When One Door Closes
“Argh!” Arkady moaned, struggling. I grimaced, then motioned for Meg to get on with it.
“Calm down!” she snapped. Arkady, still in her arms, straightened up.
“Calm …” he repeated, his voice less harsh.
With horror, I watched as the last of Meg’s hair fell away, leaving only feathers.
She bent her head so that her lips were only an inch or two away from his ear.
“Mr. Romanov,” she breathed, “put your glasses on. That’ll make this a whole lot easier.”
I handed the glasses to Meg and she placed them on Arkady’s face. His owl eyes blinked; he stared first at her.
I walked forward and forced his chin up with my hand to make him look at me, trying not to vomit at the feel of his cold, dry skin. “Arkady, time to give the devil his due,” I said. His eyes widened and his lips parted to speak, but I shook my head very slowly and wagged a finger over his half-open mouth.
“No more yelling. No more fighting. You have an appointment with Hades.” I crooked my finger, beckoning him. Mesmerized, he stood and began to make his way toward me, Meg at his side. I backed out of the room.
“Get dressed, Arkady,” she whispered in his ear. “Something simple, don’t fuss. Pajamas will work. You can leave your slippers on.”
I laughed softly. “People will think he’s crazy. No one will come near him or question us.”
“Let’s hope so.”
We followed him from the bedroom into an oversized walk-in dressing area. Racks and racks of clothes, shoes, and hats hung at attention like good little cadets.
Closet envy!
Every flat surface was mirrored. I tried not to look at myself and kept my gaze fixed on him. With surprising agility, he pulled out black silk Armani pajamas, black slippers, and a robe with the initial A in a giant gold script. He started to slide the PJ pants over his baggy boxers.
“Come out when you’re done!” Meg squeaked. We beat a hasty retreat, getting jammed in the door as we both tried to exit. I was taller, but she had the weight. She won. I closed the door behind me. As soon as he was ready, we were morgue-bound.
Rrrrring!
Meg and I looked at each other. By the front door was a small television screen that gave alternating views of the street below, as well as of the elevator, the lobby, the hallway, and what looked like an area behind the building. This guy was completely paranoid.
What we saw now was Jeremy getting out of a long black limo. And Demeter. I swore in Spanish.
“How multicultural of you,” snipped Meg. “What are we going to do?”
Arkady shuffled into the room and waited, a vacant look in his eyes. Meg grinned slyly and sidled up to him.
“Arkady, Jeremy and Demi are here. Ask Demi to wait in the car, and tell Jeremy to bring the driver and come up and get your bags.” She nudged him forward.
He hobbled to the intercom. “Come up, Jeremy, and bring the driver to help you carry the bags. Demi, wait in the car.” His voice was flat.
On the little screen, we could see Jeremy and the driver move toward the entrance. Thankfully, Demeter remained outside by the car, but she fidgeted impatiently.
“One last thing.” Meg started searching around.
“What are you looking for?”
She hurried over to Arkady, and leaning really close, whispered, “Write Jeremy a check for $200,000, with a note on the bottom that says ‘Romanov Grant.’ When Jeremy gets here, tell him that he was a great assistant but he needs to finish school. Tell him to go back to the office right now and close it up, but first he should write a press release saying you’re going to Switzerland to an exclusive health spa with Demi. You don’t know when you’ll return. Do it now, and fast!”
The goat shuffled quickly to his desk, pulled out his checkbook, and started scribbling.
“Meg, there’s no time for this!”
“I just can’t entrance Jeremy again,” she hissed. “This will get him out of our way, plus give him a little extra for pain and suffering.”
Arkady finished just as the doorbell rang.
“Meg, get behind the door!” We squeezed together. I pinched my nose to stop the sneezes that I knew would fight to get out.
“Answer the door and say what I told you to,” Meg directed. “Don’t let them ask any questions. And don’t tell them that we’re here.”
I glared at him and nodded.
Arkady answered the door.
“Mr. Romanov! Are you ready to go?” Jeremy stood just outside, the driver waiting behind him. I knew he was staring at Arkady’s outfit. I felt a sneeze and turned my head away from Meg. Should have kept the mask over my beak.
“Jeremy, you’ve been a great assistant, but you need to finish school. Here’s a grant from the House of Romanov. Go back to the office and write a press release stating that I’ll be in Switzerland at an exclusive health spa with Demi. Then close up the office. I don’t know when I’ll return.”
