Siren Song

by Alex Hayes

  I’m still not sure what my cause is, other than the need to know this girl better.

  “Kuang, always a pleasure to see you,” Hyun’s eyes glimmer with knowing.

  I meet Rowan’s questioning gaze. “This is Hyun, my very good friend. If you ever need advice, he’s sure to have a fortune cookie with the answer.” I turn back to Hyun. “This is Rowan.”

  The older man bows his head and offers his hand. “A friend of Kuang’s is a friend of mine.”

  Her gaze shifts to me, her eyes questioning. “Kuang?”

  I smirk. “A nickname.”

  Rowan can’t seem to resist Hyun’s charm. Few can. I sense her pleasure and amusement as she shakes his hand.

  “Are you ready to order?” he asks.

  Rowan looks askance at me.

  Right, I said I knew the perfect dish. “Are you willing to trust me?”

  She laughs. “Absolutely.”

  I place our order in Korean.

  Hyun writes it down and responds in kind, “A peacock makes for fine plucking.”

  I laugh. He’s right. I’m showing off.

  When he’s left, Rowan says, “A peacock, huh?”

  My lower jaw drops. “You speak Korean?” I can’t hide my incredulity, which I realize is downright insulting. Why did I assume she wouldn’t understand? I’m such a jerk.

  She chuckles and taps her breastbone. The same spot where my stone is embedded. “Our crystals can translate languages. I’m guessing the languages you’ve learned have been passed from yours to mine.”

  “Damn, I’m going to have to watch what I say around you.”

  Her head tilts to one side. “Or learn to trust me, maybe.”

  Jeez, do I feel like a loser, now that she seems to trust me.

  I pour her tea. “So will I know what you’re feeling even when you’re not close by?”

  Her brow pinches. “From what I’ve been told, the more time we spend together, the stronger the connection between our crystals will become.”

  Meaning the more time I spend with this girl, the harder it’s going to be to disconnect from her. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, I can’t be sure.

  She settles back in her seat, fingers wrapping around her teacup. “How did you and Hyun meet?”

  I tell her the story and end up telling her everything. About running away, being half-starved, and Hyun offering me food. And how, when I woke the next morning, I looked old enough to get that job.

  “And what do you do now? Still work for Hyun?”

  Damn. I should have seen that question coming. “I’m a photographer. My last foster…parent,” —I almost spit out the word— “trained me to photograph weddings.”

  Her eyes narrow. “And that’s who you ran from a year ago?”

  “Yeah. I mean, the work benefits were kind of lacking. Twelve-hour workdays most weekends in exchange for a bed and enough food to fill the hole. The guy was an abusive jerk. I did my time and got out.”

  She bites her lip. “I’m sorry you’ve had such awful experiences.”

  “Were yours any better?” I lean forward, eyes intent on hers. Curious to know the answer.

  “Kind of. No one ever hit me, and I only had to run once. After one kid… Well, I left him with a palm-sized burn on his chest.” She chews her lower lip again. “He’s lucky I didn’t leave permanent scarring on his face. He deserved it.”

  I sense Rowan’s anger. A matching sentiment hums inside me, and the desire to protect her.

  The food arrives, just in time. My fists loosen beneath the table, and the tightness in my chest relaxes as I introduce her to a pan-Asian rice bowl and the best ramen in LA. Though I may be biased.

  By the time our meal is done, it’s after nine, but I don’t want this evening to end. Not yet.

  As we walk to the exit, Azera texts to say she needs a pick up around midnight.

  I smile an apology at Rowan, and quickly type, Text me when you’re ready.

  Stepping into the cold, I glance toward my car, then turn the other way. “There’s a sculpture park a few blocks up here. This time of year, it’s decorated with holiday lights. Wanna take a walk?”

  Rowan pulls up her collar and tucks her hands into her pockets. Her black wool coat gives her a sophisticated air, and I have difficulty pulling my eyes from her hair, her skin. Her pale face catches the muted glow from a storefront across the street, and the twinkling tree lights from Hyun’s front window turn her auburn locks into burnished copper.

