by Mimi Cross
But I barely remember seeing him at Hive, and just thinking about it?
Makes my head throb.
SUMMERS COVE
The jetty is like the spine of some petrified sea monster, and after slipping on a patch of apple-green seaweed, I tighten my death grip on Bo’s hand.
Then, finally, we’re at his house—houses, actually. Three shingled cottages.
“Took you guys long enough.” Somehow these reproachful words, which greet us as the door of the largest cottage swings open, sound like a familiar pop song. A flash of blue eyes and a tangle of blond hair accompany the words, but vanish as quickly as they appeared, the voice becoming a burst of sound inside the house. “They’re here!”
Whitewashed walls and a cathedral ceiling give the living room an airy feel, and a row of small windows set in the wall above the larger picture window overlooking the beach lets in lots of light. At the back of the long room a wrought-iron spiral staircase—an architectural echo of the lighthouse stairs—looks like it leads to a large loft area. The sound of the surf comes in through the open windows. An image of the house at Devil’s Claw passes through my mind like a shadow.
Bo’s sister holds out a hand that’s cooler than his, but still unnaturally warm. Even so, I shiver slightly as I clasp it, remembering the first time I saw her, the curve of her white throat.
“I’m Mia,” she says, her voice crisp as a stiff sea breeze. “It appears my brother’s known you for some time but has been too rude to introduce us. Would you like a drink? Iced tea? Something stronger? Of course—there’s always water.” Her opaque green eyes seem to brighten as she says this, a flare of sun on the sea.
But the sunlit surface hides all kinds of dark things, and her dig at me doesn’t go unnoticed. How does she know, I wonder, that I’m afraid of the ocean?
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“Did you meet Cord? Or didn’t he stand still long enough for a proper introduction?”
Cord had been the streak of light at the door when we’d arrived, and now I recognize him from the restaurant. He looks about fifteen. A sprinkle of freckles runs across his nose.
“You’re from San Francisco, right? And you surf? Ever ride those gnarly waves under the bridge?”
“Um—no. And I—I haven’t been surfing for a while.”
“Huh. Bummer. You’ll have to go with us sometime.”
A look of annoyance crosses Bo’s face.
“Ah—maybe.”
Cord’s hand is warm too, and almost comforting. But now there’s movement at the rear of the room, and he silently releases me.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up as Bo’s older brother steps forward.
“It’s not like we’ve never met,” Jordan says, voice low.
“R-right. You were at the lighthouse, and—” I gasp as he takes my hand.
At the sound, his dark brows draw down, and his nearly black eyes swirl with indigo, becoming whirlpools of dusk. The heat from his hand feels as if it might scorch my skin, and a jagged melody fills my ears. Inexplicably, I take a step closer to him.
Swiftly, Bo snatches my hand from where it lies limp in Jordan’s palm, and with a quick movement spins me away from his brother, drawing me down onto a white sofa. My face flames and Jordan laughs quietly, the sound somehow suggestive.
Everyone else takes a seat now on the low, modern furniture that’s spread throughout the living room. Mia passes a tray of drinks. This time I take an iced tea. Cord sets down a platter of fruit on the table in front of the couch where Bo and I sit, then flows down to the floor by my feet, folding his long legs beneath him. Mia sits in a cushioned chair across from us, and Jordan sits across from us as well, on a straight-backed chair, slightly removed from the group.
“Got your Call. What’s up?” Jordan stares at me as he asks Bo this question.
“I know who it is. That boat—the Lucky—and the kayakers, I know who did it.”
“You think it’s whoever’s behind that messed up stuff that happened near Madrid?” Cord asks. “The two freighters that went missing then turned up with their crews massacred—”
“Cord. We have a guest.” Mia manages to sound simultaneously sarcastic and bored.
“Sure, okay, but why’s anyone killing kayakers around here? It’s not like Rock Hook is some jackpot at the end of a rainbow. Too isolated. Why not hit up Portland?”
“They could have followed the Lucky up from there,” Jordan says. Then he scowls. “Bo. Remind me why this girl is here?” He jerks his chin toward me.
Bo ignores the question, leaning forward. “One person is behind this—possible, or not?”
