* * * * *
It was only later, when Brian was camped out on the floor, that a terrible fear exploded in his chest. Mom, he thought, as his mother’s face rushed through him. Oh my god, what have I done?
If it hadn’t been for Dakins and that stupid speed trap, he would be one hundred percent sure no one would notice he was gone. He stayed out late a lot; there wasn’t anything unusual about that. But Dakins had undoubtedly radioed the station, so Luther was probably suspicious by now. With two missing girls and Brian acting erratically, what was he supposed to think?
“You should have gone home,” Brian whispered to himself.
“You okay down there?” Abby asked. She had rolled over onto her side and was staring down at his makeshift bed. He was lying on top of an extra quilt with a flattened pillow for his head. She’d been worried he wouldn’t be comfortable, but he’d insisted that he’d be fine. Of course he’d lied, and she’d known it too, because she’d offered to give him the bed and sleep on the floor herself. But he’d refused. How could he not?
Now she sat up, ghost-like in the dark. “Brian,” she said. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” said Brian, sitting up too.
“There’s just something about your story that doesn’t make sense.” He could feel it coming and his breath grew tight, hitching like a tourniquet around his heart. Please don’t ask me this, he prayed. Please don’t make me have to tell you.
“If Luther somehow made everyone forget about the Poseidon Stone and all your dad’s research, how come you still know everything about it? I mean, why didn’t he erase your memory too?”
“I don’t know,” said Brian, his voice coming out slow. He felt like he was speaking underwater. Like everything was taking too long to say. “I know it doesn’t make any sense.” Tell her. Tell her. Do it now. “But—” said Brian, taking a breath. Say it! It’s what you have to do.
“I think he tried once, but it didn’t work. During my Dad’s trial, I sort of lost control. The whole thing, all the lies they were saying about my dad, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I remember jumping out of my seat and yelling that Luther was involved, that he was manipulating everyone. I was so angry, I couldn’t stop. But the weird thing was: one second I was screaming, and the next thing I knew, everything started fading to black. It was like a noose was tightening around my neck, cutting off my air supply. But it was Luther. I know it was. He was doing it somehow. I remember his eyes staring right through me, watching me choke. And that look on his face— it was like he wanted me dead.”
“When I woke up, I was in the psyche ward in Hyannis. They kept me there for two weeks.”
“The psyche ward,” said Abby. She was standing up now, staring out at her ocean view.
“I didn’t want to tell you. Now you think I’m a nut.”
“No, I don’t. But what happened after you came to?”
“I’m not really clear about the details. Apparently I was speaking in tongues. They couldn’t get a straight answer out of me, at least not anything they could understand. Really, the whole thing is just a blur. I remember waking up there and asking where I was. I couldn’t believe I’d been out for two weeks. I mean, apparently they’d tried everything on me— medications, electric shock. They’d had me in a straight jacket for most of the time. They still don’t know how I snapped out of it. Lucky I did, my mom was a mess.”
“Wow, that’s awful,” said Abby. She was next to him now, sitting beside him on the quilt. She took his hand and held it in her own.
“We’ll figure all of this out,” she whispered. “That’s what my dad used to say, whenever I didn’t know what to do. Which was a lot, considering what I am, or what I turned into anyway.”
“You weren’t always…” asked Brian, relieved the topic had changed.
“No. Not when I was kid. And I didn’t look like this at all.”
“Wait,” said Brian, his mind rolling into gear. “That picture on your mirror. Are you one of those girls?”
“Yeah, we took it before the change. I’m the dark haired one, and the blonde’s my best friend Gretchen. Well, ex-best friend. We don’t talk anymore. I really wish my dad were here.” Abby flicked back her hair and it grazed Brian’s face. It smelled wild and salty as the sea.
“We should get some sleep,” said Abby, releasing his hand and climbing back onto her bed. “You sure you’re okay down there?”
“I’m fine,” said Brian, but he wished she’d stay close. There was so much more he wanted to know. He was about to speak when he saw her take the box and slip it beneath her covers.
He wondered if she thought he was going to run off with the thing. He hardly blamed her if she did. But still, he wished she trusted him more because he’d actually told her everything, every last bit about his very strange life. And really, she hadn’t said much at all. Expect for the obvious, which he’d found out already, he still didn’t know who she really was.
7. The Memory Swim
Abby was walking through a thick mist. Moisture clung to her body, soaking her clothes. Its soggy chill puckered her skin into a layer of goosebumps.
All around her lay a sea of white. When she held her hands out at arms length, she could barely make them out at all. It’s like walking through a cloud, thought Abby as she stumbled forward, unsure of her footing, though she never fell.
She felt like she had been walking for days. Her legs ached, and her throat was parched. This is a dream, she thought. It has to be. She could still remember falling asleep, listening to the sound of the waves while she held the mermaid box in her hands.
“You’re dreaming,” she whispered to no one in particular. “Don’t worry, you’re going to wake up soon.”
But that was the problem; everything felt so real. The achy, heaviness in her legs, the motion of walking. Even her mind seemed too alert. It was as if she wasn’t dreaming at all but had been inexplicably plucked from her bed and transported to this strange, new place.
A dash of red crossed her peripheral vision, and then a bird called out a single note. The mist was growing thicker now. Shadows loomed across her path like sharks circling before a strike.
“Caw,” cried the bird, and, for some strange reason, Abby knew she should follow the sound. See, she thought. No need to worry. If this wasn’t a dream, you wouldn’t know what to do. She quickened her pace to keep up while the scarlet bird soared ahead, its sharp call urging her on.
That’s when she heard the hissing sound, thin and low and eerily familiar. Abby’s throat tightened, and her muscles stung. “Run,” shrieked the bird, its voice human now— a woman’s voice, high and clear. And so she ran, eyes trained on the feathers, willing herself not to look away.
