Siren Song: Siren Song Trilogy, #2

By B.A. Blackwood

When word nerd ARIEL receives the glossy brochure from Montana State University inviting her to apply, she feels like a lifer who's been shown the secret escape passage from the cell block. After all, being a tomboy forced to attend every charity event in Dallas from "Save the Monarch Butterflies" to "Dare to Care – Stop Designer Pet Breeding" and wearing dresses (usually pink, always poofy) ordained by She Who Shall Be obeyed, aka "mom", is almost the same as serving a jail sentence, right? Ariel jumps at the chance, and takes her height-challenged self along with her favorite trunk of books to Bozeman, Montana, ready to find a place she can finally fit in. Apart from not knowing anyone and the cold-enough-to-build-an-igloo winters, what could possibly be the downside?

Plenty. Two battling factions of the Fallen Angels (yeah, THOSE Fallen Angels, the ones who were kicked out of heaven for doing really, really bad things) think Ariel's mother stole the Piece of Home, a mysterious object lost when they were evicted from the big mansion in the sky, and which will determine who wins their war. Ariel learns the hard way that these angels are nothing like the halo-wearing benevolent beings depicted in her childhood Bible. Nope, they fall in love, cheat on their girlfriends, and treat lying, stealing, and even murder as perfectly acceptable ways to get what they want, and what they want is for Ariel to cough up the Piece of Home - pronto.

One side swears it can be trusted, and seals the deal by providing Ariel with both a bodyguard who can turn Ariel into silly putty with a single glance and a fatherly confidant who holds out the promise of a family in which she can finally feel at home. As Ariel races to find the Piece of Home, she uncovers chilling secrets about her parents that she'd give anything to unlearn, and discovers that no one can be trusted, not even those who claim to be protecting her. Bottom line? If she doesn't figure out this unholy mess real soon, she and her family will die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.A. Blackwood
• Release date: Sep 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479141364

B.A. Blackwood

B. A. Blackwood is a recovering trial lawyer who has loved fantasy fiction ever since she first cracked open The Hobbit. She lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband and their three pugs.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Siren song: the enticing appeal of something alluring but potentially dangerous

Turns out I’d worried about all the wrong things, like whether I’d ruin my life if I picked the wrong major, and how to wear ten layers of clothing to keep warm without looking like a pregnant penguin, and whether there really is just one true love out there for everyone or if there are more like two or three possibilities in case Romeo showed up while I was out with someone else. It had never occurred to me to worry about how to survive with a capital S, as in not die some gruesome death at the hands of supernatural beings for reasons known only to them. Nope, that one hadn’t made it onto my going-away-to-college-freak-out list.

The first attack happened as I was walking home from my nighttime job at the library. One minute I was dodging the miniature ice rinks forming on the sidewalks, and the next I found myself lying flat on the cement staring up at the sky. I lay there for a second, trying to figure out what happened. I didn’t feel like I’d slipped, but...

I blew out a sigh and faced the inevitable. No more cowboy boots in the winter, even though they added the crucial two inches to my height that I needed to pass for what a cute little thing rather than omg that girl is almost a midget. I resolved first thing in the morning to go get some of those clumpy, tractor-tire-soled rubber boots I’d seen everyone else wearing on campus. Groaning, I rolled to my feet and looked around for my books.

Can it be? a grating voice whispered behind my left shoulder.

What? I whirled around toward the voice.

Glacial fingers frisked me as though doing some sort of flash physical exam. I spun in place like a revolving door until the same fingers stopped my spiral and withdrew. I teetered to a stand-still, my eyes darting everywhere. I saw no one. My mind worked at warp speed, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

Why, yes, it is, the same raspy voice whispered right in front of my face. I gawked at the empty air.

The long lost daughter. Capital O-U-T outstanding. He sounded gleeful, but his next words were spoken in a tone that could have melted steel.

Give it back, he said.

