Siren's Song (18 page)

I remember the bandages around her wrists on the first day of school.

“She becomes so reckless that she's killed. Then Matt and I follow within a year.”

“What?” My head snaps up. He stares at me, watching me absorb all this bizarre information.

“We're tied together. If one of us dies, then the other two die sometime soon afterwards, by accident or disease or something. Sometimes we just kill each other because we can control the amount of pain involved. We prepare first. Find caves or, later on, post office boxes to hide our few mementos.” He indicates the stack of sketch books. He shrugs again like he's resigned to the idea. “Then we're all born again.”

“On Halloween?” I choke out.

“It was the night Maximillian cursed us. It's always been a dark day. He needed all the power he could get to weave such a complicated curse.”

“But you're born to different families each time?”

“Yeah, but the link between us is so strong, especially as we age, that we end up moving within close proximity to each other. Our families feel the urge to move, the urge to name us close to our past names. It's amazingly powerful. The curse affects those unlucky enough to bring us into the world each time.”

“Unlucky?”

He huffs a sarcastic laugh. “Think it's fun raising a child that doesn't love you? Doesn't ever say it or hug you or kiss you or make you little pictures or pick flowers for you?”

I think back to my own childhood, laughing and singing with my mom, falling asleep in my dad's arms in front of a campfire, making silly pictures for their offices or the refrigerator door. The sting of a refused tear sits at the back of my eye.

“Believe me, I've had enough childhoods to study other kids and what they do,” Luke says. “Luckily, by the time we made it to our third families, when we could remember how to act, around four years old, we'd pretend to love them. But before that age our families suffered terribly. Sometimes there were big gaps in time between lives where one of us may have been an infant victim of frustrated, angry parents. These families, too, were victims of the curse. The curse Maximillian doomed us to still ripples out to affect innocents.”

I hear his words, processing them slowly, shallowly, unwilling to truly imagine the hell the three of them must live. I remember the look on Carolyn Whitmore's face when he introduced me at the country club. She'd been close to tears.

“Your mom knows,” I murmur.

Luke sits down on the bed next to me. His shoulders round as if guilt sits like a boulder on his back. “I know. I pretend, and she pretends, but I know she doesn't see it in my eyes or feel it when I hug her. The best I can do is be the best kid, easiest kid, I can be.”

“And your dad?”

“I play hockey. It was his love, and if I look like I love it too, he knows I respect him and may even think I love him.” Luke shrugs. “I usually take on the career of my father. Taylin was right about that. If I show respect to my father, it can be enough for him. But mothers…we make our mothers sad.”

“And Jake?”

“I do the right things by him so he doesn't necessarily feel unloved by his big brother. It's not the same as with mothers. Brothers can be fooled. Mothers…they know.”

I blink several times at the building pressure in my eyes. He doesn't need my stupid tears. I don't know what he needs, but it's not that. I look up at him and keep my voice as even as I can. “I…I'm sorry, Luke.” God, remembering my stupid worries about gangs makes me blush. “Isn't there anything you can do? To break the curse?”

Luke stares at me for long seconds before flipping back to the sad picture of me in the first book. He shakes his head slowly. “It's almost identical.”

I glance at the picture. “Is that why I'm sad in the picture? Because I finally understand the hell you've been living?”

He wets his lips. “I never knew. I don't remember the dreams too much, just images of you.”

“Why me?” Why would a man cursed for eternity dream about me? A man who could never love? Yet the pictures of me are done with such emotion, a yearning, a study that seems like it stems from that exact emotion. “Why dream of me?”

I take the book from his fingers. He doesn't seem like he wants to let go, but finally gives up. I start to flip back through it. More pictures of me grace the pages, interspersed with detailed sketches of Matt and Taylin dressed in old-fashioned clothes. Taylin's hair had been long and flowing at one time, yet the sarcastic grin on her face shows her torture. As I page back in the book, the pictures take on darker colors, more smeared coal. Several pages are torn, some completely gone. I realize that he hasn't answered my question. “Luke, why dream of me?”

Luke rubs his face again with his hands. “You asked if there is anything I can do to break the curse.” His words are muffled by his palms.

