The Siren Series 3: Brandon (A Siren Novel)

by Eros, Marata

  “Momma,” Julia whined plaintively.

  Her mother's chocolate eyes appeared over the front seat, such a contrast to the auburn hair held in her customary pony tail.

  “What is it?”

  Julia worked her small finger under the belt and said, “I hate, HATE this stupid strap! I want to take it off!” Julia crossed her arms, huffing.

  Momma sighed, unlatching her belt as she turned in the front seat to adjust the neck restraint portion of Julia's seatbelt. As Momma got nearer Julia smelled the special perfume that she wore. At once Momma's scent assaulted her where it intimately combined with the perfume she always wore.

  Daddy said from the front, “Amber, sit back down. The belt's latched, she's just going to have to deal with it for another ten minutes.”

  Julia's eyes narrowed to slits. Daddy was so stubborn. His belt didn't bite into his neck! 'Cuz he was a Big Man! Ugh... Julia fumed.

  Momma smiled and began to turn and Julia saw Daddy's face in profile, watching to make sure she sat down safely.

  He only took his eyes off the road for a moment.

  It was enough.

  Julia saw twin beads of light bear down on their car as an impossibly large grill came to eat them, the chrome winking in the late afternoon light.

  Daddy made a correction to the right but that threw Momma on top of him, imprisoning their bodies in a macabre dance, the steering wheel sandwiching them together.

  As if in slow motion Julia saw her mother's face as Amber looked at her father.

  The knowledge of their impending death appeared on their faces like an unspoken promise.

  Julia screamed as the truck slammed into the car and the belt that she hated so much whipped against her neck and slammed her against the back seat with such force that the breath left her small body.

  She watched her parents crushed together in a final embrace.

  The metal colliding was an earthquake in her ears and something wet and warm hit her face. She opened her eyes and her parents were... everywhere, their blood like a blanket that coated her face and hair.

  Her brain howled, refusing to accept what was happening. Her vision clouded. Her neck and head throbbed and her lungs were a burning inferno with the need to scream.

  The last thing she remembered was her mother's hair entwined in the steering wheel like so much spun copper.

  #

  CHAPTER 1

  Ten Years Later

  Julia stuffed her wool cap down more firmly on her head and waded through the icy puddles on the way to her 1977 Chevy Blazer. Fall had edged into early winter and the dampness of the rain had solidified into a dangerous sheet of ice.

  Julia had known better and instead of wearing the latest Ugg fashion boots she'd slogged on her XtraTufs. They had an unparalleled ugliness but did the job. She might keep her ass in the air instead of pegged on an ice puddle by wearing her trusty boots. She threw her backpack over one shoulder and balanced a steaming cup of coffee in the other hand. She'd lied through her teeth about the contents to Aunt Lily, who seemed to think caffeine was the devil's drink. Julia smiled at that. She thought she was done growing and besides, coffee was a mainstay of Alaskan existence. She shuffled to the driver's side and gripped the handle. Then her feet lost some of their purchase and she slid to the right, her coffee sloshing out of the slit on the travel mug.

  “Shit!” Julia said, as a couple of hot drops landed on her wrist, scalding her.

  Grappling with the handle she jerked the door open and threw her palm on the driver's seat, steadying herself until she could heave her backpack inside.

  But her breath stilled in her lungs when she saw what waited for her.

  A single rose, its tremulous form in a beautiful, ethereal tangerine color lay inches from where her reddened and chapped hand had slapped down.

  She'd almost destroyed it while saving her sliding butt from falling.

  A smile stole over her face and she carefully put her travel mug in the cup holder between the seats and picked up the flower.

  No note.

  But she knew who had laid it there.

  Her fiancé, Jason. Actually, it was a secret. Lily would have ten different kinds of cows if she knew how serious they were.

  She looked around, her breath coming in white puffs in the crisp air. The snow having not committed itself to falling yet, the promise still hung there in the air. It would be like him, Julia thought, to pop up and grab her from behind, twirling her around just as she discovered his present.