Was this some kind of a joke? I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was around. The sidewalks were empty. Nothing moved except the wind, blowing so hard that clumps of snow blew off the pine trees and splatted on the sidewalk in front of me. Feeling like an idiot, I said into the empty air, Give what back?

Don’t play dumb. You’ve got it. We want it. You’ll give it to us. End of story.

Maybe this was some kind of weird freshmen hazing ritual. I’d heard that some upper classmen loved to play tricks on the freshmeat. They could have put hidden speakers in the trees and...and...

Okay, I didn’t know how they pulled off the invisible physical stuff but there had to be an explanation. Time to call their bluff.

Hey, you splenetic troglodytes, wherever you are. Knock it off, I said, squaring my shoulders.

I grinned as I pictured the huh? reaction from whoever was putting on this show. I love words, which is why I have five different word-a-day calendars, although most people think I only have two, since even I know that five sounds a tiny bit over the top. I’d been itching to whip out splenetic, meaning peevish, irritable or spiteful since it showed up on one of my calendars last week.

Fog shot up in a column in front of me, and a figure began forming in it. For the first time it occurred to me that this might not be a joke. I squinched my eyes shut for a second and then reopened them. Still there. Only bigger. I started to back up. What felt like an icy hand clamped down on my shoulder.

The form spoke. The Piece of Home. It’s ours. Don’t think for one second that you can keep it.

I stared at the hulking shape, which now wore a military uniform, complete with brass stars and braided shoulder loops. I could barely get my words out. I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.

The apparition crystallized into a steroid-big guy with a bulldog face standing a good two feet taller than me.

You’ve got the wrong person. I was babbling. I’m a freshman. From Dallas. Texas.

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t a thief, and even if I were, I hadn’t had time to steal anything from anyone since I’d only been here a week and I’d been really, really busy, and besides that I didn’t know anyone here and when it got right down to it, I didn’t even know why I’d picked Montana State University except that when I received their packet out of the blue inviting me to apply I’d been so mesmerized by the glossy pictures of mountains, deer and see-through rivers that I’d just had to come, sort of like a moth to a flame. But, as I looked at him, I couldn’t say any of those things because all the spit dried in my mouth. The Hulk had passed splenetic long ago and looked mad enough to chew glass.

No, you’re the right person. Don’t waste my time denying it, he said.

I jerked my shoulder hard, trying to get away, but his grip only tightened.

The next second, I felt heated air rolling over us. The hand on my shoulder loosened and the thug’s shape began to blur.

Company’s coming, he said, and yanked me off the ground. But just so you know we’re serious. Then he threw me straight up into the air like a rocket launcher.

I shrieked, propelled higher than I would have believed possible. Hurtling through the air, I didn’t think about how many bones I’d break when I hit the ground, or what alien planet the Hulk had escaped from, or any of the panicked thoughts you’d assume would be rolling around in my head. No, the question now broken loose by sheer terror must have been barricaded in some dark corner of my mind ever since I’d shown my MSU acceptance letter to my mom and dad.

Just why had it been so easy to talk my everything’s better in Texas parents into letting me go over a thousand miles away to Bozeman, Montana?

Gravity finally caught and pulled me back to earth. I flailed my arms, trying to right myself before I hit the ground. No such luck. I landed on my side, cracking my head against the sidewalk.

You better give it back, was the last thing I heard.

Then everything went black.

CHAPTER TWO

Pulchritudinous: Beautiful, bewitching, charming

Iwoke up lying on my back with a brutal headache. I looked down, and...yikes! Dozens of yellowish-gray worms marched across my skin. I scrambled to sit up.

Soothing hands gently pushed me back against the bed. Hon, your head will feel better if you stay still, a filmy white image said.

I blinked several times and the worms turned into a weird parabola design on an ugly gray hospital gown, while Casper solidified into a middle-aged nurse with kind eyes.

How are you feeling, sweetie? she said, squeezing my wrist.

