Prelude (The Rhapsody Quartet) (8 page)

I was grateful for the help, grateful they weren’t just going to be killed off… but what sort of life did they have? I felt fresh tears welling up into my eyes, and I swiped at them quickly. I didn’t want Marin to think I was ungrateful. I couldn’t imagine what I’d be doing if I hadn’t known what was going on, if I’d just had a trail of people fawning over me.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. It came out sounding half-hearted.

Marin just sighed and said, “Come on upstairs. There’s a bedroom you can use.”

I followed her, feeling wretched about everything, my mind continually going back to that thought— I’d ruined two people. Worse, I’d ruined two people who helped me, loved me, sheltered me, and who’d pulled the strings in a system that was constantly shuttling me about. How did I repay them? By using them as guinea pigs and breaking them apart. Sure, I’d tried to put them back together, but despite all the gluing, they were riddled with holes and cracks. Awake, they were practically catatonic, searching for anything that might give them the same fix. Asleep, I could only hope they were having sweet dreams.

Marin led me to a door that opened up to reveal a huge room. It was large enough to include a small reading nook, a king sized bed, and a grand looking window seat. Through an open door, I could see an enormous adjoining bathroom with a double shower, Jacuzzi tub, and a vanity big enough to house an entire beauty supply store’s products. It was the nicest place I’d ever spent the night.

“This is just one of the guest rooms,” said Marin flippantly. “Nothing special, but you can stay here as long as you need… At least as long as the council requires it,” she amended quickly.

I sank into the bed, and she handed me a huge t-shirt— something I’d imagine a six hundred pound man might wear— to act as my temporary pjs. My books and other possessions were already stacked neatly on a table in the reading nook, brought up by one of the maids.

“You should get some sleep,” she said.

I nodded. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well then…” she stood at my doorway, a bit awkwardly for a few seconds. “Good night!” she turned and left so abruptly, I didn’t have a chance to return the greeting.

I pulled on the shirt and threw my clothes in a wad on the floor, grateful to be out of the overly tight sweatshirt and sweatpants. I turned down the bedclothes, sliding in before staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, I sighed and hit the button on the night stand to flick the light off. Marin was right, I
did
need to get some sleep. The morning was sure to come all too quickly, and I’d want to be refreshed if I was at the council’s mercy.

I wondered what exactly the council was. The impression I’d formed from Marin was that they ruled over the magical people— the extras. Based on her father’s words, it seemed like the council was one part police force, one part United Nations. Depending on which direction it swayed, my fate could go very differently.

I tried, for a moment, to put myself into their shoes. Suddenly, a girl appears from a species they’d assumed dead. Would I be considered a lucky find? Something to hold onto to keep my race from burning out completely? Maybe no one cared if the sirens died out. Maybe they were even glad it happened, happy that there were no longer sirens around to
do
that to people. With guilt burning inside me, I’d be inclined to agree. It’d be better if I hadn’t been a siren at all. Susan and Rick would’ve been spared my experimenting, and— let’s face it— my compulsive need, a need I was too weak to ignore, to manipulate them with my song.

The bed was warm, but I shivered anyway. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, then opened them back up. Sleep probably wasn’t in the cards tonight. Instead, I opted to think about what the day had brought, attempting to focus on the good. My dulcimer playing, my singing, what a dual-edge that had been! I felt so free, so incredibly good while performing, but the joy of the memory was always cut short because it was so entwined with Susan and Rick’s misfortune.

I thought instead about the nature of sirens in general. Marin didn’t seem to have any of the answers I
really
needed. She told me what I was, but had given me no insight into the characteristics of my species. Sirens were a mystery to me. And to Marin, assuming she’d been honest. If they had a special alliance to mermaids, it wasn’t likely they’d be more forthright to other extras about their culture. I wondered if anyone alive knew enough to guide me.

What other species could help me? This morning I believed that magic was something securely locked away in fairy tales and fantasy novels— something that wasn’t real, something that couldn’t touch me. Now I wondered just how many magical races there were. Marin mentioned a few, but her attitude suggested she was just scratching the surface. Could it be possible that every single story I’ve read has some sort of basis in reality? If I’d been asked earlier in the day, the answer would have been a resounding ‘no’. Yet with this new information, I couldn’t help but think that most stories were based on
something
.

