The Siren's Cry

by Jennifer Anne Kogler

  “Go?” Fern asked, yawning.

  “At twelve twenty-three a.m. I registered the time in my notebook. You weren’t in bed.”

  “I was probably in the bathroom or something,” Fern said casually, searching through her suitcase for something to wear.

  Candace Tutter was about to ask a follow-up question that would most likely poke a hole in Fern’s excuse when she became distracted by Fern’s outfit and its lack of warmth—jeans and a T-shirt.

  “The wind chill is supposed to be severe this morning.” Candace said, looking at Fern.

  “So?” Fern said.

  “So a wind chill causes the body to lose heat due to the evaporative cooling and convection effects of the cold air. If the velocity is severe enough, frostbite is a possibility. I think you should wear your warmest clothing.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Fern said. She put on her jacket and, when Candace wasn’t looking, stuffed her scarf and gloves into the pockets, just to be safe.

  At 6:26 a.m. Candace tagged along with Fern down the elevator to the lobby. All students were supposed to meet their chaperones in their groups by six thirty in the lobby, and Fern was guessing that Lee and Blythe were going to be late—they were still primping in the bathroom. The rules never seemed to apply to them somehow, but Fern wasn’t sure if they were truly well-liked or if everyone was simply intimidated by them. In addition to cultivating bad-girl personas (Fern had seen both of them smoking cigarettes behind the PE building more than a few times), they also threw the kinds of parties everyone at St. Gregory’s wanted to attend, so no one dared cross them.

  In the lobby, Fern spotted the Commander first and immediately averted her eyes. She didn’t want her own gaze to meet her mother’s. Fern could tell by the way the Commander was standing that she wanted to check on Fern. The Commander was peering at the side of Fern’s face, where a bruise had formed because of her bus face-plant. Fern could feel the burn of her mother’s eyes as she crossed the lobby, but she focused straight ahead—her mother’s concern wouldn’t solve any of her immediate problems. Straight ahead, Mrs. Phillips, sporting a jacket with a fur-trimmed hood, held up Lincoln. Fern headed toward Abe’s floating head with Candace trailing.

  “Did you know that Abraham Lincoln’s mother died from milk sickness?” Candace said, striding rapidly to keep up with Fern’s quickening pace. “It’s very rare now, but it was quite common in the nineteenth century. That’s why when Mother tries to tell me that a little milk won’t kill me, I tell her it just might!” Candace giggled. But Fern hadn’t heard Candace’s last comment (not that she would have laughed at Candace’s attempt at humor if she had).

  As soon as Fern’s eyes locked with Sam’s, she tuned everything else out. Sam gave her a big smile. Fern couldn’t help but smile back. Her twin brother mingled with the rest of his Washington group. When Sam gave her a thumbs-up from across the hotel lobby, Fern gave one right back. Much to Fern’s surprise, Lindsey was on the opposite side of the group, as far away from Sam as possible. Fern tried to catch her eye, but Lindsey seemed oblivious.

  Before long, the Washington, Jefferson, Madison, and Lincoln groups were climbing into the bus. Though the tours for the Washington Monument did not begin until nine in the morning, the line for tickets usually formed by seven.

  The Jefferson group was the last to board. Fern searched for Lindsey at the back of the bus. She found her, but she also found Mary Eileen sitting next to Lindsey. Fern was shocked. Lindsey hadn’t saved her a seat. Fern felt a sharp sting of rejection. Lindsey was avoiding her for some reason.

  “This seat’s open.”

  Fern looked down. Candace Tutter beckoned her by patting the adjacent seat. Unfortunately, Candace had put herself in the first row right behind the chaperone section of the bus. Fern didn’t have the energy to look further and risk a repeat of yesterday. She collapsed in the seat next to Candace and closed her eyes as the bus rolled out of the Marriott parking lot.

