Smelling like sand, sun, and salt must be a part of the I’m-a-mythological-monster package.
Eva sat in the front seat of Matt’s car, her narrowed eyes glued to me.
Before Sophie took me home, I asked her to stop by a drug store. I spent almost fifty dollars on beeswax lip balm. If it kept Lorelei from killing my brother, it was worth it, but I’d figure out a way to make him pay me back.
I sat in bed, sipping salt water and dove into the world of gods and nymphs and sirens. My teeth sank into my tongue as I read a longer, creepier version of everything Lorelei claimed. If sirens were real, what other mythological stuff lurked about?
Admittedly, part of what I learned mystified me. My voice had powers. I guided the dead.
And I was definitely immortal.
Dad, dressed in khakis and a starched golf shirt, stuck his head into my room a few minutes after eight. The site of him dressed up always amazed me. I raised both eyebrows. “Going somewhere?
“Blind date,” he said, blushing.
This was a big step for my dad, and I was proud of him. I smiled. “Go you!”
“I think Cam and Lorelei are going to a movie. You should go with them.” He didn’t notice my fist tighten around the book I was reading.
“No!”
“She really is nice, Char. It would be good for you to go out.”
“Don’t you think she’s weird? Don’t you think Cam should, I don’t know, find someone who isn’t so perfect?” My voice was desperate and high-pitched.
Dad shrugged. He smoothed the front of his pants. “Cam’s eighteen, kiddo, he can make his own decisions.”
“Exactly! She’s only seventeen. I mean, isn’t that illegal? You wouldn’t want Cam going to jail, right?” I was running out of excuses, and Dad cocked an eyebrow.
“I’ll be back a little after eleven, Char. Maybe you should stay out of your brother’s personal life.”
Too bad he had no clue how deadly Cam’s personal life had become.
***
Our replacement trig teacher was nowhere near as lenient as Mr. Sidney, and I escaped the exhausting, ninety-minute class to discover a message from Wyatt on my voicemail. I listened to his voice, picking out certain words that made his accent sound more Southern.
“Hey, it’s Wyatt. I’ll pick you up for the barbecue at seven, and Charlotte? I’ve thought about you the past few days . . . a lot, to tell the truth. Can’t wait for tonight.”
By the third time I replayed the message, I was depressed. Yeah, totally emo, right? Wyatt’s mom looked immaculate the morning I met her. No doubt everyone at the party tonight would be just as well-dressed. My usual t-shirt and jeans, while comfortable, wouldn’t do.
I feared a trip to the mall, though I had no choice, and I only knew one person who could help me dress like a Summer Girl. When Lorelei answered on the second ring and sang a greeting into the receiver, I forced myself to sound cheerful. She practically squealed in excitement once I asked for her opinion and agreed to meet me in front of the mall. Shopping was second nature for psycho siren.
“How long have you been like this?” The question had burned in my mind for days.
“Over 3,000 years, but I was born a muse named Aglaope.”
That’s why Francesca had referred to Lorelei as Ag. “And Francesca?”
“Thelxiope. She’s a year older.” I sneered and Lorelei laughed. “You thought she was younger, huh? We’ve lived different lifestyles. Over the years, she’s maintained a public image—princess of one nation, the mistress who ripped apart another, an actress, obviously. She enjoys the spotlight because she believes she’ll stay safe if there are always others around.”
Why would Francesca need protection? She was an immortal who already lived for so long. Lorelei said only gods could harm sirens, but I couldn’t see anyone wanting to hurt her. “And you keep to yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Ever changed anyone else?”
Lorelei pretended to focus on other shoppers passing by. “Once.”
It was a touchy topic for her, and to break the tension, I said, “Just remember that me asking you for help doesn’t make us friends.”
The change of subject worked, because Lorelei giggled. A few Summer Boys passing by stopped to eye-hump her. “I figured you’d say something like that.”
Out of curiosity, I twirled around to see if the guys still stared. Yep, same spot with the exact same fly-in-the-open mouth expression. “That happen to you a lot?
She shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Translation: Oh, just every time I happen to meet the affectionate gaze of my admirers.
“If I’m like you, how come they don’t do that to me?” Not that I wanted them to. I would freak out if men followed me around with doofy expressions.
I expected Lorelei to snicker and remind me that she looked like a supermodel, not the girl next door. Instead a radiant smile lifted her lips. “I was born a muse, Charlotte. Just last month, you were a mortal. My sole purpose was to inspire creativity and desire. And lust.”
I made a face. “Sick. So . . . does every thing like you just hang out in the regular world?”
“I’m not a thing, Charlotte. And yes, many do interact with humans.”
“And this is normal?” I pointed to a group of girls passing by. “I mean, they could be gods and I wouldn’t know jack-crap about it.”
“No. You’ll know a god when you meet one. Trust me. It’s the half-gods you have to worry about.”
“Why?”
Another group of guys stared blatantly at Lorelei. She yawned then turned and whispered, “It’s almost impossible for us to identify demigods because they have no effect on us. Unless they let us know who they are, their identities can only be revealed through” — she sidled close and wriggled her fingers— “touch.”
I didn’t question her about what a regular god’s effect was because we stopped moving. Staring up at the door sign of the store she wanted to go in, I hissed, “No. Hell no!”
“Stop being so dramatic.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me through the glass double doors. “Besides, you have to step outside your comfort zone on occasion. If you didn’t want to impress him, you wouldn’t have contacted me.”
Who did she think was?
All the rich girls shopped at Tidal, and while Lorelei looked as if she belonged, I felt out of place. I feigned disinterest as she plucked dresses from the rack in the juniors section. Planting one hand on my hip, I jabbed a finger at the overflow of frills and bright fabric threatening to tumble from her arms. “You do realize that I’ll have to spend my entire paycheck on just one of those, right?”
She pursed her lips together, but kept her focus on the dresses. “It’s my treat, love is priceless.”
Now who was the dramatic one?
I almost choked on my own saliva. Lorelei was like a leggy, blonde Care Bear. Love was one of those words I had trouble saying aloud, even to Dad and Cam. I had no problem admitting Wyatt Anderson was hot and a good kisser, but to fall in love with him? Absolutely not. “Golden Boy and I are just friends.”
“If you say so.” She hummed, and men turned to look at her.
Over the past couple days, I read everything I could get my hands on about sirens, particularly The Odyssey. “Can you not sing?” I asked nervously. “You’ll cause a mass suicide in the mall fountain. It’s made of stone, you know?”
Her laughter broke the trance on the male population of the store. Relieved, I sighed. “Oh, Charlotte, you’re so adorable. I haven’t done a true Lure in years,” she whispered.
I wasn’t a fan of her talking to me like I was ten, but I shrugged it off. “So singing men to death is possible? They just off themselves by drowning?”
“Yes, but it isn’t a good idea.” With her eyelids lowered, I couldn’t tell whether she was being sincere. “Innocent people die.”
“Lorelei, Brian and my trigonometry teacher . . . um, you didn’t . . .”
> Her eyes popped open as she shook her head. “No!” I shuddered, and she added, “You didn’t either. Both were just horrible tragedies. You simply guided them.”
Very creepy. I was still having a hard time grasping that my nightmares were real. “Why did it seem like a dream?”
She dumped the stack of dresses into the arms of a sales clerk—a guy with spiked blue hair and a piercing above his lip. Once he hurried off to a dressing room, she said, “Because you’re obsessed with reality. In your mind, you have this idea of what’s real, what’s fantasy. It affects you when you guide. Hopefully, you’re conscious of what you’re doing now that you know.”
We followed at a slow pace behind the sales guy. “Do you like being immortal?”
“No.”
“Because it’s lonely?”
Once again, I couldn’t read her expression because all emotion dripped from her green eyes. “No,” she said. “We don’t have souls, Charlotte.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lorelei spent the rest of our shopping trip stressing that I should want a soul but never said why it was so important. Before she turned me into a siren, she was in charge of leading both good and bad people, which explained what the little girl had told me. She seemed jealous of the souls she directed; despite the fact they were truly immoral. Her reaction to the good souls was even more Psycho Sally.