  I glance at her heeled boots. “Are you okay walking in those shoes?”

  “They’re more comfortable than they look. I’ll be fine.”

  I switch my bag to the opposite shoulder from the side she’s on and gesture her ahead.

  The streets are busy enough to keep conversation to a minimum, but once we hit the turn into the sculpture park, that changes.

  “Wow, this place is awesome.” Rowan’s declaration makes me smile.

  Modern sculptures—most of them massive—scatter the park. Every piece is designed by a different artist and dressed for the season with a multitude of string lights, which redefine the artfully placed structures.

  I gesture to a sign that displays the park’s website. “I can save you surfing, unless you really want to. I’ve read most of it. All of the sculptures’ original artists had a hand in the holiday lighting. Months of planning, weeks to install, and probably only a few hours to pull everything down after New Year’s.”

  She grins. “I can totally see the Christmas trim was not done in a hurry. This place is beautiful. Thanks for bringing me here.”

  The pleasure in her eyes almost melts my heart as her wonder and joy seep into my bones, warming me from the inside out. And with all the lights twinkling around her…

  “Hey, do you mind if I take some pictures?” I reach into my bag, anticipating a yes.

  The wrinkle of a frown between her eyes begs the question, Why should I?

  So I add, “Of you.”

  Her features go blank, making me laugh.

  She shakes off her surprise. “Seriously?”

  All humor drops. “Seriously, Rowan. Why’s that such a surprise? You’re beautiful.”

  Her shoulders stiffen. “I’m really not that—”

  “I beg to differ.” I adjust my camera settings.

  She sighs. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

  “You’re doing it. Be yourself. Act natural.”

  I can’t resist smiling at her sudden determination. Even if she thinks I’m crazy. Which I’m not. Not in this instance, anyway. I’ve never seen a girl like her.

  Maybe it’s the alien thing I’m picking up on. I mean, we’re the same race so it makes sense she should attract me. Will all alien girls attract me?

  If they’re as devastatingly beautiful as Rowan, I could be in trouble.

  Rowan seems to have frozen, awkwardness radiating off her.

  I cock my head. “Pretend I didn’t just pull out my camera. Imagine we’re walking through the park like we were a few seconds ago.”

  “Act natural,” she repeats, then smiles. “I should be able to do that, shouldn’t I?”

  I snap on the camera flash and adjust the settings, just enough fill light to better illuminate her face and catch the colors in her hair.

  As we walk and talk about the artwork around us, I catch her gentle smiles, the toss of her head as she looks at me over a shoulder, her fingers touching a corrugated steel surface or sliding across a set of tubular bells, her embarrassment and laughter as they return a clamorous and dissonant tune.

  Then I see the perfect picture. “Stop, right there.”

  She freezes. “What?” Her eyes shift side to side.

  We’ve reached the center of the park marked by a circular fountain.

  A copper statue of a woman stands at its center, arms outstretched, waves of hair, similar in color to Rowan’s, falling from her head. An angel. The statue’s wings flow in ever-moving scro
lls of water into the pool below.

  “Take a half turn to your left.” Yeah, a posed shot. So what?

  I get down low, so I can catch her profile backlit by the light shining up through falling water. The angel statue looks down upon her, as if X marks the spot and Rowan is standing right on it.

  After a few test pictures, I tweak the flash, lowering it to half power, and take a few more. I chimp my shots, which could be better, then snap a couple more.

  She looks gorgeous with the curtain of light separating her from the darkness of the night. The statue looks celestial behind her but is still a part of the background. The girl standing forefront traps the eye and holds it prisoner.

  One more adjustment.

  Setting my camera down, I step forward to dislodge a curl caught in the top button of her coat. Releasing it with unsteady fingers, I look up to find her eyes on mine, her lips parted just enough to show their fullness.

