by Mimi Cross
“No one hit me. Although if you want to take a shot—”
“You’d probably like it.”
“That’s a distinct possibility.”
I roll my eyes and move toward the door. He moves at the same time and we collide. He chuckles. The sound I make is closer to a growl. I dodge around him.
“So when are we going to have our girl talk?” he asks as he follows me down the hall.
“Why don’t you phone me tonight?”
“Tonight? Not soon enough. How about we meet up on the front steps after school?”
“What, you don’t have a phone? Oh, I remember now—you don’t know how to use it.”
“Man, I’ve really rubbed off on you. You used to be such a nice girl.”
“Still am.” The smile I give him is saccharine.
“Yeah, you are. Now if you could just get rid of the boyfriend—hey, why are you suddenly allowed to hang out with me?”
“I was never not allowed to hang out with you.” I glance down the empty hall. We’re both going to be late.
“Whatever, he’s got you on a tight leash.”
“He wants us to be friends.”
“Summers wants us to be friends? That—does not make sense. Why?”
“He knows you make me happy, that you’re my—friend.” God, could I tell a bigger lie?
“The guy is even weirder than I thought.”
“He’s not so bad, you know.”
“Yeah? Tell me about him.” And for a second, I think maybe Bo’s right, that maybe Logan wants to find out more about the Summers, through me. But the thought is barely complete before Logan adds, “Tell me something real.”
Real, like Logan.
Unfortunately, it’s the unreal aspect of Bo that Logan wants to know about, he just doesn’t realize it.
“Logan, there’s . . . nothing I can tell you about Bo that you don’t already know.”
We stop and I look up at him, willing him to accept what I’m saying without questioning me further, needing it to be enough. Because how can I tell him—you’re right, the Summers had something to do with Nick’s disappearance. They made Nick immortal, and he wants to destroy them for that. But they were only trying to help your brother, even after he tried to murder his girlfriend, Beth, the girl who loved you.
“What I know is that you need to stop seeing him. Whatever happened—or didn’t happen—to Nick, that’s not what I’m talking about right now. The hold Bo has on you, I saw it in action the other day. It’s sick. I’m saying this as your friend. You’ve gotta get away from him.”
And hearing Logan say it, I know it’s true. But his words are an answer that only brings more questions. Questions like, how? And, when? And, why—why can’t I be with someone I want to be with so badly? But I know why. And Logan’s right. I have to let him go.
Only, when I open my mouth to say I know, what comes out is “I can’t.”
“Ah. The cage of can’t. You can’t? Or you won’t? Is there a reason you can’t?”
Logan’s gaze is penetrating, but he’ll never be able to guess my secrets. He only knows I’m holding something back. And after another moment, when he realizes I’m not going to say anything else, he recognizes I’m offering something too. His pale eyes search my face, and I guess he finds what he wants there, because he decides to take the atonement, incomplete as it is for him. It’s a compromise, but love always is. No one knows that better than me.
“I’ll call you,” he says.
“When?”
He sighs and shakes his head a little, looking away. “As soon as I can.”
We’ve been standing in front of the open doors to the cafeteria, and now he says, “Hey, is this close enough?” The track and playing fields are visible through the windows on the other side of the sea of tables. My class is already out there.
I force a smile. “What’s your hurry? Thought you were going to cut, Big Talker.”
“Are you kidding? Kenninger’d kill me, even if he is the Existentialism teacher. Thanks for making me late, by the way.”
“Anytime. And yes, this is close enough.”
TRIO
Logan jogs off and I start into the cafeteria, then remember: Mary’s sneakers.
Two long hallways and one wrong turn later I arrive at the art room. Quietly, I slip in the door and make my way over to her.
“Hey! Cutting gym so you can be with me every second of the school day?”
“You sound like Logan. Actually, I need to borrow your sneakers.”
