Sirenz

The Fine Print

“Your what?” I asked.

“Greek Mythology, Shar,” whispered Meg. “The Sirens were these bird women who sat on the rocks and sang. Sailors couldn’t resist them, so they crashed their ships and drowned.”

Meg and her occult studies. Who knew they would come in handy? She could converse with psychos.

“Hello? That’s a fairy tale—the stuff they make a TV series out of!” It’s not real. It’s not! I refused to believe it, but the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that I was kidding myself. I turned to Hades.

“Fine. Okay, let’s pretend that you’re telling the truth—hypothetically. Why would you need new Sirens? What happened to the originals?”

Hades shook his head sadly.

“Once Odysseus sailed past without succumbing to their call, they threw themselves into the sea and drowned. The same thing happened when Jason and the Argonauts resisted them. They didn’t take rejection very well. So I kept replacing them. I need a steady workforce.” Hades grinned and I felt sick all over again.

“You mean, they died ??” I was only seventeen and not liking what I was hearing.

“Every profession has its risks.” He straightened his immaculate Jerry Garcia—signed—tie. “No one’s immortal but us gods.”

“Get to the point,” Meg said. “What would we have to do?”

“Oh it’s easy,” he purred. “You two will bring me a specified individual who executed an agreement with me, which, shall we say, is about to expire. You lure him to an underworld portal which will send him to Tartarus, my kingdom. In exchange, I will undo this terrible tragedy and you’re off the hook. A one-shot deal. Simple, no?”

“Too simple,” said Meg. “If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. What happens if we can’t do it?”

Hades looked sideways at us and grinned with a sly smile.

“If you fail, you must reside with me. In the Underworld. For all eternity. And I’ll have another job for you—taking care of my pets.”

“Pets?” I asked. “You have pets?”

“The hell hounds,” he winked. “And they do so love a game of fetch. Especially Cerberus.”

“What do they fetch?” I chewed my bottom lip.

“A stick, a rubber ball. Whatever else amuses them.”

I am so not a dog person. Neither was Meg. At home, we both had cats.

“That’s it? All we have to do is play with your dogs?” I ventured to ask. Greek gods always had some trick up their toga, although Hades wasn’t wearing one now.

“Playing fetch is the fun part. You’ll have to clean up after them, too. They leave quite a mess about the place.”

“Don’t you hate that?” I said. “Once you step in that stuff you can never get the smell out!”

“It is a problem,” he agreed.

Meg stared at me, aghast. “We’re pretty much doomed to either go to prison, wear orange jumpsuits, and be someone’s girlfriend for twenty-five-to-life, or spend eternity on pooper-scooper duty for gigantic hell hounds—and you’re worried about your shoes?”

“Oh, don’t worry about the shoes.” Hades lightly ran a finger down my arm. I flinched away. “I have a regulation uniform for those who take care of my babies—right down to the underwear. Tell me, do you care for industrial gray wool?”

I looked from Hades to Meg and back again, the horror dawning.

“Ah, you’re getting the finer points,” she snapped.

“That’s torture,” I breathed.

“Not quite,” said Hades, looking around in distaste. “Please, let’s discuss this in a more civilized place.” He stepped away from the tiled wall and overflowing waste can. The smell of garbage and faint urine suddenly repulsed me, and I checked the bottom of my shoes. Meg rolled her eyes.

“Starbucks?” I asked hopefully.

Meg gave me a duh look. “I don’t think we should discuss this in Starbucks, do you? We have to call someone about …” She jerked her head in the direction of the tracks.

I didn’t want to look. “Let’s go, please!”

Meg shrugged in resignation as she pulled out her cell. “Okay, Hades, lead us to a Starbucks. Shar likes chai tea and I want a—”

“I don’t do Starbucks,” he said haughtily. “And it wasn’t a question. I was merely being polite. Now—” He flicked a wrist and Sweet Jeans was gone. Another flick and we were standing in a tropical garden. Hades was now wearing a very bright white polo shirt that looked custom-made, and cargo shorts. Throwing off my coat, gloves, sweater, scarf, and hat, I wriggled out of my boots to bury my toes in the warm white sand. Ooh, nice!

Meg put her cell back in her purse. “Some place you’ve got,” she said, investigating every swaying palm tree and bright flower around her.

It seemed real enough. After a frigid New York night, this was heaven.

“Is this … Paradise?” I breathed. It sure looked like it to me. The air was balmy and breezy and the azure ocean crashed just beyond the lush trees and undergrowth.

“Actually, this belongs to an acquaintance of mine,” he began.

“Apollo?” asked Meg.

“God?” I said.

He gave us both a chiding look. “Hardly. It belongs to Arkady Romanov.”

“The fashion guy? As in ‘House of Romanov’?” I mused, staring out across the waves.

“Does it matter?” Meg put one hand on her hip. “Let’s see, fabulous wealth, personal tropical island, both most likely ill-gotten—sounds like villain material to me.” She pointed an accusing finger at Hades. “ Why don’t you take him down to Hell with you?”

“It’s Tartarus, not Hell,” said Hades with an annoyed voice. “Don’t people study history anymore?” He snapped his fingers and lawn furniture materialized. Tropical drinks appeared in our hands. I sipped. Pina Colada! The real thing! I was about to take another taste when Meg kicked me, ogling my glass.

“Don’t! Haven’t you ever heard of ‘Let’s drink to that’? You’ll be sealing a pact!”

I hastily slammed the drink down, spilling it.

Hades sighed morosely. “I don’t do business that way. You must consent or I face certain … unpleasantries.” He frowned. “And I dislike unpleasantness, especially for myself.”

I gave Meg a see, I told you so glance and picked up my drink, which Hades had thoughtfully refreshed. Reluctantly, she picked up hers, a green concoction, sniffed, then tasted. I saw a small flush of pleasure. She looked away guiltily.

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Mr. Romanov. He’s had a long time to enjoy this lovely place. That was his deal, you see. A regular mortal span wasn’t enough for him, so I gave him a few extra years. But now his time’s up. Next year he won’t be spending any holidays on his island—I see him in a less idyllic location. You will send him to me.” He twitched an elegant index finger with an obscenely large ruby. “Come, time grows short. The devil is in the details, as you humans say. We need to go over the particulars.” A huge mahogany desk and three luxurious CEO-type leather chairs appeared on the sand. A tightly curled scroll lay on the desk.

He gestured. “Ladies, do have a seat. Let’s wrap this up.”

Gingerly, each of us took a chair and regarded Hades warily as he pushed the scroll toward us.

“Our agreement requires you two to lure Mr. Romanov to one of the many portals to my realm. To help you achieve this task, your natural talents will be enhanced.” He looked from me to Meg and back again before continuing.

“As Margaret has so accurately described, the Sirens called to the sailors, who couldn’t resist them. A word or a look drew their victims to them.” He licked his full lips and gazed at me. “One look from you, Sharisse, is already captivating. From this moment forward, no mortal will be able to look away when you engage him. And you,” he continued, turning to Meg, “so glib, Margaret. They’ll hear you, and they’ll obey.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“I doubt it,” Meg replied.

“Clever Margaret!” Hades drummed his fingers on the desk. “There is a time limit. Now let’s see, when do your classes at school resume?” Instantly, a large open leather-bound datebook appeared, then floated down and gently rested on the desk. “You’re a few days into your winter break. This is perfect. You must finish your task before you go back to school.”

“But that’s less than two weeks!” Meg cried.

I had to agree—it didn’t seem like a lot of time to befriend and dispose of a renowned fashion mogul. It might take me that long to build an outfit around the red shoes. And what does a girl wear when sending someone to their doom?

“Why are you complaining? Most schools give a lot less time off than that. Ah, the perks of a private education! But you disappoint me,” he continued. “That should be plenty of time for two clever young ladies like yourselves. When, or might I say if, you go back to school, read up on your ancient history. Now, I strongly suggest that you exercise your powers in moderation, and only on Mr. Romanov. They’re quite potent. Oh, and there is a standard nondisclosure clause. You can’t discuss any aspect of our dealings, or your powers, with anyone.”

I shook my head, having a gut feeling that there was still something that he wasn’t telling us. It sounded too easy.

“What happens if we don’t agree to do this?” Meg asked, staring at the scroll.

Hades chortled darkly. “Then this is your future.”

Instantly, the blue sky turned the color of painted gray concrete and the balmy breeze became bitingly cold. I looked at Meg, who stood across from me. Two thick sets of bars and a stone hallway separated us. She wore a hideous orange jumpsuit and cheap prison slippers. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud.