  But he wasn't there.

  Huh, she turned the keys and jacked up the heat all the way. Five minutes and she'd hit the road, head to Homer High. She was spoiled. Usually Jason picked her up but today she had to head over to the DMV and get a stupid emissions test. It was amazing they even allowed her to drive her gas-guzzling truck. She sighed. Soon, she'd be with Jason.

  *

  school

  Julia tore off her multi-colored itchy hat as she waltzed into the school. The familiar smell of kids, books, lunch and all the other school fragrances wafting across the air, the chill of late fall left outside the doors.

  She fluffed her champagne-colored hair, hoping to eradicate the hat head she'd tagged herself with on the way over.

  “Hey, bestie!” Cynthia cried.

  Julia laughed, like she hadn't just spent all day and a night last weekend with Cyn? She acted like they'd been separated for months.

  “Hey Cyn,” Julia said slowing, letting her catch up.

  As usual, Cyn was dressed to the nines. High heels, ridiculously tight-ass pants and the latest, off-the-shoulder top with a crazy zebra pattern. It made Julia dizzy looking at it.

  “What?” Cynthia looked at Julia's face.

  “Your top, it's like some kind of optical illusion or something.”

  “I know, right? It's hot-hot-hot,” she snapped her fingers after each word for emphasis. Julia rolled her eyes, there was no cure for her Fashion Awareness.

  Julia considered herself Fashion Challenged. Yessiree. Irrefutably. Getting everything to match and be comfortable was of utmost importance.

  Of course, once Julia mentioned Cyn's shirt, then she was honor bound to give Julia the once-over. Scanned from the top of her head she had almost escaped the wrath when Cynthia's gaze landed like a lead weight on her boots.

  “Argh!” she shrieked in horror. “You wore your Tufs to school again! And don't give me any of that horse shit about how we're seniors and absolved of everything,” she rolled her eyes dramatically, “fashion is the exception. And those,” she waggled her fingers at Julia's offending footwear, “are for...for...”

  “Gardening only,” Jason interjected smoothly, his arm sliding around Julia's waist. He'd heard the XtraTufs speech before.

  “Don't you defend her either!” Cynthia lambasted him and Jason, all mock innocence said, “Who me?” his hand to his chest.

  Cynthia's eyes narrowed to slits. “You're no help, Jason Caldwell, she could wear a shapeless sack over her whole body and you'd still think she was gorgeous.”

  “Guilty,” he said, his forehead dipping to peck Julia's head, still fuzzy from the hat.

  Julia leaned back against his chest, her head tucking comfortably underneath his chin and sighed. This is where she'd wanted to be from the moment she opened her eyes. Against him, soaking up his warmth. Letting it seep into her bones and chase the coldness of the morning away.

  Cyn snapped her fingers in front of Julia's face, “snap out of it Jules!”

  Jason laughed, Julia was known to mentally wander. It was becoming an annoying theme lately.

  “What? Cranky witch!” Julia teased, taking a swipe at Cyn with her woolen hat.

  She ducked smoothly, accustomed to Julia's abuse. “Okay... so, did you get that English paper done we started on Friday?”

  Julia dug around in her backpack until she found a crumpled piece of paper at the bottom and turning, she slapped it against her locker, smoothing it with her oth
er hand. Jason's big hand was a warm presence on her shoulder, kneading it softly.

  “Are you kidding? Terrell will never accept that mess,” Cynthia said, throwing out one hip and putting a hand on the jutting point.

  Julia shrugged a shoulder. “It's a rough draft. Besides, keeping the standard low like I do assures me gravy when I turn something in.”

  Julia smiled at her awesome logic. School just didn't appeal. It was something she survived until she could graduate. It was Jason that was going to University of Alaska Anchorage. He was set with a full ride.