Yet she couldn’t do it; she had to see. The shadows were sliding toward her, their hisses slicing through the mist. They’re coming. You have to go faster, she thought. Hurry! They’re almost here.
Abby ran until her legs burned, and still she pushed on. The scarlet bird was diving now, spinning its body into the shadows then disappearing out of sight. Don’t leave me, thought Abby, but then it was gone, and she was alone in the sea of mist.
A bolt of panic shot through her, and along with it came the terrible knowledge that she had no idea where to go. “Forward,” said a voice inside her head, one she knew wasn’t her own. “Run forward. Straight ahead.”
The voice was shrill, impatient even. Abby followed its directions, not knowing what else to do. Then she heard the red bird’s call, its croaky scream puncturing layers of hisses, as if it were waging a war with the shadows: a struggle for survival in the mist.
“Run,” urged the voice, and Abby did, faster than she ever thought she could. She careened blindly through the whiteness, an arrow unsure of its final home.
The shadows were falling behind her now, and the red bird’s cries were a good way off. Abby let herself slow to a jog, massaging the angry stitch in her side. The mist was beginning to
thin, its milky fingers falling back into the veil of white.
Then, without warning, she was in a clearing. Clumps of grass shot up near her feet, and a few pale birches stretched toward the sky. Abby slowed to a walk and put her hands on her hips, inhaling in frantic, shallow breaths, as she scanned the space in front of her. Several puffs of violets blistered from the earth, but their beauty couldn’t detract from the tendrils of mist that suddenly seemed to be drifting into the clearing. Soon they would wipe everything out.
It’s catching up, thought Abby. You have to keep running. But she had no idea where to go. A scarlet smear sped through the air, then dove down to where Abby stood. “Move,” said the voice. It was the same one as before, commanding her from inside her mind.
Abby started to jog, but the bird darted forward, increasing its speed to what it had been before. Abby struggled to pick up her pace, but her cramp was worse. She could hardly run. In the water it would be a different story, but on land she was just like everyone else. With each step, Jake’s words echoed through her mind: “You think you’re immune because of what you are, but you’re not.”
Well, thought Abby, rubbing at her side. Apparently in my dreams, Jake’s actually right.
“Keep going,” warned the voice, and Abby struggled forward like a marathoner about to hit the wall.
Already the bird was gaining distance. At least fifty yards of dingy grass stood between Abby and the scarlet smear. She hoped it would stop, but it never even slowed down. The only thing that kept her moving was the feel of the mist reaching out behind her. Its ghost-like tendrils snaking toward her ankles, aiming to pull her into its whiteness and to whatever it was that lie waiting there.
Abby picked up her pace again, ignoring the cramp in her ribs, its bite duller now, but still slowing her down. Move, she thought. You have to keep up. And then she was gaining on the bird. Or else it had slowed, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was still moving forward, stumbling over clumps of violets, her heels leaving tracks in the soggy earth.
They hadn’t gone far before the bird flapped to the ground and peered up at her, its black beak open, wings tight at its side. Abby had the uncanny feeling she’d seen one like it before, if not the same color, at least the same breed.
“You’re a raven,” she whispered, finally realizing what it was. “I thought you looked familiar, except ravens aren’t supposed to be red.” It’s magic, thought Abby. Unless this is a dream. And if this is a dream, then the bird can be any color it likes.
One summer before the change, Matilda had thought it might be fun to go on a mother/daughter bird watch. Abby remembered sifting through several bird watching books, marking the birds they might spot on the Cape. But when Abby’d come across a picture of a raven, something inside her had started to swell. She didn’t know what attracted her to the bird, but she’d begged her mother to go looking for one. Matilda had laughed and ruffled Abby’s hair. “Sorry sweet pea, no ravens on the Cape.” And that was that, at least until now.
The bird closed its beak, cocked its head to the side, and regarded Abby with unbridled interest. “If this is a dream,” whispered Abby, “then maybe you understand. Maybe you can tell me what to do.”
She knelt down and held out her hand, beckoning the raven with her index finger. She didn’t really know what to expect. It wasn’t like she had any food. But the bird hopped forward until it was inches from her hand, neck extended, green eyes gleaming bright.
“Can I pet you?” cooed Abby, reaching for the thing. She held her breath as she touched its feathers, smooth and cool beneath her hand. Gently, she stroked the back of its neck, while it cocked it’s head and stared straight at her, as if evaluating every move she made.
After several minutes, the bird turned away and deftly plucked a scarlet feather from its tail. “For me?” whispered Abby, as it grasped the feather in its beak and stretched its neck toward her again. Gingerly, Abby took the talisman in her hand. Its glossy coat gleamed like blood.
“Follow,” said the voice inside her head. “Hurry, we need to go.”
“Who are you?” said Abby. “Is this really a dream?” The bird turned its head and stared at her. It opened its beak, but no sound came out.
“Turn around,” said the voice. Abby did as she was told. Behind her towered the wall of mist. It had crept closer while she’d been talking to the bird, and now it was less than fifty feet away. Its wispy tendrils reached for her, their chill seeping into her bones.
“They’re coming,” said the voice. “You must follow me now.” And then the bird was soaring skyward, its shadow jetting across the ground. This time Abby made herself keep up. The cramp came back a soon as she started, but she ignored it and picked up speed.
Wake up! she thought, as she struggled forward. You can do it. Wake up now. But nothing she did seemed to work: not focusing her thoughts, not digging her nails into her palms. Nothing. There was no way out.
And all the while, the mist was gaining, its hissing growing stronger as she moved.
They can’t get you, she thought. It’s just a dream. Only she wasn’t so sure that was true.
“We’re here,” said the voice, and then the bird stopped. It hovered in the air for several seconds, then drifted to the ground like an autumn leaf.