  Not surprisingly, Candace was correct about the wind chill. After nearly two hours standing in a line that circled the Washington Monument, Fern could no longer feel her fingers, even though she had put her gloves on and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. Her scarf was now wrapped tightly around her head. The dozens of flags encircling the pointed white tower whipped in the frosty wind. The Tidal Basin to the south of the monument, famously lined with blossoming cherry trees in the spring, glittered with the reflection of the morning sun. Its dull warmth, though, wasn’t enough to defeat the chill in the spring air.

  To the north, Fern could make out the manicured lawn of the White House. She had to admit that it was all very beautiful—but it was also near freezing. The bus had pulled up to the Mall parking lot at seven a.m., and each student had been given a stale bagel and a boxed orange juice for breakfast while standing in line. In the next hour, the line tripled in length, winding around the monument several times.

  As they waited, Candace peppered Fern with obscure facts about the Washington Monument. Fern now knew that it was the world’s tallest stone structure as well as world’s tallest obelisk (whatever that was—Fern was sure Candace knew, but she didn’t have the strength to sit through the answer).

  “See the difference in colors between the marble stones,” Candace said, pointing up at the structure. It was true; about a third of the way up, there was a clear line where the stones were suddenly creamier.

  “Well, because of the Civil War, America didn’t have the funds to complete it, so construction stopped. When they did finish it more than thirty years later, after the war, they used different marble,” Candace stated. Fern was pretty sure that if she kept standing next to Candace she would know most of Washington’s history in a matter of hours. She wondered why history-conscious Headmaster Mooney didn’t just turn the entire tour over to St. Gregory’s most precocious student.

  Unable to wait any longer to talk to Lindsey and Sam about last night, Fern turned to Candace. Students were supposed to stay with their groups, but Mrs. Phillips, the Lincon chaperone, was busy flirting with another chaperone, Mr. Billing.

  “I’ve got to go talk to Sam for a second. Hold my place, will you?”

  “But we’re supposed to notify our chaperone if we want to leave the line,” Candace insisted, citing Rule Twelve of the St. Gregory’s Spring Break Trip Regulations.

  “It’ll only be a second, Candace,” Fern explained. “Besides, I don’t think that Mrs. Phillips is very concerned with us.” Almost on cue, Mrs. Phillips playfully grabbed Mr. Billing’s shoulder. She had her back turned to the line.

  “Oh, all right,” Candace said. “I’ll say you went to the bathroom if anyone asks. Seems like you frequently do that at all times of the day or night,” she finished, arching an eyebrow.

  “Thanks, Candace!” Fern said, jumping over the silver metal chain that was keeping the line orderly. She ran to the front of the St. Gregory’s students. Sam’s towhead was sticking above the cluster of boys around him. He was on the opposite side of the monument from the Lincoln group. Preston was with him, and the two were laughing at some inside joke. Fern tapped Sam on the shoulder, motioning him out of line. Sam ducked under the chain and joined his sister as Preston waved to her.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to come find me,” Sam said.

  “We’ve got to get Lindsey.”

  Sam and Fern walked along the outside of the chain toward Lindsey. Lindsey had a large group of girls around her, including her roommates Olivia, Mary Eileen, and Alexa, and was telling a story that was making them all laugh. She took breaks every so often to blow into her hands to keep them warm.

  “Pssst,” Sam said. He motioned with his head for Lindsey to pop out of line.

  Lindsey hesitated, looking at her parents.

  “C’mon, Linds. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  After a moment, Lindsey told her attentive listeners that she’d be right back. Then her eyes moved toward her parents once more. When she was sure
they weren’t looking, she slipped under the chain. Moving quickly and quietly, Sam, Lindsey, and Fern trotted in the direction of the World War II Memorial and the Reflecting Pool. They found a barren cherry tree off to the side of the monument. Though it was late March and spring had arrived, the cherry trees had not begun to blossom. In the distance, they could hear the large World War II monument fountain bubbling. The St. Gregory’s students and chaperones were nothing more than little figures standing in the distance.

  “So what happened?” Sam asked anxiously. “Did you get there?”

