The seekriegers thrashed wildly, their figures dark against the fire. As it touched them, the flames turned purple, then red, and still the screams went on.
Slowly, slowly, they died away.
The red flames returned to yellow and orange. They burned on across the surface of the dark water as Will stood watching. He stood until he heard someone shouting his name and the faraway wail of police sirens.
Will stood watching, but the waters of the bay remained still.
Gretchen turned to face him. Her eyes were back to normal. She took a step toward him. Then another.
Then she fainted, dropping into the bay with a pale splash.
Gretchen’s eyes fluttered open. “Will?”
“Hey,” he said quietly, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re back with us.”
“Where—”
“Walfang General,” Will told her.
Gretchen looked around the light beige room. “Is that why the wallpaper’s so tasteful?”
“Pretty much.”
She struggled to sit up, then instantly regretted it. Her muscles screamed, and she sat back against her pillow. “Take it easy,” Will suggested.
“Could you have told me that ninety seconds ago?” Gretchen shot back.
“Aren’t you supposed to be making a speech about how grateful you are to be alive?”
Gretchen sighed. “I am grateful.” Something warm brushed her hand. Will’s fingers had intertwined with hers. The beeping heart monitor speeded up, broadcasting her feelings across the room. She felt her face flush. Will was watching the monitor as if a new idea was just dawning on him.
“Oh, great, you’re awake!” Angus said from the hallway. “Now you can make a statement for the paper.”
Angus was right behind Gretchen’s father, who had stopped short in the doorway, his dark eyes wide with relief. He had a white paper coffee cup in each hand.
“Hi, Dad,” she said.
“Hi.” Johnny fumbled with the coffee a moment, and handed a cup to Will. Then he set the other one down on the table beside Gretchen’s bed and leaned over her. He touched her hair gently, then gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. Gretchen felt the familiar stubble on his cheek brush against her temple. “Hi,” he said again. He looked at her with bright dark eyes, and she realized that he’d lost the faraway look he’d been wearing for days. It was as if they had both broken out of a dream.
“I’m okay,” Gretchen told him.
He looked at her, his eyes filling with tears. “Good,” he said.
As a speech, it lacked eloquence, but the way the tense, haggard lines of his face had softened said everything.
Angus flopped into the chair on the other side of Gretchen’s bed. “So are you going to be my big story, or what?”
“Forget it, Angus. I don’t even remember what happened.” Gretchen sneaked a look at Will, who nodded.
“Is this friendship?” Angus demanded.
“What are you even doing here?” Gretchen asked.
“Angus called 911,” Will told her. “He was the first one on the scene.”
Gretchen looked at Angus, who shrugged. “Police scanner. Someone called in about some smoke.”
“It was a pretty bad fire on the bay.” Johnny took Gretchen’s hand. “It’s lucky Will pulled you from the water.”
“Dude, that place is torched,” Angus said. “They’re closing the surrounding beaches until everything can get cleaned up.”
“The town isn’t happy,” Will explained. “But it’s almost the end of the season, so it could be worse.”
“I’ll say. Now maybe those shark things will move on.” Angus shook his head and took a swig from Will’s coffee. “Ugh. Dude, don’t you use sugar? This is vile.”
“Sharks?” Johnny asked, his face a blend of confusion and amusement.
“Angus is convinced the waters are swimming with them,” Will said quickly. “And that the town is hiding it.” He tried to make the idea sound ridiculous, but Johnny didn’t laugh.
“There are a lot of stories,” Gretchen’s dad said. “If you live out here long enough, you hear a few.” He looked down at Gretchen, and everyone was silent for a while.
Gretchen let out an involuntary yawn.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Johnny said. “We should let you rest.”
“I’m not tired,” Gretchen said.
“Right. Okay, well, how about if you just close your eyes and meditate a while? Or just read,” Johnny suggested.
“I brought you the paper.” Angus pointed to it on the bedside table.
“I’ll go talk to the doctor about when you can get out of here.” Johnny flashed Angus and Will a let’s go look before starting toward the door.
“Will?” Gretchen called. “Hang on a minute, would you?”
“I’ll catch up with you guys,” Will told Johnny and Angus.
Gretchen scooted over, and he sat on the edge of her bed. Her eyes darted to the clock on the far wall.
“It’s late,” Gretchen observed.
Will nodded. “So late it’s early.”
“Your mom will be freaking out.”
“I called my dad. I had to tell him about Guernsey.…”
The memory of the valiant dog flashed across Gretchen’s mind. “Poor Guernsey.” She covered Will’s hand with her own.
Will’s chin quivered. “She was a brave old girl.”
“Yeah.”
Will cleared his throat. “Dad is taking care of burying her. He said he’d calm Mom down, too. But she’ll probably be here first thing in the morning with a basket of scones, so don’t eat any of the hospital food.”
“Your parents are so sweet,” Gretchen said.
“You think so?” Will looked surprised.