It was quiet for a few moments. No doubt the shock of the generous gift had left Jeremy speechless, not to mention Arkady’s benign manner. Meg’s body was tense. This all might be funny in a different situation.
“I don’t know what to say,” Jeremy replied slowly. “Mr. Romanov, why aren’t you dressed?”
“No questions. Driver, get my bags. Jeremy, go!”
“But—” Jeremy sputtered.
“Go back to the office. Write the press release. Do it!” Arkady almost snarled. Sounded realistic to me.
“Well, uh, thank you, Mr. Romanov.” Jeremy sounded uncertain, but he turned and walked slowly out, with the driver at his side carrying two bags. The driver would have to return for the last load.
We stood there—the fossil, Meg, and I—waiting. I heard the ding of the elevator, the doors opening and closing.
“He’s gone,” Meg sighed with relief and moved over to the window, only to motion frantically for me to come over. I got there just in time to see Jeremy walking away from the car, only to be stopped by Demeter. The driver loaded the bags and turned to come back in, but Demeter darted ahead of him.
“Oh my God, she’s coming up here!” I hissed.
A few moments later, her voice was echoing down the hallway.
“Mr. Romanov!” She came into the apartment, not looking pleased. The driver was at her heels.
Before Meg could stop me, I stepped up and vamped the driver with my hazardous hazels. “The two of us will be riding with Mr. Romanov,” I said, grabbing Meg’s arm. “Just us. Meg, come on, last inning.”
“No, Mr. Romanov is coming with me,” Demeter challenged, holding out her hand to him. Arkady stared at her blankly. She waved a hand in front of his face, then did the same with the driver. Neither reacted to her. She stood, still as a statue. Then slowly, she turned to face us. Her stare was withering, but the tightness in her jaw said it all.
Well, well. For once Hades had been truthful—she couldn’t do squat.
“Let’s go,” Meg said to the driver. He turned and left, and she waddled after him.
“Sorry Demeter.” I smiled brightly as I led Arkady by the elbow. “And just so you know, when this is done, I’m going to buy alligator pumps and eat a big steak.”
I was almost out the door when Demeter grabbed my arm.
“You’re already doomed,” she sneered.
“Bite me.” I pulled away and turned my back on her. Point, my favor!
The driver assisted Arkady into the car and we followed. Once everyone was settled, the driver lowered the glass divider, twisted back, and asked, “Which airport, ma’am?”
I smiled prettily. “There’s been a change of plans. City morgue, please.” The window closed and the car took off.
It took about ten minutes with traffic. The whole way, we rode in silence. Victory was so close I could taste it. I was sure Meg was thinking about Jeremy, and who cared what Arkady was thinking. The driver pulled up to the grim, gray stone building.
Sure doesn’t look like what I see on TV. Morgues were supposed to be shiny and silvery and high tech. This was depressing and creepy and dark. Like something out of a horror movie. The driver opened the door, helping first Meg, then me, then Arkady. If he’d understood what was about to happen, Arkady would have fought to stay in the limo.
“Thank you,” Meg said to the driver. As she talked, I could see the pin feathers not only on her head, but starting to cover her face. She pulled her hat lower and her scarf higher. I did the same. This was going to be close.
She leaned closer to the driver. “Take the tags off the luggage in your trunk and drop them in a dumpster in New Jersey. Mr. Romanov and the redhead you picked up earlier were your only passengers.”
He tipped his hat, ran around to the driver’s side, and slid in. The car pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the morning traffic.
“Nice touch,” I said. “Jeremy should have no problems when people start looking for Arkady.” I squeezed her hand. “The finish line’s inside.” We each took one of Arkady’s arms.
I would need a two-day soak in the Jacuzzi tub to feel skeeve-free.
The hallways of the morgue were crowded and bustling. Damn. We’d have to practically forge a path.
I looked at Meg. “Siren powers on!”
“I know,” she replied morosely. I took off my sunglasses and tried to engage as many gawkers as I could in order to spare Meg, but there were too many people to deal with. Each time I glanced at her, she was more birdlike. I was guessing that even my face must be gone now. My backside felt different too, like it was elongating. I chanced a peek back. To my horror I saw some unfamiliar bulging. When I poked it, my butt felt like a feather pillow.
“Hurry!” I urged, beginning to drag Arkady faster. Meg followed suit. Now we were shoving people aside, not bothering to entrance anyone.
“Oh my God, what is that?” a woman screamed.
“I don’t know, but it’s got that poor man!” cried another.
“Someone call 911!”