I managed to steer the conversation from soul worship when I asked her to help me get ready for Wyatt’s party. She took one pitying look at my faded Jack Skeleton t-shirt and ripped jeans and turned her button nose up. Fifteen minutes after she turned me into her charity project, she started up on the lecture again.
Lucky me.
“Even horrible, evil people have a soul,” she said, tapping the brush handle on my forehead to emphasize each word. I wanted to point out they were dead, but the wild look in her eyes stopped me.
“Can a guy escape you by plugging his ears with wax?”
She stopped fussing with my hair and grinned at me in the dresser mirror. “You read Homer, didn’t you? Oh, Charlotte, that man always exaggerated. Beeswax doesn’t work.” She dropped her gaze to the assortment of Burt’s Bees lip balm scattered across the warped wood. “I told you I have no intention of hurting your brother. He’ll worry if you ask him to stick that in his ears.”
“What do you even see in him?” I demanded. “He’s all screwed up.”
She ran the brush through my brown hair a final time and tilted her head to one side. “He’s genuine and doesn’t lie. After centuries of meeting people who are cruel and selfish, people who are superficial and use beauty and deception to gain . . . well, Cam is refreshing. He has problems, but he's human. It's expected.” She winked at me. “Plus, his eyes are beautiful.”
My brother was refreshing. Right.
Wyatt knocked on the front door three minutes before seven. Dad let him in, and I was glad I let Lorelei take me shopping because he grinned as soon as I staggered into the living room on the wedged platforms she talked me into getting. She called the strapless flowery number flirty when I tried it on. I guess she was right. The only jewelry I wore were the diamond earrings she pressed into my palm before leaving.
They probably cost more than my decrepit car.
Wyatt leaned down to brush his lips against my cheek. “You look incredible.”
Dad told me to have fun and stomped from the room. “Liar,” I whispered to Wyatt, grabbing my bag from my father’s recliner and followed Wyatt out the door. “Bye, Dad!” He responded with a guttural grunt. Wyatt’s fingers threaded through mine as we walked to his truck, but I pulled away when he laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
He opened my door before trailing his thumb across my bare shoulder. “I’m lucky.”
If I could flush, I would have. I rolled my eyes instead and waited until he was in his seat and driving in the direction of Palmetto Dunes to comment. “Seriously though, I hate liars.”
If Wyatt’s parents were rich, their friends were even wealthier. Luxury cars filled the circular front drive of their home. BMW, Mercedes, and Porsche—you name a car, it was there. I balled up the fabric of my dress to avoid freaking out. I’m so out of my element. I should be swimming or catching fish with my teeth. Not mingling with Summer Kids and their parents.
His mother went all out with the patriotic decorations—red, white, and blue streamers and even a tall, super-creepy statue of Uncle Sam. I guaranteed she decorated the entire house for every holiday. They probably all sat around carving pumpkins and chugging spiced cider at Halloween.
We stopped in the spotless kitchen before going outside. His mother’s hair was swirled in the hairstyle I assumed she sported for dinner parties, but she nixed the pearls for a diamond necklace. A guy with a scruffy goatee sat at the table drinking a Bloody Mary. He had the same smile as Mrs. Anderson and Wyatt.
Mrs. Anderson kissed me on the cheek. “Charlotte, I’m so glad you came.” I was shocked she remembered my name, but Wyatt likely reminded her that he invited the waitress from across town. I half-expected her to plunk a plate of hors d'oeuvres in my hand and tell me to get to work.
“Thanks for inviting me.” I wondered what she would do if I dropped the F-bomb in her painstakingly clean stainless steel and granite kitchen.
The guy at the table lifted his chin. “I’m Jonah.”
Wyatt draped his arm around my shoulders. “My older brother. Watch out for him.” Tonight, I would be nice and not shove him away in front of his mother.
“I’ll try to,” I said. I started to ask about Wyatt‘s twin, but Jonah brought her up before I could speak.