“What’s your problem?” she demanded.

“You … you …” I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. “You look like a pumpkin!”

“Well, what do you think neon orange does for you?”

I looked down, and then we both started screaming.

A shrill whistle shut us up. There was Hades, pacing the wide hallway that divided my cell from Meg’s.

“Do women still go for that ‘man in uniform’ thing?” he asked, parading around in front of us. Gone were the polo and cargo shorts. He brushed an imaginary fleck off his starched gray uniform, a bright Death Row Detail patch happily decorating the sleeve of his shirt.

“Death row?!” I shrieked. “But it was an accident!”

“Well, that’s your opinion,” Hades informed her coolly. “But really, enough of this nonsense, ladies. I’m offering you a way out of this horrible mess you’ve gotten yourselves into. Besides, it’s not a hard job, and there are perks.”

“Like what?” I challenged.

“Oh, limitless cash, an apartment on the Upper West Side, all at your disposal. Seems quite a bargain for you gals, really. All this for one special task. Make your choice—a good deal, or a last meal.”

I snuck a peek at Meg. “Limitless cash!” she whispered.

“The Upper West Side!” I mouthed excitedly. So much for our poker faces for wheeling and dealing. We were sooo easy.

“Where do we sign?” we shouted.

“Excellent, ladies! So glad to have you on board!” Hades gestured for us to sit down. We were back on the island and in our own clothes. “Now let’s address the matter of your formal consent.” He unfurled the scroll and pointed to two blank lines at the bottom.

“Do you have a pen?” I asked, searching around.

“Pen?” Hades chuckled softly, and opened a drawer on his side of the desk. He placed a shiny silver stiletto blade in front of us. “Only blood will do.”

We stared at each other. I hated the sight of blood, but this was no time to be squeamish. Stoically I took hold of the dagger and picked it up, and before I could stop myself, I put the tip to my finger, squeezed one eye shut and pressed it in. A few drops fell onto the parchment, sizzling as they landed. Meg gasped and pointed. The blood rolled along the first line, moving faster and faster as if it were being driven by an invisible pen. The leaden feeling in my stomach started creeping up into my throat as I saw my name form on the line in my all-too-familiar curly handwriting.

My hands shaking, I passed the blade to Meg. With the barest hesitation, she pricked her left thumb, then watched with a spellbound expression as her blood formed the precise letters of her name on the second blank.

“Perfect!” Hades whispered. “Let’s not waste any time, shall we?”

Instantly we were back in the subway station, the club kids huddled in a corner, and Sweet Jeans—alive again!—standing between us. I clutched a shopping bag; it felt incredibly heavy. Looking down, I saw that Meg had hold of it as well. My head jerked up and we stared at each other, wide-eyed. I heard the rumble of the train a short way down the tunnel.

“It’s just a pair of shoes.” Sweet Jeans’ voice echoed in my ear.

Meg laughed nervously, not taking her eyes off me. “You’re right … and … red’s not my color anyway.” She let the bag go just as the train pulled into the station.

“My train,” Sweet Jeans said, and turned to go. Rooted to the spot, we waved at him listlessly, and watched as he got on behind the club kids. The car doors closed. He was safe inside. The train lurched away with a squealing grind, and we were alone.

Meg let out a deep breath. “Okay, that was bizarre.”

“No,” I shook my head. “This is.” I took hold of her wrist and raised her hand. She didn’t realize that she was holding something: a shiny iPhone with a transparent envelope taped to it. Inside were two credit cards in slim leather cases, and two keys.

“There’s something written here.” Squinting, Meg passed it to me. What I thought was tape was a label. The spidery writing read:

S. Johnson, M. Wiley

Penthouse H2 at 100 West 81st Street.





Retail Therapy

We waited until morning to take a look at Hades’ apartment. I was hoping that this was all just a bad dream, but that was shattered when I woke up to find the iPhone, keys, and credit cards on my desk where I’d dropped them before going to bed. I called Shar at home and we agreed to meet outside my building.

I dashed off a note to my parents explaining that I’d be spending a few nights at Shar’s, then I managed to get out the door before anyone else awoke. She was waiting outside, looking immaculately groomed and completely coordinated, whereas I’d barely taken the time to brush my teeth and hair.

“Let’s do this,” I said. The worried look in her eyes must have been a perfect partner for the grim set of my mouth.

At Hades’ building, the doorman ushered us into the festively decorated lobby without question, and we didn’t pass anyone going up to the penthouse. The shiny key slid easily in and turned the lock of the heavy silver door.

We walked into a living room that was a montage of pale neutral colors, sparkling chrome, and huge vases of artfully arranged exotic flowers. It had one wall that was entirely glass; our view of Manhattan was spectacular for those not prone to vertigo.

Even so, I was about to swear that I wouldn’t spend so much as a single night there when I noticed a door with a brass plaque that had my name etched onto it in gothic letters: my bedroom suite. Expecting another beige nightmare, I gasped when I saw the room I’d often sketched in my journal but hadn’t shared with anyone else. There were the blood-red walls, the yards of black lace hanging from the ceiling like cobwebs, and my secret piece of lust-furniture, an ornately carved tester bed with scarlet drapings, all placed just as I’d imagined it. There was also a Victorian writing desk with secret compartments, each lacquered drawer stuffed with cash. I heard a squeal from Shar, who no doubt had gone to check out her room.

Taking a deep, reluctant breath, I slammed the door on my dream haven. There was a size-thirteen, triple-wide carbon footprint for all this materialism.

“I can never tell my mom about this place!” Shar said, throwing herself into a huge latte-colored leather chair near the wall of glass. Despite the panic in her voice, I could tell that she was thrilled with her bedroom suite. If she was that happy, I had no doubt it was decorated in every vicious shade of pink this side of Barbie.

I looked around the spacious living room and cringed; the place was impossibly high-end and sterile. With an all-powerful god as the landlord, it probably cleaned itself.

“We can’t say anything to anyone. Ever,” I told her.

“And how are we going to chase after Arkady? He’s a celebrity! There are laws against stalking! It’s going to be impossible!” Shar’s voice had risen an octave.

“We’ll figure it out.” I raised a hand at her. “Please, don’t have a panic attack.”

I wandered over to the kitchen. Black marble tiled floors supported massive mahogany cabinets that stretched all the way to the ceiling. Along with the stainless steel fridge, I discovered, they were crammed with every sinful treat down to our favorite ice creams—Rocky Road for Shar and Cherry Garcia for me. How did he know? Ah, yes. God. Omniscient. Check.

“What have we done, Meg?” Shar said as I came back into the living room. She buried her face in her hands, then raised her head and looked around hopelessly. “How are we going to get that guy to a portal? He’s rich and famous, and we’re nobodies.”

“We can’t back out now, done is done.” I sighed, making her scooch over. “This is probably one of those things that’s a lot easier than it seems at first.”

I mustn’t have sounded convincing; Shar nodded thoughtfully, but she looked miserable.

“This is my fault, Meg, and I’m sorry!” A tear tracked down her porcelain cheek.

“I guess I’m just as much to blame, and hey”—I grinned crookedly—“the dark Underworld wouldn’t be any fun alone. I was probably on my way there anyhow, and now I can drag you with me!”

Shar managed a feeble laugh, then leaned back and flipped on the TV, a wide-screen plasma monstrosity that almost covered the wall. We had one in every room, even the bathroom. I wasn’t shocked to find that there was a seemingly endless collection of DVDs to go with them, but what was surprising was that Shar liked the same films I was into—pretty much anything with corsets, buff vampires, and bad-ass action heroes.

I got up and rummaged through my bag for the necessities I’d packed before I left home.

“What are you doing?” Shar asked as I pulled out a meat mallet from a kitchen drawer.

“Mmmmf,” I mumbled, my mouth holding a tack. I took it out and banged it into the wall, then hung up a little mirror with a bright yellow frame.

“This is useless,” she said, coming over and trying to see her reflection. “It doesn’t go with the furniture, and it’s ugly!”

“It’s not meant to be pretty or used for checking eyeliner. It’s a feng shui mirror. Hades’ juju is in every corner of this place. You might not feel it, but I do.”

She rolled her eyes and yanked the mallet out of my hand. “No more paranormal babble—”

“It’s not babble! It’s a—”

“Science, I know,” she finished my sentence for me as I fixed her with an annoyed stare. “Do you have to hang things on the wall to feng-schweng this place?”

