey was finishing his dinner of champions—leftover mac and cheese and a toasted hunk of old homemade bread. Grey leaned against the counter in his stocking feet stuffing his face while Rick got a glass of water.

  Glancing at the countertop, Grey’s dad pushed a biology textbook toward Grey, a crease appearing between his graying eyebrows. “I found this on the table today. I thought you dropped your biology courses. Didn’t you change your major to finance?” Disapproval oozed from every word.

  Grey sighed and turned to the sink to rinse out his bowl. The man treated him like he was still a teenager. “No. I decided not to change. I switched my major to biology, and I’m keeping my music minor.” He had explained all this before. Rick suffered from a life-threatening case of selective hearing.

  Grey’s original plan had been to major in vocal music at the small arts school on the other side of town, but that plan had changed over the years. Grace had her heart set on singing classical opera. Her voice had been her one redeeming quality, and something she was fiercely proud of. But she had stopped singing when she went from soprano to baritone.

  Grey had always loved sea life, and now he was stuck on the island, all dreams of wonder and travel snatched away from him. So, he made the practical decision to study marine biology, a subject which his father considered just as useless as music.

  Grey's dad flipped the corners of the textbook pages, his thin lips pinched with disapproval. Grey knew Rick hated that he had kept his music courses, even though they were pared down to theory and composition. And Biology? In his father’s mind, if Grey wasn’t going to go into business, medicine, or law, why was he even bothering with school?

  “You’re not being serious with your future,” Rick said, leveling his disapproving glare at Grey. “You need to make sure you graduate with a solid career. What good will your biology degree do you, when you can't study anything more than a mile from shore?”

  Grey snorted. “Yeah, because business has been so kind to you.”

  He snatched up a faded plaid dish towel and wiped his bowl dry with more vigor than necessary. He knew he was being mean. His dad had once been a very well-to-do contract lawyer, overseeing deals for companies all over the country, and occasionally internationally. But these past four years he had been grounded, severely limited. His income had dwindled to nearly non-existent. From the looks of him, he’d been up late trying to drum up jobs online again, and here Gray went, rubbing salt in the wound.

  Rick glared at Grey. “You need to stop being a wastrel and think like a man.”

  “What is it you expect from me?” Grey slammed his hands flat on the kitchen table, his hard-won compassion for his father vanishing in a flash, burned away by his anger. The whole what-do-you-want-to-do-with-your-life thing was a bit of a sore subject, what with having his future wrecked by an involuntary gender change and lifetime quarantine and all.

  “You want me to move to the mainland and find a nice girl to settle down with?” Grey ground out. “Go to the office every day and bring home a fat paycheck? Pretend this never happened and make you a bunch of grandkids like a good son?” Grey's voice was rapidly rising, out of his control.

  His father heaved a sigh. “Yes. I do. I think at this point, that’s the best we could hope for. For them to lift the quarantine and let us off this godforsaken island.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Grey.” His voice gentled. “Honey, this is who you are now. That’s never going to change.”

  Grey jerked upright as if he’d been slapped. He stood there glaring at his father. Rick knew better than to ever, ever say that out loud. “Shut up,” Grey whispered. “Just shut the fuck up!”

  His father’s lined face was full of hurt and a sort of tired resignation as Grey stomped off to his room, well aware that he was behaving like a sullen teenager, but unable to stop himself—his dad always seemed to bring out the child in him. Wouldn’t Rick ever understand? He just didn’t get that Grey was trying as hard as he could!

  He hid behind his flimsy door and fought the tears that had gathered in his eyes like a rising tide. He wouldn’t cry. Men didn’t cry. Only weak, frail-hearted women cried. Yeah, it was a dumb stereotype, but that shit was all he had to cling to these days. He dashed the unwanted moisture from his cheek with the back of his hand, then stared down at the offending appendage. It was his and not his, all at once. The large, square-fingered deformity before him had nearly erased the memory of the small, delicate thing it had once been.