“Fine. Use me for my shoes.” She jots down the combination to her locker. “They’re really comfortable—don’t let the smell put you off.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
After swinging by her locker, I make my way back to the cafeteria, planning on cutting through. But as soon as I enter the lunchroom, I hear a single leaping note from a violin arc through the air—and I jerk to halt.
Then, as if I’ve surprised the music, instead of the other way around, it simply stops.
I start across the cafeteria—
The sound of shimmering strings fills the room. Violin. Viola. Cello. The piece is a trio, the instruments so drenched in effects—they swell and bloom into something grander sounding. The music is dark, and lovely, but also—somehow violent.
The composition cuts off abruptly, leaving a foreboding echo reverberating in the air. Then the final vibrations are completely obliterated as jangly guitar chords burst through the speakers.
“Carry me, across the threshold, push me down the rabbit hole for tea.”
Curious to see who’s responsible for the bizarre playlist and why they’re DJing for an empty cafeteria, I start walking toward the radio station’s picture window.
“Smiling while our lips and teeth grow cold, we will walk a plank into the sea.”
On the other side of the glass Alyssa sits in a swivel chair behind a desk covered in CDs.
Behind her—stands Bo.
“And, so the story goes. I try to fix it . . .”
He’s facing me but looking down at Alyssa. Now she passes a disc over her shoulder.
He steps forward to take it—
She laughs and yanks it back.
Bo scowls in frustration and steps closer to her, reaching again for the CD—
Quick as a cobra, she spins around in the chair. Standing practically in the same moment, she brings the full length of her body against Bo’s, lifting her face to his—
“Then you give me your lips to kiss . . .”
Surprise darkens Bo’s expression—a cloud crossing the sun. He takes a step backward but she moves with him, dropping the CD, grasping his hips.
He brings his hands to her shoulders, as if to push her away—
But as he moves, so does she, sliding her hands up his body, twining her arms around him. She closes her eyes—
Which means she misses the horrified look spreading over Bo’s face.
She’s a big girl, and now her arms tighten around his torso. Then she reaches up with one hand—her fingers twisting among the golden strands of his hair. Her mouth, red with lipstick, is mere inches from his.
Bo looks at her lips—
And on his face, anger takes the place of horror—then turns to desire.
My knees stop working, and I sink to the floor. I have to help her. But I can’t move, like a nightmare, where you can’t run. Transfixed, I kneel on the cafeteria tiles.
“You say, ‘I love you’ . . .”
Love.
Bo.
“No!” I scream. “No!” And then my body is a bullet.
I spring to my feet, fists pounding the window. Hitting it so hard I’m sure the glass will shatter. But the window remains intact, my fists, my screams bouncing off like so many raindrops, ineffectual thunder. What are the alternatives? Even as I continue to pound on the glass, I’m frantically considering. Even if I run, by the time I make it through the cafeteria doors and around the corner to the
entrance of the radio station, it will be too late. It’s already too late. I scream out—
“Alyssa!”
Maybe it’s the sound of her name, or maybe the sound of my fists thudding against glass that finally reaches her—
Or maybe she’s just realizing—she’s made a terrible mistake. Because suddenly she’s wide-eyed with panic, twisting her body, trying to turn her head—
But Bo holds her firmly, his mouth battened on hers.
Then all at once he looks up—away from the face of his prey. The aureate rings around his pupils appear to ignite with shock. With obvious effort, he pushes Alyssa away—
Released from his hold, she stumbles backward. Her eyes seem to clutch at me—
Then she falls—arms sliding across the desk, sending CDs everywhere. She crashes to the floor.
Time stops.
In a sort of slow motion, I look at Bo, his eyes blazing in his pale face. I want to run to him. Run away. My heart splits in two, and I look down at Alyssa—
She’s dead.
Staring in disbelief, I try to move. Can’t.
Bo looks at Alyssa too now, then at me. His voice comes from the other side of the glass, as if from underwater—
“She’s breathing!”
My eyes fill with tears. “You wish!”
