Prelude (The Rhapsody Quartet) (4 page)

“We?” I said, “What are you?”

She looked at me with slight irritation, as if the question was inherently ridiculous, “A mermaid, obviously.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, “It’s got to be something completely new or…” She paused.

A look of inspiration flashed across her features, “No way.”

The moisture had left my mouth, “What now?” I croaked. I wanted to ask her about being a mermaid, about why she looked so human, but it was all I could bring myself to say.

She collected her thoughts for a moment before staring directly into my eyes, “You said you’ve been trying to stay anonymous. Or invisible, or whatever,” she waved her hand as if to say it was a pointless goal before she plowed on. “But you’ve been the least anonymous person all day. You’re gorgeous all of a sudden.
People hang on your every word,
” she said with emphasis.

“So?”

“So, you shouldn’t exist. At least, if I’m right— and I’m usually right,” she added with a haughty toss of her blonde curls, “— you’re something entirely unexpected.”

“This is the part where you tell me it’s all a big joke, right?” It would’ve been a relief.

She frowned, “No, I’m not being clear here. You’re…” she looked doubtful for a moment, but plowed on, “a
siren
,” she said reverently.

Stacie paused for a minute as though she had just made a huge announcement. Maybe she had, but it struck me as impossible as any of the other ideas she’d tossed out. Being a witch or a troll sounded just as likely, and I didn’t respond.

It didn’t matter, Stacie continued on with her thought, nodding to herself, “You bewitched every human in the class. There’s a compulsion to your kind. An innate power.” She looked at me, her eyes flashing with excitement, “No one seemed to notice or care until you answered that question in history class.”

“And?”

“And the ability that sirens had was a vocal one. Speaking, shouting, and obviously singing. Humans are attracted to the sound, but it goes deeper than that. A word will send them to you, a command will compel them, a shout will frenzy them, and a song…” She shrugged, “Well, a song will doom them. At least, that’s what they used to say.”

“You’re saying I can kill people with my voice?”

“Maybe, but I didn’t say kill. I said doom. That’s all I know on the subject. Doom, doom, doom.”

“I wasn’t aware of the difference.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re aware of the difference, only that there is one.”

“I’ve heard of sirens, but don’t they have fish tails, too? Is this a water thing? Or are they supposed to be more like harpies… I don’t remember.” I tried to recall the vague section of mythology I had two years ago in a history class from a teacher much better than Mr McGregor.

Stacie sighed, “You’ll find that most things aren’t true when it comes to extras being talked about in the human world.”

“Why do my eyes change color?” I asked, “It’s weird.”

“‘
The eyes are the window to the soul’
,” Stacie quoted, “That saying has been around longer than you think. It started in our culture.”

“The mermaid culture?” I asked.

She laughed, “No, the extra culture. It was a hint about the peculiarity of our eyes in general. Yeah, your eyes look crazy to you, and admittedly they’re a bit different than anything
I’ve
ever seen, but not completely abnormal. Every extra has eyes that turn colors.”

“Yours don’t,” I pointed out, “they’ve only ever been green.”

She held up her wrist, showing a small hemp bracelet with an oblong bead, “This is ocean water,” she said, pointing to the stone, “spelled to stay solid. It’s how I can effectively disguise myself. My eyes change color with whatever type of water is closest to me. The bead is against my skin at all times. Pool water, ocean water— even varying by the specific ocean— or water vapor from the clouds.” She shrugged, “That’s the determination.” She unhooked the bracelet and handed it to me. Her eyes faded to a very pale, icy blue. “Disconcerting, huh?” She continued, “I don’t like this color too much. Sunny days like today it’s this pale. When it’s cloudy out it’s a bit more gray looking.”

She took the bracelet from me again and I watched as her eyes abruptly changed back to the familiar green. “Like I said, all extras have it. That’s how I knew you weren’t just a very stupid witch. Witch’s eyes only change colors when they perform magic. Yours are a kaleidoscope. They change every few seconds, at least a little bit.”

“So what happens now? If I’m a siren, I mean?” I asked.