  Grey never said it out loud. He tried to never even let himself think it. But he knew his father was right. He would never change back. He would never be Grace Hawthorn again. That girl had died four years ago and left a strange, confused guy in her place.

  Chapter 10

  Grey waited until his dad was gone the next morning before he ventured out of his room. He stared glumly at his surroundings, trying to muster up some sort of energy to snap himself out of the cloud that hung over him. Honestly, he didn’t even know why he was moping. Man up. Get over it. Wasn’t that what guys were supposed to do with their emotions? He knew it was a stupid stereotype, but it was the only damned thing he had left to cling to.

  Grey didn’t have classes today, and he didn’t have to be at work for hours yet. He sighed and shuffled down the narrow hallway, one foot in front of the other. It was what he was good at—trudging on, despite. Despite his gender. Despite his living situation. Despite being a disappointment to everyone around him. Despite the bouts of soul-sucking loneliness that came over him sometimes.

  What would it be like to have someone wrap him up in their arms and tell him it was all going to be okay? He was just mopey enough today to admit how nice that sounded.

  Grey pulled aside a set of folding doors to reveal the niche that held the tiny washer and dryer. He loaded the washer, then closed the flimsy doors to help muffle the noise from the decrepit machines. He almost laughed at the parallel between those beat-up doors and his own tough male act. Geesh. Now he was being melodramatic on top of everything else. Such a ray of sunshine, Grey. But he couldn’t help thinking about how he was sure Joy had someone to hold her when she was feeling down.

  Pathetic.

  Reaching back into the closet as an afterthought, he pulled out the red stick vacuum he’d bought with his last paycheck. It only took him about ten minutes to vacuum the entire house. Before The Change, back when his dad had a solid income, they had lived in a nice house that was like a bigger version of Luca’s apartment, and Grey had dreamed of the day he’d be an adult, out on his own. Back then, they had real wood floors and walls that didn’t let in every single sound. Now that he was an adult, he lived with his dad, his bed folded into the wall, and there was only enough hot water for one of them to shower in the mornings. He sighed and put the vacuum away. So much for the dreams of youth.

  Grey was staring off into space, up to his elbows in soapy water, when there was a knock at the door. He frowned and put down the plate he'd been idly scrubbing, snatching up a dishtowel to dry his hands. Him and his dad hardly ever got visitors. His awful uncle came by every once in a while, mostly to gripe about how Grey’s mom had abandoned his dad. Abbie came by often enough, but she was working today. Grey was surprised when he opened the door and found Luca standing on the little wooden porch that clung to the side of the trailer.

  “Uh, hi.” He just stood there, staring at the guitarist, mind gone blank.

  Luca gave him a cheesy wave. “Hey. You bus
y?”

  Grey stepped back and let him in. Crap. His house suddenly seemed smaller and cheaper than ever. He noticed all the things he usually overlooked—like the fact that the linoleum in the kitchen was faded in spots and the yellowed lace curtains kind of looked like something an old lady would pick out.

  “So…what’s up?” he said, forcing himself to sound unfazed. Of course Luca knew where he lived, but Grey hadn’t ever invited him over. Knowing someone was trailer trash was different than seeing it first-hand in all its faded glory.

  Luca pulled out a chair and dropped his trendy jacket over the back as he made himself at home, stretching out his long legs under the kitchen table. The massive oak dining table was completely out of place in the house, a holdover from a previous life—one where a good-looking guy coming over when your dad wasn’t home might have meant something. Grey heaved a mental sigh. Get over it already, moron.

  “Oh!” Luca sat up as if just remembering and pulled a couple of rectangular pieces of paper out of his back pocket. “Here you go.” His grin was infectious. Grey could already feel it tugging at him, pulling him out of his gloomy mood, Luca’s special brand of magic.

  Grey took the rectangles from Luca and read the jagged black lettering. “Concert tickets! Cool.” He examined the slick paper and the fancy, embossed font. “They look so professional.”