  Mr. Basketball. Julia turned to look at him and wondered for the millionth time why he'd want her. He was so gorgeous and she was so... her. It didn't matter that Cyn thought she was pretty. Whatever. Cyn was her BFF, that's what they do, cheerlead.

  Julia still didn't have A Plan. She knew she couldn't wait to get out of Aunt Lily's place and begin a life with Jason.

  Cynthia gave an elaborate roll of her eyes and caved, saying, “You can try all your down home weasel-like charm on Terrell while Jason and I turn in real papers. Unwrinkled papers.” She cocked her brows up to her hairline and looping her arm through Julia's, she dragged her to block one.

  The Dreaded Language Arts. Everyone knew there was nothing artful about it. Jason laughed as they trudged to class, Julia's arms linked with theirs.

  #

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  Dark post-apocalyptic romantic fantasy

  THE PEARL SAVAGE-excerpt

  Book One: The Savage Series

  Copyright © 2010-2011 Tamara Rose Blodgett

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved.

  Prologue

  1890

  Samuel laid on his back, gasping for air as a fish out of the sea... laboring. They had done all they could, now the burden lay with their descendants. His gaze lingered on the house that he loved, now covered in ash, the sun no longer a bright orb in the sky, but shrouded in gray. A hush fell over the land, the environs a pewter wasteland of nothing, cold seeping into his marrow inch by insidious inch. Many would enter the spheres that had been constructed by the Guardians. They spoke of selective population, which rang false to Samuel, or true, as the case may be, his grandchildren safe and beyond the pale of this time, this world that he was leaving.

  He turned his head, rolling limply on its side, where his gaze captured Mae, also prone, a strange contraption with hand-hammered copper and a complex, inky black netting covering the greater part of her nose and mouth, leather thong-like straps braided and wrapped her skull, pushing strands of hair around like lost silver. She made odd, whistling noises as she breathed.

  “Samuel, wear it,” Mae said, her voice distorted as she lifted the matching mask the Guardians had fashioned in the few preceding months they had been given.

  “No, Mae. I wish to enjoy this fore-night without the chains of their advances.”

  Samuel knew his stubbornness would cost him his life. The Guardians who were equal part savior and bearer of terrible news had made concessions for the elders. But those which survived would be the strongest, most virile, agile, smartest and etcetera among them. Samuel and Mae understood at their advanced age of sixty and one years both, they would be excluded from the mercies of the sphere.

  With blurred vision, Samuel saw a familiar dimmed figure approach. “Father! Why do you not take rest in your own bed?” Stella asked, her comely face a salve in his approaching death. Her wool skirts swirled as she knelt, setting an illuminated candle beside him, hissing steam from its seams.

  Raising his hand, he cupped the loveliness of her face, knowing the time had come to enter the sphere the Guardians had constructed for the select. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Papa, the Guardians have told you that you might survive... all is not lost.”

  Samuel put a finger to her lips. “Silence now, child. This is your place now. Do not forget the things you have been taught. Take this, Dear Heart, hold it safe to your breast, guard it. It is our history.” Samuel handed her a slim leather book bound with a black silk tie.

  Stella pressed it to her chest, the tears once held in check, now overflowing down unprotected cheeks. Mae's eyes met hers. “Go now Stella-girl... take the opportunity you have been given.”

  Her knuckles white as she clutched the book, misery etched its path on her countenance. “It will never be the same without you both.”

  A clear bell-tone pealed, reminding Stella of duty. Her duty to leave her parents behind. While the knowledge of her future, the safe environment of the sphere was a burden laid on her heart.

  Stella's face turned to look at the sphere, shimmering in a watery iridescence as a giant cloche. But people were not plants, their future safekeeping a promise of a life with a family, fractured by separation.