“Yeah … don’t you?” Gretchen cocked her head. “I mean, they’re always trying to take care of you. Your mom freaks out every time you leave the house because she’s so afraid. And your dad slaves away at that farm because he wants you to go to whatever college you want.”
“He slaves away because he loves money.”
“Money? Are you serious? If he wanted money, he could sell that farm and retire a millionaire.”
“I guess they can but …” Will looked thoughtful. “I don’t think of them that way.”
They sat together in silence for a long moment.
Gretchen drew in a deep sigh, steeling herself to ask the question that hung over her like a dagger. “Is Asia …” The words hung in the air.
“Gone,” Will told her.
“I’m sorry.”
Will nodded, thinking. “I think she’s probably … relieved.” But Gretchen saw the tears burning in his eyes. “They’re all gone, I think. Even Kirk should stop hearing them now.”
“What happened?” Gretchen asked.
Will looked at her carefully. “You don’t remember?”
She shook her head. “I remember those … things … and I remember Asia was there. But after that …”
Will’s face was unreadable. “There was—” He took a long moment before speaking, as if weighing his words carefully. “There was a gas spill on the bay. The gas—ignited.”
“How?”
Will bit his lip, hesitating. “Must have been a live cable or something.”
Gretchen looked down at the pale blue blanket that was pulled up to her waist. “Will,” she said at last, “there’s something I have to tell you.” She looked up into his eyes. “Will, I was there the night Tim died.” The truth poured from her like pus from a wound. She cringed at what he would say.
Will put his hands to his face. He sighed deeply, then ran his hands through his hair. “I know,” he said at last.
“You … know?” Gretchen repeated. “How?”
“It just—you had to be, right? Someone dragged me from the water to the beach. Who else would have?”
Gretchen touched her forehead. “I don’t remember it.”
“Do you know why you rescued me
?” Will asked. “Why me, and not Tim?”
Gretchen felt this question like a stab to the heart. “Because I …” She swallowed, trying to make sound come from her lips.
Will watched her. She knew how badly he needed an answer. But in the end she couldn’t say it—she couldn’t tell him that she would always have chosen Will over his brother. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “Maybe it was too late for him.”
Will nodded. “Asia told me that the seekriegers were drawn to people who were angry, or sad, or feeling something dark, you know. So why did they take Tim?” Gretchen remembered the conversation she’d had with Tim just hours before he disappeared. Tim had told her that he loved her. She’d told Tim that she loved Will. Was his heart so broken that the seekriegers felt drawn to it? It hurt her to think that she had caused him so much pain.
“I’m sorry,” Gretchen whispered.
“You can’t save everyone, Gretchen,” he told her.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, silent as a secret.
“Stop. It’s okay.” Will put a finger to her lips. “Gretchen …” He held her hands in his large warm ones. “Can I just tell you something? I’m just so glad that you’re here.”
“You are?”
“It’s hard enough without Tim. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you …” He shook his head, unable to say more.
Gretchen looked away, pretending to inspect the pretty wallpaper. She thought about spending the next year in Walfang. Maybe that was what she and Will both needed. Perhaps the only way out is through, Gretchen thought. I can’t leave until we’ve put the past behind us.
Will leaned forward and placed a warm kiss on her forehead.
“What’s that for?”
Will smiled. “For you.”
Gretchen’s heart fluttered as she settled back against the cool pillow. It was the kiss of a friend, of someone close to a brother. She still loved him beyond that, but she knew Will wasn’t ready for anything more right now. They both had some healing to do.
But, for the first time, it seemed as if that might actually be possible.
As Angus said, the sharks had moved on.
Author’s Note
The allusions to the Odyssey are correct, although the action that takes place after the epic is my own invention, as is the word seekrieger. It’s a combination of two German words that, literally translated, mean “sea warrior,” which is how I thought of Calypso’s band of sirens. The town of Walfang is loosely based on Bridgehampton, New York, where my family has a house and where I have spent every summer since I was fourteen. Although there are many traditional sea chanteys about mermaids, those that appear in this book are my original work. The captain’s log that appears here is intended as an homage to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, in which a similarly terrifying captain’s log makes an appearance.
Don’t miss
Fury’s Fire,
the sequel to
Siren’s Storm
Coming Summer 2012 from
Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers
Text copyright © 2011 by Lisa Papademetriou
Published by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of
Random House Children’s Books
Ice begets ice and flame begets flame;
Those that go down never rise up again.
—Sailors’ proverb
An uneasy weight hung on Gretchen’s chest as she looked around the dim room. I was dreaming something—what was it? Gretchen’s mind cast about for a train of thought, but clutched at emptiness. She couldn’t remember. She knew only that she was glad to be awake.
It was that moment before sunrise when the sky has begun to turn gray and the world is filled with shadows. The room was still, but the yellow curtains near her bureau fluttered slightly, and fear skittered down her spine with quick spider steps.
“Who’s there?” Gretchen asked.
There was a sound like a sigh, and Gretchen’s chest constricted in fear. Something was there. By the window. A dark presence. She could almost make out the shape of a man behind the yellow cloth.