“Yeah?”

Without looking, his fingers flip to the last page of the book. I suck in breath as if I've been plunged under ice water, my body going rigid. The final page of the ancient book, framed by tattered bits of parchment before and after, holds a sketch in dark coal. Luke, roaring with fury and pain, mouth open to the sky in absolute anguish. In his dragon-tattooed arms–me, draped backward, arms hanging limp toward the ground where Luke stands. In a pool of blood.

I release a whisper of breath and look at him. His eyes are closed.

“I can break the curse,” he says, his eyes opening to stare into mine. The blue-black orbs seem like deep wells of pain. “I can break the curse–if I kill you.”

“Knock, knock!” Mrs. Whitmore calls and pushes into the room. “I have fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies. Your favorite, Luke, chocolate chip oatmeal.”

Luke recovers much faster than me. “Um, thanks, Mom.” I watch numbly as he turns to her and smiles. “How did I get so lucky to have a mom as great as you?”

Carolyn smiles back and then looks at me. “Jule, are you okay?”

God, am I supposed to say something? What did she just ask? I blink at her and inhale. “I…I think I have to go home.”

“Actually, don't you remember?” Luke laughs. He's an amazing actor. Centuries of practice. “I was about to take you for a ride on my bike.”

Carolyn frowns a little. “Are you sure Jule's up for that? Will your parents mind, Jule? Luke is extremely careful. I've made sure he's taken numerous lessons, and we have extra helmets, but they may not want you to ride a motorcycle.”

“Uh…I…”

“Don't worry, Mom, we've already checked. Can we take some of those cookies to go?” He turns to me. “You'll love Mom's cookies.”

“Okay, sure,” Mrs. Whitmore turns, but gives me one last glance before heading toward the kitchen with her plate. “I'll wrap some in a dish towel since they're hot.”

“With extra napkins and maybe a Thermos of milk, please?” Luke says.

“Sure, sweetie.”

Luke shuts the door and turns to me; I'm frozen to his bed. The book has dropped to the floor, closed. He bends to hold my upper arms, sliding his hands up to my shoulders. “Jule, you're safe.”

“The wall by the auditorium. You punched it, and then ripped the back door off its hinges.”

He exhales and runs his fingers through his hair. “It's a side effect of the curse. It makes me stronger,” he shrugs, “so I can break the curse.”

My lips move but no sound comes out until I inhale again. “Stronger? Matt, Taylin. They're trying to protect
me
from
you
, aren't they? They think you will kill me.”

Luke rubs a hand through his hair like his head hurts. “They don't know what to think; none of us do. You're the first Siren we've encountered in these eleven lives.”

“I'm a…Siren? Like that woman was?”

Luke nods. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in—”

“Ya think?”

His lips quirk up at the corners. “It's been coming at you fast. Let's head out somewhere. Mom's cookies always help. Trust me.”

Trust him? He just showed me a picture where he's poured my blood out. He's cursed and has nothing to lose. And he's just told me that my death can free him from his hellish existence. Trust him? Luke's fingers intertwine with mine. They are warm, strong. His thumb pulls in to rub the center of my palm and then up my pointer finger.

“I will not hurt you,” he whispers, his face only an inch from mine. “I…can't.”

“How could you not?” I whisper back, remembering the look of anguish on his face when he talked about his mom.

Luke cups my face with his other hand and runs it back through my hair. His forehead leans against mine and I feel the magnetism surge between us. Even though I should be running away screaming, or at least pushing away and walking out, I lean even closer. “Because, Julietta Welsh, you are the first person I have ever and will ever…love.”

11

“An inability to stay quiet is one of the most conspicuous failings of mankind.”
~Walter Bagehot

I let Luke lead me out of the house. He's more vocal than I've ever heard him, probably to make up for my lack of normal goodbye niceties. His hand is my anchor, my rock. He tries to tug it away to grab the cookies, but I won't let go, so he uses his left hand to grab his mother's package.

“Thank you,” I manage as we head out the door. Luke doesn't stop until we're in the garage. He grabs a cherry-red helmet from a hook on the wall along with his usual black one.