  Luca grinned up at him. “Yeah, it’s the biggest venue we’ve played so far. I thought maybe you’d like to come? You can bring a friend.” He rubbed the tip of his nose and looked away. “Maybe that doctor friend of yours?”

  Luca wanted him to bring…Joy?

  Abbie, Grey immediately vowed to himself. I'm bringing Abbie. He grinned back, as if he wasn’t a jealous snot. “This is awesome.”

  The guitarist didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, so Grey got him a soda, grimacing slightly at the generic logo on the can, though Luca didn’t even seem to notice. Luca followed Grey to his room when Grey went to drop off his fresh laundry, seeming content and at ease. Grey watched Luca as the guy walked into his room, watched as those dark blue eyes took in the state of his living arrangements.

  “Sorry,” Grey muttered compulsively, scooping up a rumpled sweatshirt off his computer chair.

  Luca sat on Grey's bed, completely unfazed. Grey hadn’t bothered to fold it up this morning. Having a Murphy’s bed made the little space more useable, but he got sick of constantly taking it out and putting it away. Grey’s eyes scanned the room, trying to imagine what it looked like to a stranger. And a guy at that. He cringed when he realized that his manga posters probably looked kind of juvenile and girly. And the wall color was probably a bit closer to lavender than blue.

  “You play?” Luca snagged Grey’s old acoustic guitar off its stand and held it across his lap, a happy smile on his perfect face. It looked strange. The size was wrong; the guitar seemed so small in Luca’s big hands.

  Grey shrugged and pretended to be absorbed in the biostatistics book that was lying open on his desk, rather than watching how Luca’s long fingers caressed the strings. Music bloomed in the silent room, filling it with warmth as Luca idly strummed. Grey smiled a bit when Luca stopped to tune the guitar. The guy was pretty laid back, but not when it came to music. He probably couldn’t stand his instrument being even the least bit out of tune. Finally, the chords harmonized, and he lazily played a few bars from a Lucifer song.

  “Do you sing?” Luca glanced up at Grey, then started humming, one dark eyebrow cocked in question.

  Grey shook his head and Luca kept humming. He had a decent voice, deep and true, and he did a lot of back up for Lucifer’s lead singer, Steffen. Grey liked Luca’s deep, rich voice better, though he had to admit, it wasn’t quite the right sound to carry the band.

  “Not anymore. " Grey said. "I used to...a long time ago. It was kind of my mom’s thing.”

  He finally closed the book and gave up all pretense of reading. Luca kept playing a slow, relaxed version of one of Lucifer’s more melancholy songs while Grey drifted to the window and cocked a hip to lean on the narrow sill, looking out over the drizzly street. The weatherman had predicted the chance of snow showers today…about three months sooner than average. Grey opened the window a crack to let in the scent of the rain. He had always loved his little island home—even when it was gray, it was beautiful. But that was before it had become a prison.

  “Do you ever wonder what would have happened to Lucifer if it wasn’t for The Change?” Grey asked as he watched Luca out of the corner of his eye. He played with such ease, as if he didn’t even have to think about it. The music simply flowed from him like water welling up from a spring.

  Luca frowned, but kept playing. “Sometimes. Our manager insists we’d be famous by now, but who knows? We never really got serious about it until after The Change. Maybe the current situation is what’s helped make us so successful.”

  Grey raised an eyebrow. “You guys have a manager?” It sounded so…real.

  Luca sighed and stopped strumming. Leaning his elbows on the guitar, he gave Grey a sly wink. “We’re auditioning a new lead singer.”

  Grey looked at him in surprise. “You are? That’s awesome!”

  Luca sat back and strummed the guitar again. “You should try it,” he said, his voice just a bit too casual.

  Grey frowned at him. “Try what?”

  “Singing.” Luca’s deep voice was gentle, as if he knew he was broaching a touchy subject. “You have a nice speaking voice. And you said you used to sing—I imagine you’re a decent singer. I’d love to hear you.” He bent his dark head over the instrument and Grey watched the thin light play on the silky black strands of hair that fell forward over his handsome face. “There’s no reason to give up something you love just because she’s gone. You’re still here. You’re still you.”