I’ve been better, I said, my voice sounding rusty. What happened? I racked my brain but couldn’t remember a thing from the moment I left the library.

You fell on some ice and hit your head. Your friend brought you to the emergency room, she said, gesturing toward a dim corner of the room. I peered over to where she pointed.

Holy cow. A Greek god walked toward me. He looked to be in his early twenties, and had black hair and a perfect dark stubble on his face that I thought only airbrushed GQ models could pull off.

My face scrunched up, trying to remember. I couldn’t possibly have hit my head that hard. No way I’d have forgotten this guy.

I’m Michael. We’re not exactly friends, he said, looking sideways at the nurse.

I surveyed my muumuu sized gown with the wiener shaped dots and gave an inward sigh. And we probably never would be.

I just happened to be coming from the library and saw her slip on the ice, he said. She hit so hard she almost bounced. I thought I’d better bring her here right away.

The nurse beamed at him as though he’d cured cancer or something.

She’s lucky you were there, she told him, placing her hand on his forearm, and then jerked it away and stepped back, her face flushing a bit.

She looked over at me and cleared her throat. I forced myself to rip my eyes away from Michael.

You’re going to be fine, but you do have a concussion and some bruised ribs, so you’ll be pretty sore, she said. We’re going to keep you overnight for observation and the doctor will see you again in the morning. If everything looks good, we’ll send you home then.

I gawked at her. Had I stumbled into an open manhole or something?

Do you remember your name, dear? Her stock smile slipped.

Ariel Robinson, I said.

That’s right. Her face relaxed. Is there someone you would like me to call – maybe your parents?

Just days ago, my family had moved me, two suitcases, my trunk of books and my favorite pillow into my new dormitory. After figuring out that Bozeman had no Neiman’s, Saks or even a Nordstrom’s, Swisbo, aka my mom, had shoved my dad and brothers into the car and had fled back to Texas. Swisbo stands for she who shall be obeyed, the nickname my mother pretends to hate but secretly adores.

Swisbo. Hmm. What to do?

Ariel? the nurse said, her face starting to tighten again. Your parents?

I took a quick inventory. I had all four limbs. No broken bones. If I remembered right, this was the weekend of Swisbo’s Save the Monarch Butterflies benefit. Meaning absent some bona fide blood and guts, Swisbo wouldn’t be happy about being asked to choose between her daughter and the butterflies. Nope. Years of experience told me bothering Swisbo with this wouldn’t be a good idea.

No, I said. No need.

The nurse gave me a pitying look. She probably thought I was orphaned, or the product of some complicated broken home scenario. Isn’t there anyone who will wonder why you’re not home? she said.

I thought about it. The closest friend I’d made in my seven days on campus was my Partridge Family obsessed suite mate, Samantha, who rocked the Susan Dey character look most days complete with bell bottoms, polyester ruffled shirts and peace sign jewelry. My head throbbed as I remembered she’d gone home for the weekend. That left Kristin.

Ugh.

I guess I should call my roommate so she won’t wonder why I’m not coming home tonight. Note to self. Make more friends – fast.

I’ve already called Kristin, Michael said. He pulled a chair over to the bed and settled into it. I barely had time to tell her where you were before she hung up. Amusement flitted across his face. You guys are tight, huh?

I stared up into his eyes, dazed. They were a lovely shade of the lightest blue, their pale irises deepening to azure at the edges. She would have spent all the time in the world if she had seen you, I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop myself.

What? he asked, the corners of his mouth turning up. I didn’t hear you.

Um, no, we’re not close, I said quickly. I just met her a few days ago. She’s potluck.

He looked blank.

I mean, she didn’t have a roommate and neither did I so we were put together.

I’ll leave you two alone now, the nurse said, winking at me behind Michael’s back. If you need anything, just let me know, hon. The call button is right here. She guided my hand to a red button pinned to the bed.