“Feng shui.” I paused for a minute to think. “I could bring in a life element—”

“So buy a house plant. Oooh!” Shar grinned suddenly. “Why don’t we do some serious damage to those credit cards?”

Against my instincts, five minutes later we were back outside and making our way to the department stores.

“Wait.” I grabbed her arm, stopping her short. “First things first.” I turned her around and steered her into a small coffee shop we’d passed by.

“A chai,” she whispered in my ear, as the wreath on the door jingled when it slammed shut behind us.

I gave her a blistering look. “I know. Get a table.” I sauntered up to the counter and excused myself to a man in a sharp suit who was still checking the menu, thinking, geez, if you’re not ready to order, let me go first. He backed up a step. Smiling at the guy at the register, a sandy-haired grad-student type in a goofy Santa hat, I ordered, hoping he’d get it right. “Give me one large chai tea and one double mocha latte with skim milk, no whipped cream, please.”

He stared at me and grinned.

“Um … ” I said after a few moments, wondering when he was going to ring me up. “Can I get—”

“A large chai, and a double mocha love with skim.” He cut me off in a dreamy monotone, then flung his head so that the pompom on his hat flicked back.

“Are you okay?” I asked, waving a hand in front of his face, thinking, is he high? I thought places like this had drug-testing policies.

“Sure.” He continued to grin at me.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a portly woman with velociraptor-length acrylic nails. Tiny reindeer were painted on them. She crossed her brawny arms over her huge and heaving chest and raised an over-penciled eyebrow at me.

“Can you place your order? I’m in a hurry!”

“I did!” I snapped, then turned back to Elf Boy, who had finally started entering my drinks into the register.

“How much is that?” I asked, taking out my wallet.

“I’m giving you our special discount, so you don’t—”

“I’ll take care of that!” Sharp Suit pushed past Dino Woman and whipped out a billfold.

“Hey!” she shouted, but a few more men stepped in front of her.

“There’s no need.” Elf Boy eyeballed Sharp Suit with a menacing expression. “I was about to say that she doesn’t owe me anything.”

“That’s okay,” I said firmly, tapping the counter and drawing their attention away from each other. “I can pay for my own drinks. Here.” I handed him a $20. “Please put the rest in the tip jar.”

I stepped aside and headed quickly for the coffee bar. The barista, a slim pony-tailed blond girl with a lip piercing, looked at me, then peered down the length of the counter. The line was starting to snake around the shop. Alarmed, she darted over to the register. I heard some angry whispers, and then she came back, shaking her head.

“I’m so sorry. What was your order?”

I was too confused to be annoyed. Elf Boy had gone back to work and was waiting on Dino Woman, but he kept glancing my way. That I could tolerate, but not Sharp Suit, who waved and blew a kiss at me—he was old enough to be my dad! A guy next to me, also waiting for his order, caught my eye, and I mumbled, “Please save me from the weirdo convention that’s come to town.” What was wrong with these people?

I turned back to the barista.

“One large chai and a double mocha latte with skim, please.”

“Coming up.” She smiled, obviously relieved that I wasn’t going to be difficult. Then she looked back at Elf Boy and rolled her eyes. “Men,” she grumbled.

Cups finally in hand, I sashayed over to Shar, but my springy step died when I saw her. She sat, posed at the table, her long legs crossed and her slender fingers twisting her wavy blond locks. Her eyes flicked upwards toward the ceiling or down to the floor, but never at the tables around her—which were filled with guys of all ages. They were staring at her, drooly grins on their faces.

“Shar?” I whispered, standing there. “What’s going on?” I jerked my head as subtly as I could at the growing entourage.

“I was just sitting here, and they started crowding around!” she said in a low voice. “What about him?” She pointed to something behind me. It was Sharp Suit, pushing his way through the now-crowded shop as he eyed our table.

“He offered to pay for our drinks,” I said, “but I have no idea who he is!”

“And him?” She jerked her head at someone standing behind me.

“I’m here to save you!” he gushed.

“We’d better go,” Shar said, quickly getting up to leave. A few of the guys around us got up. It was too much.

“Please, leave us alone!” I said loudly. Several of the men sat back down as we hustled out the door, Shar giving one last glance back. When we were a few blocks away, we ducked into the recess of a closed docking bay.

“What happened back there?” she asked, breathless from our fast pace.

All I could do was hold up the palm of my free hand in confusion. Elf Boy was definitely in an altered state, but the others? Whatever it was, there had to be a logical explanation.

“Come on,” Shar said. “I need some retail therapy to calm my nerves.” She stepped out onto the sidewalk and I followed her. All seemed normal; people streamed around us, the usual pedestrian foot traffic. “We’ll go to Bendel’s first.” She grinned at me. “They have this eco-friendly bath line that even you can’t diss.”

“Watch me,” I chuckled, but the laughter died on my lips as a few guys turned their heads to look at us. We hurried along, and didn’t stop until we reached the department store. We passed through the heavy doors and around the sparkling cases filled with rainbow-hued displays of leather gloves and overpriced hair accessories. Shar paused to look at a crystal-encrusted evening bag and waved down a sales person.

“Where are you ever going to use something like that?” I asked, but she ignored me and started chatting up the saleswoman, who took forever to unlock the case. Bored with waiting for her, my eyes started to wander around the vast atrium. I followed the line of tasteful garland, twisted with anti-holiday shades of slate gray and purple ribbon, around the ceiling to where it culminated in an elegant display over the main doors. Then I froze. When I could force myself to move, I groped for Shar’s arm and clutched it fiercely.

“Wait a sec! Can’t you see I’m—”

She stopped dead. Four or five guys from the coffee shop, including Elf Boy carrying two sloshing cups, had arrived, along with at least one man who I thought passed us when we were in the docking bay, and one or two I know we saw on the street. They were milling around the cases, slowly moving toward us.

“They weren’t following us!” squeaked Shar, terrified. “I looked back!”

“There you are!” a male voice boomed. It was Sharp Suit. Shar blinked at him, like a rat taken by surprise when the dumpster’s opened. “Do you like that bag?” He snatched it out of the saleswoman’s hands. “Please, allow me.” Out came the billfold.

“No!” another shouted. “I’ll get it! And how about these earrings? Do you like these?”

“What do you want to do, buy us everything?!” I shouted. They froze and gaped at me for three long seconds, then ran around wildly, grabbing every black thing they could lay their hands on and throwing them at my feet. More wallets came out.

“You want me to get that for you, don’t you?” A cute guy about our age fell to his knees in front of me.

I smiled at him, liking the dimple in his chin and the way his messy blond bangs brushed his lashes. He had such a sweet face. Then I came to my senses. “Uh. It’s just that—”

“She wants me!” Cutie Face suddenly snarled, glaring at the men crowding around us. “It’s me she wants to be with. Back off!”

“Stupid punk kid!” A construction worker pulled Cutie Face up from the floor by his collar and cocked his arm back as if to hit him.

“Stop!” I screamed.

Construction Guy dropped his prey onto the floor. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

In a flash, Cutie Face threw himself at the brawny older man and started swinging. Others joined in. Soon the whole male population was brawling, and it was spreading to the upper level of the store. Pink and black garments of all types rained down on us, and more men on the spiral staircase pushed and shoved, trying to get down to pay for it all.

“This is crazy!” Shar cowered against me as a pink nightie fluttered down from above. The female clerks and the few other customers were screaming. Shar had her hands over her ears.

Suddenly, my purse vibrated wildly—but it wasn’t my cell. I dug around inside and pulled out the iPhone, its screen glowing scarlet. On it, I read:

To stop the thrall, just give a call:

Ase me isihi!

I passed it to Shar just as two guys slammed into the case next to us, shattering the glass. I gasped, and both of us jumped back and stared at them in horror. Now security guards were running toward us, but instead of grabbing the men on the floor, they started loading their arms with clothes and waving them at us.

“What does that mean, ase me isihi?” I hissed. The guy closest to us stopped short, a disoriented look in his eyes.

“Why am I here?” he asked. “I’m late for a meeting.” He dropped his bundle, turned, and hurried off.

“Whatever it means, it stopped him,” Shar said, excitement building in her voice. “Wait, that’s it! We’ve used the gifts!”

“We have not!” I retorted sharply, stepping out of the way of two grappling Wall Street types. “All we did was—” I stopped, a nasty realization clawing at my brain.

