Sirenz (5 page)

“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. Pin
k 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 bro
ken 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 so
mething, 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 count
er. 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 l
ook, 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 e
ye 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.”