As if the two words have released me, I bolt around the corner and through the door of the radio station—Bo is gone. I crouch next to Alyssa’s prone body—
She is breathing!
But as I stare at her ashen face, her blue-tinged lips, trying to figure out how to help her—
Her body begins to convulse.
Racing to the main office I burst through the door. “Call nine-one-one!”
The secretary who basically runs the school looks at me as if I’ve gone insane.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She eyes me skeptically, one of those people who doesn’t believe there’s trouble unless there’s blood.
“No! It’s Alyssa—Alyssa Saffer. Sh-she’s in the radio station!”
“That girl’s been into one thing or another since the day she got here from New York City.” The secretary cocks her head to one side. “You two get in a fight?”
Lunging toward her desk, I grab the phone. Punch 9-1-1.
“The high school, send an ambulance! She can’t breathe, she’s convulsing—”
“We’re sending someone now. Please stay on the line.” The woman on the phone seems to be from the same slow-moving world as the office secretary. “State your name, please.”
“Arion Rush.”
“Tell me what happened please, Miss Rush. Who’s having trouble breathing?”
But all of a sudden it’s me—I can barely breathe myself.
“Hello? Miss? Can you tell me what happened?” The voice on the phone seems to bend, slowing and warping, becoming unintelligible as the questions continue. “Can. You. Tell. Me.”
No! No, I can’t tell anyone!
Or, maybe I can.
My boyfriend’s a Siren. He dropped me off at school today. Guess he couldn’t handle it.
But it’s me, I can’t handle it, can’t handle any of this.
“An accident.” My voice is a whisper now. “Hurry.”
The receiver lands on the desk with a thunk. The secretary is at the office door now, the principal right behind her. I follow them into the hall—
Then turn the other way, and start running, running . . .
An ambulance passes me. A police car. A van from TV Twelve.
I don’t stop running until I get to the harbor. Luckily, Dad is there. I tell him I’m sick—
Then throw up on Mary’s sneakers.
AEGIS
“You have to come to Cliff House,” Mia insists. “It’s the only way to keep you safe.”
“Oh, really? And how are you planning on keeping all the other people in Rock Hook safe? Did your brother tell you what he did?”
After bringing me home, Dad reluctantly left for Bangor. When Mia showed up, I was down in the keeper’s cottage sitting in front of the picture window staring at the sea, watching the waves churn up tangles of seaweed and toss them along the shore. Emerald and titian, olive and black—the colors tumble in the broken waves.
“This isn’t about Bo. It’s about your safety.”
“Right, because a bunch of Sirens should definitely be able to help me with that. And since when do you care?”
“Band,” she says calmly.
“What?”
“Band of Sirens. Look, I know you’re freaking about Bo. But you shouldn’t be alone. We know Nick is—”
“You’re all so desperate to convince me Nick’s alive, that he wants to kill me. But why should I even believe you? How do I know—” You’re not lying and the killer isn’t one of you?
Close to tears, I break off, unable to think straight, not about this. Is it Mia, is she spinning out some silent Siren Song? Some Signal? Or am I still under Bo’s spell?
“Arion, come with me. Like we planned. Forgive Bo.” She shrugs. “Couples fight.”
“This wasn’t a fight, this was your brother almost killing someone!”
“But he didn’t. He didn’t kill anyone. Calm down! We’ve been through this with Jordan. Bo will be okay. We’ll help him. The rest of it . . . is normal. Lovers argue. Get jealous.”
“Wait a minute, Bo will be okay? What about Alyssa? And do you really think Bo’s not here right now because I’m jealous?”
“There’s a northeaster on the way. You’ll be stuck here.”
“Good. Fine. I want to be stuck.” I lift my chin. And I want to know why you’re here and he’s not.
God, how can I even want to see him?
But Emily Dickinson explained how, in one of her letters. We read it in English class:
“The heart wants what it wants.”