“We'll just go a little ways out. I know a quiet spot,” he says.

“Okay.” He lowers the helmet carefully over my head, strapping it under my chin.

“Ever ridden before?”

“No.”

He smiles wickedly. “I'll keep it tame, then.” His grin knocks me a bit out of my shock. As if the last ten minutes of conversation was just some dark, angsty teenage drama we were watching on TV, maybe with sexy vampires or demons. But instead of fangs there are evil curses and loveless lives.

He climbs on his motorcycle and pats the seat behind him. I throw my leg over awkwardly and wiggle my way up. “Hold on,” he says and revs the engine. I thread my fingers together around his waist but still yelp when the beast we're sitting on leaps forward.

I feel his deep chuckle as he turns opposite the direction for my house to race toward the back of the development. “You might be able to just come back to life, but I've got one I'd like to hold onto,” I yell toward his ear. I feel him laugh but he slows some and rounds a corner onto a dirt road. I cling to Luke as dust parts around us like the Red Sea. The road winds through pasture land where sleepy, munching cows turn to half-heartedly inspect the noise. Where are we headed? He slows the bike as we enter a boundary of trees. It's dark compared to the rest of the sun-drenched world. He rolls us along a road that narrows to a path and cuts the engine. The silence feels like a heavy void after the roar of the bike.

Luke parks and hops off, pulling his helmet free and settling it behind me. I gasp as he lifts me straight off the seat as if I weigh the same as a Barbie doll. Slowly he frees my head from the cherry-red helmet.

“How strong are you?” I ask.

He sets the helmet on the seat and smiles at me, but it doesn't reach his tight, worried eyes. His shoulders curve in a half-shrug. “Ever since I saw you I've been stronger than I've ever been. Even with me trying to hide it, my dad noticed today.”

“It's never happened before, in…one of your past lives?” It feels weird saying that. Like, what if this is just a big joke and I've already bought it all? Someone's going to jump out with a video camera running and yell, “You've just been punked!” But the sketchbooks, even if the dates have been made up, the paper looks so old. And Luke's strength…

“Never,” he says. “It has to do with you. The curse, anyway. When you're around… “his voice fades. “I think it's time for you to answer some of my questions.”

“What's there to ask about me,” I flap my hand toward him, “in comparison?”

Luke takes the bundle of cookies and a thermos from the side satchel on the bike and beckons me with a tilt of his head. I follow him farther into the woods, where a little stream trickles across large flat rocks to pool in a mossy pond.

Luke glances back to make sure I'm following. He picks a green velvety boulder to sit on and lays his leather jacket out. “Sit.”

“How gallant,” I murmur.

“I was raised a bit old-fashioned,” he grins, that flop of wavy hair grazing his eye as it cascades over his forehead.

I sit on his open jacket, and I can smell him on it. I realize it's become my favorite scent. I lean back on my elbows.

“Okay, ask away. But then it's my turn.”

“How long have you been singing?” He holds up a hand when I open my mouth. “And please…don't sing around me, especially out here alone.”

A prickle runs up my spine, but I nod. I'll just push that question up to the top of my list. “I've been singing since I was born, or so my parents say–humming, anyway. Even my wails made people smile with the notes I could carry.”

“Did they think that was odd?”

“Dad says it always freaked him out a bit, but Mom says she was the same way as a baby. That it runs in our blood, the ability to sing.”

“Siren's blood,” Luke says and I watch him close and open his fists. I don't think he's even aware he's doing it.

“Okay, why can't I sing around you?”

“Not so fast. It's still my turn.”

I frown. “What exactly are the rules to this exchange of information?”

“That's a question. You'll have to wait your turn.” He smiles broadly and his fists relax.

I huff indignantly and grab one of the still-warm cookies between us. I bite in, and the chocolate and sweet oatmeal melt together on my tongue. It's luscious and I'm starving. “Mmmmm, you were right about the…cookies…” I trail off because Luke is gone, just gone. Like a blur, I think I saw him jump up. I glance around. “Luke? Luke!”