Siren's Song (42 page)

“But did it work?” Matt asks again. “It was the fake blood.”

I look at Luke and move my chin slightly to shake my head. Nothing's changed.

“Get away from her!” Eric yells from the back of the room and I wonder if he can see what's going on.

“Bloody cursed demons!” Patricia's cultured voice screeches profanity as she struggles. There's a commotion at the steps, but my focus is all within a foot of my drenched chest. “Alba! Over here!”

“I…I don't know,” Taylin says. “Lucas?”

“He hasn't pierced the dragonfly,” I rasp, my eyes still locked with the glowing ice of his eyes. I try to inhale deeply, but my chest expands in little hitched starts and stops. Luke's hand is suspended over my chest. I see the veins in his forearm, the white clenching of his knuckles. Sweat dots along the upper bridge of his nose as he struggles, a silent battle inside him giving me these few more seconds of life. The spilled blood covers my birthmark, but I know the curse inside Luke knows exactly where it is. A beacon over my drumming heart.

For a moment time halts in this tiny part of the universe. No one sucks in or exhales. No one screams or curses or talks. No one moves or grabs or kills. As if magic has given us all a moment to comprehend our fates, process our necessary outcomes, devise a plan that hasn't a chance to work. A magical tease where we think for a split second that this could all just be a cruel blood-drenched nightmare.

“No!” Matt grunts and grabs Luke's arm that holds the triple-blade.

In one effortless flick, Luke hurls Matt across the room without even turning from me. Matt smacks into shelves holding beakers and jars. They crash down over him in a hailstorm of shattering glass.

Patricia screams. Eric yells. Taylin jumps away from Luke's unleashed wrath. I step up to the proverbial edge, inhaling fully. The noise in the stone room is deafening, but my song rises up, cutting through the guttural pitches and screeching words, cutting through all the terror and denial. I pour all my love for Luke into the notes that circle up out of me with my final breath.

Luke's arm slashes down toward me as a battle roar erupts from him.

“Nooooo!” shouts out of his mouth at the last half second, and he launches his body over top of the tri-blade knife. My eyes slam shut, and one of the blades stings, grazing across my skin from my birthmark downward toward my armpit. A deep huff comes from Luke as his weight falls heavily over my chest. For a moment I am crushed, unable to breathe, unable to talk. I feel the cool steel of the blade meant for me bruising my skin. Luke's body twitches and slides enough to allow air to enter my lungs.

“Luke,” I gasp and struggle to inhale under his weight. I snap my wrists against the leather straps trying to reach him, but it's useless.
I'm
useless.

I feel Luke's body shift, and his head comes up. He turns his face toward mine and I gasp. His eyes are clear, blue-black, beautiful. Free. Pain pinches his features, but the fury he'd been fighting has vanished.

“Luke?” I whisper.

“It is over. I…stopped it.” His voice comes out on a rasp, a sigh of relief mixed with pain. He glances at my wrists and the lock on the chain flips open. “I will wait for you, Jule.” His gaze holds mine for another second before he slides off of me toward the floor.
Crack
! The sound, of his head breaking against the stone, spikes through me.

“Luke!” I scream and struggle to jerk the chain out from the leather bindings on my wrists. “Matt, Taylin, help him!” Matt staggers to the table.

The chain drops and I slide off onto my feet. Luke sprawls across the stone floor. Bright red pools under his head, thicker than Kool-Aid, thinner than paint. One of the three sharp blades protrudes from his chest.

Taylin rubs against my chest and I wince at the sting. “He pierced the dragonfly,” she says and glances at him. “But instead of stabbing you through, he angled it at the last second to slide past you…and skewer himself on the other side.”

“He…he won't die,” I insist as I kneel down to cup his face. “He can't kill himself! It's one of the rules of the curse.”

“Either the blood we made worked, or just cutting your birthmark worked,” Taylin says. She stares at me, pain crushing her features. “I saw his eyes, Jule. The curse was broken for him.”

Carly is on the other side of me, wide eyes, a towel in hand. “Help him!” I yell at her. “Do something!” My hands itch with drying blood. They flutter around the blade sticking out of Luke's chest.