“Meg,” I huffed, “shout for them to forget what they see or something! I’ll get Arkady to the portal!”
“Caw! Caw!”
Meg was a total bird now. With a mighty flap, she wriggled free of her cape and hat, her grey sweats shredded, and flew down the hall screeching, chasing the screaming people, a mascot gone wrong. The cacophony was deafening, but on I ran. I had to save us both.
I could feel the portal. My head darted back and forth, making it impossible to read any signs. I had to trust my instincts. I turned down one hall, then another, Meg’s screeching caw in my ear. The pulse of the portal throbbed in my veins, beckoning me. Arkady flopped listlessly beside me, his feet not touching the floor. He seemed to weigh practically nothing. More Siren mojo?
A nasty right turn through double doors, and I stood, panting, in the refrigerated section where the cadavers were stored. A misty vapor seeped out of one body drawer. I hauled Arkady over to it. I yanked on the handle with my free claw, and the door opened and banged against the next one. I pulled out the stainless steel slab and pointed at it with a damning wing.
“Lay down!” I yelled at Arkady, my eyes blazing. “Do it!” I shoved my face within an inch of his. His breath was rank with decay.
He hesitated.
“Where am I?”
It was wearing off! I started to panic, remembering that the enchantment was stronger when Meg was with me.
“Caw!” I screamed. I meant to yell “Meg!” but my voice was gone. An answering cry came from the hallway. There wasn’t much time. By the gift or not, he was going in. I grabbed his arm, almost wrenching it from its socket. He cried and protested as I lifted him up, resisting me with what little strength he had.
A harsh croak came from the hall, and Meg flew into the room. She wheeled around and slammed the door shut, throwing herself against it. Almost instantly there was pounding on the other side. Slowly, she turned and pecked at the bolt with her beak. Click! She’d locked it! She slumped against the door again, her feathered chest heaving and pumping, her bird body confined in what was left of the sweats and sneakers she couldn’t discard on her mad flight through the morgue. Her beady eyes blinked helplessly at me.
I turned back to Arkady. And sucked in a breath. He sat there looking limp, pale, and disoriented. In spite of everything, I felt a small measure of pity for him.
Finally catching her breath, Meg pushed a metal table in front of the door as an added security measure and hopped over to my side. Together we stared at Arkady. Meg’s head drooped a little. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was—that he looked so frail and so sad. His arm dangled at his side, probably injured from when I hauled him onto the table.
She warbled something softly in her bird voice that I couldn’t make out. Whatever it was, Arkady sprang to life.
“What am I doing here!” he growled, trying to crane his neck and look around. “You fat, stupid vultures! You’ll pay for this! I deal with powers that you’ll never understand. I’ll make sure you’ll rot in the lowest corner of the Underworld!” Spit flew from his mouth and landed on my wing.
I’d felt pity for this? No one calls me fat! Or stupid! Or a vulture!
He wriggled like a maggot, trying to get off. I held his arms down while Meg knocked him flat.
“Dosvedanya, loser! Caw!” We shoved the drawer in and slammed the door shut together.
Some Sales Are Not Final
We stood panting in front of the body drawer. The mist that had been flowing out of it started to dissipate with a soft hiss. I was dimly aware of banging on the other side of the door to the room. It had been continuous since I’d shut it behind me.
“How are we going to get out of here?” I finally managed.
“Meg! You got your voice back! You’re you!”
I glanced down. My sweats hung in tatters about me, but I saw my legs. I ran a trembling hand through my hair. It was hair! Still not believing it, I craned to see my reflection in the shiny surface of a metal door. I was me again!
I ran over to Shar and grabbed her by the elbows. Her pert nose, sans the orange tint, was back, along with her elegant fingers. We were both plainly human.
“We did it! We did it!” I shouted.
Shar’s exhausted expression immediately transformed into excited happiness, and every feature on her face lit up as she squealed.
“We’re free! We’re done!” We jumped around in a circle, holding each other and ignoring everything else. Then a muffled voice came through the door.
“Open up, this is the coroner! We’ve called the police!”
“Oh my God.” Shar stopped jumping and looked around. We were in a cement room, with one wall of corpse cells—some likely occupied—and no windows. There was only one way in or out.
“We’re trapped,” I said.
Suddenly, the door of the body drawer closest to us rattled and shook. Then, with a screech, it fell off its hinges. The opening grew larger, and the banging on the door to the room stopped. It was absolutely silent.
Hades strolled out of the portal. “Ladies, I believe it’s time to leave.”
