“Celebrate?” Harper asked, looking away from the monitor to Marcy.
“Yeah. This is your last day of work,” Marcy reminded her. “We have to do something to celebrate.”
“It’s a Tuesday night, Dad’s making supper, and Gemma’s skipping play rehearsal tonight so we can have a family dinner,” Harper said. “Does that count as celebrating?”
“Hardly.” Marcy scoffed. “We have to go out and get buck-wild. Rock our socks off. Paint the town red. That kinda thing.”
“I don’t really feel like painting the town any color.” Harper pushed the keyboard away and leaned back in her seat. “I have all my packing left to do.”
“When do you officially leave?” Marcy asked.
“Classes start Thursday, so I have to leave by tomorrow so I can get slightly acquainted with the campus before getting thrown into things.”
“I thought you already were acquainted,” Marcy said. “Or that’s what you hyped up when we made the road trip to Sundham.”
“Not acquainted enough.” Harper shook her head. “From what I understand, most of the other students were arriving over the weekend or yesterday. They have an orientation going on.”
Marcy scooted back farther on the desk and folded her legs underneath her. “Do you have your classes all picked out?”
“Yep. I registered online. Everything on the college end is all ready. It’s just everything here that feels so messed up.”
“How are things with Gemma?” Marcy asked cautiously.
Harper swiveled the chair back and forth and groaned.
“I don’t know.” Harper shook her head. “She got into some kind of fight with Alex on Sunday night. She won’t really talk about it, and what little I do know I got from Dad.”
“That at least sounds like something normal and adolescent,” Marcy said. “That’s gotta be a good thing.”
“I guess.” She stopped swiveling in her chair to face Marcy. “I had the weirdest conversation with Thea the other day. She basically said she’s looking out for Gemma and wants her to stay a siren.”
“Yeah?” Marcy shrugged. “Didn’t you already know that?”
“Kind of. But she said a few things that made me think.” Harper chewed the inside of her cheek. “Do you think it would be better if Gemma stayed a siren?”
“Better in what way?” Marcy asked.
“If the only two options are death or siren, maybe she should pick siren.” Harper stared up at her. “Right?”
“Right,” Marcy agreed.
“But she hasn’t found the scroll yet.” Harper leaned forward on the desk so her elbows were on it. She rested her head on her hands and peered up at Marcy. “So I shouldn’t go, right?”
“What are you talking about?” Marcy asked.
“With everything going on with Gemma, I should be here supporting her.”
“She’s here now and you still go to work,” Marcy said. “You can’t sit holding her hand every minute. If you go to college, you can still be home every night if you want. It’s not that far away. You’re really making this out to be a bigger deal than it is.”
“I just … I want to make sure I’m doing what’s best for everyone.” Harper scowled. “And I feel like the worst sister ever.”
“Or the most obsessive.”
“Probably both. Obsessive and terrible.”
“You don’t need to be so dreary,” Marcy said. “Me and Daniel and even Thea have Gemma’s back. How many people do you really need babysitting your sister?”
“I know.” Harper sighed. “I just wish we were closer to figuring this all out.”
“Well, I’ve been talking to Lydia.”
Harper dropped her arm and sat up straighter. “Does she know anything more?”
“Not really. I asked if she could keep an eye out for Demeter or Achelous or really any Greek-type figure. She said she would, but she doesn’t know where to find them. Her specialty is shifters, which is why she’s so intrigued by the sirens. She had no idea they could shift.”
“‘Shift’?” Harper repeated.
“Yeah, like shapeshifters.” Marcy wiggled her body, like she was attempting to change form or having a mild seizure, and then she stopped. “Like how a siren transforms from pretty girl to mermaid to bird thing. They’d be called transformers if the robots hadn’t already stolen the title. Stupid Optimus Prime, always ruining everything for everybody.”
“So we’re basically at a dead end now?” Harper asked, slumping forward again.
“Not completely. Lydia said that she heard some things about the muses, but she thinks they’re all dead now.”
“You think the muses literally being dead is not a dead end?” Harper asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“Lydia knows people who knew them. So at least there’s some kind of six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon connection,” Marcy insisted.