Abby found herself standing in front of two pools of water, each the size of a standard swimming pool. The pools were separated by a gray line of earth about six inches across. It was here that the raven settled itself, cocking its head and peering at Abby as if waiting for her to make the first move.
Abby stared at the bird, and it stared back. It was bigger than it had seemed before, almost the size of a large turkey. Has it changed? wondered Abby. She didn’t know. Well, I guess if this is a dream then anything’s possible.
Abby fingered the feather, still in her hand, then took a step forward, unsure what to do. As she did the hissing intensified. The mist was coming; she could feel it on her skin. The bird ruffled its feathers then cracked open its beak. Its emerald eyes glowed bright in the gloom.
“Look into the pool,” croaked the bird. “Look into the pool on your right.” A shiver shot up Abby’s spine, as the bird’s face began to change.
No, warned a voice inside her head. Her own voice this time, she was sure. Don’t do this. You have to wake up now!
“Look,” said the bird. It was starting to morph. Its feathers were melting into its body; its neck writhing and pulsing and gleaming like blood. “Look and see what needs to be seen.”
An invisible force pulled Abby toward the pool on the right, turning her face, making her see.
No, thought Abby, but it was too late. She was already staring into the water, unable to look away. It was like peering into an enormous drain, a terrible blackness with no end in sight. Abby had the sensation of being swallowed, consumed by the inky dark. Are those voices? she wondered. She wasn’t sure, but something was moaning from inside the deep. She could still see the bird in her peripheral vision, its feathers glowing as its body stretched tall. Again she dug her fingers into her palms, gnawed at her lip, but nothing worked.
I’m going to fall into this pool, she thought. I’m going to fall in and never get out.
“Now the other,” croaked the bird, and Abby glanced away, as if the bird’s words had released her somehow. But then the strange pulling sensation returned, and she involuntarily turned to the second pool. She braced herself for what it might hold, but all she saw was a reflection of the sky.
“The first is the door through which you must pass,” croaked the thing that was no longer a bird, its beady, green eyes aimed at her. “The second is the only path of return.” It was almost the size of a human now, its red feathers no longer concealing the cracked black skin that lay beneath.
“You,” said the thing, its face twisting into a grimace, obviously in agony from the change. “You will be human once you pass through the first door. Your gift will be gon
e, cast aside, to be picked up once your destination is reached. You must return through the second door, the pool of light. It is the only way back.”
Suddenly the bird let out a shriek, and a shimmering light shot through its core. The brightness seared Abby’s retinas, turning everything a ghoulish gray. But for a single moment she actually saw. In the light of the bird’s anguished cry, the body of a woman stood in relief. Dark red hair poured from her scalp, green eyes glistened on an angel’s face.
And then she was just a bird again, a scarlet raven with emerald eyes. She gave one final, bitter cry then shot skyward in a blur of red. Abby watched as she climbed into the gray, soaring higher and higher, farther away until she became a speck of blood. And then she was gone.
The fog was rolling in again, its moisture sucking at Abby’s skin. Abby knew she had to do something fast. The hissing sound was growing stronger, and she could almost make out the twisting shapes, writhing inside the white wall. They were coming for her, she knew that now. Just like they had come for Lauren Liney. Abby remembered the dead girl’s face— the ruby bubbles. She wanted to scream.
It’s the sound you heard that night in the water, and all you have is one way out.
Abby stepped toward the black pool, its darkness beckoning, calling her in. She tugged off her pajama bottoms, knowing she couldn’t swim with them on. Her top hung to her thighs, and she was about to take that off too, when she changed her mind.
The feather, she thought. You need somewhere to put it. She shoved the blood red feather into the breast pocket of her pajama tops, praying that it would stay.
It’s just a door, she thought, staring down at the pool, wishing she knew where it led. She only hoped it was somewhere better than here. Then she took a deep breath, clamped her eyes shut, and plunged into the freezing dark.
The water was so cold that Abby gasped, expelling all the air she’d inhaled during the jump. In seconds her body was completely numb. She kicked frantically, waiting for the change. But nothing happened; the bird had been right.
No! thought Abby, I didn’t take enough air! Somehow her body didn’t understand. Even though the bird had said she wouldn’t change, every cell in her being refused to comprehend. She thrashed in the water for several seconds, desperately trying to recall how to swim. She considered going up for air, but when she peered up at the surface, the sky was blotted out by white. She knew what was up there, waiting for her. There was nowhere to go but down.
Just swim, thought Abby. You can’t die in a dream. She really hoped that was true. But her lungs were on fire, her body screaming for air. I’m drowning, she thought. This is what it feels like to die.
She kicked farther and farther into the deep until, suddenly, everything went black. No, thought Abby. What have I done? Why can’t I just wake up? She had nothing left, yet somehow she pushed on, deeper and deeper until she saw a light. That’s the light at the end of the tunnel, thought Abby, struggling forward, not sure what else to do.
Then she was swimming though a silver orb, pale as the moon reflected in the midnight waves. The light around her pulsed electric as great beams of silver flashed past her skin. Heaven, she thought. I’m in heaven now. But then she was through, out the other side. The water was much warmer here, tepid as bathwater, and the color of milk. When she looked back, the bright light was gone, and she was inside a sea of white.
Abby held her hands out in front of her face, but it was as if she’d gone blind. She felt the funny cramping feeling, and then her fins spun out behind her, pushing her forward, though she didn’t know where. I’m here, she thought. Wherever this is, this is where I’m supposed to be.
The whiteness was thinner above her head, and so she swam toward it, searching for the surface, her arms outstretched, feeling the way. When she finally broke through, she found herself inches from a grassy bank. Tall purple lilies stooped over the water, their heads shining like jewels in the gleaming sun. “Yes,” gasped Abby, grabbing a handful by the stems and hauling herself up onto the shore.
Abby lay on her side, panting in exhaustion, taking in this strange new place. The land around her was vibrant green. Rolling hills sloped up from the water’s surface and slid out in blankets across the earth.