“Talk to people and look at them,” Shar said grimly. Then, reading the iPhone again, she nodded at me. I reread the words.

“One, two, three,” she counted, and then together we shouted, “Ase me isihi ! ”

The store was suddenly quiet except for the steady hum of background music. Slowly, people started moving. Men got up from the floor, dusted themselves off, and headed for the doors.

“It worked!” I whispered, relieved.

“What’s going on here?” one of the security guards barked. He looked suspiciously from person to person. Men shook their heads. When his gaze caught the tiger-print thong clutched in his own left hand, he blushed furiously and hastily dropped it.

“They just went insane!” Shar’s saleswoman sobbed, coming out from her hiding place behind the counter. There were bits of broken glass in her hair.

The guard turned to us. “Tell me what happened.”

“Uh … ” Shar examined her shoes. “I … we … were over there getting ready to pay and they started grabbing and throwing everything in sight.”

While he looked around, I whispered, “Let’s buy something, it’ll look less suspicious. Then we can leave.” I grabbed a stack of black stuff. Shar did the same with a pink pile. I looked hopefully at the still-frazzled saleswoman, then jerked my head in the direction of an unsmashed counter. She nodded and made her way over, glass crunching under her feet as she went.

We followed at a quick pace; I wanted us out of there before someone called the police.

“Will that be cash or charge?” the woman asked.

“Charge.” Without looking at her, Shar slipped Hades’ shiny black Visa card out of her wallet and slid it across the counter. When the woman picked it up, I saw the image on the hologram sticker—Hades in a skimpy toga. Not something I needed or wanted to see. We ended up carrying out three bags each, and I didn’t bother asking Shar what the bill came to. Hades’ nasty ID was disturbing enough.

Once out in the fresh air, reality set in. This was going to be a lot harder than we thought, and I was starving.

“I need food,” I said. It was nearly two o’clock, and so far we’d only had the almost-disastrous coffee.

“Me too,” she said. “Hey, we’re right by Red Velvet!” She all but clapped her hands.

“As in cake? Sorry, but I’m going to need something more substantial after that.”

“They serve everything. Come on.”

“I really don’t want to deal with anyone else,” I whined. “Can’t we just go back to the apartment and get take-out?”

“I think I know how this works,” Shar assured me. “We’ll be smart about it. I’ll talk but not look, you be charming but silent. And if we run into trouble, we’ll say that isihi whatever.”

Ignoring my protests, she ushered me down the street, keeping her eyes lowered. After a block or so, I spied Red Velvet’s scarlet awning jutting out stiffly from the side of the building. When I stepped into the richly dark vestibule of the lobby, I found myself staring into a Victorian armoire. Its back-lit shelves were crammed with chocolate sculpted into Victorian winter-themed shapes; a furry boot with a curvy heel, cherubs surrounded by holly. Let Them Eat Cake snaked over the door in scripty gilt letters and the tantalizing scent of comfort food—roast turkey, mashed potatoes, fresh baked bread, and chocolate—filled the tiny space.

“You do all the talking,” I reminded Shar.

She nodded, and laying a well manicured hand on the richly embossed brass door, swung it open and strolled inside.

A bird-sized woman stood behind a heavily carved and highly polished podium suitable for an archbishop, reading. Her black hair was drawn tightly away from her face and pulled her features into a haughty and unbecoming expression.

“Excuse me,” Shar began. “A table for two, please.”

“Do you have a reservation?” The hostess never looked up from her podium. Her voice matched her Kewpie-doll appearance—soft and squeaky.

“No, but there’s room,” Shar answered confidently, staring at the woman’s face. You’re not supposed to do that! What if she looks up? I poked her, but she waved me off behind her back.

Doll-face looked up and smiled smugly. “We’re full up, I’m afraid. Unless you have a reservation.”

Undeterred, Shar glanced at the dark and sparsely populated dining area. Only two tables were occupied.

“There are several empty tables and there doesn’t seem …”

Now Doll-face looked very irritated. “We have nothing available. I suggest you call and make a reservation for another afternoon. We require at least 24 hours notice.” She gave Shar a snide smile and resumed reading.

She was finished with us, but Shar wasn’t done. She pulled me forward, her long fingers digging into my arm, a commanding look in her eye: she wanted me to try.

I coughed, and Dolly raised her head, and I said slowly, “Are you sure you can’t seat us?”

“No,” she replied coldly. “Is there anything else?”

“And there you have it,” I said to Shar, and turned to leave.

“But—” Shar started.

“The manager can explain our policy if you need further clarification,” Dolly said icily.

“That won’t be necessary.” I grabbed Shar’s hand and steered her to the door. This time she complied.

“What happened back there?” she seethed fifteen minutes later when we were safely tucked into a booth at a quiet burger place. She’d managed to avoid eye contact while she ordered for both of us. There are times when only greasy fast food will kill the gall of being snubbed, especially by a half-starved, doll-faced tart.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. She loved us not?”

“That’s not supposed to happen. All those guys were ready to throw themselves off buildings for us.”

I pointed at her with a French fry. “But not the hostess girl. Think about it. The barista wasn’t affected by us, and neither was the saleswoman at Bendel’s.”

“You’re right!” Shar lit up. “Great! I can still get my bikini wax! Oh … wait.” She slammed down her diet soda. “Meg, we have to interact with guys.”

I nodded thoughtfully, then brightened. “You can wear sunglasses—then no one will be able to see your eyes!”

Shar beamed at me, but her smile faded quickly. “But what about you? How are you going to get out of talking?”

“Learn sign language?”

“Cute. No time.”

A guy jived by our table, headphones in his ears. I dug in my purse and pulled out my iPod.

“Look.” I brandished the headphones. “I don’t have to have it on, but if people see me with these in, they won’t talk to me because they’ll think I can’t hear them.”

“That’s lame, Meg,” Shar shook her head. “You can’t have those things in your ears all the time! And what excuse could I have to wear sunglasses indoors?”

“You could say it’s for medical reasons,” I retorted. “Tell them you’ve developed glaucoma.”

“Real funny, girlfriend. We’ll have to think of something. Let’s go.”

Toting bags from Bendel’s to Red Velvet to Burger World had been a chore, so we hailed a taxi. I made eye contact with the driver, nodding while Shar rattled off the address to the penthouse.

“All right,” I said, once we were back in the apartment. “We have less than two weeks. What do we do?”

“I know what I’m going to do,” Shar said, raising up a shopping bag. “I’m going to try some of this stuff on. I have no idea what we bought, or what sizes things are. Those guys were just throwing everything at us. At least they got the colors right.” She dumped a bag onto a chair big enough to be a bed. “Here, take yours.”

I poked at the black pile. I liked the black umbrella that some balmy guy had tossed to me, but I hated the idea of how much it all cost and the certainty that someone in some far-off third-world country was being exploited because of it. I fished out a sheer, antique-looking black blouse with faceted jet buttons. Shar was already heading to her room with an armful of pink fluff.

Cloistered in my bathroom—there were too many mirrors, I didn’t need to see that much of myself—I took off my top, slipped the blouse on, and buttoned it. When I looked up, I squinted at the mirror. There was a small shadow behind me, but it didn’t make any sense. I undid a few buttons and slipped the blouse off a little. Twisting around, I caught sight of what looked like a feather.

“Damn it,” I muttered. Probably one of the pricey accessories in our stash had stuck to the blouse. I pulled at the feather and a twinge of pain shot up my spine. Frustrated, I closed my eyes, stopping myself from groping at the thing and making it worse. Some tag or pin must be caught in the fabric. Carefully, I got hold of it again and pulled slowly. I let out a squeak in spite of myself—that really hurt!

Then Shar screamed.

Topless except for my bra, I ran to her room. A new pair of jeans lay on her pink bed, ready to be tried on. She’d taken her shoes off, but that’s as far as she’d gotten.

The toes on her left foot were fused together into three scaly … talons.

“My foot!” She hopped around. “How am I going to wear my shoes?” When she saw me she stopped. “Oh … Meg …”

“What? What’s wrong?”

She reached a slender arm over my shoulder and gently tugged on a long black feather, waving the top of it at me. Then she gave it a little tug. And sneezed.

“Ow!” I howled.

“It’s growing!” she cried.

“Of course it is. You’re becoming my Sirens.” We both jumped. Hades was lounging on Shar’s bed in a pose suggestive of a Harlequin romance, wearing a half-unbuttoned copper shirt and dark brown trousers. I blushed and swiftly covered my chest.