“It's his right side!” Carly shouts and jams the towel around the base of the knife to stop the bleeding. She presses two fingers against his neck. “Strong pulse.” Her eyes meet mine. “If we get him to a hospital, he shouldn't die. It didn't hit his heart. He's probably passed out from the pain.”

Carly reaches for her cell phone. “No!” Patricia yells from where Alba has untied her. “No outside authorities. Get away from him, Carly,” Patricia hisses. “Let Alba look at him. If you don't think he will die,” she nearly spits, “Alba can help him better than you. You too, Jule.”

As Carly lets up on the pressure, Alba starts to come forward, but hesitates.

“What are you doing, Patricia?” Alba's calm voice barely registers. I lower Luke's head into my lap at one end. “Back up, Jule,” Patricia insists.

“I'll hold his head. I think he cracked it.”

“Get. Back!” Patricia screeches. She's holding the gun she had earlier.

“Mom!” Eric yells. “You need to stop. Put the gun down!”

“Stay back, Eric,” she says. “I don't want to accidentally shoot you.”

I stare into Patricia's face and I barely recognize her. The evil twist of her lips, the sharp spark to her eyes, the flaring nostrils. I throw myself across Luke.

“No, Patricia! The Siren!” the little doctor shouts at the same time the gun explodes.

Fire rips through my back and chest on the other side. Did I fall on the knife, too? Pain and what feels like lava burn a wide path through me. I surrender my energy and sag across Luke's chest. His blood and mine mingle. My eyes close against Luke's neck. The shouts and screams dissolve. I lie there and wait to slip away to…well, I'm not sure. I'll find out soon enough.

With my last conscious thought I press against Luke's neck and inhale, ignoring the metallic smack of so much blood. I focus on his warm, human scent. My love for him is fierce, like a living converse of the hateful curse. It grows as I cling to him there on the floor, filling me until there is nothing else and I, Julietta Welsh…slowly…ebb…away.

* * *

A dull ache in my chest nudges me in the emptiness of night. Then a weight presses hard and I wince at the sensation, unpleasant, sharp with an undertone of throbbing. Shots of pain dice my arm, my throat, my chest. The throbbing pulses through me, louder and louder until I realize it is my heart, heavy with strain. Is this just a memory of life? Or maybe…

“
Carissima?
” The soft alto voice sings like chimes against my ear. “My Julietta…come back to me.” The voice wavers and I fight to chase it against the pulsating rhythm of the blood in my ears. My eyelids feel so heavy yet I push against them, seeking light in the dark. A crack of white forms and my consciousness reaches for it.

“Julietta,” a deeper voice sounds startled. Dad. “Isabella, her fingers. Look, they're curling.”

“Wake up,
Carissima
.”
Mom
.

I fill my chest with air and let the staleness blow out of me. I have a horrible taste in my mouth. My tongue sticks to the junk caking the roof of my mouth. I force a swallow and wince at the bruised sensation down my throat. The crack of white light widens, splitting open. I blink at the blurred haze covering my parents' faces.

Mom smiles, tears in her eyes. Dad frowns, but I feel his hand brush against my hair. “You in there?” he asks.

“W…what? Where?”

“You're at Wake Memorial Hospital,” Mom answers. “You were…” her voice trails off.

“Shot and stabbed,” Dad finishes quickly with a flash of contained fury which reminds me.

“Luke!” I struggle to pull myself up, but the pain in my chest and back adhere me to the bed. Mom's hands flutter up, trying to hold me down without hurting me. Her eyes well up when I grimace. “Where is he? What did they do to him?”

“Shhh,” Mom tries to soothe me. “He's going to be okay.”

“Did you see who did this to you?” Dad asks. “To you and Luke? He was attacked, too. His head bashed in, stabbed.”

No gunshot? I covered him in time. Relief melts my rigid spine. My eyelids rest for a moment, closed.

“Max, don't ask her right now,” Mom whispers at Dad. “
Carissima
? Open your eyes again. You're safe.”

“If the police are going to catch this psycho, they need information, Isabella. As soon as possible.”

I swallow against the ache in my throat and listen. Mom's cool fingers feather across my forehead and down the side of my cheek. I rest, my mind focusing on only one thing.
Alive! Luke is alive!