“Time to leave?” I choked out the words as I backed away, pulling Shar with me.
“Come with me. To Tartarus. Now.” He pointed to the portal. I could see a set of rocky stairs leading down.
“Arkady went in!” protested Shar. “We delivered him! We made your deadline. In fact, we’re early!”
“True, but not by much. And it seems that you had a little help. You two were supposed to do this alone.” He flicked a hand carelessly.
My skin went cold.
“As I recall,” Shar said, her voice shaking, “we were the ones who slammed the door on Arkady. Poor Meg had to chase everyone away so I could get him in here. This was all Meg and me. No one else.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” We turned and there was Demeter, sitting on top of the shiny metal table I’d shoved against the door of the room. She crossed her legs; her rubber rain boots, which matched her spring-green mac, dangled over the floor. “Much as I hate to admit it, I believe my son-in-law is right. There is no way that you two could have accomplished this alone. If Persephone hadn’t placed you in Arkady’s apartment, you never would have succeeded.”
I could feel the color rising in my face. How did she know Persephone had helped us?
“Let’s put this into simple terms even you two can understand.” Hades spoke softly, casually leaning against the frame of the portal. “You had help. You cheated. What happens when you cheat in school? You fail. We live by the same rules. Demeter and I differ on some things … ” he said with a twisted lip. Demeter gave an equally cringe-inducing glare. Then he continued, in an almost-brotherly I-caught-you-doing-something-you-shouldn’t-have tone, with wide eyes and pouty lips, “But we all know that cheating is wrong.”
“Cheaters never win,” Demeter mocked, wagging a finger at us. Then she turned to Hades. “And weren’t they supposed to keep mum about their assignment?”
“Why, yes, that’s true!” Hades looked dramatically horrified. “They didn’t speak with you about the arrangement … Did they?”
Demeter sighed. “I’m afraid they did, and I suspect they may have discussed it with Persephone as well. Why else would my dear, sweet, daughter involve herself with mortals?”
“You knew about it already!” Shar shouted angrily, pointing a finger at Demeter. “You mentioned it first! And Persephone chased me down to discuss Hades!”
Hades turned to us in mock pain. “I trusted you,” he cried. “First cheating, and now this violation! You must leave with me now.” His face hardened. “And even if the goddesses did know, you still had a nondisclosure clause, remember?”
“Next time,” Demeter said, sliding off the table and strolling up to us, “don’t try to get the last word with a goddess.”
Hades sidled up to Shar, took her hand, and kissed it. “You should have taken the last deal I offered you, ma chérie. One night, that’s all I wanted. You would have been well compensated, and you would have been free. But now, I have you anyway, and you’ve doomed poor Margaret too. Not a very good friend, are you?”
I moved quickly to Shar’s other side, the angel to Hades’ devil. “Don’t listen to him, Shar! You’d have sacrificed yourself for nothing.”
Hades turned his saturnine glance to me.
“Perhaps you’d like to make me an offer? I promise you it would be the most memorable pleasure of your pathetic life.”
“No thanks.” I showed him both palms, and turned my face away.
“Just thought I’d try. You might have been amusing. For a while.” He sighed, sounding pleased with himself. “Very well. If that’s all cleared up—”
“Wait!” Shar quipped. “If we failed at our mission, how come we’re not birds anymore? We did it and you know it! You have to let us go!”
“I’m not saying that you didn’t complete the mission. I’m saying that you cheated and violated the terms of the contract.”
“And therefore,” Demeter added, “you lose.”
“Mother!” A muffled voice suddenly came from within another body drawer. “Mother!”
Demeter paled.
“Mother, you open this door!”
A great bang, and the door flew off its hinges and hit the wall. Persephone, wearing a glittering lamé halter and silver skin-tight pants, climbed out.
“Persephone, darling!” Demeter looked horrified. She glanced furtively at the ceiling, as if expecting something to come out of it, and laughed nervously. “What are you doing here? You have to leave now!” She rushed over and grabbed Persephone by the arm.
“Mother.” Persephone glared at Demeter and pulled free. “You know exactly what I’m doing here. All of Tartarus is getting ready to welcome the newest Sirens home.” She turned to Hades. “And, dearest, the room next to yours is being redecorated. In pink? You know I abhor pink!”
Hades raised both his hands as if he had nothing to do with it. “Come on, baby, why would I want to associate with … that?” He glanced at Shar, who looked completely indignant. Persephone whirled around and faced Shar, who prudently stepped behind me.