“Relax, Margaret.” He snapped his fingers and I had my T-shirt on again. “Why so surprised? You know what Sirens look like. I do so love literal textbook interpretations! Every time you use your powers, you become a little more Siren-like. Naughty girls! I warned you only to use them on Mr. Romanov.”

“You could have been more specific!” I spat. “And you should have told us it doesn’t work on females!”

Shar stepped forward. “Now we can never look at or talk to any guys!”

“A minor detail, Margaret. And Sharisse, of course you can do both those things.” Hades rose to his feet and pointed at us. “But you did more than simply talk to them and look at them today. You engaged those gentlemen in the coffee shop and in Bendel’s with your eyes, didn’t you Sharisse? You wanted their admiration—you were preening! And Margaret, you just had to tell them what to do. Stop! Please save me from the weirdo convention! ” Hades mimicked my voice perfectly. “Sound familiar? Your looks and voice obeyed your intents.”

“We didn’t know!” Shar fumed.

“You should have. I told you, only use the powers on Mr. Romanov. Do you think those men would have followed you if you were just two teeny-girls out on a latte binge? Of course not. They heeded the Siren call because that’s how you intentionally acted. Of course, you can access all this information on the iPhone. Didn’t you check the apps?”

“No,” I snapped. “Who’s had time for that?”

“It’s a handy little device. You should make time.” Then he sent a suggestive look in Shar’s direction. “You can always speed-dial me if you want me.”

I turned away, disgusted.

Shar glared at him, then gestured angrily at her feet and my feathers. “Is this … permanent?”

“Only if you don’t finish your assignment.” Hades smirked. “But I’m sure you won’t let that happen.” He stood and stretched languidly, then disappeared.

Shar sneezed. “This is a problem. I’m allergic to feathers.”





Chinese Fortune Cookie Say …

This is a disaster! Not even a good pedicure will disguise these!” I wailed. “No peek-a-boo pumps, no strappy sandals!”

“You’re not alone in this Greek tragedy,” said Meg derisively. “Look at me! What if someone sees this? Or maybe you know someone at your fancy salon who plucks chickens on the side?”

Okay, Meg was right. She had it worse. I could imagine the horror on people’s faces if she wore a tank top. Back wax? Not going to cut it.

“Just don’t get naked in front of anyone,” I offered.

“Brilliant, Shar.”

She turned around and around, trying to see her feathers in my full-length mirror.

I thought it was a good idea, I mused as I tried to shove my bird toes into a pair of bunny slippers.

No go.

“Oh for God’s sake! Not only do I have ugly feet, but they’re bigger!”

“Stop whining, Shar. It gives you an excuse to go shoe shopping.” Meg was trying to tuck a stray feather back down into her shirt. It refused to stay put. “Grrr! Let’s order some pizza while we figure out how to deal with this.” She stomped off to the kitchen. I followed.

“No pizza!” I shouted after her. “Remember what happened last time?”

She tapped her cute little size nine-and-a-halves impatiently. “We can do Chinese—but only if it’s vegetarian.”

I jammed my fists onto my hips. “I’m a carnivore, and I want barbecued ribs and pork fried rice.”

Meg huffed, blowing up her bangs. “Fine. I’ll order.” She muttered something under her breath about vultures.

“Top of the food chain, baby,” I replied sweetly. She didn’t respond. I returned to my room to find footwear that fit.

“About twenty minutes,” she said a few moments later.

I was trying on all my boots. No dice. My former feet were narrow. All I could get into were my Uggs and some ratty old sneakers. My talon clicked on the marble floors as I dejectedly went to set the table with the Limoges china I’d seen in the dining room cabinet; leave the paper plates and plastic cutlery for the school cafeteria. When the doorbell rang, I reached for my glasses—no need to entrance the delivery guy—but I couldn’t find them. I’d have to make do. When I opened the door, a rich aroma of garlic and roasted meat escaped from the boxes he carried.

“Meg! Food’s here!” I yelled, averting my eyes. I grabbed the packages out of his hands. “Here’s a fifty. Keep the change. Bye.”

I thrust the bill into his hand and slammed the door. Two seconds later I heard the ding of the elevator, but just to be sure, I looked through the peephole. He was gone.

“Miss Manners would not approve,” drawled Meg.

I made a face. “The Siren mojo. Didn’t want him drooling all over the doorstep.”

She threw up her hands. “Half the world’s population is at risk. What’s next?”

She followed me into the kitchen and I opened the boxes. Finding her dinner, she took a fork from the drawer and headed over to the couch.

“Aren’t we going to eat in the dining room, with the china?”

Meg looked at me defiantly. “I’m watching Judge Judy while I eat.”

“We have to attract a sophisticated man who’s dined with world leaders and the ultra rich. Even with our new talents, we might not get past the front door if we act like pigs. Learn some manners. After we get rid of Arkady, you can go back to eating off trays.”

Grumbling, she clicked off the TV, plopped her veggies into a bowl, and slumped at the table.

“Thank you,” I replied primly, my back straight. We ate in silence for a bit before Meg grew restless.

“I can’t just sit here and eat.”

I put my fork down. “I know. I want to be done with this too. I’ll Google Arkady’s name and see what comes up. You check the iPhone apps. See if you can find one for portals. Hopefully there’ll be at least one or two places close to where he works or parties. But you’re not excused until you eat your vegetables.” I caught her trying to suppress a smile.

After dinner, we hit the electronics.

I couldn’t find much on Arkady. There were barely any records of him appearing in public at all. I clicked through my meager list hoping Meg would have more luck. But she wasn’t saying much. I knew that whenever Meg was quiet, it either meant it wasn’t good, or it was worse than I thought.

“Well, I found an app for the portals … ” Her fingers skimmed over the iPhone. “And a bunch of other stuff too. Listen to this: Abacus. Sundial. Don’t be a Creten”—she peered over the iPhone at me—“for those who want to know about godly etiquette. But wait, there’s more: Lost? Try the Go Homer GPS.” She paused, and curled her lip into a disgusted sneer. “Feeling Illiad ? At least he has Pandora.”

“Meg, the portals? Where are they?”

“The men’s room in Madison Square Garden, near level G,” she said finally.

“Gross.”

“The locker room at the 34th Precinct.”

“Not going there.”

“The Wonder Wheel at Coney Island.”

“Useless.”

“The Botanical Gardens, next to the huge cactus.”

“Unlikely.”

“The city morgue.”

“No way.”

“I’ll take the men’s room over the morgue any day,” she volunteered, to my surprise. “This list doesn’t get any better. What have you found so far?”

“Hardly anything. Arkady’s boutique and executive offices are on Fifth Avenue. That’s basically it. He’s become a recluse. Never seems to go anywhere public anymore.”

“Not surprising.” Meg nibbled an almond biscuit. “But we don’t have to know his life story. What does he look like?”

“I couldn’t find any pics of him online except this. Look.”

She leaned over my shoulder. “He’s wearing gloves and a hat pulled down to his chin. You can’t see anything! We won’t know him even if we’re standing next to him!” Walking over to the counter to the food bag, she rummaged around inside. “Here, catch!”

She threw a fortune cookie to me. I caught it midair. If only I was this coordinated in gym. I snapped the cookie open, pulled out the message, and choked.

“You okay?” Meg asked, alarmed.

“It says, He’s hiring interns. Go apply. XOXOXOX Hades.”

Meg looked fearfully at her cookie.

I frowned. “Open it. Apparently he’s giving us help.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Look at all the help he’s given us so far.” With great reluctance, she crumbled her cookie and read the message. Her face turned bright red. “Wear a turtleneck sweater and keep your mouth shut. H.”

Ouch! Oh well, hopefully there’d be no more nasty surprises or omitted details.

Over breakfast the next day we went over our plan.

“If we have to deal with guys, you do all the talking. It worked with the cab and delivery guy,” Meg said as she handed me my sunglasses. “And we’ll both try to get as much information as we can from females. That way we can both talk.”

“We’d better get moving,” I said. I slapped on my fave shades—Dolce and Gabbanas—and we headed out. We’d decided that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for Meg to go to an interview with buds in her ears. This was not going to be easy for her.

“If you have to talk to a guy, just watch your words,” I told her. “Don’t get bossy.” She gave me a curt nod.

We started walking toward Fifth Avenue. I decided it was better to burn off some nervous energy so I didn’t mention getting a cab, although the wind was starting to pick up and I could feel my nose getting red and runny. Or was that from her feathers? She only had one or two. What would I do if she really started sprouting them?