The pool, which had seemed so vast before, had shrunk back to standard swimming pool size. Beyond the hills, not too far in the distance, shot the stubbly spikes of a pine forest. Black mountains rose into points in the distance, their dark spires puncturing the sky.
Where am I, thought Abby, fear knotting in her chest. She inhaled deeply and the piney air soothed her, calming her body like a drug. When in the world am I going to wake up? It felt like years since Brian had curled up on her bedroom floor. She could still see the shape of his body behind her closed lids, the sound of his breath far below.
“Soon,” said a voice. Abby jerked up. A prickly sensation rushed across her skin. She knew that voice. She’d heard it before. She whipped her head to the side and then she saw.
The woman in front of her was more beautiful than anyone Abby had ever seen. Her thick, red hair hung loose to her knees, and her emerald eyes gleamed like glass. Abby stiffened as the woman approached. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t place what it was. The women smiled. She was reaching for Abby, her body fluid as a cat’s.
“Wait,” Abby whispered, but a cold hand found her. “Stop. Let me go.”
“Abby,” said the woman, her voice high and tinkling, like a thousand bells brushed by the wind. “Don’t be afraid, I would never hurt you.” And then her arms were around Abby’s waist, pulling her backward, away from the pool.
It all happened so fast that Abby couldn’t think. Her body buckled, and her tail was gone. And then they were sprinting through a valley, their feet barely grazing the ground.
“Wait!” shrieked Abby. “I want to wake up!” But the women only increased their speed, her red mouth set in a deadly grimace, one frozen hand clamped around Abby’s wrist.
“Don’t you hear me?” screamed Abby. “I want to go home!”
On they charged, skimming through another valley, the air shrieking by them, the topography blurred. Abby had no idea how she was running so quickly, especially when all she wanted was to stop. It’s because you’re dreaming she thought. This is all just a dream. But when she glanced over at the woman beside her, she wasn’t so sure that was true. Finally a milky sea, the same color as the pool, came into view, complete with a jagged shoreline and a sandy beach.
They were slowing now, nearing the water. For a moment Abby thought they were going in, but the red-haired woman stopped at the shore, and gently released Abby’s wrist. Abby fell to the sand. Her legs felt like they’d been stretched out like taffy. Without the woman’s magic, she couldn’t even stand. She only hoped she’d be able to get up soon.
“Just wake up,” moaned Abby, digging her fingers into the sand. She could feel it sliding beneath her nails and the sensation reminded her of home, of scrambling up onto the beach once she’d left the safety of the waves. But then she remembered the last time she’d entered the water, when something had chased her through the sea. Brian, she thought. Brian please. You have to wake me up now!
She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured her room, her blue checkered comforter, the posters on the walls. Then she thought of Brian asleep on her floor. There was no way he was going to wake her. Abby knew she was on her own.
“Annabelle said it might be hard for you.” The woman’s voice was velvet. Her tone tender and sad.
Annabelle? thought Abby, her mind twisting in confusion. More milky waves slashed at the shore as the strange woman towered above, her red hair whipping in the wind like a flame.
“That’s right,” said the woman. “Annabelle Carson, your paternal grandmother. I know her well.”
“She’s dead,” whispered Abby.
“But so am I.” The woman’s laugh was an open bell, luminous and sweet.
“Come
on, get up,” she said, holding out her hand. Abby kept her own buried deep in the sand, fingers clenched in two angry fists.
“I don’t bite,” said the woman, leaning in close, her green eyes taking on a dangerous sheen. “Well maybe I do, but not someone like you. Or, dare I say it, someone like me.”
“I’m not like you,” snapped Abby, the words catapulting out before she could trap them against her tongue.
“There’s no need to be rude,” said the woman, her voice harder now, though her mouth was still set in a pleasant smile. “Well, I can’t say your grandmother didn’t warn me. But let’s, as they say, cut to the chase? I know all about your midnight swims, and what happened to you that night in the water.”
Abby crunched down on her lower lip, praying the pain would wake her up soon, while knowing there wasn’t much chance that it would.
“Oh come on,” said the woman, starting to laugh. There was something ominous beneath the tinkling bells, and it tugged at Abby like an undertow. Abby ripped her hands out of the sand and shoved them over her ears.
Don’t listen, she thought. You don’t want to hear.
“You sense it,” said the woman, moving Abby’s hands away. “Only our kind can hear what’s really under the song. But don’t worry, I can’t hurt someone like you. My voice can’t enchant you, drown you in the waves.”
“I see that I’m frightening you, and I apologize. But hard times have struck us, Abby Carson. Your people need your help.”
“My people?” said Abby. Oh, when am I going to wake up?
“Soon,” said the woman.
“Are you reading my mind?”
“Yes, it’s one of my many skills. When I was alive, my body surged with power. I could hear everything, but not anymore. Now my magic only works in these fragile places, in between wakefulness and rest.”
“Wakefulness and rest?” parroted Abby. Have I been dreaming all along?
“Not quite,” said the woman, reading her mind again. “Though it is true that your body is asleep, your mind is as alert as it always is. For this is not a regular dream. Your soul is awake here. This is real. From the moment I lead you away from the mist, it’s all been real, real for your soul.”
“The pools,” whispered Abby.
“They took you to another realm. The Shadowlands, a land almost solely accessed through dreams or death. For this is the realm where spirits go before they travel to the great unknown.”
“Spirits?” said Abby.
“Yes, little sister, but don’t be afraid. They can’t haunt us here. The sheer human ones never come here at all; their souls disappear at the moment of death. But the ones touched by our magic or connected to our bloodline, they must remain out there, on the island of Duat in the middle of the milky sea, until they disappear for good.” The woman pointed out past the cloudy water, and Abby followed her hand, but there was nothing to see.