“How did you screw this up?” Her tone was icy.
I pointed a finger at Demeter and Hades. “Ask them! He’s saying we cheated because you helped us, and your mother agrees!”
“What?!” Persephone turned on Demeter. “Mu-ther!”
“Enough!” came a clear female voice from above.
“Wonderful, darling,” Demeter grabbed Persephone’s arm again and pulled her to her side. “See what you’ve done? You’ve broken the rules and gotten Hera’s attention! Hopefully Zeus won’t come with her.”
Persephone shot her mother an evil look. “I broke the rules?” was all she was able to say before a statuesque woman, dressed in a gown made entirely of peacock feathers, passed through the concrete wall. She floated a few inches above the floor, her long, honey-colored hair flowing past her waist. She cast a furious glance at Hades.
“Hera, you can’t interfere in my contracts,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Hera! Queen of the Gods!” I whispered to Shar. “We’re saved!”
“Maybe,” she muttered doubtfully. I didn’t blame her for being suspicious.
“Do you think I want to be here?” Hera looked at the rows of refrigerator doors and admired her reflection in one of them. Then she snapped her fingers, and all of us stood in a magnificent hall of white marble that gleamed in the sun.
“Is this heaven?” Shar murmured in a wistful tone, turning around and around.
“This is a vision of what your kind expects of Mt. Olympus,” Hera said, bored. “Rare is the mortal who actually sees it.”
“Why are we here? I have business to conduct.” Hades’ voice had risen a couple of decibels, and he looked meaningfully at us. We huddled closer and even though it was utterly pointless, shuffled away from him.
“Do not shout, brother-in-law!” Hera snapped. “You forget yourself. I suggest you speak with a lower volume and more respect if you don’t want Zeus here. He won’t be as willing to overlook your boorishness! Not to mention this last bit of knavery.”
Demeter raised her hand and shook her head, trying to catch Hera’s attention.
“Oh no, Demeter,” said Hera. “It’s not like you’re innocent. This foolishness has gone on for long enough. Really, one would think the two of you had better things to do than torment mortals with your silly games.”
“Games?” I dared to interject.
“Or should I say, wagers?” Hera shook her head, making her amber tendrils fly about her like she was floating in water.
Hades groaned while Demeter shifted her eyes from side to side.
Persephone looked confused. “Mother, what are they talking about?”
“Yeah,” Shar broke in. “Someone explain this to us. What wager?”
Hades put on the same smile that he wore when we’d first met him in the subway. “You know the story. My lovely Persephone—” He walked over to her and kissed her hand. She gave him a pouty but suggestive look that I wished I hadn’t seen. “Persephone stays with me for six months out of the year, and with her mother”—he wrinkled his nose—“for the other six. But when the season is about to change, sometimes the lines get blurred. It always happens at the beginning of February.”
“You mean, like Groundhog Day?” Shar asked. “The six-more-weeks-of-winter thing?”
“Exactly,” said Demeter. “And rather than argue about it, we made …” She hesitated.
“Go on,” urged Hera.
“We made a bet.” Demeter straightened herself and tried not to look guilty. “Hades had a contract he was going to call in, so he proposed—”
“I didn’t propose anything!” Hades protested, and looked as innocently as he could at Persephone. A performance worthy of an Oscar.
“You did!” Demeter argued. “It was you—”
“I don’t care who started it!” Hera thundered.
“All right, all right.” Demeter cowered. “We made a bet where we agreed that the Sirens would go and collect on the contract—”
“Which I didn’t want, because I knew they would screw it up,” Hades interrupted. “And I was right. They delivered Arkady to me damaged.” Hera shot him a look and he shut up.
Demeter continued. “We agreed that if the Sirens completed their mission, Persephone would stay with Hades for the additional six weeks, but if they failed, Persephone would come to me.”
“And?” Hera prompted.
“And I got to choose the Sirens. I also stipulated that I be near Arkady to make sure Hades didn’t cheat.” She pointed angrily at him.
I looked at the goddess. “You chose us? Specifically?” I asked.
“Of course.” Demeter waved a dismissive hand at us. “It seemed so obvious. I thought you two would never be able to work together to get this done. And you’re not exactly smart. I still can’t believe you fell for that train thing.”
“What train thing?” Shar stepped forward, her eyes narrowed in fury and confusion.
Hera turned to her. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that the train never stopped? Is that what happens in your world?”
We both shook our heads, and then it dawned.
“You mean,” said Shar softly, “this was a setup?”