Stacie sighed, “Well, now I have to report this whole thing.” She smirked, “My father is going to
freak
.”

“But… how do I know for sure this is even real?”

She raised an eyebrow, “Well, aside from the complete body makeover, the rapidly changing eye color and the inexplicable popularity? Huh, no idea.” She rolled her eyes.

“It could still be an elaborate joke,” I pointed out. I wasn’t sure exactly how it would be, but I was trying, desperately, to cling to some sort of my previous reality.

“Okay, tell you what. If you want more proof, talk to your human family and get them to do your bidding. It should be easy for you.”

“That seems… wrong.”

“If you’re worried, choose things that aren’t
lethal
for them to do.”

Something told me she didn’t understand the ethical conflict I was experiencing. She was telling me, after all, to try to control my foster parents against their will. “That still seems a little underhanded.”

“Look, it’s not going to hurt them. Just ask them to do something they’d normally never do… like eat a leafy vegetable or wear fur or file their taxes early… or, or litter! They’ll do it, I promise you that. And if you really have qualms about it you can say ‘never mind’ or something to stop them from actually doing it when it’s clear you hold that power.”

“Wait a minute. If that’s true, why aren’t you affected by me?”

“Probably because I’m an extra, too. Same reason that no one has been freaking out over your revolving eyes. Humans can’t see everything as clearly… they’re really susceptible to basic illusions. So your eyes
might
look normal, but more than likely they just overlook it because of what you are. They
want
you to like them.”

“Stacie,” I started to ask, “Why did you bother with me? Just to ruin my birthday?”

She grinned, “An unexpected bonus. Actually at first it was to squash whatever sort of extra bitch was trying to hijack my school.”

“You’re the only extra here?”

“Of
course
not. But I’m the most powerful. There’s a couple of witches here and there, a werewolf or two, maybe the occasional elf exchange student, but all of them know better than to stomp on the natural order of things. Sure, the witches might do one or two small things for themselves, but nothing that would actually affect the power balance in the school. You were something completely different.”

“At first? So what is it now, now that you know what I am? Or at least think you know.”

“A couple things, really,” she said honestly. “The first being because you’re a siren. That’s crucial. I kept saying you shouldn’t exist, and that’s because you
shouldn’t
. The sirens were supposedly wiped out about thirteen years ago.”

My eyes widened, “My parents died around then.”

She smirked, “Well that’s not surprising. But since you’re the last one, there’s probably some sort of reward for telling the council about you, if it makes it that far. Second, because I’m a mermaid, I
have
to help you.”

“Mermaids are just… helpful… to extras?” I asked.

She shook her head, “No, not to extras. But specifically to sirens, yes. The merfolk have a long-standing alliance with your people. That’s part of why siren imagery is often confused with Oceanid imagery. I have to help you. It’s in my blood,” she paused. “Honestly, sirens were known to be shrewd negotiators. I doubt that mermaids are the only ones with this alliance. I think ours is just the oldest.”

“But you’re…?”

She sighed, tucking an arm under the crook of my elbow, “Look, aside from all that—” she paused, “and I don’t want you to mention this to anyone of course— you seem very… fish out of water. You’re in need of a mentor in all this, and until the council finds one for you, I’ll have to do.”

“You hated me before.”

“I hate everybody on principle.”

“That seems like a lonely way to live.”

She smiled sadly and stared through the window towards the ocean, “It is.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Song

My stomach had a deep-seated feeling of unrest burbling within it as I walked into the house. I dropped my bag down in the entryway with a thud, taking a breath to calm myself before I kicked off my shoes. The television was on. Rick was already home after putting in a full day of work starting at five a.m.

I found Rick in his lounge chair, wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt, hair still wet from showering off the day’s grime. My foster father was a laid-back kind of guy, as ambitious as his wife but less competitive. He owned a fishing tours service in the summertime and in the winter months worked as a contractor. The nice thing about Whitecrest was, despite the buckets of rain that tended to fall from the sky, the ground never froze like it did in other parts of the state in wintertime. Rick’s projects tended to be local remodeling, done for the tourists who breezed into town in the summer and wanted to see their beach houses whipped into a state of latest-and-greatest while they weren’t there to deal with the dust and clutter that came from renovations.