After biting down hard on my lip for a second so I won’t cry, I tell Mia to go.
She gives me a thin smile. Says, “I tried.” And leaves.
Dad warned me about the weather. I wish I’d gone with him. But I feel painfully tethered to Rock Hook. I continue to bite back tears, abandoning the cottage now.
The wind slams the door at my back.
LIGHTS OUT
Taking the steps two at a time, I reach the drive and hurry across the pebbles.
A burst of jagged music, a whirl of motion—
My scream cuts the air—
Jordan uncurls from a crouch and makes his way to standing, his white wings vanishing impossibly beneath smooth shoulder blades. His midnight gaze slants down at me. My hands fly to my chest—
“Is that where you keep it? Is that where your humanness lives, the ‘essence’ Bo covets, even more than your breath?”
Jordan’s voice circles around me, the tug of it so hard I think it might pull me apart. I imagine him searching through the pieces until he finds what he wants.
“Heard Bo got hungry. Guess whoever he hit up didn’t have a voice like yours to distract him.” Jordan’s lips push into a sort of pout, as if considering something. But he merely says, “Whoa—did you see that avalanche?” and saunters over to the edge of the bluff. He raises his voice above the wind, and its beauty covers me like a blanket as he shouts over his shoulder, “It’s going to be an epic storm. Oh man—check those perfect barrels, it’s reeling out there.”
For a moment all I can do is follow his gaze, watching the waves tear at each other. The surf conditions don’t look good to me; the curls look like claws. Look like they’d crush anyone who tried to catch them.
In the boldest tone I can summon I say, “Why are you here, Jordan?”
He turns and looks at me. I wait for his sharp smile, but it doesn’t come. Maybe he’s still trying to figure out what his brother sees in me. Or maybe he’s just seeing a meal.
“You should have gone with Mia.” His eyes are black now, abysmal.
“You—should leave.”
But he doesn�
�t. He cocks his head, as if he’s listening. “I’m not sure where Bo is right now, but he’d want you protected. Come with me to Cliff House.”
“Why, so you can guard me from someone who’s supposedly more horrible than he is?” But even as I say the words, to my dismay, I walk toward Jordan.
His percussive laugh is a dismissive thing. “You know, I ought to just put you out of your misery. But I told Cord I’d behave.” His brows pull together. “Mia’s Calling. I have to go.” He rakes me with one last look. “Sure I can’t change your mind? Of course, I could if I wanted to. But hell, as far as I’m concerned, Bo’s better off without you. Have fun with Nick when he comes. And he will come.” In a stunningly fast whirl of white, he transforms, leaping from the edge of the windswept bluff and into the salt air.
I’ve never seen Bo turn the same miracle, not really. The times I’ve been with him when he’s Risen, I’ve been too close to truly see him. I’ve been in his arms.
I want to be there now. But I’m finally starting to understand. Wanting Bo is a lie.
A smattering of raindrops hits my face. Jordan is a speck in the sky. And there’s something else—something not in the sky, something missing from the sky.
The flash of the lighthouse beam.
Hurrying inside, I climb the steps of the tower then scale the ladder to the lantern room. Sure enough, the light is dead. But it isn’t the bulb, sitting like a sooty jewel in the crown of the prismatic lens. The electricity is out.
There might be boaters who need the bright beacon this afternoon. Why hasn’t the emergency generator kicked on?
But maybe this isn’t an emergency—maybe it just feels like one to me. My own personal emergency.
The moon is going to be full tonight, but even a Hunter’s Moon won’t be enough to help a boat in trouble, and it’ll make the high tide even higher. A Blood Moon—the other name for a full October moon—that doesn’t sound like it can help anyone either.
Now, in my bedroom, I stand in the center of the floor, feeling unmoored. Like the space is too big. The chances of a signal are zero, but I dig out my cell anyway.
There are messages, lots of them. Text bubbles stretch down the screen.
SARAH HISANO: Alyssa’s at Maine Medical!