Siren's Song (28 page)

The red-lipped assistant gives me a little push. “Okay, go.”

I walk like I'm headed to the block. My heartbeat now sounds like the rat-tat-tat of the executioner's drum. I've always wondered how people like Anne Boleyn could have walked across the yard to the scaffold. Somehow their legs carried them. Somehow my legs carry me, closer and closer to the grey microphone at the end. I stand at it, giving Matt and Taylin a few more seconds. Giving Luke more time to get six miles away. I notice the crowds have hushed. They are already standing, hats shielding hearts. I wet my lips and look down at the papers.

I know I haven't nodded, but the music starts anyway.
Please
, I pray,
let it have been enough time
. I fill my lungs and release the note on a bubble, belting out the first line. The music surges up out of me. It feels like magic, joy, lifesaving water to the desiccated, relief to the tortured. The notes slow my frantic, fluttering heart. The anxiety biting the inside of my stomach dims. I ride along the waves of sound, feeling my breath moving in and out with the highs and lows of the music. I'm vaguely aware that the arena is silent, frozen, but the music has captured me, too. I ride it through to the end and stop. For several long seconds, nothing happens. People are standing, mesmerized.

I look around toward the home team bench. Oscar gives me the thumbs up and elbows the player next to him, who wakes. I see the player mouth a curse and smile. The room erupts in applause so deafening I hardly hear the first notes of the Canadian anthem. But as soon as I let out the first long “O” the room hushes once more. I run through the familiar yet unknown song. Even if I mess up a little of the pacing, no one notices. I finish and wait.

“Wahoo, Jule!” Oscar's booming voice reaches me a full second before the room wakes up again. Then he's drowned out. I practically run back up the red carpet and hand the crumpled papers to the red-lipped lady, who stares at me in awe.

“Oscar was right,” she says. “Shoot, girl! You can sing.”

“My mom's an opera singer,” I mumble as if that explains everything. I glance around but Luke is not there. Thank God! But Matt and Taylin aren't, either. I follow the lady back up to the box. People smile and shout “good job” as I walk by.

The lady leaves me at the door and I walk in. Empty. Empty? What does that mean? I take a deep breath and release it slowly. If Matt and Taylin were caught, would someone tell me? Could Luke be out there, possessed and tearing apart another car? I turn back and forth between the comfortable seats and the door at least three times. “Arrgg,” I hiss. “What do I do?”

The door flies open, making me start. Matt and Taylin run in. Matt slams the door. His fingers rake through his hair. “Wooo!” he yells and slaps his thighs like he's just thrown a touchdown pass.

Taylin slams into a seat, breathing heavily. Her smile makes my stomach lower back down into its normal bodily position. “We did it,” she says, her voice lowered as she glances through the plexiglass separating us from the boxes on either side of us.

“You cut the wires?” I whisper.

“Two of them,” Matt says. “Luke took out the third.”

Taylin walks back to Matt so we're away from any possible eavesdroppers. “There was a guard by the Versus van. But we saw Luke creeping around in the dark. He motioned to us and we gave him a diversion.”

“A diversion?”

Taylin grins. “I screamed like a banshee and Matt acted like he was attacking me.”

“But when the guard came over,” Matt continues, “we just acted like I was tickling her. While he lectured us on not hanging around the parking lot, Luke took out the third satellite.”

“Ripped it right off the top of the van,” Taylin says. “Then he took off.”

“How?”

Taylin's smile fades. “He had to go on foot or it would have called attention to him.”

“So…there is no way he got six miles away before I started singing.”

Taylin's lips purse tight and Matt shakes his head.

“Then, where is he?” I ask and glance out into the crowds cheering for the Blizzards, who just won the face-off. Several pairs of uniformed police walk up and down the aisles. “Look.”

“Is it Luke?” Matt asks from behind.

“Cops,” Taylin says and sinks into a chair. “I bet they're looking for us. They didn't see Luke at all.”

“Just stay in here,” I suggest. I head for the door.

“Where are you going?” Matt asks.

I toss him another soda from the mini fridge. “Act casual. I'm going to look for Luke.”