  Stella bent her head to kiss Samuel and Mae goodbye. Gently unwinding the face mask the Guardians had constructed, she laid a kiss, soft as butterfly wings on the woman who had nurtured her every desire. The skin giving way like tissue-thin silk under the pressure of her lips. Turning to her father, his pale blue eyes watering, she cradled his head while she pressed a kiss to his forehead. She lowered his head and took a last, lingering look, knowing this was the final time she would view her parents in this realm.

  Lifting her skirts, she pivoted away, dropping them as she walked...no, as she ran, brushing tears from her cheeks, the book clutched tightly in her other hand, the candle hanging from its copper loop in her squeezed finger. Approaching the doorway to the sphere, she was the last select to be ushered inside, casting one final glance, she saw her parents supine forms, clasped hands held tightly, her mother's mask forgotten beside her.

  Stella whirled toward the entrance, losing hold of the book, dropping it on the earth now laden with ash. She picked it up, her last gift from Father. Seeing the title, she peered closer: Asteroid; A History of When the Rocks Fell.

  Stella moved forward as the hole closed behind her, a fierce idea blooming in her consciousness to remember... who they had been. As an indeterminate future stretched before her....

  CHAPTER 1

  One Hundred Forty Years Later

  Clara beheld the shrouded exterior as she did each morning, her hands pressed against the pliable interior of the sphere, fingers sinking into its surface, stopped before breaching the Outside. The yearning was the same, she wished to experience the Outside.

  Sighing, Clara turned from the misty view outside the molded window. Her petticoats swept together, wrapping her bare legs, stockings laid out for her on the bed.

  Olive knocked on the door. “Mistress, may I enter your chamber?”

  “Yes.”

  She entered with steam-pressed clothing draped over her arm, scads of material in a rich turquoise. Clara hated it, hated it all.

  “Princess,” inclining her head.

  Clara recognized she was penalizing Olive unfairly. Who truly wished to celebrate her Day of Birth? Utter nonsense.

  Olive peered at her Princess from under her lashes, she was a formidable young lady, aquamarine eyes which flashed with energetic temper, deep mahogany hair that cascaded to her waist, very handsome but...uncooperative when it came to dressings.

  “Please Princess, they await your appearance this day.”

  “Does my mother await?” Clara asked.

  Olive knew that the Queen was deep in her cup and it was not yet midday. “Our Queen has begun her own celebration.”
>
  No surprise to Clara, deep in spirits, celebration or no.

  Her people wished to see her adorned in her finery (a loathsome pursuit) to be reminded that she was their Princess, the one that saw to their happiness, where her mother, the Queen, failed them at every turn.

  Olive interrupted her internal musings, “My lady, please employ the bedpost.”

  Grabbing the stays that bound the corset, pulling each cross-member, Olive took up the slack, when reaching the end, she pulled with all her might, Clara gasped, “Must it be so tight, I cannot breath properly.”

  “It must be hand-span,” as the last stay was tightened to faint-worthiness.

  Finally, Olive bent to use the shoe hook on Clara's high heels, each button a luminescent mother-of-pearl.

  Clara took in the altered version of herself, the one that did not roam any space in her head. “Do you not think you are agreeable, mistress?”

  Clara gazed at her image, creamy expanses of pale skin met the weak light from the sphere window climbing up to a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and strange-colored blue eyes, a dark fall of hair that was red in a certain light, brushed her hips where they swelled. Her mother would be pleased, she supposed. But Clara wanted to change into her waistcoat and linen skirt she wore when she visited the oyster fields.

  She turned to Olive. “I look comely enough to satisfy the Queen.”

  “And Prince Frederick,” Olive added.

  Yes, she must not forget her upcoming nuptials to the Prince. The thought brought a searing tide of resentment, coiling in her breastbone painfully.

  Clara sat at the vanity while Olive began weaving the pearls into her hair, a rainbow of shimmering colors began to wink and disappear in the plaiting. “Do you wish to wear it all at the,” she indicated the back of Clara's head, “your highness?”

  She wished to not attend her Day of Birth celebration.