Jordan’s slow drawl snakes over my skin. “Anything’s possible, bro, least that’s what you’re bent on proving with her, isn’t it?”
“Shut up, Jordie. I’m serious. We’ve been looking for a reason for these kills—the college-bound kids, the kayakers. We’ve been asking, why here? So—how about revenge?”
Jordan lets out a whoop of laughter. “You think it’s Nick Delaine, don’t you?”
My fingers fly to my mouth. Nick Delaine? Nick Delaine is dead!
“Think about it. That couple was killed, then left here, on our beach. The Lucky was chained to the rocks at Devil’s Claw, our land. We don’t know what happened to the four boys, true, but we’ve been looking for a specific reason. Nick Delaine has a specific reason.”
“You mean Logan,” I correct, “Logan Delaine. Nick Delaine is dead. He drowned here, didn’t he? And Logan thinks you had something to do with it, right? So you think Logan wants revenge, but Logan couldn’t have had anything to do with that boat or those kayakers—”
“We’re not saying he did,” Bo interrupts, effectively cutting me off. “Arion. There are some things you don’t know. About Nick.”
“And some things she shouldn’t know,” Jordan practically growls. “I told you, brother of mine, this is not a smart idea. Human girls? Only good for one thing.”
“Shut the hell up, Jordie,” Bo says.
Mia sighs. “He might believe he has a reason to come after us; that is, if he’s actually—”
“Yeah, but no,” Cord says. “He would’ve needed help, just to survive. Although, just ’cause no one we know has seen him or heard him doesn’t mean he hasn’t hooked up with someone off the radar.”
“Sorry,” Mia says. “On his own, with help, I have trouble believing Nick’s even alive.”
My mind whirls. Logan said Nick’s body was never found, so technically, he could be alive. Alive. The word vibrates inside me. Almost unthinkingly, I reach for the platter of fruit, bite into a slice of apple—
And nearly choke as the conversation comes together for me. Nick Delaine is a Siren.
“You want a glass of water, girl?” Cord asks.
Water. The last thing I want. Still coughing, I shake my head. How—how can Logan’s brother be a Siren?
“There’s something else,” Bo says. “Arion’s fall was no accident. Somebody pushed her. Somebody with wings.”
A hush comes over the room.
“They were like the wings of an angel,” I manage to rasp. “I mean, I know they weren’t, but—” But seeing an angel now wouldn’t even make me blink.
“She didn’t tell me until today,” Bo adds.
“Because she thought—it was you.” Jordan’s low chuckle floats through the room.
“Shut it, J. Someone pulled her under at Seal Cove too. I was an idiot. Didn’t believe—”
“But I didn’t see any wings at Seal Cove,” I object.
“Shallow water,” Cord says. “Anything else you can tell us?”
“Someone tried to run me off Smith Street. I heard humming. Music. But all I could think about—was Bo. His voice. And the water; it was like—the water was pulling me.” I sound crazy.
But Mia nods. Then she actually laughs, the sound bell-like.
“She almost drove into the ocean,” Bo says, shooting a dark look at Mia. “I thought she’
d fallen asleep at the wheel. I didn’t see anything unusual, didn’t hear anything, definitely not another Siren. It’s impossible, but my head has been filled with Arion’s Song.” He turns to me, seeming both angry and anguished. “It’s like—you’re filling the airwaves. Your Song, it’s in my head. Unless I really concentrate, I can’t hear!”
Mia laughs again—obviously she doesn’t share my confusion, or Bo’s frustration. “A Song can be the beginning of a great romance.” She gives me a sidelong glance that suggests I know all about this, or that maybe she does.
“Romance?” Jordan tilts his chair back. “C’mon, Mia, get your head out of the clouds—or the gutter, as the case may be. Bo’s just been getting in the way of someone else’s good time. Tough to figure out whose, though; any Siren would enjoy killing this girl.”
His chair legs hit the floor with a crack.
“Hell, I almost sucked her dry myself the other night.”
RADIO ARION
“What?” My voice bites into the air, a harsh note compared to the voices of the Sirens.
“You want me to say it again?”