“Jule,” Taylin warns, “he might not be completely back to normal.”

“I'll just walk around a bit. See if he's in the building. Maybe I can find out who the cops are looking for.” Truth is, I can't just sit in this little room wondering what's going on. My adrenaline is pumping too hard. I need to walk some of it off. I need to see Luke.

I circle the loop of vendors. The police seem to be asking generic questions to see if anyone saw anything outside. I only hear one asking about a goth girl and a big guy. I'm about to check back at the box to see if Luke returned when I catch a movement outside the stadium doors. I check my back pocket to make sure I have my ticket to get back in. There's a policeman by the door. Maybe if I act like I have a mission in mind he won't stop me. I stride up to the door to push through.

“Are you leaving for the night?” he asks.

“Uh, no, just have to get something from my car.” I flash him my ticket. “I can get back in with this, right?”

“What are you getting?”

I stare at the young officer and wonder if he's being overly suspicious because of the vans, or if he's just bored and figures he'll harass me.

“A tampon, so I'm kind of in a hurry.” I stare back into his eyes even as I feel my face flame. God, have I ever said “tampon” to a guy before? First singing in front of thousands of people, and now talking about feminine hygiene products to a man. I barely recognize myself.

“Okay,” he says. “Hurry back. And you'll have to come back in through the south entrance.” He points to the right.

“South, got it.” I push out into the dark, cool night. The cop watches me, so I stride out into the parking lot until I think he can't track me anymore.

As my eyes adjust to the shadows beyond the bright lamps beaming down, I scan the mosaic of cars, trucks, and vans. I find Taylin's car and lean against the discolored side panel. “Where are you?” I say aloud to myself.

“Jule.”

I gasp and twist. Luke stands on the other side of the car. I start to come around, but he holds up a hand, palm out, the universal stop sign. His perfect features catch the white reflection of the autumn moon. Shadows emphasize the hard lines of his face, his clenched jaw, before he glances down, his head dropping between his shoulders. He grasps the roof of Taylin's car. He's breathing hard, like he's been running.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“No.” He looks up. His eyes burn with an internal light that backs up his clipped warning.

“Can I—”

He breathes heavily. I wonder if the car roof will be ripped off when it's time to drive home. “Go. Back. Inside.”

“You didn't eat the cookies?”

A deep growl comes from him.

I turn without any further questions and start walking. Goosebumps that have nothing to do with the crisp breeze speckle my arms. “Nooo…” he calls out. The sound is the sorrow-engulfed wail of the tortured.
Will my death stop it?
I fling the thought away from me like a live grenade. I take another step and hear his breath catch. “You,” he says in a deep, wavering voice, “need to run.”

I see the door I exited, and way to the left is the south entrance. The growl behind me forces the decision and I sprint toward the closest door. The cop will have to let me in if I'm pounding on it. I dodge cars, graze mirrors, tripping over those stupid cement barriers between rows. My legs pump, feet skidding on the loose pebbles. My arms and hands catch me, keeping me on course through the slalom of cars. I try to concentrate on the crunch and pounding of my sneakers against the blacktop, and not the smash of Luke's body as he plows through obstacles behind me. The door's ahead, lit like a glowing beacon, but no one stands at it anymore. Is it locked?

My knees and thighs strain to extend my stride, but I know. As I huff in and out, dodge and swing around hoods and tailgates, I know that Luke is faster, even without the curse adding to his strength.

“Go, Jule!” he yells from behind, but he's close, too close. There's no way. I veer off toward the dark shadows of a loading dock without allowing my conscious thought to take over. I can't outrun him. And I won't lead him to where a crowd can witness his insanity. I throw myself against the cinderblock wall. My chest hurts as I drag in breath after breath. He's there before I can take two.

The light of the moon slashes down. I watch his sculpted chest heave through his T-shirt as he stands before me. With the last amount of courage I possess I look up into his eyes. They burn. Light from within swirls in the darkness, like hot oil.

