The Siren Song

by Anne Ursu

  Charlotte braced herself and looked up. “Hi,” she said cautiously.

  “How was practice?” Mr. Mielswetzski asked.

  “Fine,” said Charlotte, looking back and forth at their faces. They were inscrutable.

  “Good, good.” Her parents exchanged glances.

  “Um,” Charlotte said, tugging on her hair. “Well, I think I’m going to go upstairs. I’ve got a lot of homework.” With a surreptitious bite of her lip, she moved quickly toward the door.

  “Wait!” said Mr. Mielswetzski.

  Not quickly enough.

  Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, then picked up Mew for defense. Mew would never let anything bad happen to her.

  “Charlotte, we’ve got some news,” said Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  “Good news,” said Mr. Mielswetzski.

  “Really?” Charlotte couldn’t help but feel a tinge of hope. Maybe she’d proven she could, in fact, be trusted. Maybe they were going to let her out of prison….

  “Well, your father has won an award,” said Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  Oh. Honestly, if people played with Charlotte’s moods anymore today, she was going to actually need her therapy.

  “Well, more like a prize,” said Mr. Mielswetzski.

  “Oh, Mike, it’s an award!” said Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  “Well, that’s very sweet, honey,” said Mr. Mielswetzski.

  “You absolutely deserve it,” said Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  “Guys!” said Charlotte.

  “Charlotte,” said Mr. Mielswetzski, turning toward his daughter, “how would you like to go on a cruise for spring break?”

  Charlotte almost dropped Mew. “What?” Mew scowled at her and jumped down onto the floor.

  “Well,” smiled Mr. Mielswetzski, “the Clio Foundation, a foundation supporting history teachers, has given me a prize—”

  “An award,” corrected Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  “—a cruise for the whole family during spring break!”

  Charlotte’s eyes bugged out. Acruise! They would go to the Caribbean! Maybe the Bahamas! She would spend the whole time reading on the deck by the pool while cute waiters brought her smoothies! Sure, she’d be stuck with her parents the whole time, but they’d go off exploring, doing lame tourist stuff, and she would just sit in the sun and—

  “It’s an American History cruise!” said her father. “We’ll go to see Mount Vernon and go to Colonial Williamsburg and we’ll look at Civil War battlefields!”

  “What?” said Charlotte. Clearly she hadn’t heard right.

  “An American History cruise!” said Mrs. Mielswetzski. “Up the East Coast! Normally, a girl who is grounded doesn’t get to go on cruises, but given the educational nature of this one, we thought we’d make an exception.”

  “Anyway,” said Mr. Mielswetzski, “it will give us a lot of time together. As a family.”

  Her parents exchanged a happy look.

  “Oh,” Charlotte said. “Um, look, I’ve got to go to my room now. I’m not feeling very good.”

  “Oh!” said Mrs. Mielswetzski.

  “Oh!” said Mr. Mielswetzski.

  “You go rest!”

  “By all means!”

  “We can talk about the cruise later.”

  “Okay,” said Charlotte weakly. And with that she walked slowly up to her room to call Maddy, to tell her of the latest cruel twist of fate.

  Now, we know Charlotte Mielswetzski was not naive. She was by no means under the impression that she could just waltz down to the Underworld, thwart an evil demigod, chat up an Olympian, and waltz back up again without any repercussions. These things did tend to have repercussions. And since she’d gotten back from the Underworld there had been a part of her that was waiting for something to happen. Something like Philonecron—who had been banished to the Upperworld—paying a call, or something like one of the gods—who really didn’t seem that pleased with the idea of mortals traipsing through their realms—sucking her up to Mount Olympus and turning her into an aardvark. But as the months wore on and nothing happened, as she was confronted with the indignities of middle school and of having parents, Charlotte had begun to relax a little bit. Perhaps that’s why she thought nothing of this strange gift falling into their laps so suddenly. Perhaps that’s why the only thing that alarmed her about it was the close confinement with her parents and the forced march through Colonial Williamsburg. Perhaps she didn’t even register that the organization that was sending them on this trip was called the Clio Foundation, because surely if she did she would have remembered that Clio was the name of the Greek muse of history. And that should have set off alarm bells, because Charlotte Mielswetzski, of all people, should know to beware of Greeks bearing gifts.