Her voice tightened in her throat; she couldn’t scream. Someone was in her room. Gretchen’s mind reeled about—it was Kirk. Crazy Kirk—the sophomore who babbled incoherently about seekriegers and angels—had come to kill her. He had stolen into her room before, to give her a painting, a coded message that only he could decipher.…
“Kirk?” she whispered. Her voice sounded loud in the still and silent room.
Gretchen sat up. “Kirk?” she said again. She blinked, and the light shifted. The dim gray lifted, like fog burning away in the sun. Suddenly everything looked different, and she could see clearly.
There was nothing there.
The curtains sagged, and Gretchen understood her mistake. The folds fell at odd angles, suggesting a human form. But the presence she had sensed earlier had disappeared completely.
“Dream cobwebs,” Gretchen said aloud. That was what her father, Johnny Ellis, called it when you woke up and still had traces of your nightmares clinging to your mind. She pushed back her covers and swung her legs over the side of her bed, and something tore at her ankle.
Gretchen screamed, jumping backward as her cat, Bananas, tumbled from beneath her bed skirt. The feline rolled onto her back playfully, then sat up and curled her tail around her feet, as if nothing had happened and she had no idea why Gretchen was acting so dramatic.
“Cat—” Gretchen started.
Bananas just looked at her, then nonchalantly began to groom her paw.
“Licking my flesh from your claws?” Gretchen asked, rubbing the scratch on her foot. It wasn’t bad, really, but it did itch. As if she was offended by the question, the orange-and-white-striped cat turned and strutted out the half-open door.
As the striped tail disappeared, Gretchen cast another glance toward the window. It was just a dream, she told herself.
The light shone through the curtains now, and she could see the shape of the tree beyond the window. There was nothing left of the dark presence … nothing but the feeling of dread that still sat in Gretchen’s chest.
Gretchen yanked off her nightgown and pulled on a pair of red running shorts. She tugged on her sports bra and then ducked into an ancient T-shirt advertising the Old Mill, a cafe in one of the neighboring towns. When she lived in Manhattan, Gretchen used to run along the reservoir in Central Park. It was near her Upper East Side apartment, and Gretchen liked being near the water … and the fact that the water was surrounded by an enormous chain-link fence. She could see it, but she couldn’t fall in. Gretchen thought water was beautiful—but it frightened her.
Gretchen never ran much at the summerhouse. There were no sidewalks along the street by the house, so it wasn’t really convenient. But now that she and her father were going to be living here fulltime, she was going to have to find a way. Running was what kept her head clear in the cold months. And even though it was only the end of September, the mornings were already turning chilly.
“What are you doing here?” Gretchen asked as she tramped into the kitchen. Her father was sitting at the Formica table, sipping from a cup of coffee and halfheartedly skimming the New York Times.
“I live here, remember?” Johnny said. He smiled at her, but it was a smile like a heavy weight—as if it were taking all of his facial muscles an effort to make it happen.
“Don’t pretend like you’re some kind of early riser.” Gretchen reached for a banana. “It’s six-thirty.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Gretchen frowned. “That’s not good.”
Johnny shrugged. “It happens.” He took another long pull of coffee. “I’ll feel better once everything arrives.”
He meant the things from their Manhattan apartment. Once Johnny had given up the lease, it had taken only two hours for the building manager to find a new tenant. They had been replaced in true New York City style—immediately and without mercy. “When do the movers get here?” Gretchen asked
.
“Tomorrow.”
Gretchen nodded. She would feel better once she had her things from the apartment, too. Even though she would miss living in Manhattan, she was ready to close that chapter of her life, to write The End above it instead of having the pages go on and on with no clear purpose. Besides, she thought, we need the money.
When her mother moved out, she had kept custody of most of the funds. Yvonne was an heiress and knew about investments; Johnny had never been in charge of the finances before. So, for a few years, things went on exactly as they had before. Manhattan private school, expensive rent for the apartment, trips abroad. Then, quite suddenly, Johnny realized that they were out of money. A few bad investments and several years of living beyond their means had left them in terrible debt. So they were abandoning the apartment and living in what Gretchen liked to think of as “the ancestral home”—the old farmhouse her grandfather had bought over half a century ago, which Johnny had inherited, and which he owned free and clear.
As if he were reading her thoughts about finances, Johnny leaned onto one hip and reached for his wallet. “Listen, I wanted to give you something so you could do some back-to-school shopping—” He riffled through the bills, which were mostly ones, and pulled out two twenties. Wincing, he held them out. “I know it’s not much.”
Gretchen didn’t reach for the cash. “It’s okay, Dad. I have a job, remember?”
“You’re not keeping that job, are you?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Johnny touched the lotus tattoo on his temple. “It’s your senior year, Gretchie. You need to keep your grades up.”
“They’ll stay up.”
“That’s the most important thing.”
“I know, Dad. But I’m going to have to have a job while I’m in college, right? I might as well get used to it.”
Johnny looked like he’d been slapped. “I guess I—”
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Gretchen stumbled over her words. “I just meant—”