“You won't hurt me, Luke.” I swallow hard as I gulp air. “You love me.” God, is that the wrong thing to say? Will it fuel the demon trying to control him? What do I do? There's no fighting his strength, no escape. We stand on the precipice. My shallow breaths mark the passage of seconds.

“You won't hurt me.” I take a step closer so that I'm mere inches away, showing him that I trust him. I breathe him in, and I realize that I do. I
do
trust him. Somehow. We are cornered in this dark hole, away from any rescue. But I know Luke is in there and regardless if this is the end or the beginning, I surrender to the stronger emotion. Beyond scared and resistant, beyond worry and denial.

Luke's breath feathers across my forehead. “You're stronger than the curse,” I say with renewed calm. I tilt my head up to him in the dark. The only thing I have left is the truth. Will it mean the end, the end of the curse, the end of me? “I love you,” I whisper.

16

“You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul.”
~Julie de Lespinasse

Luke steps into me, his body forcing me back against the wall and into the darkest shadows. Before I can say anything more he grabs the sides of my head, tilting it. I don't resist. His lips descend onto mine with ferocious intensity. The hands holding me captive rake through my hair as his kiss consumes me. My legs wobble, but his strength holds us both up. He shifts, and his body smashes against mine pushing me into the cinderblock wall at my back. I steal a breath against his mouth, but his lips continue to devour me. Still numb, I surrender to it.

His hands slope down my neck to rub down the skin of my arms. I am sandwiched between the wall and his hard body. Sensations soak into me with every touch, burning a path into my very center, and then igniting me from the inside out. I lose track of the wall at my back and the ground beneath my feet. I feel only Luke, smell only Luke, taste only Luke.

My heart beats a fierce tempo, the sparking heat surging within me like an electric symphony. He presses his lips along my jaw, my neck, my mouth. Hot bubbles of joy fill my revved body as I pour my own fierce response back into him. Tears press against my closed eyes.

His lips move back to my jaw, kissing a path of passion toward my ear. “I hear it, feel it,” he rasps, his warm breath against my skin. I haven't said anything out loud. “The passion sings to me.”

I pant and feel his hands bite into my upper arms. I gasp softly. My eyes blink open to meet his smoldering gaze. Pain and passion mix in his features and I know they reflect my own.

Luke's hands open to slap against the wall at my back. With his release, I sag against the cinder block, waiting, breathing so fast stars begin to dance in the darkness that still shrouds us.
Crack
! The block next to me shatters. Concrete rains to the ground as Luke leaps backwards across the space to the rear of the black alcove.

“Go!” he yells. He grabs what looks like a length of chain hooked into a loop of steel cemented into the loading dock. I watch as he coils the heavy links around his arms, moonlight glinting off the metal. “Go, Jule,” he growls.

I shove away from the wall and walk briskly toward the south entrance. I hear the chain rattle and a series of curses in English, French, and some other languages. My numb legs stretch out before me and I jog the rest of the way to the lights and crowds of cheering fans.

They scan my ticket again and I move like a stunned fish floating in the current of red. Laughing, high-fiving fans jostle around me. Beer dots my sneakers. I veer around the line stretching out of the ladies room and find the luxury box door. It's locked.

I stare at the artificial wood grain and release a long breath, careful not to pass the air along my vocal cords. Softly I lean my forehead against the cool door, letting my heart find its natural rhythm. I flatten my hand, about to slap hard on the door.

“Jule! What the hell?”

I jump and twist around to press back against the door. Eric Ashe looms over me, scowl in place. His gaze scans up and down my body, and I wonder if my clothes are still on. I'm pretty sure someone would have said something if I'd walked in topless, but I look anyway. Rumpled, but yes, on. Eric grabs my arm, lifting and turning it until the pale underside is fully exposed.

“That bastard did this to you,” he hisses and I try to yank my arm back, but he's too strong.

“Let go of me,” I demand.

“Where is he?”

“Not here, so leave. Now.”

Eric moves closer, finally releasing my arm. His gaze roams my features, and I watch as the hard planes of his face tense into stone. “Luke Whitmore is trouble, Jule.” He raises his thumb up as if to touch my face, but I turn away.