I recognized the building as soon as I saw it. House of Romanov glittered in crystals embedded into the stone. We gave our names to the—thankfully!—female concierge at the desk, who sent us to the executive offices on the tenth floor. Riding the elevator in silence, we ignored the friendly gaze of the FedEx man. We pushed through double glass doors to the receptionist’s desk and got in line behind another girl about our age.

“Please, please, please, can’t I take my resume to his office? How about to his secretary?”

The receptionist, a voluptuous woman with red hair and piercing green eyes, puffed with indignation. “No. Resume here.” She pointed to a black tray where other papers lay.

At that moment, a door flew open and a fake-baked, super-slim man burst out. His black hair was smoothly plastered to his head and matched his fitted slacks and silk shirt. He was sweating big time, and it was making his eyeliner run.

“Mr. Arkady is not happy!” he squeaked, in a slightly Spanish accent. He whipped out a silky handkerchief and dabbed his forehead.

From the offices beyond, we heard unintelligible yelling.

“Dios mio! ” he squealed, then crossed himself and sashayed away.

“On second thought,” said the girl, picking up her resume from the tray, “maybe I’ll apply at Betsy Johnson.”

“Goodbye.” The receptionist wagged a finger toward the door. The girl scurried away.

Arkady Romanov was not going to be easy to deal with. If that was him shouting back there, he sounded deranged and dangerous. Super-fab!

The receptionist turned to us. I gulped and heard Meg do the same. No way are we getting past Ms. T-Rex. And we didn’t even bring resumes. I started to push the glasses off my face and got ready to plead our case.

“Demi, where’s the schedule for the show?” said a svelty male voice.

Quickly, I slid my glasses back on. We turned around. Another guy had walked into the reception area. A lock of wavy dark hair caressed his forehead and his mouth crooked up higher on one side, with a dimple. Black jeans and an open-collared white silk shirt clung to a bootylicious body. He didn’t have eyeliner on, but his blue eyes were just as mesmerizing.

It was him ! Sweet Jeans! Oh mama. When Meg inhaled sharply, I knew he was having the same effect on her.

“Hey, it’s you two! What are you doing here? Come to hunt me down?”

Would you surrender?

“Uh, we’re here to apply for the internships,” I stammered after Meg nudged me.

“Get out! I’m Mr. Romanov’s personal assistant. If you two feel as passionate about clothes as you do shoes, you’ll be a great fit.” He held out his hand. “By the way, I’m Jeremy Jamison.” He gave us both a disarming smile that made my knees weak.

“I’m Sharisse.”

He nodded and turned to Meg. “And you are?”

She was afraid to answer, I could tell. Unintentionally using her powers on Sweet Jeans and sprouting new feathers had to be her biggest worry. Well, at least she wouldn’t be able to talk her way into going out to some club with him. Then the horror dawned. I wouldn’t be able to bat my eyes into a date either!

Finally, she spoke.

“Meg,” she answered timidly. She smiled prettily—scary pretty—and stuck out her hand for him to shake.

Total foul! That’s my approach! But before he could say anything else, Demi the receptionist interrupted him.

“Not so fast, Jeremy. They have to fill out applications.”

We’d forgotten about Ms. T-Rexy.

“I do the preliminary approvals.” She curled a mauve lip. “And it’s not looking good for these two. Resumes?” She crooked a long and forceful index finger, its nail polished to match her lipstick.

Meg fidgeted.

“Oh, ahem,” I stuttered. “We could drop them off tomorrow. Or email them tonight.” Hades said go, so we went. Why couldn’t he just get us the jobs? It probably amused him to watch us squirm.

Jeremy leaned on a corner of the bare and gleaming silver desk. “Look, I’m desperate for help. Give them the forms, Demi. If you two can start work tomorrow, you’re hired. Unless”—and he turned the charm full blast on us—“I find out you’re spies for another house.”

We both shook our heads vigorously.

If Demi could refuse him, she simply wasn’t human. But why was he doing this for us? Was it our Siren powers at work? Meg had only said one word and I’d made no direct eye contact. Nervously, I wiggled my remaining toes. They didn’t feel different. The last thing I needed was to grow another talon. I’d have to get custom-made shoes. How fun would it be to explain those ugly feet? I forced my concentration back on Demi.

She quirked an auburn brow. “I don’t think so. There are to be no exceptions. For anyone. Mr. Romanov depends on us to protect him from …” She gave us a scornful look. “Undesirables.”

“We’re both seniors on scholarship at the Academically Independent High School, and I’ve been accepted to FIT and Meg to NYU,” I blurted. Meg nodded and grinned at Jeremy.

He smiled back.

No fair!

“And they love to fight over shoes. I’ll clear it with Mr. Romanov myself,” Jeremy said. Demi huffed and gave us both a look that promised retribution, while Meg blushed. When Meg turned her head and our eyes locked, it was clear. We both want him. It’s going to be war.

War it would be. And may the better-looking, better-dressed, nicer girl—namely, me—win.





Bad Kitty

I’d always pictured my first real job as championing some underdog, not-for-profit charity project, or maybe interning at a record label—not this.

Not wanting to waste any time, Shar insisted we call our parents and tell them we’d be spending the rest of our winter break with the other one’s family. This way, she reasoned, we’d be close to Arkady, the job, and the portals with as few distractions as possible. Even as task-oriented as Shar was, I knew she had ulterior motives. Not only was being at the center of a fashion three-ring circus a dream come true for her, but there were the countless potential opportunities she’d get to corner and—drat her—talk to Jeremy.

“We need to get to work early,” she bubbled. “Show some initiative. We’ll win that Demi woman over. And we need to get close to Arkady. It would be better to see him without his hat and glasses just so we’re sure when we voodoo him. We should plan on staying there late.”

I didn’t want to stay at the House of Romanov a minute longer than I had to, but Shar had a point. Demi clearly didn’t like us, but she was only a receptionist, or at best some sort of office manager. Still, the last thing we needed was anyone blocking access to Arkady. I dreaded seeing Demi, but at least I knew I could speak to her without sprouting more feathers. I would, however, have to control myself, especially around Jeremy.

It was barely light when we left the apartment the next day; I wasn’t on the street this early for school.

“It’s not seven yet,” I said, pulling out my pocket watch. “Will the building even be open?”

“Relax,” Shar said smoothly. It was overcast, but she wore pitch-black sunglasses to make sure no one could see her eyes. “There’s always twenty-four-seven security in big buildings like that. If we’re lucky, we’ll be the first ones in the office and we can poke around. Maybe we can even see what House of Romanov has planned for their fall collections. I read that they made some deals with a few different celebrities to—”

I stopped walking. “So that’s what this is about? You want to get a leg up on the latest trends so you’re dragging us to the House of Decadence extra early to spy them out? Fantastic, Shar. Do you realize that by the end of the day I could sport a tail peacocks would envy? And let’s say I keep mum—how am I supposed to impress anyone, much less do a job?”

Halting, Shar spun around, looking at me as if she was doing me a favor by answering me. “You didn’t need to talk too much yesterday and you made a good impression. Especially on Jeremy. You’re clever. You’ll adapt.”

“I said my name—not too impressive. Now he probably thinks I have the mental capacity of an egg timer.”

I’d resigned myself to the fact that I had no chance with Jeremy whatsoever. Even though Hades said I could talk to guys without enchanting them, I still had doubts. Before bed, I’d spent an hour scrolling through the various apps on the iPhone. Some were ridiculous and absolutely useless: Ancient Greek Pronunciation Guide and Are You Epicurious (food of the gods) and Odyssey Underworld Tours. But what Hades told us was all there, word for word, in an app called Sirenz—A Beginner’s Guide, which said: “Your looks and voice obey your intent. If you desire it, the Siren call will beckon.”

I didn’t trust myself not to use the power by accident. Not that I would outright order Jeremy to like me; it was the intent of my feelings that might be dangerous. I just didn’t know, and I didn’t want to take the risk. Shar had to know I was at a disadvantage, and I’m sure she didn’t mind that one bit. I crossed my arms against my chest and glowered at her.

She flashed her palm at my face. “Think what you want about my motives. At least I came up with a plan: get in early before there are too many people asking questions, and scope the place out. What have you done?”

I brightened a bit and held up my bag, which I’d made from recycling an old pair of jeans.