“Audrey’s away for the summer. You should be glad. She’s an airhead, and she’ll talk your fucking ear off.” Oh, hell yes. Jonah Anderson was made of awesome. I held my breath when a cookbook sailed across the room and smacked him in the forehead. His mother shot him a warning glare.
I nodded and twisted my fingers together waiting for someone to say something. Wyatt cracked the silence. “Let’s go eat.” He steered me out the back door, onto the deck.
“Next time you touch me in front of your mom, I’ll knee you in the—” I didn’t finish because as we weaved through the throng of partygoers, his touch dissolved my nervousness. He lowered his eyes to my face, waiting for me to argue with him. I wouldn’t. Tonight, I wouldn’t fight the force dragging me toward him.
I’d save that battle for tomorrow.
“I love when you threaten me.” He brushed my ear with his lips. I shivered when his breath touched my skin.
“Son, who’s your guest?” asked a man’s voice. A stony expression quickly replaced Wyatt’s playful one. We turned around in the direction of the voice, and I decided that if my dad looked at me like that, I’d frown, too. Wyatt’s father, with his graying hair and brown eyes, was imposing and stuffy looking.
I was glad Golden Boy was nothing like him.
“Dad, this is Charlotte Brewer.”
Mr. Anderson’s hand shake was tight and firm. He didn't smile much, obviously, because the one he gave me looked displaced on his stern face. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.”
“You too,” I said. But I was ecstatic when he moved on to talk to someone else.
“He can be a little intimidating,” Wyatt said. I followed him to the long table of food. “He’s planning a run for senate.”
I lifted an eyebrow, watching him pile his plate with grilled corn, crab cakes, and lobster. When my parents used to hold barbecues, we ate off Styrofoam plates and Dad’s friends drank beer straight from the can. His Mom brought out real china and champagne flutes. I swiped a bottle of water from the metal ice cooler.
“Politics, huh?”
He flushed and shrugged. “My family’s pretty involved in politics.”
“So I‘m rubbing elbows with the future president?”
He tilted his head, contemplating the bottle of water in my hand. “You’re not eating.”
�
�I’m not hungry yet.” I needed a new excuse for my lack of appetite. Claiming I wasn’t hungry was beginning to sound old and pitiful. I carried his drink down to our table on the beach.
We talked about summer school, stopping mid-conversation several times to speak to his parents’ friends wandering by. After he finished eating, we walked the beach. He plucked my hair loose. I punched his arm when he dangled my hair tie above my nose.
“I hate when you do that,” I said.
He pressed the ponytail holder in my palm and closed my fingers around it. “I can’t keep you out of my head. Can’t even go for a swim without thinking of the way you smell.”
“You’re a total creeper.” But I couldn’t help smiling.
He captured my chin between his thumb and forefinger and brought my face to his. His lips made me defenseless, like it was impossible to fight him, even if I wanted to. I should have despised him for that, but I hated myself for wanting—no, needing—more. I swallowed hard as he pulled back and kept my eyes closed, hoping to savor the bittersweet moment and wishing for more of him. “You make me weak,” he said.
A voice crying out broke the moment. I took a step back into reality and waited for the man to speak again. “Help me.” The noise of the party faded, and I only heard the sound of a heart beating underwater. Strong at first, then it slowly thinned until it was a faint wisp. He pleaded that he wasn’t ready to die, his voice engulfing me and luring me to the sea.
The man’s heart suddenly stopped. He was ready for me to guide him. Wyatt stumbled next to me and squeezed my shoulder. We stood together, watching waves crash against the rocks. Did Golden Boy wonder why I was so odd? “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” He wrapped his arms around me when I shivered. “Hey, Wyatt? Stay out of the water, okay?”
***
Since the soul calmed down, I waited until after Wyatt dropped me off at home to return to the sea. My journey to the whirlpool of light was simple now that I knew what was going on. Tonight, there were fifteen souls to guide, and I chatted with the man I sensed dying earlier. Jameson was from Cape Ann, unlike the rest of the souls—three others from America and the remaining eleven from various countries.
LURE Page 9