  CHAPTER 2

  Something Wrong, Something Right

  THAT NIGHT CHARLOTTE HAD THE CRAZIEST DREAM. Or at least, it would have been the craziest dream, had she not been having crazy dreams ever since her adventures last fall. In this particular crazy dream, Charlotte was one of the Dead, the vast numbers of nameless, faceless, aimless specters that inhabited the Underworld.

  She was with a sea of Dead, all moving to a point up ahead that she couldn’t see, but she was moving with them all the same. Her body felt weightless, strangely hollow, devoid of all the reassuring accoutrements of Life. It was not a pleasant feeling.

  Together they all moved slowly along the red, rocky plain of the Underworld. Somewhere in the distance Charlotte could hear the screeching of Harpies. She knew she should be afraid, but she just felt so dull, as if she no longer had the power to feel anything. All she could do was move forward listlessly with her compatriots.

  Then suddenly, up ahead, it seemed the ranks of Dead were starting to thin out. Charlotte sensed a change in the environment, something in the air. Steam, that was it—there was steam up ahead. Somewhere in the deep recesses of Charlotte’s mind, an alarm went off, but she was too dazed to heed it.

  And then the space in front of her cleared and Charlotte found herself face to face with the boiling, roiling River Styx. Across the banks were the Plains of the Dead. She had seen this view before, but last time she had stood here the Plains had been covered in a sort of glowing fog of Dead. Now they were completely empty. There had been so many Dead in front of her—where had they gone if not across the river?

  Charlotte heard a strange hissing sound and turned her head—a group of Dead had walked right off the bank into the Styx. As they hit the river, their smoke-like bodies expanded, spreading apart until they lost their shape entirely, and then were gone.

  Another hiss, another group went into the river. Charlotte tried to shout but couldn’t make a sound. Before her eyes the group of Dead melted into the air and became lost to oblivion.

  Charlotte felt a shuffling around her, and before she could react she was being pushed toward the Styx. She wanted to fight back, to turn, to run, but she had no strength, no will. She could do nothing. She found herself on the banks, the heat from the river hitting her face.

  She heard a voice somewhere over the crowd, and she turned to look. In the steam she could see a tall, dark form standing over the Dead’s march, nodding, approving, egging them into the Styx. She stared, trying to make out who it was—she had been expecting it to be Philonecron, carrying out some terrible revenge, but it wasn’t. It was Hades, the King of the Dead. Charlotte stared at him as she fell into the River Styx.

  Charlotte awoke with a start, her heart pounding. She was in her room, in her bed, it was all right. She seemed to wake up like this every night these days; sometimes it was because she dreamed of Philonecron or one of his creepy Footmen, but often it was visions of dour, shadowy Hades that startled her awake at night.

  Hades hadn’t been bad, really. He just hadn’t been good. In the Underworld, the Dead roamed in the Plains, aimless and lifeless, while all the endless series of Administrators (the gods and demons who made up the Underworld’s rather large bureaucracy) had everything they wanted. And Hade
s spent so much time in his palace he had no idea what was going on outside his walls. Nor did he care. Charlotte had wanted to do something, to help the Dead in some way, but there was nothing she could do—except, now, have nightmares all the time.

  Mr. Metos, though, had gone off to try to help. Mr. Metos had been Charlotte’s English teacher, and he was the one who told her and Zee all about the whole Greek-myths-being-real thing. He was also a Promethean—the Prometheans were descendants of the Titan Prometheus, who worked to protect people from the gods. After everything had happened last fall, Mr. Metos had left the school and gone off to the other Prometheans to discuss the issue of the Dead. He wasn’t very optimistic, but he said he’d try. Charlotte had wanted to go with him—she thought maybe he could pretend it was a big field trip or something—but he wasn’t nearly as excited about that prospect as she was. So he left her, full of all her terrible knowledge, while he went off to work and she went right back to middle school.