“One of my best yet.” Hades’ exuberant grin was almost boyish.
“Hades!” Persephone punched him in the arm.
“Oh, I wish we could get a shot at him,” muttered Shar.
I kept going over what happened that night in the train station—was it really all an illusion? “You mean to say that Jeremy was never harmed? In any way, ever?”
“Only the Fates determine such things,” said Hera. “Your experience was completely engineered by Hades. I have to admit that he has a way of misleading gullible, slightly dim-witted—”
“No need to go on about it,” I grumbled.
“So who’s the cheater now?” Shar gave him a blistering look.
Hades shrugged carelessly. “I am what I am, ladies. It’s what I do.”
“And Demeter,” Hera admonished, “the Fates decreed that Sharisse and Margaret would finish in the alley by the clinic, but they didn’t.”
“They got too close,” growled Demeter.
“So you arranged to steal him, and then take him on a trip with you, putting him out of our reach,” spat Shar.
“It is done!” boomed Hera. “Save for a few minor details.”
Hades cringed.
“Persephone is not to be in your presence, Demeter, during her time with Hades. And she is not to meet Hades on the mortal plane ever. Yet here you all are.”
“But—” Demeter started.
“No interruptions! There are rules, as you both lectured the girls. And there are more infractions on both your parts. Shall we review them?” Hades and Demeter shook their heads contritely.
“I didn’t think so! Therefore, since both of you had a hand in this situation, Zeus, the Fates, and I decree that Persephone will be spending the next six weeks with neither of you.” With a wave of Hera’s hand, Persephone was dressed in Daisy Duke shorts, western boots, a flannel halter top, and a cowgirl hat. “It’s rodeo season in Texas.” Hera smiled at her, then glared at Hades and Demeter. “Have a burger and a buckaroo on me.”
Persephone giggled and blew a kiss to Hades. “See you in six weeks, cowboy!”
Hera flicked a bejeweled arm and all three deities vanished. Then she turned to us. “And you two. Honestly, you wreak havoc on all the planes like I haven’t seen in millennia! I’m exhausted!” She rose. “I’ve had enough of you mortals for one day. It’s time for you to return.”
Before I could take a breath, I found myself standing in my room at home, alone.
Disoriented, I turned round and round, then started with surprise. My bed was piled high with clothes, bags, books, shoes, CDs—ill-gotten siren loot. Peeking out from a teetering stack of black was something … pink.
Shar.
“Shar!” I practically shouted her name, and scrambled for my bag. Finding my cell phone, I fiddled with the keypad and was about to speed-dial her when the thing buzzed in my hand. Somehow I managed not to drop it.
“Shar?”
“Meg?”
“We’re home!” We said it together and started laughing.
“We really did it!” she squealed. “It’s over!”
“Yeah,” I agreed, though not so enthusiastically. It was done, and in a few days we’d be back in school, and then … do we go back to the way things used to be?
“So,” Shar’s voice crackled in my ear, “what’re you doing now?”
“Nothing.”
“Me neither. Maybe we could … ”
“ … meet up somewhere? I could really use a double mocha latte!” I hoped I didn’t sound too desperate, and it wasn’t about the coffee.
“Chai for me.”
“I know,” I retorted, laughing.
Shar giggled. “I’ll be in front of your building in about half an hour.”
“I’ll be downstairs.”
After hiding my new stuff away, I quick-changed out of my shreddy sweats and slipped out unnoticed. Shar was punctual—and polished—as usual.
“Hera dumped us home at the same time,” I said indignantly. “How the heck did you manage to do all this?” I waved a hand at her shiny-straight locks and deftly coordinated jeans, over-the-knee boots, sweater, and puffy vest.
“Professional pride,” she said, stuffing her hands into her pockets. We started walking uptown. “It takes me all of five minutes to be ‘meeting BFF for lattes’ ready.”
BFF.
I smiled to myself.
“And this isn’t too bad,” she said, assessing my ensemble, tugging at the sleeve of the sweater minidress I’d plucked from my Siren pile. “Is that … purple?”
“So it is,” I beamed. “Let’s get those lattes.”
We walked in silence down the rainy street. It was cold and dreary, no doubt a reflection of Demeter’s mood. I guessed she was probably pouting.
“Did you notice that everywhere we step, a puddle springs up?” Shar asked as she tried to avoid a lake-sized one unsuccessfully. “And deep, too! My poor boots are history!”