“You brought your purse. Bravo, Meg.”

“Look past the purse.” I picked up the metallic black cat fastened to one of the handles and shook it at her. The little bell inside it jingled.

“Okay.” She looked at me like I was completely insane. “You have your purse, and you have a cat bell. Very smart, Meg. You’re totally prepared to face the day.”

“It’s an ancient Japanese talisman for good fortune,” I snapped, pushing the bag into her hands. She held the cat close to her face so she could see through her dark glasses.

“You’re supposed to be smart, and you believe in this kooky stuff? And aren’t black cats bad luck?” Shar flicked an annoyed glance at me. “Well, I think going into the office early will probably help us a little more than kitty cat here, even if it is cute.” She pulled a lipstick from her purse and touched up perfect lips.

“Black is protective. I got one for you too.”

Her head jerked up as she returned the tube to her bag. “Huh?”

I dug in my purse and pulled out a crumpled paper bag and handed it to her.

“It’s pink!” she squealed when she pulled out an identical cat with paws upraised.

“Indeed it is.”

“Where did you—”

“—the counter at Burger World when I paid the bill.”

“Adorable!” Shar grinned, and wrinkled her nose in delight.

“It matches your outfit, too,” I chirped, looking her up and down; she was a walking rose, dressed head to foot in pink.

“You’re right,” she laughed, and fastened the kitty to the strap of her bag. “Let’s hope these bring good luck—we need it!”

Shar gave the security guard our names, and he let us up.

The sleek glass doors to the reception area were unlocked, so in we went and stood listening, but it was silent. I took a minute to survey our surroundings; a semi-circle of leather chairs bordered a glass table piled with slick magazines. It was almost like our latte-esque living room—beige and chrome, and more beige and chrome. I wondered if Hades had decorated this place too.

“Perfect!” Shar whispered. She pushed her glasses onto her forehead, her hazel eyes glowing with excitement. “Let’s have a look around, and—”

She was interrupted by footfalls in the adjacent hallway; we weren’t the only early risers. If it was Demi, then she’d have to acknowledge that we were eager to please, and maybe that would get us a gold star. Hastily, Shar plunked the sunglasses back down over her nose.

A door opened, and out stepped Jeremy. I caught my breath. His hair was loose and hung over his cheek, brushing his chin and the collar of his slightly rumpled shirt.

He halted at the sight of us. “You two here already?”

Shar beamed. “Yes sir, bright and early and ready to work.”

He looked at his watch, then pulled a band out of a pocket to tie his hair back. “Okay. Actually, this works out great because things will start to get busy fast around here once people start coming in, and that’ll be in about ten minutes. I’ll show you around.”

He winked at me as he opened the door. The other side of the reception area was a different world. It was like stepping into Oz—there was no taupe or tan anywhere. Our feet bounced on a plush royal purple carpet as we walked, and I could see a distorted shadow of myself in the silvery foil pattern of the wallpaper. Every few yards, a glass case stood sentinel against the wall. Inside each one was a Fabergé egg.

“They’re fakes,” Jeremy whispered. “He keeps the real ones locked up somewhere. Hey, I have one of those!” He touched the cat hanging from my purse. “I’m always looking for good luck.” He started down the main hallway.

I nodded and smiled vindictively at Shar, who scowled angrily while I tried not to gloat.

Jeremy walked briskly, speaking rapidly as if there wasn’t enough time to tell us everything we had to know.

“It’s a real hive in here. Mr. Romanov is already in his office and he’s booked with appointments until eight or nine p.m., long after you’re gone.”

Shar piped up. “We want to be as helpful as we can. If you need us to stay late, we’re good with that. Anything we can do for Ark—I mean, Mr. Romanov, we’re there.” Then she tripped over a lump in the fluffy rug and stumbled into the wall. We all stopped.

Jeremy looked back and frowned. “Are you okay? Don’t you want to take your glasses off?”

Shar looked panicked. She didn’t take off her shades—she didn’t dare—and she didn’t offer an explanation.

“Lasik,” I blurted, before I could stop myself. For a few horrible seconds, I mentally searched my body, waiting to feel something sprout or puff … but nothing. Then I calmed down, remembering what Hades had said. I hadn’t given any suggestions or orders, nor wanted to. I’d just offered an explanation. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be mission impossible, just mission very, very, very careful. “Shar had Lasik surgery,” I repeated, in as low and monotone a voice as I could.

“Oh,” he began. I couldn’t tell whether he accepted it or not, but thankfully, Shar joined in.

“Yeah, no more contacts for me. But I have to wear these for a while—inside and out.” She tapped her glasses.

“Just take it slow then, okay? Mr. Romanov doesn’t like to deal with workmen’s comp.” He patted her on the shoulder and I couldn’t help but notice that his hand didn’t linger there. We continued our tour of the office.

“Here’s the Yellow Salon, the Purple Salon, the fitting rooms, and the Gold Salon. Admin is on the other side—Reynaldo, the Collection Coordinator, is there, and so is Callie, our IT person. Mr. Romanov’s office is down the hall to the end, behind the huge double doors. I don’t know if you’ll actually be able to meet him, not many of the staff have. He’s a very private person, and extremely busy.”

Was this another of Hades’ ironic manipulations? We’d be in the same building, on the same floor, and probably within feet of Arkady Romanov, but we’d never get close enough to him to get him to a portal. The nearest one was four blocks away at the city morgue, and I doubted we’d be able to convince him to go there without morphing ourselves into poultry. I nudged Shar hard in the ribs, and she looked at me and glared angrily. She had to be thinking the same thing as I was; that we should just toddle on down to the morgue, open a fridge door, and go to Tartarus ourselves. How could we ever do this assignment?

“Anyway,” Jeremy continued, “you’ll be playing a very important role. With our New Year’s Eve showing, it’s hectic. If someone needs something around here, you two are the ones to take care of it. If they need coffee, office supplies, TP, anything, you get it.” He stopped and looked from Shar to me. “Do you understand?”

I tried to crack a smile and forced myself to nod.

“Totally.” Shar answered. “We’re here to pamper and please.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now, the pay isn’t exactly the greatest …”

Jeremy kept talking and walking, but I didn’t want to hear any more about our duties. There had to be some redeeming qualities to this place—other than his perfect face.

From where we were standing, I heard someone come in, then the barking of several dogs.

Jeremy raised his eyebrows and put a hand on each of our shoulders. “Here we go!” He ran his hand lightly down my arm and I felt my face get hot. Redeeming quality found—physical contact!

We returned to the lobby area to find Demi, the amazon receptionist who’d almost made toast out of us on our last visit, dressed down in jeans and a brilliant spring-green sweater. She had a voluminous, daffodil-yellow shawl draped across her broad shoulders, and she was holding leashes attached to three super-sized dogs. The largest one looked a little too much like a wolf. They sat calmly at her side panting happily as she bent over the only desk in the area and sorted through a stack of papers.

“Demi!” Jeremy called.

She turned around and smiled coyly at us. “I see our interns are here.” She checked her watch. “And early.”

“Told you they’d work out.” Jeremy grinned. “I’ll leave them in your capable hands. I’m sure you have some things they can start with? Or ask Callie or Reynaldo if they need help with anything.”

Demi reached down and patted the top of the wolf’s head. “Oh, most definitely.”

Jeremy turned and left, and the three of us stood there staring at each other. One of the dogs growled.

“So,” Shar began, breaking the silence. I didn’t like the way Demi was checking us out. “Um, you, uh, do a lot of … different things around here.”

“Really, Sharisse, you’re more dense than a petrified tree. Take those ridiculous things off. Lasik surgery indeed.”

Wait—how did she know about our little lie?

“And you, Margaret,” she said, turning to me. “Please, don’t bother to mince words. You won’t turn into a carrion bird talking to me.”

Shar took off her glasses. “Do you know Hades?” she whispered.

Demi glared at her. “Do not speak his name in my presence.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m someone who doesn’t like being robbed of what is most precious to me.”

“You’re from the same circles as Had—I mean, our mutual acquaintance?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Who are you?” Shar repeated, at a loss. I was stumped too. Demi knew about us, and she knew about Hades. Apparently she didn’t like him—that was something we had in common—but still, that told me nothing. Last night’s flip through The Encyclopedia of Myth revealed that he had a long list of enemies.

Demi took a long, slow deep breath, like she was at the end of her patience.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Shar stammered. “But since you seem know about our situation, we’re … a little nervous. With all these myths and ancient histories popping to life in front of us, and everything.”