  Mr. Metos had promised Charlotte and Zee that he would write, that he wouldn’t keep them in the dark, but neither of them had heard anything yet. On top of being impatient, Charlotte was slightly offended; she thought he might be a little more interested in her well-being, given that Philonecron was now wandering around the Upperworld, but Mr. Metos didn’t seem to be worried about Philonecron at all.

  Which, Charlotte thought, must be very nice for him.

  The next morning Charlotte woke up groggy. She’d had a very hard time getting back to sleep after her dream—every time she closed her eyes she felt herself being dragged off with the Dead again. Her morning wasn’t improved when she got into the bathroom and found a gigantic pimple had appeared on her nose overnight. No need for Charlotte to go to Mount Olympus—Mount Olympus had come to her.

  Charlotte tried to get out of the house as quickly as possible that morning. It was warm enough to walk, and, given her mood, it just seemed like a good idea to avoid her mother.

  But Mrs. Mielswetzski came into the kitchen just as Charlotte was putting on her jacket. “What are you doing?” she said. “It’s not time to go yet!”

  “Oh,” Charlotte said, “I’m going to walk today.”

  “Walk? Charlotte, it’s winter!”

  “It’s really warm, Mom, look!” She pointed at the thermometer.

  Mrs. Mielswetzski sighed. “All right. Just bundle up, okay? And be careful, it’s slippery.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Mom, I know!”

  Mrs. Mielswetzski’s face darkened. “There’s no need to get snippy, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte could feel anger swell up in her chest. “I’m not snippy. I just don’t want to be treated like a baby. I can take care of myself.”

  “Really,” Mrs. Mielswetzski replied flatly. “Then maybe you’d like to start acting like it.” She let out a long exhale. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you these days. But I suggest that you can it. And, you know, this cruise is a privilege, not a right. Your father and I would be more than happy to leave you behind.”

  It was on the tip of Charlotte’s tongue to say, “Promise?” but she thought better of it.

  “I want to see you behaving yourself, all right?”

  Charlotte glowered in response.

  “And remember, therapy tonight!”

  “Great,” Charlotte muttered.

  “What was that?” Mrs. Mielswetzski asked, in a way that implied she had heard just fine.

  “Nothing.”

  “Charlotte…I want to see a better attitude from you. I mean it.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to respond but then realized she had no idea what might come out, so she quickly pursed her lips together and gave her mother a curt nod. And then got out of the house as quickly as humanly possible.

  It wasn’t even that cold outside. She was wearing her puffy lime green coat, with a purple hat, scarf, and mittens, and was just fine, thank you. Maybe winter was ending. Maybe it would only get warmer and she could walk to school every morning from now on and not sit in stony silence in the car while her mother explained to her how important it was to work hard in school.

  The thing is, Charlotte just wasn’t that interested in school. She never had been, really, but once you learn that humanity’s troubles were created when Zeus sent Pandora to Earth with a sealed jar containing all the world’s evils and an unhealthy sense of curiosity, it’s hard to take history class too seriously.

  But on the test, when they ask you to write an essay about the causes of World War II, you’re not supposed to put down, “Because the gods don’t give a monkey’s butt about anyone but themselves.” But Charlotte really didn’t have anything else to say. So her teachers said she wasn’t applying herself, and she couldn’t exactly tell them she’d applied herself just fine in the Underworld.

  This morning, as Charlotte approached the brick facade of Hartnett, she found herself overcome with a great sense of dread. It hit her with a strange and sudden force, and she had an overwhelming urge to turn back, to get into her bed and not get out for about three weeks. She stopped in her tracks. The feeling itself was alarming to Charlotte—was she sensing something? Something dangerous? And was it something supernatural or just middle school? Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

  Charlotte stood on the sidewalk across the street from the school, watching the stream of students head up the stairs and through the big, heavy front doors. School buses pulled away, cars unloaded their cargo and drove off, and the stream of students began to thin into a trickle while Charlotte looked carefully around for something unusual, something that could be causing her bad feeling. But there was nothing—just a few stragglers walking in the door, a lone car dropping a sixth grader off, someone’s very strangely dressed grandfather coming out of the front door of the school.