“We probably should invest in some wellies. I have these ones with—”
“Skulls on them?” Shar raised a brow.
“Yes,” I answered defensively.
“Adorable. I should get a pair too—but no skulls.”
“I’ve seen them with flamingos,” I said.
“Do they make them in a ten narrow?”
I grinned. “I’m sure they do.”
She flashed a smile as a taxi sped by.
We couldn’t move out of the way and were drenched. But as the car passed us, I caught a glimpse of a dark and blurry face gazing out from the back seat.
“That—” I sputtered, muddy water dripping off my entire body, including my face.
Shar looked horrified. “It wasn’t him in that taxi, was it?”
The cab pulled over a few feet from us. A man exited—tall, lean, and expensively dressed. Wavy dark hair. Chiseled cheekbones.
We held our breath.
“Can’t be!” croaked Shar.
The man turned and stared at us with disdain, then moved on.
It wasn’t Hades. Just a rude stranger with a resemblance.
“Hera said it was done.” Shar’s voice was shaky.
“Right,” I muttered. We stood there dripping. “Now I really need a hot drink.”
We ducked into the first coffee shop we came to, ordered our drinks, and snagged a cozy table in the window.
“Oh, this is nice.” Shar cupped her hands around her mug. I was about to take a sip from mine when a husky voice came from the coffee bar; it seemed to rise over the chatter around us.
“It’s hell out there! Give me something hot. And decadent.”
Shar froze in her seat, and I closed my eyes for a long moment. When I dared open them, all I saw was a stocky guy in sloppy combats leaning over the counter. I nearly died when he spoke again.
“A triple caramel vanilla mocha. Full fat. Extra whipped cream. And a double shot of espresso. Supremio-deluxo size. Is that the naughtiest thing that you have?”
The voice did not match the package. I started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Shar demanded.
“We are! Look at us. Tensing up like scared cats at every overdressed or oily-voiced guy. And this is barely day one.” I leaned in. “Are we going to keep looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives?”
Shar grimaced. “I’m still in shock. It’s gonna take me some time to get over this.”
I nodded, understanding. “So what’s the first step to sanity, then?”
She ran a finger along the rim of her mug, then looked at me and smiled widely. “I say we start with the power of positive thinking. It’s over. And he’s gone,” she said firmly. “We’ve come a long way, and the future looks bright!” She raised her mug in a toast.
Shar was right. There was a lot to look forward to, including Jeremy. And a new BFF.
“And it looks like you’ve learned something from me—” Shar began.
“What?”
“You’ve ditched the undertaker look. Somewhat.” She didn’t succeed in suppressing a cheerful smirk.
I started to raise my cup, but reflected in the glass behind her, I thought I saw … eyes.
Dark, smoldering, probing. As I stared, a face started to form.
“You okay?” Shar asked.
I looked at her; there was a twinge of concern in her expression.
I blinked and glanced back at the window. The eyes were still there, except this time I could see the face and the body they were connected to. Mr. Naughty, aka triple caramel vanilla mocha, was sitting at the table behind us. Our eyes locked and he winked at me.
I gave a him tight smile, then quickly turned to Shar and shook my head. Forcing myself to shrug off dark thoughts and wild fears, I lifted my cup in salute.
“I’m awesome,” I said, and meant it. Tapping my cup against hers, I added, “Or should I say, we are?”
Acknowledgments
Charlotte Bennardo
No one writes a book alone; there are always people along the way who listened to me cry when I got rejected, offered brutal criticism that was (mostly) good even if I didn’t like it, distracted me when I was on a rant, and promised to buy the book when it got published. And with a co-author you’re never alone. It’s time for me to pony up and say a humble “thank you, love you, don’t leave me ever!” to all those wonderful, brilliant, and loyal people.
To Nat: more than co-author, you are shopping buddy, personal psychic, dessert partner, straight man, fashion consultant, sympathetic therapist, and most important, my “twisted little sister.” It’s been a rockin’ roller coaster, Dahlink, and I hope it goes on many more books and years!
To Nick and my boys, Thomas, Alec, and Collin: You inspire my sick humor; be glad, it helped sell this book. Thanks for always asking how it’s going and telling everyone “my mom’s a writer.” And no, no one’s getting a Ferrari.
To my mother, grandmother, sister, and (miss you!) dad: most of you read my stuff, even when it was stinky! Everyone needs a cheerleading squad, and that’s all of you! But please don’t wear the little skirts. Thanks.
