Sirenz (3 page)

“Nooo,” Shar stepped in. “We only talked to him for a couple of minutes over a slice of pizza.”

Hades wagged a finger. “Oh, no no no! You two did much more than that. You were a duet of connivance. The fact that you don't realize just how beguiling you are makes you even more perfect. I have an offer you can't refuse.”

“I'm not selling my soul,” Shar declared dramatically, fingering the small gold cross dangling around her neck. “I'd rather die!”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don't want your soul. I want your service. You two will be my new Sirens.”

The Fine Print

“Y
our
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 o
f
!”
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 kid
ding 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 achie
ve 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 horribl
e 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.