“I alone can travel into the land of sleep, and that is only because I am more powerful than the others. The old magic still charges through my soul. It is weaker than before, but still strong enough. Its existence is the reason I can meet you here today. That we can discuss what must be done.”
“But don’t be fooled, little sister, the Shadowlands are real. To die here would mean death for your body as well. And so you must be careful, and do as I say. For I can protect you here. I alone know what to do.”
“It was you,” whispered Abby. “You’re the red bird.” The woman chuckled, and then her face changed. A glimmer of kindness shone in her eyes. Abby began to feel a little more at ease.
“Of course, my sister. Of course I am. And now that we’re finally somewhere safe, let me properly introduce myself.” She sat down next to Abby and stretched her legs in the sand. She was so close that Abby could hear her breathing— short little pants, like a dog in pain.
“I’m not sick,” said the woman, her green eyes flashing. It’s just that it’s work staying here in this form. It is easier for me to remain on Duat, which is where I’m really meant to be. Besides, you’ve made me work hard today. But no worries, I rarely hold a grudge.” She ran her fingers though her hair, brushing it back like she had a comb.
“Let’s get on with it, shall we? My name’s Eleanor. I’m a friend of your grandmother’s from a long time ago. And, of course, of her dear mother as well. You got my present, didn’t you? I suppose you did. That’s why you’re here.”
“Your present,” said Abby. “But Dad said it was from my grandmother.”
“Ah yes, Annabelle would have told him that. He didn’t know about me you see, and he wouldn’t have been pleased if he had. I’ve heard that he wanted to keep you his little secret. I can appreciate that; it’s a dangerous world. But he didn’t understand you, not in the least. Annabelle never let him in, not her own precious son. She didn’t want him to know. He wasn’t like us. None of the males ever are. So she thought it safer to keep him in the dark. It wasn’t until your mother had you that she finally told him our secret. Well, I suppose she had to do it then. With Jake, there weren’t any problems. At least not yet. But you’re a girl; you have our genetic twist.”
Something bubbled up in Abby, a memory from long ago. Eleanor smiled and touched Abby’s hair.
“When your grandmother finally did tell him, your father could hardly believe what she said. No, that’s not quite right, he didn’t want to believe. So much secrecy and shame, no wonder your own mother loathes you now. And you poor little dear, left without a clue. It’s terrible, really, how Annabelle died out in the water. You were just a baby, you never knew. But sharks, well, they’re always hungry. Vigilance is imperative. Even you know that.”
“A shark got her?” said Abby. “That’s not what Dad said.”
“He didn’t say much, did he dear?”
“No,” whispered Abby. “I guess he didn’t.”
“Why do you think your mother worries every time you go out?”
Panic stabbed through Abby’s chest. Oh, she thought, and she started to sweat.
“He never told you your history, explained who you were. And I suppose it makes sense; Annabelle kept him out of the loop. By the time he found out, what was he supposed to think? He was a doctor. He wanted a cure. But there was nothing he could do.”
“But who am I?” said Abby. She needed to hear it. She wanted to see what this creature really knew.
“Please, girl, you’re a siren of course. A magical songstress, sometimes bird, sometimes fish. Usually fish, I might add. The bird thing; well, people don’t usually see that part. Though sometimes shamans spot us here, in this shadow land of dreams.”
“Shamans?” said Abby.
“Most humans can’t find their way here in sleep. Only the truly gifted make it in.”
“I did,” said Abby.
“You’re not quite human. But the task is difficult, even for a siren. Without the box, you would have never found your way.”
“Anyway,” said Abby, changing the subject, ignoring Eleanor’s self-important grin. “How can I turn into a bird. I don’t have wings; I can’t fly.”
“Not in your world, no,” said Eleanor. But here in the Shadowlands you can transform into a fowl. A handy trick. It really helps one get around.”
“Will I be a raven?” asked Abby.
“Yes, but not quite like me. My color has changed because of my magic. You will have to be content with onyx feathers instead.”
“And what about the singing?” said Abby, her voice sharp in her ears. She really wanted to wake up now.
“You’ll learn it dear. It’s in your blood.”
“Abby scowled and stared down at her legs. She had the feeling that Eleanor was toying with her.
“But I’m not,” said Eleanor, her smile starting to fade. “And now there’s something I need you to do.”
Abby stared into Eleanor’s eyes. Their green was a tract beam, pulling her in. “We need to talk about your past. About all the things your
father did in his effort to change you, to cleanse the siren from your blood.”
Abby’s insides prickled and she tried to stand up, but Eleanor’s hand slid over her arm, its iron grip keeping her down.
“I know this is hard,” said Eleanor. “But we have to do this. It’s for your own good.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“But there’s not,” said Abby, and yet she could feel it. Something was creeping into her chest, a terrible knowledge she’d buried for years.
“You can’t pretend any longer,” said Eleanor, her pale hand on Abby’s brow. It was like being touched by a hunk of ice. “Abby, I need you to remember. I need you to know what he did.”
“Why?” whispered Abby. “Why do I have to know?”
“Because.” Eleanor slid her hand through Abby’s hair, stopping when she reached Abby’s neck. “Knowing yourself will help you harness your power. Then your song will flow freely, and you can fight for your kind.”
“Fight what?” asked Abby.
“Ah little sister, you know this already. You feel it in your blood. You must fight the creatures in the mist. And the one who is killing in your world too.”
“Wait a second,” said Abby. “What are you saying? The thing that was hunting me in the water is just like those monsters in the mist?”
“Yes. They are one and the same.”
“I can’t,” whispered Abby. “I can’t fight those things.”
“You must, little sister. You’re the last of our kind. You have to stop them. You’re the only one who can.”
“I’m the last?” gasped Abby, and then her eyes were pulled toward the water. Its color had changed; it wasn’t white anymore. Instead, it glowed a terrible red.