To my editor Brian Farrey and the team at Flux—Steven Pomije, Sandy Sullivan, and Courtney Colton: smart move! I promise to listen to most of your advice and work hard to make you glad you chose Sirenz.
To my agent Natalie Fischer: you recognized my late-budding genius. Now we just have to work on selling those other novels.
To all the friends: the other two of the Writing Wenches Fourum, Yvonne Ventresca and Elisa Roland; to Kathy Temean and Laurie Wallmark at NJ-SCBWI; to the Bunco Gals, and so many other family and friends along the way; not forgotten, but not enough space to thank you all, love ya. And if I’m ever really famous, please don’t give up my dark secrets. Or I’ll put you in my next book.
Natalie Zaman
There are so many people who played a part in bringing Sirenz into the world.
Super huge thanks to the NJ-SCBWI—without the existence of this fabby group of writers and friends, Char and I would never have met. A never-ending hug to RA Extraordinaire Kathy Temean, who works tirelessly to make sure every member of our chapter is given an opportunity to show, improve, and sell his or her work. Lyn Sirota—how can I thank you for suggesting that I join Char’s critique group? Thanks bunches to Leeza Hernandez and Anita Nolan for helping us get the word out about Sirenz through Sprouts—the best SCBWI regional newsletter (IMHO). Ame Dyckman, who supported my projects big and small—love you! (And you still owe me an ice cream trip.) Susan Heyboer O’Keefe, good friend and—whether you were aware or not (you are now)—mentor and role model. Where would I be without my Writing Wenches? To the ladies of the WWF—Char, Elisa Roland, and Yvonne Ventresca—I only hope I can offer you the same support you’ve given me.
To Sr. Natalie, Mr. Curcio, and Ms. Latschar, thank you for instilling in me a love of reading and writing. Sr. Brigid Brady, Dr. Colette Lindroth, and much-missed Dr. Muriel Dollar—I carry your warmth, wit, and wisdom with me always. I am beyond fortunate to know Joelyn Melzl, Darlene Fraulo, Mari Cifone, Janeen Miller, Dawn Zerfass, and Suna—thank you for your boundless excitement, enthusiasm, and support for me and my projects. And of course, mega-thanks to the countless fellow writers, conference attendees, friends, and editor and agent mentors who read and reread the many incarnations of Sirenz and gave their suggestions, advice, and insights.
I will always be grateful for the fabulous staff at Flux for taking a chance on us, and to our agent, Natalie (!) Fischer, who made my decade when she said she enjoyed Sirenz as a reader. Thank you to my editor Brian Farrey for making Sirenz really sing and for helping me to hone my craft; I am a better writer for having worked with you. Without Sandy Sullivan, who caught, well, everything, this book wouldn’t be the sparkly thing that it is—you’re the best! Thanks to Steven Pomije and and Courtney Colton for telling the world about Sirenz and listening to our ideas. Our bright, eye-catching, and uber-fun cover is the work of Lisa Novak—thanks for making us stand out in a crowd!
Jane Reed Wilson, I never thought that I would enjoy having my photo taken, but somehow you changed that—TY! Marissa Miller—thank you for being our guinea pig. And to the best nephew ever, Jesse Davidson, thank you for sharing your time and talent for our little book.
Moo, Mert, Wink (Asim, Mari, and Vincent, respectively; the world should know you by your real names rather than the loony ones I call you), and Mom, there aren’t words enough to thank you for always believing in me. And Raz—how do you properly thank someone for putting his dreams aside so that you can chase after yours? I love you.
And last but not least, thanks, Char, for letting me sit around your house that summer—you know, the one where you said, “Hey, we can do that!” and then we started writing that story … Thank you, dahlink, for sharing your amazing talent, your home, your time, your patience (perching!), and most of all your friendship with me. My life is sweeter because you are in it. xxxDimps
About the Authors
Charlotte Bennardo
A moderate shoe freak, Charlotte Bennardo divides her time between writing, her three sons, writing, her family and friends—and writing. When she’s not wearing out her laptop keyboard, she likes to swim, garden, play with her cat, and hang out with her best friend and co-author, Natalie. Married, she lives in Bridgewater, New Jersey. Visit Charlotte online at http://charlotteebennardo.blogspot.com.
Natalie Zaman
Natalie Zaman learned that it’s hard—but not impossible—to farm in high heels. When she’s not chasing free-range chickens, she’s writing, or plotting a road trip. She lives in New Jersey with her family—about five minutes from Charlotte. Visit her online at http://nataliezaman.blogspot.com.