  Charlotte stared at the old man. He was in the oddest outfit she’d ever seen, and that included her father’s disco costume last Halloween. He wore an old-fashioned three-piece suit and a bowler hat to match, which was strange enough, but even weirder was the ensemble’s color—which was aqua. Charlotte was glad she didn’t have a grandfather who dropped her off at school wearing aqua-colored suits.

  When the old man reached the bottom of the steps in front of the school and turned toward the parking lot, he noticed Charlotte’s gaze. Their eyes met, and as he looked at her, a slow smile spread across his face. Then the man nodded at her and walked away.

  Suddenly Charlotte had a strong desire to be inside the confines of Hartnett Middle School. She didn’t really want to add crazy people to her list of problems. So she slung her book bag over her shoulder and went across the street, up the steps, and through the heavy doors.

  The halls were empty. Charlotte had missed the first bell and would be late, again. Her homeroom teacher would ask her for an excuse and she would say, “Overwhelming feeling of dread.” That was going to go over nicely.

  So preoccupied was Charlotte that she did not notice the person standing in the hallway studying a piece of paper—or at least she didn’t notice him until she crashed right into him.

  “Oh!” said the person.

  “Oh!” said Charlotte, but not entirely for the same reasons. The person she had just crashed into was not a person at all, but rather a boy—a boy with dark rumpled hair, olive skin, and green eyes unlike any Charlotte had ever seen before. As she straightened, she couldn’t help but notice they were very, very nice eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” the boy said. “I wasn’t looking.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. (Sorry you’re so cute.)

  “No, no,” said the boy with a grin, “I’m sorry.”

  Charlotte had never really considered the advantages of having boys in the world. They always seemed like much more trouble than they were worth. But standing there looking at this boy, she wondered if she might have been wrong, if boys didn’t have their place, because some of them had big green eyes and adorable grins, and isn’t that really enough?
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br />   “I’m Jason, by the way,” the boy said. “I’m new.”

  Charlotte gathered that. She was pretty sure she’d have noticed him if she’d seen him before.

  “I’m Charlotte,” said Charlotte.

  The boy’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

  Charlotte blinked. “Um…yes.”

  “That’s great!” he said enthusiastically. “It’s so great to meet you!”

  Charlotte didn’t know what to say. No one that cute had been so excited to meet her before.

  “Listen, do you know where the principal’s office is? I’m supposed to go.”

  “Sure. Right behind you.”

  “Thanks,” he said, grinning again. “Smash into you later!” With that, he turned and disappeared into the office.

  It was at that point that Charlotte remembered the giant festering zit on her nose. She suppressed a bloodcurdling scream. The cutest boy she had ever seen just magically appeared in front of her and she was hideously disfigured. No wonder she’d dreaded going into school so much today.

  While Charlotte was standing in the hallway, the bell rang signifying the end of homeroom. Now she was going to have to go talk to the secretary before the attendance sheets got there and someone called her mom to ask why Charlotte wasn’t in school. Because that would go well.

  It took Charlotte some time to spin a convincing tale of woe to the school secretary, and as a result she was five minutes late for math, and when she walked in, Mr. Crapf eyed her fishily. Charlotte had a bad habit of being late to math, because the classroom was at the other end of the building from her homeroom and, well, it was hard for her to motivate herself to hurry to get to math class. It’s just not something one does.

  “Do you have a note, Charlotte?” Mr. Crapf asked imperiously.

  She tossed her hair. “No, Mr. Crapf,” she said, her voice full of sweetness. “I’d be happy to get one from the doctor, though. I was in an accident this morning.”

  “I—I’m sorry!” he said, his stern expression falling. “Are you all right? Should you be here?”