“Abby,” said Eleanor, but she sounded all wrong. It was Matilda’s voice that came out of her now.
“No,” said Abby, but she couldn’t help herself. Somehow, Eleanor had brought some of it back.
“A genetic disorder,” whispered Abby, still not sure how she knew. “He said it was rare, but that maybe something could be done.”
“Yes,” said Eleanor, taking Abby’s hand. The hand was warm now, not like before. Abby grabbed it and held on tight.
“I can’t remember that much about it,” said Abby. “It’s like that phase of my life is all blurred out.”
“I know,” said Eleanor. “But you need to remember.” She placed her other hand on Abby’s head. Her hands had grown hot, hotter than flesh should be, and a slow vibration trembled through their skin.
“You don’t like to remember,” Eleanor crooned. “Even your body, it blocks it out. But it’s important for you to understand who you are. You have to, before you can do what must be done. It will give you the strength to help your people. To turn us away from our terrible path. Close your eyes now, I’ll help you along.”
No, thought Abby, her insides starting to twist. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to know.
“But you do,” whispered Eleanor. “You have no choice. Remember what I said about Jake.”
“You said that he didn’t have any problems.”
“For now,” said Eleanor. “Only for now. Males can’t express the siren gene. But he is a carrier, like your father was. What if one day he has a daughter? Do you think they’ll give him the chance for that? No. Once they kill you, they’ll take him out too. You have to stop them before it’s too late.”
“But what are they?” asked Abby, her throat going tight. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
“Just close your eyes,” said Eleanor. “Everything will be all right.”
“And if I don’t?” asked Abby.
“You have no choice. But you knew that already, didn’t you? The death in the water that you feel responsible for? More will die if we do not take action. We don’t have much time. We must move now. Just close your eyes little sister. That’s all you can do.” Eleanor’s voice was smooth and sweet. “I’m here now. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I don’t want this,” said Abby.
“You have no choice. Don’t you see? None of us do.”
Abby took one last look at the frothy sea, its red now the color of Lauren Liney’s blood. She could still see the girl’s face in her mind. And Matilda’s student. Something had hurt her too. No, thought Abby. You can’t let it happen again. If you do, it’ll be all your fault. Then she closed her lids and it began.
The heat from Eleanor’s hands had grown in intensity. It felt like two suns were searing Abby’s scalp. Abby tried to open her eyes, but her lids were stuck, locked beneath the growing wave of heat.
Wait, thought Abby. I’ve changed my mind.
She tried to twist away, but her body wouldn’t respond. Instead of moving away from the heat, she was falling, screaming through a fiery sphere.
“You’re body is melting, fading away.” Eleanor’s voice soared through Abby’s mind. “Soon you will see all there is to know.”
Abby couldn’t feel her body at all. Not her feet or hands, nothing was there. She would have opened her eyes, if she’d had any to open. But, even closed, she found that she could see.
She was floating through a lukewarm body of water. The burning sensation had drifted away, and she was staring down through the blue. Below her stood a young girl in a study, her dark hair falling to her waist. The girl, who looked about twelve or thirteen, was staring out the window toward what Abby knew was the beach.
Everything looked achingly familiar— the yellow wallpaper, the window open toward the sea. A large world map hung near the door, each continent painted in pastel hues. Still, it took Abby a moment to register. Dad’s study, she thought. And the girl is me.
The girl was talking to someone behind a desk, a man with dark curls and silver eyes.
Dad, thought Abby, but she barely recognized him. He looked so different, so alive. Instinctively, she knew she was watching the past— before her father had gotten sick. It must have been right when she’d started the change.
Abby floated down into the room, all the while straining to hear what was being said. But she couldn’t make out a single word.
Wait, thought Abby, moving toward her father. It was hard, like walking through waist high mud, but she found if she willed it, if she forced herself, she could inch closer to where he stood. When she was close enough, she tried to reach out her hands, but then she remembered she didn’t have hands anymore. She was here, she was watching, but she still had no form.
“You’re inside a memory.” It was Eleanor’s voice, rippling the wallpaper, stirring the air. “This doesn’t have to be difficult. Just imagine where you want to go, and you’ll move.”
Imagine, thought Abby. Then you’ll move. Abby pictured herself standing next to the girl, and, suddenly, she was there. She stared at the younger version of herself— moon white skin, violet eyes. Me, thought Abby, shocked by her beauty even then. A younger me, talking to Dad.
I wish I could hear them, she thought.
“It’s only silent,” said Eleanor, “because you don’t really want to know.”
But I do, thought Abby, and then she was whizzing through time. The scene around her blurred to blue, and she was peering down from above. This time she was looking at a hospital room. Another version of herself, slightly older than before, was lying on her back, strapped to a gurney. Bright lights beat down from above, and an IV dripped into her veins.
Stop thinking her, thought Abby. That girl is you.
Fear rushed through Abby, as she sank into the scene. Though this time moving was easy; she just pictured where she wanted to go.
Now hear, she thought, and the voices came. There was a soft, crackly one she couldn’t quite place, and then a second that she knew well. Her father, they were coming down the hall. She could hear their footsteps, but she still couldn’t make out their words.
No, thought Abby. He wouldn’t do this to you. And then
the scene in the study came back to her, and she remembered exactly what her father had said:
“Maybe we can make you normal again. Come on, sweetie. Let’s give it a try.”
She was rushing forward, through a darkened hallway. The air was sharp with the smell of chlorine. She could see her body being pushed on the gurney, heading toward another room.
A pool, thought Abby. An underground pool.
And then the girl sat up on the gurney. A hunchbacked man with a hawkish nose, slipped out the IV and led her to the pool.
