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“We will talk again. Right now, I have to swim ahead to catch your friend.”
What do you mean catch my friend?
But she is already gone. She disappeared under the water as soon as she said “friend.” And I soon see why.
The distance between Rory and me has grown while I’d been mentally conversing with my new mermaid friend. (At least I think she’s a friend. Only time will tell for sure.) I’ve been stumbling in the sand while he’s been as sure-footed as if he’s walking on a paved road.
Even though he is farther from me than I would like, I can still see when he abruptly stops moving forward and hangs a right. Right into the ocean.
Somehow, his feet aren’t sinking in the wet sand. Now I am the one frozen where I stand. I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m so shocked at what is playing out before me that it takes me a few seconds for it to all register. I swallow hard, dragging my feet through the sand. It may as well be cement for how cooperative my limbs are being. Not because I’ve been spelled, but because I am using all my energy to will time to reverse itself.
As the waves reach Rory’s calves, I realize that he is walking into the sea. I open my mouth to push sounds out. At first, they are just a whimper of denial, but then a scream of protest.
“Rory!” I shout his name as my limbs finally cooperate, but not even my Guardian speed is fast enough for me to reach him, to pull him back. I wave my arms in a great circle over my head and around me, as if making a spectacle of myself from fifty feet away will miraculously break the spell he’s under.
Within seconds, he crashes deeper into the waves as I run and ponder how I can ever explain to little Tabby that I was responsible for both of her parents’ deaths. Time seems to slow down as the waves reach his thighs. Once again, the air is cold, and the goosebumps on my arms return. The wet sand fights to hold onto me, to hold me back. I blink, and the water hits his belt buckle. The waves lapping at the shoreline beside me are the only sound I hear. By the time the water reaches his shoulders, my throat burns from screaming his name over and over. I choke on my snot and tears, watching his chin disappear into the dark water.
In my mind something snaps and life is back at full speed, as a black-haired head with a jade green tail breaches the water, grabs Rory, and disappears again beneath the glassine surface.
Now that time is moving again, I hear my heart pounding loudly in my ears. My lungs burn from the suffocating, rapid breaths that are all I can force into them.
Please. Please, let Mazu be a friend.
Chapter 20
George
Ipressthepadsof my fingers against my closed eyelids, rubbing along the tops of my cheek bones and out to my temples where I heavily trace small circles, willing my mind to relax.
I wish this library had more information on sirens. I’ve leafed through seventeen books, includingThe Odyssey, and cannot find any records, myths, or guesses on how to defeat them.
My phone chimes and I grab it frantically. I just hung up with Miranda and suspect she thought of more questions, but I’m wrong. It’s Andrew.
Hey there. Just got to the bar. Should I order you a drink?
Shit. Is it eight already? Damnit, it is. I need to shit or get off the pot, so to speak. I need to make a choice about Andrew right now. I stare at the phone, my leg is bouncing rapidly. I let out a breath so forcefully my lips puff out. I shake my head as I bite my lip and start typing.
Please don’t hate me… I can’t meet you tonight. I know I seem shady. I do want to see you. I need to take care of a friend who is in trouble. I promise to explain everything when I can.
I get up and pace so I don’t stare at the phone while I wait for a response I am dreading. I want to see him again. I do want another chance. I want to kiss him again; his lips are so distractingly perfect. I want to tell him everything and have him know all of me and, hopefully, still want to be with me.
The urge to pace the room is strong, but giving in to that urge will only give the panic credence. Instead, I force my head high so my spine aligns straight. My hands form a circle around my belly button, and I call out, “Mokuso!” I call it out even though I am alone in this room, this house. I call it out even though I’m not in the dojo. I call it out because that is how the meditation begins, and I need to do something right.
Although I sometimes use the meditative breathing exercise to begin and end training sessions, I do it now to calm my pounding heart and clear my frantic mind. I finish the three deep exhales. With my next inhalation, I immediately recognize the smell. Musky and floral, the scent of the candle. The lady in red. The siren.
“My name, docent, is Beatrice.” Her voice is deep and velvety. But it’s not in my mind. It’s in my ears, in the room with me.
I open my eyes slowly. She sits across from me in the library, perfectly straight, perfectly still. Only a table separates us. She intertwines her fingers, resting her hands on the tabletop. Her long, dark auburn hair cascades around her shoulders. She slightly purses her deep burgundy lips. She’s trying to entice me with their lusciousness. Contrary to my expectations, it’s working. I can’t look away.
The moment she knows she has me, the corner of her mouth quirks up, giving a serpentine quality to her appearance. When her lips part, the tip of her tongue darts out to wet them. My dry mouth longs to partake in that moisture.
She leans forward. Her breasts press into her hands, pushing them so that a bit of cleavage appears in the open space where her crisp, dark-red blouse is unbuttoned lower than probably necessary. I don’t know for sure though. I’ve never paid much attention to how women dress.
But my eyes are drawn to that line in her otherwise smooth and milky skin, and it is my turn to lick my lips. A deep, breathy laugh tells me she noticed this action also.
“It’s okay, docent. No human is impervious to my seductions. Well, none but the one I really want…” Either she trails off, or my attention to her words does.
“Miranda.” It’s not a question. I know who she wants. But I still can’t tear my eyes away from that crease beneath the material. I start to loathe that material.