  Fern started from the beginning. She told them how the basement area was real; described the crate with the same National Zoological Park lettering she’d seen in her dream; and explained how Miles was imprisoned in the cage. She told them about the Howling Quetzals that caused Miles to lose his powers and how Silver Tooth had been returning right as she teleported back to the hotel. She said she was sure if she’d waited another few moments, Silver Tooth would have seen her. In truth, Fern wasn’t positive that whatever or whoever was making noise hadn’t spotted her before she left Miles—but she didn’t want to worry Sam or Lindsey.

  After she’d recounted the whole story, she produced the picture that Miles had handed her through the bars of his cage.

  “Miles begged me to teleport here,” Fern said, handing the picture to Sam. Before he could get a good look at it, Lindsey took the picture out of Sam’s hands and held it close to her face.

  “Hey! I wasn’t done looking at that.”

  “Oh, get over it,” Lindsey said.

  “What’s gotten into you two?” Fern said, grabbing the photo from Lindsey and putting it back into her pocket.

  “Lindsey’s jealous of you, Fern, because you’re more powerful than she is. She doesn’t want to help you anymore,” Sam said cruelly.

  Lindsey took a step toward Sam, with steel in her eyes, and with one motion, delivered a swift punch to his gut.

  Sam crumpled to the grass under the tree and groaned.

  “Lindsey!” Fern said, shocked that her friend had punched her brother. As she looked at Lindsey, she noticed a strange look on her friend’s face. It was as if Lindsey was staring at something far off on the horizon, even though she was looking right at Fern. Sam got to his feet, holding his stomach, his face red with pain and anger.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Fern asked, puzzled. She couldn’t believe that she was refereeing a fight between Lindsey and Sam when Miles was trapped in a cage somewhere, his life in danger.

  “And Sam,” Fern said, turning to her brother. “That’s a horrible thing to say! Lindsey’s helped me so much, I stopped keeping track.” Fern crossed her arms. “I want you both to apologize to each other.”

  Sam and Lindsey glared at each other for a few seconds.

  “Now!” Fern insisted.

  “I shouldn’t have said that about you,” Sam said flatly. “I’m sorry, Lindsey.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Lindsey said. Her voice wavered. Fern could hardly believe her ears. Lindsey was always calm and rarely lost her cool.

  “What’s going on with you?” Fern asked, peering at her friend.

  “I just . . .” Lindsey trailed off. “I think I’m on edge,” Lindsey said. She scowled at Sam briefly, and then her eyes returned to Fern.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve been keeping something from you both,” Lindsey began. “Last week someone stole The Undead Sea Scroll from our house. My parents thought maybe someone was trying to find out more about you, Fern. They made me promise to tell them about anything strange involving you so they could keep an eye out for any threats. . . . I really think we need to tell them about your dreams. Sam doesn’t agree with me.”

  “The theft may have nothing to do with Fern,” Sam offered. “Maybe it was a burglar.”

  “The Undead Sea Scroll was the only thing taken from the house. Besides you two,” Lindsey said, frowning at Sam once more, “no one even knows where we keep it.” Fern remembered how The Undead Sea Scroll at the Lins’ house had been cleverly concealed inside a hollowed-out copy of Moby-Dick.

  “I get where you’re coming from,” Fern said, taking her hands and resting them on her friend’s shoulders. “I really do . . . and I think your parents can help, but Miles specifically asked me not to tell anyone from the Alliance. And I’m not going to—at least not until I go here and figure out what Miles wanted me to see.” Fern took the photo out of her pocket once more.

  The three of them huddled around the photo and examined it. The photo was a standard five-by-seven glossy print showing a block of houses. The center house was a Victorian row house painted white, bright blue, and lime green. Every inch of wooden trim looked like it had been enameled with the utmost care. The neighboring houses weren’t brightly colored, and they weren’t as meticulously adorned. The picture had been taken on a cloudless afternoon, and the sky was a shade of dark blue not often seen in Fern’s hometown of San Juan Capistrano due to the always present California smog.

  “You don’t even know where this is . . . or who lives there! It could be a trap,” Lindsey insisted. “Besides, Alliance or not, we can trust my parents.”

  “I know we can, Lindsey,” Fern said, “but Miles wouldn’t send me somewhere dangerous.”