Abby watched the girl being strapped to another gurney. This one was metal, and it hung from the ceiling by a series of thick, looping chains. Wires were attached to the girl’s chest and to several shaved patches of skin on her scalp. Her hospital gown floated around her as they slowly lowered into the water, her body contracting as the change took place. A monitor blinked, as a camera recorded her screams. Once the change was over, she was hoisted back out and told to dry off her tail so she could change again. Over and over, in and out of the water, she switched from legs to tail again.
“He did that,” said Eleanor. “He experimented on you so that he could try and understand why.”
Now the girl was screaming something, only Abby couldn’t make out what it was.
“You have to want to hear,” Eleanor said.
Okay, thought Abby, but she didn’t want to know.
“Focus,” said Eleanor. “You need to understand!”
And then she could hear the girl’s screechy cries: “Please, Daddy stop! I don’t want this anymore!”
The scene before her began to blur. The girl and her father were swirling into blue. And then she was back in the study again. Only it was a different day, she was sure. The girl’s eyes were red. Abby could tell she’d been crying. No, you remember, she thought. You remember it all.
Her father was standing by the window. The girl stood next to him, peering out at the sea.
“Abby.” He took the girl’s chin in his hand.
Your chin, thought Abby. He’s talking to you.
“Abby,” said her father. “I’ve tried everything. The drugs, the tests— there’s nothing I can do.”
Abby watched the girl nod and wipe at her eyes. But then she felt the girl’s relief surge through the room, and knew why she was crying after all. Disappointment, thought Abby. That’s what it is. I could never become what he wanted me to be.
“Your mother,” said her father. “I don’t know what I’m going to say.”
The scene was swirling around her now, and the air was growing hot.
“Wake.” It was Eleanor’s voice. “Wake and remember what you’ve seen.”
Abby’s limbs were on fire. She tried to push herself out of the heat, but she only managed to roll onto her side. She could hear the waves lapping against the shore, as the salty air caked her lungs.
“Open your eyes,” commanded Eleanor. “Come on, little sister. You have to wake up now.”
Abby opened her eyes. The day had dulled since she’d been gone. The sky was a steely slab of gray, yet still its brightness made her retinas burn.
Abby groaned, and tried to pull herself up, but a sharp heat rushed up the back of her throat. No, she thought, gagging on bile, then closing her eyes as it seeped into the sand.
“Abby,” said Eleanor, her hand back on Abby’s neck. It was cold again, like a hunk of ice.
“Abby, are you all right?”
She was sitting now, staring past Eleanor’s face, watching the siren’s hair dance in the wind.
“That was tough, wasn’t it dear?” The ruby mouth bent into a smile. “Memory swimming’s not the easiest thing, but now you know. Your secret’s unlocked.”
“It can’t be true,” said Abby, spitting into the sand, but the caustic taste in her mouth wouldn’t budge.
“But it is,” said Eleanor. “You’ve known it all along.”
“But why didn’t I remember?” Abby asked. “How could I possibly forget all that stuff?”
“Why,” said Eleanor, “a lot of reasons, I suppose.” Abby grimaced as Eleanor’s arm snaked around her waist. Pulling her in, like mother to child.
“You see, much of that happened the year of the change. You were thirteen, and a lot was going on— not only physically, but mentally too. We sirens go though a great deal at that time. Your chemistry alters; your brain needs time to rewire. Usually a sister will take a young one in, keep her safe during that year of life. But you, you had to do it alone. That’s probably why the process spread out for so long. You got the fins, but the rest took years, longer than it would have had you been with one of us.”
“Why didn’t one of you help me?” asked Abby. “Why did I have to do it by myself?”
“Because,” whispered Eleanor, “you’re the only one of us left. You’re the only living siren in the world.”
“But what about the box?” said Abby. You could have given it to me sooner. You could have helped me when I was thirteen.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” said Eleanor. “It’s not the same. Without a living sister to keep you safe, it was better to let the process stretch itself out, to make it more gradual so you could adjust. Or else we risked the possibility of the change overwhelming your body and killing you. Judging by the speed in which you were progressing, we guessed that you’d be okay by sixteen. Not a full-fledged siren, but close enough. That’s why we gave you the box on your birthday. And that is why you’re with me now.”
“That’s why my looks keep changing,” said Abby. “That’s why people keep staring at me. I’m not done developing. When is it going to stop?”
“Soon,” said Eleanor, taking Abby’s hand. “Soon you will become what you are meant to be. Now, let me ask you a question, my dear. It’s something I’ve always wanted to know. Do you remember being thirteen? Is there anything clear about that time?”
Abby closed her eyes, and tried to see, but her mind remained a murky mess. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t remember much. Mostly just about the first time I changed. I was in the shower, and there was this strange twisting pain— like my insides were trying to get out. I must have started screaming because Mom and Dad rushed in. The rest— I have no idea.”
“I hardly remember eighth grade at all. Just that Gretchen and I, she used to be my best friend, well, for some reason, we didn’t talk anymore.”
“Well, dear,” said Eleanor, tucking a lock of hair behind Abby’s ear, “that’s probably because you were a zombie that year. You went through all the motions, but you might as well have been asleep. A typical siren of that age sleeps most of the time. She has to. The change is painful at first. It takes all her energy just to get through it each time. But once her body adjusts, and the metamorphosis is complete, it gets easier. Then she can’t feel it at all.”
“But I still feel it,” said Abby. “It’s like a cramp for me.”
“That’s because you haven’t quite finished the metamorphosis yet.”
“Oh,” said Abby, glancing out at the sea. When she turned back to Eleanor, she had to stifle a sob. “Why didn’t he help me?” whispered Abby. “Why did he torture me like that?”
“Your father?” scoffed Eleanor. “He didn’t know what to do.”
“But he tried?” asked Abby.
“He did everything wrong.”
“Yes,” said Abby, trying hard not to cry. And then she thought of her mother’s face. The look in her eyes the first time she’d seen, the one that said: you cannot be mine.
