Kiera Cass - The Siren

Finally, she stopped, just inches from me. I waited for her to beat me or strangle me, to find a way to avenge the life taken from her far too soon. But she merely stood there, her head cocked sideways as she took me in, eyes bulging and skin tinted blue.

Then she lunged.

I awoke with a gasp, swinging my arm at the empty air in front of me before I understood.

A dream. It was only a dream. I placed a hand on my chest, hoping to slow my heart. Instead of finding skin, my fingers pressed into the back of my scrapbook. I picked it up, looking at the carefully constructed pages filled with clipped news articles. Served me right for working on it before sleeping.

I had just finished my page on Kerry Straus before falling asleep. She was one of the last people I needed to find from our most recent sinking. Two more to go, then I’d have information on every one of those lost souls. The Arcatia might be my first complete ship.

Looking down at Kerry’s page, I took in the bright eyes from the photo on her memorial website, a shabby thing no doubt created by her widower husband between trying to serve up something more creative than spaghetti for his three motherless children and the endless routine of his day job. Kerry had a look of promise to her, an air of expectation hanging around her like a glow.

I took that from her. I stole it and fed it to the Ocean.

“At least you had a family,” I told her photo. “At least there was someone to cry for you when you were gone.” I wished I could explain to her how a full life cut short was better than an empty life that dragged on. I closed the book and set it in my trunk with the others, one for each shipwreck. There were only a handful of people who could possibly understand how I felt, and I wasn’t always sure that they did.

With a heavy sigh, I made my way to the living room, where Elizabeth’s and Miaka’s voices were louder than I was comfortable with.

“Kahlen!” Elizabeth greeted. I tried to be inconspicuous as I checked to make sure all the windows were closed. They knew how important it was that no one could hear us, but they were never as cautious as I would have liked. “Miaka’s just come up with another idea for her future.”

I shifted my focus to Miaka. Tiny and dark in every way except for her spirit, she’d won me over in the first minutes I knew her.

“Do tell,” I replied as I settled into the corner chair.

Miaka grinned widely at me. “I was thinking about buying a gallery.”

“Really?” My eyebrows raised in surprise. “So owning instead of creating, huh?”

“I don’t think you could ever actually stop painting,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully.

I nodded. “You’re too talented.”

Miaka had been selling her art online for years. Even now, mid-conversation, she was tapping away on her phone, and I felt certain another big sale was in the works. The fact that any of us owned a phone was almost ridiculous—as if we had anyone to call—but she liked staying plugged in to the world.

“Being in charge of something seems like fun, you know?”

“I do,” I said. “Ownership sounds incredibly appealing.”

“Exactly!” Miaka typed and spoke at the same time. “Responsibility, individuality. It’s all missing now, so maybe I can make up for it later.”

I was about to say that we had plenty of responsibilities, but Elizabeth spoke up first.

“I had a new idea, too,” she trilled.

“Tell us.” Miaka set down her phone and climbed onto her as if they were puppies.

“I’ve decided I really like singing. I think I’d like to use it in a different way.”

“You’d be a fantastic lead singer in a band.”

Elizabeth sat up straight, nearly knocking Miaka to the floor. “That’s exactly what I thought!”

I watched them, marveling at the fact that three such different people, born to different places and times and customs, could balance one another out so well. Even Aisling, when she chose to leave her self-imposed solitude and stay with us for a while, fit like a puzzle piece.

“What about you, Kahlen?”

“Huh?”

Miaka propped herself up. “Any new big dreams?”

We’d played this game hundreds of times over the years as a means of keeping our spirits up. I’d considered being a doctor so I could make amends for all the lives I’d taken. A dancer, so I could practice controlling my body in every capacity. A writer, so I could find a way to use my voice whether I spoke or not. An astronaut, in case I needed to put extra space between the Ocean and me. I had just about exhausted every possibility.

But deep down I knew there was only one thing I really wanted, something that was almost too painful to think about now.

I eyed the large history book that rested by my favorite chair—the book I’d meant to take back into my room last night—making sure the bridal magazine inside was still hidden from sight.

I smiled and shrugged. “Same old, same old.”

I swallowed as I set foot onto campus. As much as I longed for a life as typical and pleasant as anyone else’s, I never let myself get comfortable. Humans—and the constant need to keep silent for their protection—made me nervous. But even now, I could hear Elizabeth’s voice in my head. “We don’t need to stay inside all the time. I’m not living that way,” she had vowed, maybe two weeks into her new life with us. And she had stayed true to her word, not only getting out herself, but making sure that the rest of us also had as much of a normal life as possible. Venturing out was half appeasement for her, half indulgence for myself.

Our current home was right near a university, which was perfect for me. It meant slews of people wandering around on open lawns and mingling at picnic tables. I didn’t feel the need to go to concerts or clubs or parties like Elizabeth and Miaka. I was content merely to be among the humans, to watch them. Sure, maybe my sense of style was a little different, as I found myself forever drawn to the cut and lines of fifties skirts and dresses, but if I sat under a tree with a book, I could pretend to be one of them for hours.

I watched people pass, pleased we were in a town so friendly that some people waved to me for no reason at all. If I could have said hello to them—just one tiny, harmless word—the illusion would have been perfect.

“… if she doesn’t want to. I mean, why doesn’t she just say something?” one girl asked the crowd of friends surrounding her. I imagined her a queen bee, the others hapless drones.

“You’re totally right. She should have told you she didn’t want to go instead of telling everyone else.”

The queen flipped her hair. “Well, I’m done with her. I’m not playing those games.”

I squinted after her, positive she was playing a completely different game, one she would certainly win.

“I’m telling you, man, we could design it.” A short-haired boy waved his hands enthusiastically at his friend.

“I don’t know.” This boy, slightly overweight and scratching a patch of skin on his neck, was walking fast. He might have been trying to outwalk his friend, but his counterpart was so light on his feet, so motivated, that he probably could have kept up with a rocket.

“Just a tiny investment, man. We could be the next big thing. In ten years, people could be talking about those two nerds from Florida who changed their worlds!”

I suppressed a smile.

When the crowds dispersed in the afternoon, I made my way to the library. Since moving to Miami, I’d gone there once or twice a week. I didn’t like to do my scrapbook research at the house. I’d made that mistake before, and Elizabeth had mocked me mercilessly for being morbid.

“Why don’t you just go hunt for their corpses?” she’d said. “Or ask the Ocean to tell you their final thoughts. You want to know that, too?”