“No!” In one or two sentences Jordan has managed to do what Bo couldn’t. He’s convinced me.
Someone is trying to kill me.
A dark flower of fear blooms in the pit of my stomach. “Bo—”
But Bo holds up a hand as if to silence me. “Well?” He glares at Jordan.
“No problem, brother. I hear her loud and clear.” Jordan leans back in his chair.
“Jordie, you’d better not be fooling around—”
“Oh, you’d know if I was doing that,” Jordan drawls.
Cord looks wary. “Guys, what’s going on?”
“Jordie. I. Swear.” Bo’s steel tone turns me cold. “And what the hell are you talking about, ‘the other night’?”
Mia has gone absolutely still. “Careful, Bo,” she warns.
“Dude, don’t take the bait,” Cord pleads.
Bo ignores them. Glares at Jordan. “Explain.”
Jordan salutes him. “Just yanking your chain. Wouldn’t touch your little plaything.” Jordan runs a long-fingered hand through his hair, gives me a sharp smile. “But she does have a lovely Song. So . . . beautiful.” His eyes darken, turning to coal, yet I imagine embers from a well-stoked fire. His words sing in my ears, and part of me wants to get up, go to him—
Bo jumps up—
“Just joking, bro, joking.” Jordan lifts his hands in surrender, but he’s grinning. “Remember, you’re the one who wanted me to do it.” Cord looks at him skeptically. “It’s true. When Bo and Arion got here today, and you all were meetin’ and greetin’, he said, ‘Try to tune her in, Jordie.’ Didn’t even have to try, Bo, she’s broadcasting like a radio station, I kid you not.”
Bo grimaces and, can I be any more confused?
“I told you, I heard her at the restaurant. She was with your buddy, Logan Delaine. I don’t know if I’m hearing exactly what you’re hearing; I mean, obviously you have some special feelings for this girl.” A disdainful glance in my direction says he doesn’t know why. “But if you’re right, and it’s Nick, and he’s hearing half of what I’m hearing? He’s gonna want her. Bad. If he gets his hands on her? He’ll kill her.”
The sound of breaking waves comes in through the open door of the cottage. Jordan stands abruptly. “I’ve gotta get out of here.” He heads outside.
Mia stands too, and holds out her hand for my glass, empty but for the ice at the bottom. Cord follows Jordan outside.
“What was that about?” I ask Bo as he resumes his seat. “And why’s he so angry?” I keep my voice down, but I want to shout. I’m angry too, and feel somehow . . . exposed.
Bo sits back. Folds his arms. “Logan, huh?”
“We just went out to eat. It was no big deal.”
“Hmm. Yeah, well. Sorry for the thing with Jordan. I asked him to listen. To test my theory. I think Nick hears you.”
“Listening, hearing—would you please tell me what you’re talking about?”
“Music,” Mia says, sitting back down. “You. Bo hears you. I do too.”
“Mia—why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
She shrugs. “You didn’t ask.”
Bo shakes his head, looks at her like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
I say, “Hello?”
“Existing channels of communication,” Bo says shortly. “There are lots of them. Humans ignore most of them. As far as hearing you, I—well, Jordie and I—decided to do a little experiment. I would have told you beforehand, but you might have altered your Signals. Not on purpose, but—”
“My Signals?”
“We all emit energy. We also send Signals. Some people are aware they’re Transmitting. Most aren’t. Some Signals are strong, others weak. There are an infinite number of arrangements and possibilities. An infinite number of Songs.”
“So you think I’m . . . Transmitting. Kind of like what you showed me on the beach? But you know how to control your output, whereas I don’t. Most people don’t, most people can’t. Most people don’t have a Song.”
“The Song of the Siren,” Mia says. “Our very best bait.”
“Right, but I’m not a Siren, I’m just—me.”
“Yes. You—your Song is the most compelling I’ve ever heard. And it feels like it’s meant for me alone, a language only I can understand. The fact that you’re a musician, a singer, only makes the experience more powerful.” Bo’s expression clouds. “Your Song. That’s why I didn’t hear Nick.”
“So you really think the guy’s alive.” Mia sounds doubtful. “And that he hears her Song too.”