  “How do you know? He could be dangerous himself. You don’t really know him.”

  “I know he’s an Unusual. I can’t explain it exactly, but I trust him,” Fern responded. Fern loved her Normal family and Lindsey—they would always be part of her future life. Still, she couldn’t help but think that Miles Zapo and his Unusual status was a key to figuring out her past— specifically more about her birth parents.

  “When are you planning on going?” Sam said in his most bolstering tone. If Lindsey was going to question Fern every step of the way, Sam wanted his sister to know that she had his full support.

  “I’ll go tonight. It’s the only time I can get away without anyone noticing. This time, though, I’m not going to give myself a time limit. I’ll go as quick as I can and I’ll call you when I’m back safe.”

  As Fern was reassuring both Lindsey and Sam, a pair of uniformed Capitol police officers was walking toward the threesome. Lindsey was the first to notice them.

  “Maybe we should walk away,” Sam whispered. All three were on edge. The officers were making a beeline toward them.

  “That’ll only make us look more suspicious,” Lindsey replied.

  Fern could hear the feedback from the radios on their belts. Apprehension gripped her.

  Their dark blue uniforms stood out in the morning sunlight.

  “Is one of you Fern McAllister?” the officer on the left asked. His tone was calm but authoritative.

  “That’s me,” Fern said nervously.

  “Come with us, please,” the other officer said, motioning Fern forward with his gloved hand.

  “Where are your parents?” the same officer asked Sam and Lindsey as Fern stepped forward.

  “Over there,” Sam said, pointing to the line wrapped around the Washington Monument.

  “Well then, I suggest you both get back over there before you cause any more trouble,” the officer said sternly.

  With that, both officers turned their backs on Lindsey and Sam.

  They watched in shock as the police wedged Fern squarely in between them and led her away. Fern had only been in Washington for a little more than twenty-four hours, and already she was in the custody of the DC police.

  Chapter 8

  The Monumental Embarrassment

  The two uniformed Capitol policemen didn’t utter a word to Fern as they escorted her back in the direction of the Washington Monument. Fern weighed the things she might say to the officers and decided to get straight to the point.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “That’s not really for us to decide,” the officer to her left said. She looked up at his name tag. OFFICER HALLET. Officer Hallet had a bushy brown mustache and topaz e
yes.

  “Do you wander off frequently?” Officer Hallet questioned.

  “I don’t think so,” Fern responded. Talking to a uniformed officer of the law made her nervous.

  The policeman laughed.

  “Maybe that’s the problem. You don’t realize when you’re actually wandering off.”

  “Maybe,” Fern said. She decided to regard Officer Hallet as friend, not foe.

  “In any case, your sister was real worried about you,” Officer Hallet said. He put his hand on Fern’s shoulder and directed her toward the side of the Washington Monument where the Lincoln group was standing.

  Sister?

  “There she is,” Officer Hallet said. “See her pointing at us? She noticed you were missing and she was very upset.”

  Fern looked at the line around the monument. She spotted Candace, and then Mrs. Phillips, her blond locks radiant in the sun, then Lee, and finally Blythe . . . who was the one pointing. Fern took a moment to thank her lucky stars that Blythe wasn’t really her sister.

  The closer the two officers and Fern got to the rest of the St. Gregory’s students clumped together in line, the more she could feel eyes focused on her. By the time they were a few feet away from Mrs. Phillips, students were actually hopping over the fence to get a better view of Fern between the officers.

  “I think we found your sister,” Officer Hallet said, now an arm’s length away from Blythe, Lee, and Mrs. Phillips. The chain was all that separated them.

  “Oh, I meant that she was like a sister to me,” Blythe said, smiling sweetly at Officer Hallet. “We’re not, like, actual sisters.”

  “It’s always nice to have friends. Now, ma’am,” Officer Hallet said, tipping his police hat at Mrs. Phillips. “I believe we’ve found what you were looking for.”

  “Oh, you have!” Mrs. Phillips said, putting both hands to her cheeks, feigning relief.