My thoughts drifted through the night, wavering from curiosity to the very depths of guilt and anger with myself. At the moment, I was only prolonging the inevitable— how long would it take for me to accept that I’d already killed them? If I woke them up and institutionalized them, they almost certainly wouldn’t be happy… but… could they ever be happy again? I had a gnawing suspicion that it was impossible, unless I sang to them a second time, a third, a fourth— and I wasn’t willing to do that. I wished there was something I could do to fix it.

Despair swallowed me. If the mermaids didn’t know enough about the sirens to help me, I doubted any other extra would know of a cure. Even if there
was
a cure, the sirens probably hadn’t shared it with anyone else.

An idea struck at me like lightning, and I jolted upright in the bed.

No, they wouldn’t share it
, I thought,
among
others… but among each other they would. If it existed at all
. I exhaled, feeling the excitement drain from me. A tangible idea lurked on the edge of my thoughts, but something was missing, was just out of reach. Unless there was another siren somewhere, it was hopeless. I lay back down and tried to concentrate on my breathing, out, in, out, in. My eyes opened wide again as another thought hit me.

They would have records. Somewhere. Sirens must have them! If I can only find them. If I could find out where sirens had lived, where they were at one point in time, that would be a start. Maybe there wouldn’t be anything to show for it, but I needed to try.

A flood of warmth filled me to the brim, a mix of relief and hope. I felt myself finally drifting off to sleep. All I could do was try.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Council

When I awoke, the little clock on the nightstand read 4:53. I felt groggy. It took me a few moments to realize where I was, what was going on, and what had awoken me so early— a thud, a dull and hollow sound that was just outside the door.

I sat up sluggishly, feeling dizzy. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from it, before I wrenched myself up.

“Ugh… I wish I had some lights,” I mumbled. As soon as I’d said it, the lamps shuttered on, blinding me. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. Voice activated. Of course Marin’s house would have the latest technology.

Eyes burning, I made my way to the door and wrenched it open.

I cracked my eyes, just barely, and peeked through. A large package sat in the hall with my name on it. Pulling it into the room, I flopped back down on the bed. I blinked, my eyes finally adjusting to the light. I could comfortably open them again. I sighed and tore off the tape.

Inside was an entire new wardrobe, separated by outfits. I stared into the box, rifling through it in confusion. It took me a bit to remember that Marin had placed an order with her stylist, insisting they were shipped before I met the council. Remembering the meeting, I felt a few butterflies in my stomach. I pushed them down and ripped open the first sealed bag.

I expected the same high fashion trends that fit with Marin’s— or maybe her alter ego, Stacie’s— style. Something you’d see wandering chic Rodeo Drive, or amongst the elite in New York. Instead, the first outfit contained muted brown jeans, a shirt with a chocolate brown corset that laced up the front, and a soft pair of leather boots.

I pulled on the set, staring into the mirror.

The top hugged my figure but still covered me modestly. The sleeves flowed, but didn’t go into frilly territory. I was pleased to find that the boots weren’t heeled, and they were comfortable without needing to be broken in. All together, the outfit was hardly trendy, but extremely stylish. With my espresso colored waves, large eyes (which were currently a serene sea-foam green), and new curves, the effect was flattering. Despite all that’d happened, I had to smile. I’d never expected to be the pretty girl.

Marin barged through the door wearing a tank top and yoga pants. She squealed when she saw me, making me spin around for her, letting her view every angle. “Jen is amazing!” she gushed. She turned to the box and rummaged through it, raising an eyebrow. “Did you even look at the others?”

“I can try them on now,” I suggested.

She smiled. “Maybe after the council meeting.”

“Oh.” I’d almost forgotten, lost in the silly simplicity of dressing up. I shuddered nervously.

“You ready?” she asked.

I bit my lip. “Not really, if you want the truth.”