“He may even believe Arion’s Calling him, the way she’s been Calling me. The way he—has been Calling her.”
“You make it sound like some kind of bizarre love triangle.” Jordan has silently returned, his backlit form filling the doorway. I can’t see his expression. “But Calls are for killing. A Siren Calls. Someone comes. Someone dies.”
“Dude, be cool,” Cord protests, slipping by Jordan and resuming his seat on the floor.
Jordan strides in and sits down. I shiver. It’s like some line between us has been crossed. Some boundary. Or maybe it’s more like—he’s taken something from me.
“So? What exactly did you hear?” I ask him boldly, as if I could take it back. My tone is too arrogant and my voice is shaking, but I’m proud that I’ve managed to get the question out.
Until I wish I hadn’t.
Jordan leans forward in his chair, forearms on his thighs, hands clasped together, and all I can think is that he’s trying to control himself. He looks down at the floor, his unruly hair hanging around his face, concealing it. Watching him, my fear and frustration find their way out of me in the form of an involuntary sigh.
“I wish,” he says, “you wouldn’t do that.”
“Jordan chose you for a mark,” Bo quickly explains. “You’re a focus for him now.”
I stand up. “I should go.” I’m a freak. A human girl isn’t supposed to have a Song.
“You should,” Jordan says.
“You shouldn’t,” Cord argues. “She shouldn’t have to go, J. You need to get her off your radar, and the only way you’re going to do that is to be around her. Build your tolerance. You need to armor up.”
“You need to armor up, puppy boy,” Jordan says irritably, “and grab your best blade.”
But Jordan Summers is right—I should go. Because I am human, and maybe that means I’m a . . . temptation, for all of them. I don’t know. I don’t know enough!
You know they need the breath of living creatures. You know plenty. You know—
Cord springs to his feet, and I recoil—but he only reaches for my hand. His grip is solid, and so warm. It’s like he knew what I was thinking, how I was feeling. And now, standing next to him—I feel better. That’s the thing about them, about the Sirens. You feel . . . how they want you to feel. You can struggle agai
nst it, and sometimes that works. But other times . . .
He smiles at me. “Come on. You need some sun.”
We head outside to the beach. To my surprise, Jordan follows. He and Mia sit in a pair of Adirondack chairs in front of the cottage while Cord and I walk closer to the water’s edge. Bo is right behind us. He takes a seat on the sand and I sit next to him, holding my knees tight to my chest. Cord wades into the water.
“The Music between Arion and Bo is strong,” I overhear Mia say to Jordan. “If Nick’s here, if he’s listening to her, do you think he’s heard what’s between them?”
“Yeah, he’ll see Bo as competition. An enemy. Or I should say, even more of an enemy.”
As quietly as I can, I take a deep breath of salty air. “Bo, is Nick really—”
“A Siren. Yes.” Bo draws a series of circles in the sand.
“But if he’s a Siren, and he’s Calling me so he can kill me—”
“You think he would have done it by now?” Bo shakes his head. “He’s playing with you, with all of us. This is a game to him. It’s called revenge. If he’d caught you, at Seal Cove, say—”
But I don’t want to hear the rest. “Bo, what does my Song sound like?”
“Your Song?” Gently, he knocks me back onto the sand.
“Stop—your sister, and—” I try to wriggle away from him, but he holds me down.
“Trust me, you’re better off with chaperones.”
“Is my brother harassing you?” Cord flops onto the sand on the other side of me.
“Definitely.” I sit up, brushing sand off my arms, out of my hair, with trembling fingers.
“I’d never.” Bo drops onto his back, covering his eyes with a forearm.
“Yeah, right,” Cord says. He turns to me. “I confess, I was kind of against it at first: Bo, with a human.”
“He’s not ‘with her,’ Cord,” Jordan says, face tilted toward the sun. “Bo’s a scientist, like Dad. He’s just—”
“Shut up, Jordie,” Bo orders from his prone position.
Jordan laughs, but then falls silent. I’m relieved. I don’t understand his implications—and I don’t want to.
I don’t want to think about the bizarre role I’ve been playing in Nick Delaine’s life (afterlife?) either.