Siren's Storm (13 page)

This street wasn’t so crowded. Leafy trees reached overhead in front of redbrick and wooden houses with overplanted window boxes. Toward the end of the street was a tiny restaurant, closed until the next day.

Will was running now. He was gaining on her—he was so close, he could almost touch her. He reached out—

And she turned to face him.

Momentum carried him forward; he almost ran into her. He planted his feet, but his body kept moving. He made a jerky little movement, like a puppet on a string or a dog yanked back by its owner.

Will planted his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Hey,” he said, looking up at her.

Asia just watched him with her cool green stare.

Finally Will straightened up. “So—” he began.

Asia lifted an eyebrow.

“So—what was that all about?” Will blurted out.

Asia blinked. Other than that, she was motionless.

“Last night? Hello?” He waved his hand in front of her face, as if to break her out of a trance. “I wake up and you’re looking down at me. And I’m, like, fifty feet from where I’m supposed to be. Which is on some rocks, dead.”

“Are you trying to say thank you?”

“So you
were
there!” He hadn’t expected her to admit it so easily.

“Where, exactly?”

“Don’t play dumb. You—you
did
something. You appeared from out of nowhere.”

“How would that be humanly possible?”

“You tell me.”

“It isn’t.” And she turned away.

“No,” Will said, reaching for her arm. “Ouch!” He shook his hand—his fingers were numb.

She turned on him, fury in her eyes. “Be careful,” she said in a low voice. There was something—a tone, a quality. Will didn’t know. All he knew was that the
world shifted suddenly. The anger that had been pulsing through his body like a piston drained away, leaving him loose-limbed and rubbery. He released his grip.

“I don’t owe you anything,” Asia told him in the same quiet voice. It was almost a song, but Will couldn’t catch the melody.

He tried to repeat it. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s right.”

She started away.

Will felt as if he had been submerged into water, warm as blood. He wanted to float away. He stumbled like a drunk toward a bench and sat down heavily. Asia watched him, then turned to glide away.

But wasn’t there something he wanted to ask her?

What was it?

His tongue was thick, like it was covered in algae. It was an effort to move it. “What happened?”

Asia stopped, stiff as a board. Slowly, slowly, she turned to face him. “What?”

The fog was lifting. It was a superhuman effort, but Will rose to his feet. “How did I end up so far from where I fell?”

Asia was silent.

“What the hell is your deal, Asia? I swear to God I saw you walk right into the ocean during a hurricane, and now you seem to have flown up to some rocks to rescue me.” Will’s strength was coming back to him now. He pointed to the scar on his face. “Do you see this? I have no idea how I got this. People think I’m
crazy. Even
I’m
starting to think I’m crazy. I don’t need someone making me crazier. Now, how did I end up so far from where I fell?”

Asia’s gaze held his, taut as a rope between them.

Will could have sworn that she didn’t move her lips, but he heard her say, “You already know the answer.”

He felt as if he had wandered into someone else’s dream. He didn’t know the boundaries. He couldn’t wake up. But he wasn’t frightened. Instead, his body felt heavy and warm. It was like drinking hot chocolate on a cold day, or curling up in bed with sad-eyed Guernsey lying against him.

“Am I just crazy?” he asked. He could almost see the words as they floated away from him, like butterflies.

Asia smiled and cocked her head. She looked up toward the dark sky, as if tracing the path of the words as they fluttered overhead.

She took a step toward him. Then another.

Her scent floated toward him. A faint sweetness, like lilies. And a light sea-air tang. He wanted to reach out and touch her—his body ached with the wanting. But he couldn’t move. He was a seahorse, anchored to a single spot but swept by the current.

Asia stepped so close to him that her nose was almost touching his. She lifted her finger and touched his bottom lip, which tingled slightly under her fingertip.

Am I crazy?
Will wondered.

This close, he could see how pale her skin was. A
delicate spiderweb of blue veins was visible along her forehead. And her eyes—they were the largest eyes he’d ever seen. As if she were some cave creature, able to see in the dark.
Am I?

“You aren’t crazy, Will,” she whispered.

Then she turned and walked away.

Will was left there, filled with fog. What was it about this girl? They’d had that moment of connection, and then she’d closed up as quickly as a clam. Will wondered if what he felt for her was a sort of passion. But it wasn’t a passion that sharpened his senses. Instead, it clouded his mind and left him feeling drugged and sluggish. And it was different from lust. She was beautiful, and he found himself wanting to be near her, to touch her. But more than anything he simply wanted to understand her.

Yet the more he tried, the more she eluded him.

Slowly his faculties started to come back to him. He regained feeling in his hands, then his legs. He shook his head, then his whole body, the way Guernsey did when she stepped out of the creek. Then he took a step forward. And another.

He hurried to the end of the street, but he’d lost sight of Asia. She’d slipped away like a minnow after all.

She’d been heading toward the beach, of that he was sure.

Like that time I saw her crawling down the rocks
, Will thought with a shiver. He remembered her, head down, legs and arms spread wide, spider-like. He
knew that he’d have to follow her again. If he really was going crazy, he wanted to know. And if she was crazy, he wanted to know that, too.

He
had
to know. Will pulled out his cell phone.
Favor—find out info on Asia Marin
, he texted. Angus knew everyone and their dirt. If anyone could find out about Asia, it was someone at the
Gazette
.

It only took Angus a few moments to respond.
Poor kay?

Will sighed. No wonder Angus had nearly flunked Spanish last year.
Need to know
.

;-)
was Angus’s response.

Okay, so he’s not deep
, Will thought.
Maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve got enough depth to deal with right now
. He tucked his phone back into his pocket and hurried down the street. After a few steps, he moved into a dead trot.