She cocked her head, giving me a sympathetic whimper. “It’ll be okay, Sarah. Just be honest and try to be as polite as you can to everyone while they’re speaking.” She grinned and gripped my hand, “But hold your own, too! You’re the last siren! So you have your own seat on the council.”

That
certainly hadn’t occurred to me. I swallowed thickly, “So I’ll just jump into it…?”

“Oh no,” Marin said quickly, “I’m just saying that you’re allowed respect, too. But the seat will be there later, if you want it. Or not. I don’t know. But they’ll just blaze past you if you let them, so be assertive.”

She tugged on my arm, indicating that I was supposed to stand. I followed her lead, and she took me up the stairs that must have led to the top of the lighthouse. My legs began to burn dully with the exertion; the numerous steps were at a sharp incline. As we ascended, my stomach did little back-flips.

We reached a door, crimson with gold etching around the border. It was unlocked. Marin opened it quickly with a sharp twist of the knob and stepped through.

Like the tower we’d visited yesterday, there were windows on all sides. Unlike the previous spire, the top of the former lighthouse had a worthwhile view. In one direction you could see every bit of Whitecrest, including the suburbs that bled into the woods. Looking towards the ocean gave an impression of just how vast it was. It seemed to stretch on infinitely.

The room itself was empty, save for two small chairs and a table pushed against one of the windows. A houseplant that had grown wild from all the sun and moisture in the air practically smothered the table. The majority of the space within the room was filled by a dark pool.

“This is how we’ll get there,” Marin explained. She pointed at the fluid, “That’s our gate. Just jump through it. It’ll take us to the designated spot.” She tossed her bracelet onto the table, and her eyes turned a disconcerting gray. She shimmied out of her yoga pants, giving no care to modesty. I flushed and turned away as she looped her thumbs through her lacy panties. Marin just laughed, “You’re welcome to look. It won’t matter in a few minutes anyway.”

Despite this invitation, I kept my gaze focused out the windows.

“Do I need to undress?” I asked, flustered.

Marin burst into a new fit of giggles, “Of course not!”

I heard a splash, and I turned to face her. She was bobbing inside the dark liquid, and she reached a hand to me. “Should I be wearing a bathing suit?” I asked. I doubted this new outfit would do well in water. Marin shook her head impatiently, beckoning again.

I crouched down, sitting at the edge of the pool, dangling my legs in. The strange water rippled over the leather of my boots, but slid off it like sand.

From this new position, I could see that Marin had changed a little— perhaps a lot. I stared at her in fascination. Almost everything below her collar bones was hidden in the murky water, but this was still the first time I’d seen her looking truly less human. Her skin had taken on a pearly, iridescent quality. Her eyes were the same dark color of the pool. As she reached an arm out to me, I noticed the edges of her hands had delicate scales on them: pretty, pale blue, sparkling like gemstones. The hint of a turquoise tail broke the surface of the water.

“You really
are
a mermaid,” I whispered.

Marin just rolled her eyes, grabbed my hands, and pulled me in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was falling.

I could breathe, and I was dry, but I was falling. The descent was slow. I couldn’t tell if it was due to the liquid around me, this strange concoction I could breathe in, or some other magic. It reminded me of Alice’s tumble down the rabbit hole. I half expected to see furniture or other oddities pass me. Instead, I could only see the distorted patterns of light passing through water, and the blackish green of the pool.

After falling for at least a minute, I felt my feet touch solid ground. Everything was still dark, so I closed my eyes and counted as I brought myself up to stand. I opened them on the third count, when I felt the liquid surrounding me vanish. One moment I was buoyant and half floating, then suddenly gravity returned with a vengeance. My knees took the brunt of the weight, but I did not stumble.

I was in a small clearing. A number of captivating chairs and unusual objects surrounded me in a ring. Beyond the chairs were the imposing silhouettes of dead trees. The trees themselves were bare, gnarled, and twisted within each other, creating an impassable tangle. The sky was an unsettling beige. Although it was bright, no sun, moon, or stars were visible to cause the illumination. I felt like I’d returned from Oz to Kansas— everything beyond the little circle was sepia toned. All was silent, aside from my own breaths. The quiet was eerie.