“They sent me someplace,” said Abby, her voice small and slow. “I remember white walls, and some sort of fence. I think the top of the fence was rigged with wire, like the kind they have in prison.”
“Yes,” said Eleanor. “They thought you needed help.”
“Was it some sort of asylum?”
Eleanor nodded.
“But how do you know?”
“Because I visited you in your sleep. You could
n’t see me. Without the box, it’s like I’m not there. You see, sometimes, during that first year of the change, sometimes you were nearly catatonic. Even in your dreams, you were somewhere else. I couldn’t read your thoughts, couldn’t see what had happened. And yet I watched. I didn’t want you to be alone. Besides, your parents didn’t know what to do.”
“But how did you find me in my sleep?” said Abby.
“Well, I suppose you could say I’m special even for a siren. I possess powers that others do not.”
“So you already knew everything I just saw?” Anger bloomed in Abby’s chest. “Then why did you make me go through all that? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”
“Because Abby dear, here’s the thing: you needed to feel that part of your past. It’s the only way you can claim your power. It’s the only way you can save us all.”
“What power?” said Abby. “And who am I saving? I thought I was the only one left.”
Eleanor looked away. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “We are not the ones who need saving. Our kind is already lost. It’s the outside world that they want now. And so we must stop them before they take that too.”
“Before who does?” said Abby. “What do you mean?”
And then Abby’s eyes fell on the sky. Something had changed. At first she couldn’t place what it was, but a chill was spreading through her core and spiraling out along her bones. A smoky film had stretched across the horizon and was slowly settling into the sea.
“No,” said Eleanor, leaping to her feet, her body rigid as she sniffed the air. “They’ve found us. It’s time to leave.”
Fear buckled in Abby’s chest. “The creatures in the mist,” she whispered. “They’re coming for me, aren’t they.”
“Yes,” said Eleanor, “you’re the last of our line. You and your brother, though he’s of no use to us now. You must fight to save our blood. Without you, everything is lost.”
Brian’s face flashed behind Abby’s eyes. Everything he’d said— she had to know now. “But what about the Poseidon Stone? Do they know about that too?”
“The Poseidon Stone?” Eleanor’s mouth twisted in derision. She spat bitterly onto the sand.
“That name, when I hear it, it makes me sick. Our kind would never revere the masculine. We sirens honor the moon goddess Derketo and the great fertility goddess, Aphrodite herself.”
“But the name—” said Abby.
“They made it up. Male scientists, like your friend’s father. But I suppose,” said Eleanor, her hair blowing in her face, “I suppose it doesn’t matter what it’s called. All that matters is what we used to be. You see, centuries ago, many of our kind existed. We had floating cities, intermingled with humans. In fact, we had to. We relied on the human male. For it’s only through him that we can reproduce. So we’d seduce men with our song, take them to the sea. And once we were done, we’d let them go.”
“This arrangement worked for generations, but then things began to change. All creatures evolve, and we did too. We stopped seeing humans as a means to an end, for suddenly love got in the way. We couldn’t bear to release them, so we kept them to ourselves. We held them captive with our song. At the time, most of us didn’t see it that way. The men wanted us; it all felt right. But then our beloveds began to change, to transform into something else. Something evil, and we couldn’t turn them back. Now we must pay for what we’ve done. Pay for our love, and the monsters we made.”
Eleanor threw her head back and sniffed the air, as an ominous hiss broke above the waves.”
“There’s no time,” said Eleanor, her eyes frenzied with excitement. “They’re coming. They know where we are. Go Abby, into the sea. Be gone from this place before it’s too late. Now is not the time to fight your battle. That time will come, but it is not now.”
And then the mist was sliding down from the mountains, pouring like cream from the sky.
“The pool!” screeched Eleanor. “Get in the water! Hurry, you have to enter it now.”
Suddenly Eleanor was changing again, her neck stretching long, face terrifyingly fierce.
“Don’t leave me,” begged Abby. “Don’t make me do this alone!”
But Eleanor didn’t answer. Feathers, sprouted from her skin. Her round face narrowed; her nose stretched to a point.
“Wait,” cried Abby. “How do I get home?”
“The sea,” squawked Eleanor, her head squishing into her torso, arms shrinking and folding into her sides. “To the sea, to the sea, run to the sea. You must swim through the other door.”
“But how will I find you? When will I see you again?” Abby’s throat tightened in fear.
“The box. Hold the box, and I will come to you in your dreams. I will speak to you through the feather when you are awake.”
Then the red bird shot into the sky and climbed higher and higher toward the rolling the mist.
“Goodbye little sister,” said a voice inside Abby’s head.
Eleanor, thought Abby, don’t leave me here. She searched the sky for the blood-red bird, but all she saw was the wall of mist, with its twisting shadows hunting her down.
Go, thought Abby. You have to go now. And then she was running into the water, her body cramping as she went through the change.
Where? she wondered. Where do I go? The water had turned back to the color of milk, and she couldn’t get her bearings. She didn’t know which way to swim. And yet she could hear them over the water, could feel their presence. They were coming for her.
“Go,” said a voice. It was Eleanor’s. “Swim toward the light.”
What light? thought Abby. But then she saw it, glowing faintly far below. This time it was molten orange, and it pulsed like lava beneath the creamy waves. Jesus, thought Abby, I’m swimming into the sun. But she forced herself toward it, ignoring the pain, the way her skin blistered and her bones started to burn.
“Forward,” screeched Eleanor from inside her head. “Hurry, it’s the only way out!”
Abby was screaming into the water, her mouth wide open, yet she refused to slow down. And then she was inside the fiery tunnel, losing herself in its molten heat. She struggled to focus, but her world was fading. I’m dying, she thought, as water boiled in her lungs. This isn’t a dream. I’m not going to wake up.
Black Waters (Book 1 in the Songstress Trilogy) Page 13