  Grey knew Luca was talking about his mother. But hell—if only he knew how those words applied Grey’s old self, to Grace. He thought of all the other things he’d given up because of The Change—like his chances of ever finding a partner who would accept him for who he was. Singing was just one more lost part of him in a long list of casualties. His chest hurt. “No.”

  Luca lifted his head then, and his blue eyes were sad. “Never mind,” he said with a soft smile. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He put the guitar back on its stand. “You’re welcome to come down and watch the auditions next week if you don’t have anything better to do. It should be amusing, if nothing else.” He pulled a folded flyer out of his back pocket and tossed it on the bed, a wry smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

  Luca stood and picked up his jacket off the back of the chair. “And Grey….” He didn’t meet Grey’s eyes. “If you ever want to, you know,” he gestured at the guitar. “I’ll play for you. You could sing with me.” He ran a hand through his hair and kept his eyes on his feet. “It could be good—fun.” He smiled fondly, the expression making Grey’s heart clench for reasons he really didn’t want to examine. “We’re friends. I won’t ever judge you; I promise.”

  Then he slipped out the door with a casual, “See ya later.”

  Grey stared at the door for a while after Luca left. How could the guy be so…so…Luca? He picked up the guitar, sat on his bed, where Luca had been sitting moments before, and played. It wasn’t like when Luca played. Luca was an artist. Grey’s playing was a clumsy imitation, stumbling and unsure. Still, he made it through the chords for his favorite Lucifer song.

  He thought of what Luca had said. That he shouldn’t give up something he loved. The guitarist was right. The Change had taken enough from Grey. Maybe, just this one thing, he shouldn’t give up without a fight.

  He took a deep breath. And sang.

  Grey’s voice sounded foreign, to him, and yet, like a long-lost friend. It wasn’t terrible, the way he had expected, just different…new. The notes filled his chest, reverberated in his head, and floated in the air around him, encasing him in his own priv
ate bubble of warm sound. It was still his voice—lower and more mellow, but his all the same.

  When the last chord of the song faded to silence, he felt more like himself than he had in four years, as if the very air around him had brightened, and it was suddenly easier to breathe.

  “Thank you,” he whispered to the empty room.

  Chapter 11

  Luca walked down Grey’s short driveway, gravel crunching under his shoes. He cast a reluctant glance at the steely gray sky, the sense of wrongness that had been nagging at the edge of his awareness increasing. Mother nature was unsettled. He could feel it in that part of him that was most connected to her.

  A hint of sound stopped Luca in his tracks, and he spun to look back at the trailer, a slow smile splitting his face. A clear, perfect baritone floated to him on the breeze, through Grey’s open window. It started out tremulous and unsure, then rose to a rich swell so beautiful it made Luca ache, vibrating in his bones like a living thing.

  Luca’s phone rang, and he hastily fumbled it out of his jacket pocket to answer it. The ringtone sounded gratingly harsh against the pure beauty of Grey’s voice.

  “Yeah?” His eyes were still glued to the trailer, where the words to Poisoned Thorn, one of his songs, were being sung with a depth that he had never imagined. He was so caught up in its beauty he barely noticed the sleet that had begun pelting him.

  George snapped at him on the other end of the phone and Luca wrenched a portion of his attention free. “It’ll be fine,” he said, calm in the face of his manager’s meltdown.

  George had been a family friend long before The Change. When his glorious female figure turned into a balding male, he’d lost his modeling job and had to look for something else to occupy his time. Brow beating Lucifer into fame seemed to be his new life's calling.

  “Steff is one of my best friends,” Luca said slowly. “But he’s got some issues to work out. He’s just not…well he’s not good for us.” Mostly because they couldn’t get past the tension that had arisen when Luca had turned down Steff’s unwanted advances, but he wasn't telling George that.