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Dahlia just surveyed him, not saying anything.
He folded his arms over his chest and his voice went sullen. “She took some injection and we would have been compatible, and she wanted me to knock her up. She’s all freaked out because she thinks she’s running out of time to have babies, and she wants—butIdon’t want— So, no.Definitelynot.”
Dahlia digested this. “Okay.”
“Do you think I’m lying to you?”
She licked her lips.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He threw his hands in the air.
“I know,” she whispered. “I need to go.” She started for the steps.
“Wait,” he said.
She did not wait.
He came after her. “Dahlia, I wouldn’t have done it because ofyou.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, continuing down the steps. “What?”
“I mean it.” He caught up to her, blocking her way down the stairs. “You changed me. I was waiting for you. I needed to find the kind of girl I could be sure about, and I have, and I would never—”
“I’m drunk. I need to go home.”
“You don’t believe me about this either?”
She furrowed her brow. She didn’t like him saying that for some reason, and she didn’t know why. “I need to go home,” she said again.
He sighed heavily. “Let me drive you.”
“No, I need to be alone,” she said. “And sober up and everything else. I’m sorry, Niles, I’m sorry. But… um… I mean, maybe you were right.”
“Right about what?”
“Maybe I’m not… mature enough for this?”
“What? You’re insanely mature.”
“Yeah, but, um, I don’t, like, know who Iam.”
He stopped.
She kept going.
“Dahlia, no one knows that.”
She picked up the pace. “Look, I’ll be in touch, okay? I promise.”
xx.
THE THERAPIST HADnever heard of raven mockers, but she’d worked with vampires, werewolves, banshees, hydras, and all kinds of creatures, and she spoke in a warm voice to Dahlia from across her office, which was decorated in rich blues and dark purples. There were several couches and a bean bag chair and the carpet was deep and plush.
The therapist herself was a siren. “The truth is, my own song can be used for destructive purposes. There is a capacity within a siren to bring out terrifying and horrible longing within a person. You’ve heard the stories of sailors dashing themselves on sharp rocks and the like, I’m sure.”
“I thought,” said Dahlia, “that was just exaggeration.”
“It’s a weapon, certainly,” said the siren. “But then all creatures have a certain capacity for violence. Whether our ancestors developed it out of a need to protect ourselves or to secure prey, we all are capable of hurting other beings. And because of the necessity of such behavior being innate and immediate in response to stimuli, we all often feel as though we lash out without any actual decision to do so.”