Michael stood and walked her to the door, and I waited until his back was turned to lift the neck of my gown and survey the damage. An ugly purple bruise splotched along my side. My stomach rolled and I let the material drop from my fingers.

Michael walked back over to the chair and sat down, eying me with the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. I had a sneaking suspicion that somehow he knew about the nurse’s wink. He reminded me of Rhett Butler in the old Gone with the Wind movie I’d watched with Swisbo on the granny movie channel, except that his eyes were blue instead of brown, and he was at least twenty years younger, and more slender, and he didn’t have a moustache and...

Okay, so he didn’t look like Rhett Butler. I guess the resemblance was in his attitude, kind of a dashing I’m sexy and I know it style carried off with a wink that made you like him.

Hey, how did the nurse know my name? And how did you know to call Kristin?

I looked through your stuff and found your name in your calculus book, Michael said. The book appeared in his hand and he opened it to the fly leaf, examining the black scrawl on the page. It wasn’t easy. Your handwriting sucks.

I blinked.

I could tell your last name was ‘Robinson’, but all I knew about your first name was that it started with an ‘A’. Luckily some of your friends used your name in their texts. He waved my phone at me, the faint smirk now widening into a grin.

I felt like I had when Swisbo had gone through my computer after watching some Know your Teenager special on PBS, halfway between mortified and fit-throwing mad. I tried to remember what texts were saved on my phone.

Uh oh. Were the texts I sent Samantha about that hot football player in my English class still on there? My face burned. I’d only sent them because Samantha has a thing for football players, and, anyway, what’s the harm in making a few simple, completely accurate observations?

And I found Kristin under ‘Arfah’ in your contacts, he said. What’s up with that? Some nickname? His eyes sparkled as though he already knew the answer to his question.

It stands for ‘RFH - roommate from hell’, I said, pleating the sheet with my fingers. I was having an off day when I put that in there. She’s really not so bad.

Um, actually, she is that bad, but that’s not something I’d tell a total stranger, especially a gorgeous guy who I didn’t want to impress as a total snark.

He laughed and then his face sobered. You really need to watch where you’re going. I saw from your driver’s license that you’re from Texas. You can’t just waltz around here like you do at home. Ice is a big deal. You could have been hurt much worse.

I huffed out a breath. He was acting like I was a moron, which was ridiculous...

My brain cleared. In a flash I remembered the icy fingers, the...the thing that had thrown me in the air.

I didn’t slip on the ice, I said, my voice shaking. I was thrown by a... I didn’t know how to explain it. And he wanted something.

Michael looked at me like I’d taken up permanent residence in crazy town. I tried to sit up. Someone attacked me. I need to call the police. Give me my phone.

I was right behind you when you fell, and there was no one there, he said with exaggerated slowness, as though to a toddler who hadn’t mastered many words besides mama and dada.

I sat bolt upright, my head swimming, trying to look like a grownup with a formidable mastery of the English language. This would be a good time to use words with more than one syllable but none popped to mind. I settled for, I know what I saw.

Then an awful thought blinked on in my head and my eyes flew to his. Was he involved? Maybe it was some sort of sophisticated upperclassman prank.

Do you go to MSU? I asked.

I’m a senior, he said. Why?

Because I thought, er, maybe... The more I studied him, the crazier it seemed. He just didn’t look like the freshman-hazing-Oscar-caliber-liar type.

What? he asked, leaning forward.

Oh, never mind. I just wondered, I said. Man, my head hurt. I couldn’t figure out the square root of one right now, much less what had just happened to me.

You look really pale. I don’t think you should try to get up. Michael gently pushed me back down onto the bed and took my hand in his, squeezing it.

A tingle raced through me all the way down to my toes. Maybe the hospital gown didn’t look as bad as I thought. Just like that, I forgot that he had criticized my handwriting, prowled through my purse, and all but called me a klutz.

Did you see this mugger? Can you describe him? he asked, still holding my hand.

Well, um, I said, no.