The darkness was sudden as Will left the restaurants and shops behind him. It was as if he was entering a dark room. The sidewalk ended suddenly, as well, and he found himself following the edge of the road. Pebbles and rocks mixed with grass that had escaped from wide green lawns. He turned another corner, and there she was.

Asia walked on, the lights of the town fading behind her. Trees with dark limbs reached overhead like giants waiting to pluck them from the ground, eat them alive. Here the houses were closer to the road, but Asia passed them by. She walked another block, then two, then half a mile. Soon she headed down a curved street that Will knew led to the beach. Every
now and again a lonely street lamp glowed solitary in the darkness.

Here, once again, houses stood behind tall hedges that grew improbably close to the sand and salt of the ocean. Asia paused at a driveway, peered beyond the leaf wall. Then she turned and stepped into the yard. Will followed to the edge of the drive but didn’t dare go any farther, although there were no cars or people in evidence. The house was dark, and he could barely see her as she made her way up the front steps. She stopped at the door and turned—a ghostly shadow. He thought that he caught a glimpse of her green eyes before she placed her hand on the knob and stepped into the darkness.

Will stood watching for a long time. But no light in the house went on. Finally he turned. A small, tastefully carved placard at the end of the driveway proclaimed this to be the property of the Joyce family.

Will stared hard at the sign.
Isn’t Asia’s last name Marin?

He had followed her hoping for clues, but all he got was more mystery.

Gretchen blew across the top of her coffee, inhaling the rich scent. She’d added some cinnamon, and it smelled like Christmas to her. Like the Christmases she used to have when her mom still lived with them. Gretchen didn’t always drink coffee. Just on the mornings when she’d had trouble falling asleep the night before. Or when she’d been sleepwalking. She always woke up those mornings with a mind full of fuzz and a body that felt limp, like a flower that needed watering.

Her cat, Bananas, wandered into the kitchen. She rubbed against the table leg, then against Gretchen.

“You love me as much as you love the table?” Gretchen asked as she reached down to scratch behind Bananas’ ears. “Hm? That much?”

Bananas’s eyes were slitted. She sprang onto Gretchen’s lap, purring, and lifted her face to Gretchen’s nose.

“Oh,
more
than the table, now?”

A sharp knock at the door, and the cat scrambled off of Gretchen’s lap, tearing at her with unguarded claws as she bolted to the floor and streaked out of the room.

“Ouch.” Gretchen sucked in her breath as she inspected the long, raised scratch on the inside of her thigh.

“Sorry.” Will’s shape was hazy through the screen door. Gretchen waved at him to come in.

“She doesn’t know her own strength.”

“Does it hurt?” He reached toward Gretchen’s thigh, but she dropped the hem of her short pajama bottoms and crossed her legs. Will flushed with sudden embarrassment. He looked down at his hands, as if he were grateful to have something in them. “I, uh, I brought your newspaper in.” He dropped it on the table.

“What’s up? What brings you by at this early hour?”

“You’re always up early.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m expecting visitors. I’m still in my pajamas, aren’t I?”

Will sighed. “You’re hard to argue with.”

“Tell it to my dad. So, what’s up?”

Will shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you break up with Jason?”

Gretchen felt the back of her neck get hot. “What?

Why?”

“Just … I heard something.”

“You heard something? From who? Asia?”

Will lifted his eyebrows. “Have you been talking to Asia?”

“Of course. I mean, we work together. But she was there when Jason came in. And when he went out.” Gretchen shrugged. “How do you know about that?”

“How much do you know about Asia?”

“Not much.”

“Not much, like …”

Gretchen hesitated, her mind a twisted jungle of thoughts. Did she know anything about Asia? At work, it was usually Asia who asked most of the questions. She didn’t really give up information about herself. Gretchen studied Will’s face. “Why are you so interested in Asia?”

Will sighed, sat back in his chair. He looked at the clock on the wall. Ten seconds clicked by. “There’s something … I don’t know, strange about her.”

Gretchen spoke carefully. “She’s just shy.”

“Shy? Not quite.”

“She doesn’t talk much.”

“That’s not the same thing as being shy.”

“I guess I don’t know what you’re looking for.” Gretchen heard the heat in her own voice. She took a sip of coffee to calm down. She wrapped her hands around the mug, surprised at the power of her own feelings. She didn’t want to be having this conversation. She didn’t want Will to be asking these questions about Asia. Besides, Gretchen had her own questions.
How had Asia stopped Jason in his tracks like that? As if her words—or was it her voice?—had a power of its own.

Gretchen looked down at the pile of mail on the table, pretending to be interested in it. She could feel Will’s eyes studying her.

“Okay,” he said at last.

Gretchen riffled through the mail. She spotted a postmark and pulled a letter out of the pile. She knew the handwriting.

“What is it?” Will asked.

“Nothing,” Gretchen said. She met Will’s eyes. “It’s from my mother.”

They both stared at the letter as if it were a poison thing.

“Are you going to open it?” Will asked.

Gretchen took a sip of her coffee, shook her head.

Will cocked his head. “Has she written to you before?”

Gretchen shrugged. “A couple of times a year.”

“And you just—you don’t read the letters?”

“Not yet.”

“But you will?”

“God, Will, I’m not your science project, okay?” Gretchen snapped. “If my mother has anything to say, she can call. She can Skype. She can get on a plane and come talk to me. She has enough money.” A dart of guilt stabbed at Gretchen—she hadn’t meant to growl at Will. But she didn’t really feel like discussing the situation with her mother. Yvonne had kept
everything in the divorce. Gretchen didn’t blame her. Not exactly. After all, her mother had a ton of family money.