“How are we today?” The voice shoots through me and my eyelids open. The little stout woman Patricia called Alba, stands at the foot of my bed. She has a white coat on and holds my chart.

“She's waking up,” Dad says.

Alba smiles warmly and nods. “I see that. Good.” She walks over and my parents move back. I try to press away from her as she flicks on a pocket flashlight. The light stabs at my eye. “How are you feeling, Jule?”

“Bad,” I say warily. My voice is rough, like tires on gravel.

“Good. I'll send the neurologist in, but it's a good sign that you're feeling things.”

“Where am I?” I ask and ignore the worried glance my parents exchange. I know what they told me, but with Alba here I'm not sure I believe it.

“Wake Memorial Hospital,” Alba says. “I'm a physician here.” Her steely eyes lock with mine knowingly.

“Did you…”

“I patched up the gunshot wound and the knife slice to your shoulder and chest. Luckily, your friend Carly stanched the bleeding and called 911 when she found you.”

“No other surgery?” I glance down my body, draped with a thin hospital sheet with tiny fabric pills all over it.

Her lips tighten slightly. “I did not approve and do not approve unnecessary surgeries, even if I am asked.”

“I don't think Julietta is asking for another surgery,” my dad interjects.

“Of course not,” Alba chuckles and looks back at her clipboard.

“How is Luke? When will we get out of here?” There are too many questions I need answered before she disappears.

“He's holding his own, though he suffered a concussion and his stab wound was very deep. He's stable and awake.” She glances up from the chart. “Asking about you continually.”

“I want to see him.”

“He's at Wessex Hospital in Raleigh,” Mom says.

“Why?”

Mom and Dad glance at each other, but Alba's the one to talk. “Your gunshot wound was very serious, Jule. It grazed a major artery feeding oxygen to your body. In fact,” she pauses, her eyes locking with mine, “you died for a few minutes.”

“I…
died
?” Alba's stare doesn't waver. “Died, as in dead, headed toward the light, no heartbeat?” I mouth numbly. I don't remember a light, or Grandma waiting with open arms. No cherubs and clouds. Nothing at all.

“We had to airlift you to Wake Memorial after we started your heart again,” Alba explains. “The team for cardiac repair is exceptionally skilled here.”

“I don't remember.”

Alba makes a note in her chart. “That's not unexpected.” Alba flips to another page and scrawls swiftly along the form. “Mr. and Mrs. Welsh, why don't you grab a cup of coffee? I'd like to chat with Jule a bit.”

“Uh…okay,” Mom says, squeezing my hand. Dad looks like he's going to refuse. “If Jule is okay with that.”

“Sure,” I murmur, my mind thawing. I died. Wow. There was nothing but darkness.

“We'll just take a walk to the café near the entrance,” Dad says and brushes his big paw on top of my head before lowering it to the curve of Mom's back. They head out the door together.

The door clicks, and Alba perches her hip on the side of my bed. She exhales. “No one's going to hurt you, Jule.”

“And you're really a doctor?”

She nods. “Just because I'm a guardian for The Magic Alliance doesn't mean I can't also have a life outside my original calling.”

“You…you were coming to help Patricia Ashe take out my ovary or pump me full of hormones or something,” I remind her.

Alba purses her lips. “I came to help Patricia, true, but I came to talk sense into her, not operate.” She shakes her head. “As guardians, we are not here to manipulate lives. We are trained to watch, teach, and protect.” She says the words like they are part of some oath.

“Patricia sure got that wrong,” I mumble.

“Patricia Ashe was assigned by heritage to guard the Siren, since she is a descendant of the original founders, and their original assignment was to protect Maximillian Lamont's descendants. However, there has been great discussion in the TMA council over the last few years as to the ethical considerations of the Siren-Cursed relationship.”

“Luke and his brother and sister are the victims here,” I add, if for some reason Alba doesn't know my stance on the issue.

She nods. “I feel the same, but there are many like Patricia who feel it is more important to stick with the teachings and mission of the four original guardians.” She exhales long. “So I continued to keep close tabs on Patricia's actions, especially when she reported that the Cursed had surfaced in Summit.”

I nod numbly. “I died,” I draw out and look Alba straight in her quick eyes. “That means—”