I remembered exactly what he looked like. I just couldn’t figure out how to describe the disappearing General Patton look-alike in a way that wouldn’t make me sound certifiable.

I’ll call the police for you if you want. But, Ariel, you have a head injury. And I didn’t see anyone. You sure you want to go there? he said.

I frowned, trying to think.

I’m just saying. He shrugged.

I sighed. He was right. If I couldn’t bring myself to describe my attacker to him, then I probably wouldn’t be able to describe him to the police either.

Maybe I had imagined the whole thing. I tried that out in my head. I could have slipped on the ice. After all, I’m not the most graceful person on earth. But how to explain the apparition? Some sort of retrograde hallucination caused by the concussion? I couldn’t quite believe that. So I chose the next best thing. Whoever had attacked me was probably a drama major with access to movie-quality-special-effects who had gotten the wrong person in a joke that went too far. It wouldn’t happen again.

Did I mention I’m really good at putting a rosy spin on things? A glass half full person all the way, that’s me.

Michael leaned closer, and I felt his breath on my face. My body lit up with electricity as though it had been plugged into a light socket.

Falling is nothing to be ashamed of – people do it all the time, he said. Usually, though, they’re over eighty and it’s because their walker got stuck in a crack in the sidewalk, he added in a teasing voice, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. How old did your driver’s license say you were?

Then his pale blue eyes seemed to darken into a deeper blue and bored into mine, filling me with a toasty warm sensation.

You should try to get some sleep now, he said. At that moment, my eyelids started to droop and I fell asleep faster than you can say narcolepsy.

So, there you have it. Attack number one. Giant mistake.

Right.

CHAPTER THREE

Perturbation: Confusion, disruption, disturbance

Two days later, I walked out of my chemistry lab and eyed the thick darkness outside through the building’s glass doors. I hadn’t been out after dark since the Siescup, er, Some Idiot’s Epic Screw Up. I’d applied Siescup to things like the dry cleaners losing my clothes or the motor vehicle division sending my drivers license to the wrong address, but this was the first time a Seiscup had ever landed me in the hospital. I’d gone to class never even thinking about the fact that it would be nighttime when I finished, a Siescup starring me as the idiot.

After the doctor had discharged me from the hospital Saturday morning, I’d spent the rest of the weekend in bed recuperating and daydreaming about Michael. I’d even dug up an old paperback copy of Gone With The Wind, skimming through it to focus on the bits about Rhett Butler.

I know, I know, I should have been studying for my calculus quiz, but at least my extra-curricular reading confirmed my theory. Rhett and Michael could be brothers from another mother, at least in attitude. And in looks? Well, I’d decided some combination of concussion and dim lighting must have altered my perceptions. No one could look that good.

I stared out at the gloom and drew in a deep breath. Here goes nothing. I pushed open the door and walked down the steps to the sidewalk as fast as my throbbing ribs would allow.

A hand grasped my upper arm. I shrieked and spun, my books hitting the ground.

Whoa, Michael said. Had a little too much caffeine?

I stared up at him. My perceptions had definitely been off. This guy probably couldn’t walk down the street without girls throwing their panties at him. I expected a mob of groupies to show up at any minute.

You snuck up on me, I said, hiding my face as I bent to gather my books. This was so not how I’d fantasized we’d meet again. Now he could add ditsy or neurotic to the word clumsy when he told anyone about me, which he probably never would except in the context of, Remember that girl I took to the hospital? Real wacko. Jumps at her own shadow.

Michael reached down and snagged the last book.

What are you doing here? I said, straightening.

I had a class next door. I guess we got out at the same time, he said.

Hey, Ariel, another voice said behind me. Great lab, huh?

I looked around at a chubby boy in a checkered sweater vest and sagging corduroys, his short frame bent under the weight of a huge backpack. Todd, remember? he said.

I nodded. Todd, this is Michael. Michael, Todd. I gestured from one to the other.

Hey, dude, Todd said, and then turned his