  A perfect image I’ll never capture because I’m too caught up in the moment to photograph it.

  I’m a flick of an instant from leaning forward and touching her. On the lips, with mine.

  “This your camera?” comes a voice from nearby. Too nearby.

  I spin on the guy who’s eyeing the tool of my trade. “Touch it and you’re a dead man,” I growl.

  Behind me, Rowan gasps.

  The guy is big and wearing a uniform. Not a greasy-haired lowlife like I was expecting.

  “Security,” he says. “The park closes in five minutes. And I wouldn’t take your eyes off a camera like that. Visitors have stuff stolen all the time. Gotta keep your eyes open.”

  My temper settles and I nod at the guy. “Thanks for the warning.” I scoop up my camera and turn back to Rowan.

  She’s shocked. Horrified.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her face seems paler than ever. “Yes. I just wasn’t expecting…”

  I frown. “Expecting what?”

  “The force of your anger just then. It was explosive.” She lifts a shoulder. “Then gone in an instant. It surprised me, that’s all.”

  Yeah, well, the whole emotion-sensing thing we share is a seriously mixed bag. But her shock makes me wonder if the volatility of my mood should be something to worry about. “Sorry I scared you.”

  Her lips turn up. “You don’t have to apologize. I have a habit of overreacting.”

  Her comment leaves me wondering what has made her hypersensitive, but she turns away before I can ask.

  I remember the security guard’s warning. The park closes at eleven. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I should take you home or to your car. How’d you get to the café?”

  “An Uber.” She digs out her phone. “I’ll call for another.”

  “No.” The word comes out fast. “Unless you don’t want me to know where you live.”

  She laughs as she walks along beside me. “I’m not afraid of you, Con. Not anymore.”

  I sense that too, and the echo of her trust disconcerts me.

  “Why do you call me Con?”

  She hasn’t called me Connell once.

  Her eyes drop to the ground. “Because that’s your name. The name I called you when we were small.”

  “We knew each other?” I rub my forehead. “My real name is Con?”

  “That’s what I called you. It’s short for Conithar.”

  Conithar. Interesting. I give her a sideways glance. “What did I call you?”

  Did I call her anything? Did I really know her? Is there any reason why she’d lie about such a thing? Could she lie without me sensing it?

  What was it she said about trust?

  “Rae-Rae,” she answers.

  I blink. The little kid from my dream. The one who brought me broken flowers to fix. Wasn’t she green though? Or maybe I made that part up.

  I swallow and nod. “Is it short for something?”

  “Raenea,” she answers.

  Even her name is lovely.

  We reach the park entrance and head toward my car.

  “I’ll take you home,” I say.

  Her lips curve into a beautiful smile. “Thank you.”

  My pleasure.

  20

  Rowan

  As we pass Hyun’s Asian Fusion, I glance through the window. The interior is dark, the only visible light leaking through a half-open doorway. Probably the kitchen crew cleaning up.

  Con’s arm brushes mine. “Where do you live?”

  I look up from the sidewalk. “East Hollywood.”

  “Rubbing shoulders with the stars, huh?”

  I don’t detect any surprise from him. “A soon-to-be-star, I hope.” Should I tell Con about Idris?

  Probably. But what if he doesn’t want any part of the past we share? Maybe he’d rather not know anything about Idris and Cadi.

  “He’s a friend of yours?” Irritation hums off him.

  How’d he know my soon-to-be-star is a guy? Or is he assuming?

  “Um, yeah. A recording artist.”

  Tension fills the air. I sense resentment and something I can’t name. I’d call it jealousy, but that doesn’t make sense. We have a connection, but he doesn’t remember me or know about our bond.

  Maybe it’s my own jealousy reflecting back, my own fear. I’m afraid to tell him we’re supposed to be mates because he might reject me.

  Con doesn’t speak again until we reach his car. “Will you be sticking around LA long?” He opens my door.

  “I guess that depends.” Climbing into the car causes a stab down my right side, distracting me momentarily from my what-if worries.