“Well said,” I muttered, and nodded my head.

“I’m Demeter.” She sighed. “Think you can figure it out now?”

Demeter … I thought hard. Demeter was Hades’ mother-in-law, and the goddess akin to Mother Nature. In her grief about having her daughter, Persephone, spend half the year in Tartarus, she made the earth hibernate each winter.

But what was she doing here, at the House of Romanov? Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good—for us.

“I’ll make it a bit clearer for you,” Demi continued. “That repugnant pig you’re working for stole my baby. I’ve never been able to get her back. She deserves far better than him. Oh, my poor darling Persephone, spending half the year in that horrible place … down there!”

“I’m sorry,” Shar said. “But we have nothing to do with—”

Demeter waved at hand at us. “How could I ever expect you to understand? You’re mortals. Simple, stupid, inferior mortals.”

Pardon me?

“But maybe even you two can comprehend this: I loathe him. If I can throw his schemes askew, it gives a small bit of satisfaction.”

“But if we don’t get Arkady, then—” Shar began.

I elbowed her in the arm to stop her. “Nondisclosure?” I mouthed, wide-eyed. We probably already said more than we should have.

Demeter stared menacingly at us, and the halogen lights over our heads flickered and buzzed. “I really don’t care about your little arrangement with him. I want my Persephone back. That is my only concern.” She crossed her arms and turned away from us, but I could feel the anger rippling off her. The dogs whimpered.

“Soooo, you know about …” Shar started cautiously, then pointed at herself and me. “You know. Our arrangement.”

Demi’s chin inched up. “I’m a goddess. There’s not much I’m unaware of.”

“If you’re a goddess, then you have to know a way to get Persephone back,” Shar argued.

Demeter seemed to grow even bigger, if that was possible, and together, Shar and I shrank and backed up into the wall.

“Impertinence! If there was a way, don’t you think I would’ve done it?” she boomed. “We all have rules to follow, otherwise it would always be forever-summer because she’d be with me instead of him!”

Demeter was not to be trifled with. We seemed to be stuck in the middle, though, so we needed to make peace with her. Or at the very least, get her to see us as unwilling victims of Hades’ plan.

I drew myself up to my full height—all five foot three inches—and stepped in front of Shar. Trying to appear conciliatory, I said, “I wish we could help you with that—”

“We’ll try and stay out of your way,” Shar added, nodding very hard. “We don’t want any trouble.”

Demeter spun around and regarded us with a speculative gleam in her eye that unnerved me. I felt Shar inching closer to me.

“There is … one possibility,” she murmured, moving closer to me. “I think I want to keep both of you in my sights.” She smelled like a field of flowers; if I closed my eyes, I’d swear I was standing in an open meadow in springtime. I fought the urge to relax my guard and kept my eyes on her. She reached out an elegant finger and poked at the black cat hanging on my purse handle. “Tell me, do you really think these things work?”

“Absolutely,” I answered, with as much confidence as I could muster. “I think it’s more of a psychological thing. You know, it makes me think I can do what I need to do.”

Demi nodded thoughtfully. “Charms are all very well, I suppose. But you can’t depend on them. You and Sharisse should concentrate on using your talents.”

“That’s a little difficult,” Shar said, “considering that every time we use them, we grow feathers and claws. I don’t want to add a beak to match my feet!”

Demeter waved a dismissive hand. “The power you have goes far beyond the uses he’s divulged. You two haven’t even begun to realize what you’re capable of.”

I didn’t understand. I’d scrolled through the iPhone a few times, and the rules seemed to be in line with everything Hades told us. Our powers—the enthralling look and the compelling speech—were always in effect; they only worked on males—we’d discovered that tidbit on our own; and they were more potent when we were in close proximity to each other. Once we’d enthralled someone, we could leave them and wait for the effects to wear off naturally; the duration was determined by how intensely we’d used the gift on them. Or, we could release them immediately by saying ase me isihi, which Hades thoughtfully footnoted was Greek for “leave me alone.” It also reminded us that we took on more physical Siren traits every time we used the gifts. I couldn’t find any mention of additional powers, which made me suspicious … of Demeter, but also of Hades and the iPhone. What was the truth?

Demi fixed her eyes on us. “Pay attention. I’m only going to say this once.” She leaned in confidentially. “Your wiles don’t just affect mortal males, you know. Even a god would be susceptible to you if you tried hard enough. Sharisse could have him under that well-pedicured size-ten foot of hers.” She stroked the wolf dog. His eyes were far too intelligent and he seemed to be grinning.

“But—” Shar protested.

Demeter slapped a hand on one hip and stared at us with a bored expression.

“How do you know this?” I couldn’t help asking. “What would Shar have to do?”

Shar pinched me. I guess I deserved it, but I was curious. Why would Demeter be encouraging Shar to play the role of seductress? It didn’t make sense, because wouldn’t it hurt Persephone? Or did Demeter think that if Hades focused his interest on someone else … Shar? I shut the thought out. It was too gross to consider, not to mention impossible. Persephone was a goddess. Hottie though Shar was, wouldn’t Hades consider going from divine to mortal as trading down?

Demeter stared at us both as if we were stupid, and I was beginning to feel that way.

“Do I need to repeat myself, Margaret?” she snapped. “There’s little about the gods that I don’t know. Sharisse.” She turned to my roomie. “Don’t pass up an opportunity like this to use your gifts to your advantage. I’m practically giving you everything you want.”

“Wait a sec,” Shar interrupted, voicing what I’d just been thinking. “You want me and Hades—”

Demi raised an imperious hand, twisting her head away from us. After a moment, she turned back with a snarl.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to say his name? Think about the valuable advice I’ve just imparted to you.”

One of the dogs howled. “That’s right, Gorby,” she said, patting its head. She turned to us. “Time to take Arkady’s babies for their walkies.” She threw the leashes at us. “You two do it. You might need the practice.”

She snapped her fingers, and we were standing in the Central Park dog walk.

“What the—” I yelped, whirling around and tangling my foot in a dog leash. Shar held two leashes and I held one—the one with the wolf attached to it. How thoughtful of Demeter to pop us into our coats, and to tuck the pooper-scooper under my arm and the collection bag under Shar’s.

“Maybe this isn’t a good time to bring this up,” Shar said to me as Gorby and friends started to drag us along. “You know those little cat charms? They don’t work! That goddess is bad luck personified!”

Somewhere in the depths of my purse, something buzzed. Keeping my arm tight to my side so I wouldn’t lose the scooper, I dug with my free hand. Was it the iPhone? It wouldn’t surprise me if Hades was on the line, ready to deliver an acerbic comment—but for once I actually hoped it was him. I wanted to know why he didn’t warn us about Demeter or anyone else who might pop up.

My fingers finally found the buzzing thing. Not the iPhone, but my own cell. I’d gotten a text. Flipping it open, I read:

So glad u came in. Fate likes me. J.

Jeremy?! I felt my knees get wobbly but managed to tap out a slow reply with my thumb.

Me 2 but where’d u get my #?

We hadn’t traded. I hit send. About three seconds later, another text came through.

Cheated & took from ur app. U mad?

Not likely! I looked over at Shar, being dragged by the dogs a few yards in front of me. She was scolding them to slow down. I typed back.

Nooo.

I hit send and waited. A new message popped up:



The wolf must have decided to surge ahead and catch up with his comrades, because he tugged so hard I almost lost my balance.

“Whoa!” I yelled. “Heel!” Immediately, all the dogs halted, and I felt a twinge on my thigh.

Frantically, I patted my leg. I’d sprouted another feather—or three. Crouching, I took a peek under each of the dog’s legs. All boys—and dogs are mortal. Hades hadn’t specified human.

“What the heck are you doing?” Shar asked, a wary look on her face.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t look at the dogs,” I said. It took her a second, but she got it. “Next time Hades shows his face, I have a few questions. Let’s start with why Demeter is our coworker. You know, you could call him—remember when he told you he was on speed-dial? He is—I checked.”

“Not listening!”

But I could tell she heard me and was thinking about it. Demeter’s presence could bring our progress to a grinding halt, and that seemed awfully convenient.

“Ase me isihi,” I muttered, and all the dogs took off again.

Please, please PLEASE help me get through this, kitty, I chanted silently. I have to stay focused. I have to … I groped along the handle of my purse with my free hand, but it clasped on air. Kitty’s empty chain swung from the strap.

The cat was out of the bag.