A college football game— East Coast, it looked like— was playing. He was vaguely watching it while sipping a beer.

His eye caught me, “Hey kiddo! Happy birthday!”

I nodded at him, too afraid to speak. He didn’t seem to notice that I looked so much different, which backed up what Stacie had told me earlier in the day. Magic was real, and humanity simply ignored it.

Unfortunately, Stacie had been 100% correct, so far as I could tell. I needed to perform a test, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Until I was ready, I didn’t want to speak at all, remembering the extra attention I was given in class.

Rick didn’t seem to notice the silence of the answer and turned his head back to the television. I was relieved that I’ve always been a quiet teenager. I stalked my way up the stairs, landing on my bed. I hadn’t made it today, but it looked like Susan must have taken care of it for me as a birthday treat. Normally, she’d reprimand me for something like that, stating that to keep things running smoothly it had to go according to routine. She must have figured it was my birthday, so what the hell.

I closed my eyes, unsure of what I should be feeling. Mostly I was just overwhelmed. Questions popped up then fizzled out into obscurity before rearing their heads again.

I heard the door close, and Susan was already launching into her post-work chatter. Rick and I had learned long ago to just let her be when she was talking about her day. The monologues she gave were never for our benefit, but were instead just a part of her that was processing and organizing things. Most days I just ignored it. Rick, however, always politely listened to the whole thing, just in case Susan wanted some advice.

Her voice wafted up the stairwell, “…And then Loretta Jameson forgot to bring a single piece of the paperwork I told her to bring— none of the written statements, none of the bills, nothing. It’s like I’m supposed to do everything, when I’m already researching child-care laws for her and making sure to dot the i’s and cross the t’s!” A pause. “Sarah, honey, are you home?” she called up the stairs. It appeared her post-work verbal purging was done, and I was being summoned. I exhaled, dreading the moment. I hopped off the bed and started down the stairs, quick enough that Susan wouldn’t feel like she needed to find me but slowly enough that I had a few seconds to collect my thoughts.

“Ah,” she said as she saw me, “you’re looking very pretty today! Did you have a good birthday?”

I nodded. The comment seemed innocuous— she didn’t act as if she noticed exactly how different I looked, though I was now standing eye-to-eye to her five feet, nine inches.

“Well… details,” she pressed.

I answered reluctantly, “It was great, Susan.”

The affect of my voice was pronounced. The instant my vocal chords started to vibrate, I saw both of my foster parents— Rick still in his chair, Susan waiting expectantly at the base of the stairs— go rigid, then relax, with a look of basic infatuation.

Rick was out of his chair almost instantly, standing next to Susan with a grin, “You haven’t said a single word about your day since you got home. Why not tell us?”

I shrugged, “I’d rather not.”

“Well,” said Susan quickly, giving a ‘shame on you’ look towards Rick, “if Sarah doesn’t want to talk about her day, she doesn’t have to. Why not stay downstairs? I can fix you a nice cup of tea, and we’ll give you your birthday present.”

I nodded, “Sure.”

The word was enough to make both of them beam again. Truly, this was bizarre. I was certain magic existed at this point. Was I a siren, though? I couldn’t be sure just yet. I only knew that whatever I was made human beings around me go crazy with devotion. Maybe there’s some sort of love-creature out there. Something like a cupid, something that instantly infatuated people.

I sat down at the bar in the kitchen as Susan set the kettle on the stovetop. Rick sat next to me, his features shining with expectancy as he watched my face. I closed my eyes. Susan walked over to the front closet and pulled out a gift. I knew what it was, despite the cheerful birthday paper swaddling it. It was the only thing I ever got on holidays from them: a new book for my meager collection.

I smiled, genuinely appreciating it and wondering which title it would be. The last book they’d given me was
Jane Eyre
. The genres often varied, though the titles were inevitably classics.
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
,
Huckleberry Finn
,
Count of Monte Cristo
,
Dracula
,
The Lord of the Rings
— all gifts from my foster parents since moving to Whitecrest.