  “Are you in pain?”

  Ugh. I doubt he can feel it, but he must sense my discomfort.

  “I’m fine.” The response comes automatically, I’m so accustomed to concealing my pain.

  With a frown, he shuts my door, then heads to the driver’s side. “Your staying depends on what?” he asks, and starts the engine.

  Doubt twists a knot around my heart that combines with the pain throbbing through my rib cage. “I came here to find you.”

  He pulls into the street. “And you have. Mission accomplished. So now what? Are you off to find your next orphan from Daïzani?”

  I press my hands into my lap. “You’re the only one I knew I could find. The others…won’t be so easy.”

  Con’s knuckles tighten over the steering wheel. “But Scrim knows, right? He found us when he needed to.”

  Tears swell behind my eyes. “Mr. Scrim is dead,” I whisper.

  The anger crackling off Con morphs into shock. “How?”

  “He was shot by an Evatenon warrior.”

  “By a what?” Con stares at me, then drags his eyes back to the road.

  I swallow. “One of the aliens who came after us.”

  “Seriously? And these Evatenon warriors—”

  “Are looking for us.” My lower lip trembles just thinking about those blue monsters. “That’s why I need to find the others, to warn them.”

  “And Scrim didn’t tell you where they were?” His voice softens as sympathy rolls off him.

  “He tried, but he ran out of time. You’re the only one whose location he gave me. We have to find the others some other way.”

  Con squints as a truck’s headlights slice across the windshield. “And what’s the plan once you find them? I mean, you’ve found me. So now what?”

  “There isn’t a plan. Except we need to deal with the Evatenon who followed us here. That means working together, combining our skills to defeat them.”

  “Defeat them? You mean…as in kill them?” Horror rises off him.

  “Yes, before they kill us. It’s them or us, Con. We have no other choice.”

  “Why not negotiate? It’s a big world. Why can’t we coexist?”

  My sleeping headache awakens with a vengeance. “If you’d met one of those guys…” —almost been assimilated by one— “you’d understand. They don’t care about life, except to consume or dominate it.
And once they’ve finished with us, they’ll move on to the human race.”

  He leans back in his seat, stretching his arms out to the steering wheel in front of him. “And why do we have to deal with them at all?” He huffs. “Why can’t the army drop a bomb on them or something?”

  “The government wouldn’t believe us. And if we demonstrated our abilities, they’d lock us up in Area Fifty-One or wherever they take aliens. Only a few humans know the Evatenon are here, and the handful that does are foster parents, not US Army generals.”

  Con’s head jerks my way, eyes aflame. “Foster parents?”

  “Some of us were lucky,” I answer softly.

  “Not you or me.”

  I look down at my knotted hands. “No, but not all people are bad.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He breathes out a long sigh. “I’ve someone close who knows what I can do. And yeah…” He nods knowingly. “I’d trust her with my life.”

  Her?

  “She’s a good friend.” Affection and love radiate off his crystal.

  I fight the lead weight crushing my chest. A feeling he’ll pick up if—

  “We’ve been together a while,” he adds.

  Together? I squeeze my eyelids tight.

  Think about Idris and Cadi, Rowan. Think about their love for each other. There’s still a chance for us, even if there’s someone else…

  My heart cracks.

  “Are you okay?”

  Damn it. I hate that he can sense so much of what I feel. Planting a fake smile on my face, I retreat into self-pity. “I wish I’d found someone I could trust. You’re fortunate to have…” my throat locks, “her.” The word comes out off-key.

  His eyes drift away as warmth fills him. “Yeah. I am.”

  The drive cannot end soon enough while I wrestle to keep the condition of my shattered heart beyond his detection.

  Con pulls up in front of Idris’s apartment.

  It’s close to midnight. The witching hour. When Cinderella runs from the prince moments before her broken heart bleeds out all over the royal rug.

  I dive out of the car with a breezy “Thank you!” and start to shut the door.

  “Rae?”