“Just good weather,” I lied.
“No, I see something. Is it a festival? How cute.”
“Oh, that’s a rehearsal, it’s not open to the public.” I was looking for a turn around, but the streets were narrow and there were cars ahead and behind me. We were at a complete stand still.
“I’m sure they won’t mind.” Vivian opened the door. She slipped between two parked cars and strode down the sidewalk.
“Shit,” I said.
“I’m on her.” Ryder shouldered out of the car. A short jog brought him right next to her.
They crossed the street. I wasn’t going to catch up to them in the Jeep. Putting on my lights wouldn’t do me any good. There was nowhere for the cars around me to move to let me get by.
So I looked for a place I could park. I wedged the Jeep between two other vehicles, blocking a fire hydrant, which—not great—but this was an emergency.
I ducked out of the Jeep and bee-lined to where Ryder and Vivian had disappeared down a cross street.
The air was warmer now, and the smell of popcorn and cherry cotton candy puffed toward me, along with the more savory scents of barbecue.
Because of course Bertie wouldn’t let the rehearsal be anything but a show in itself.
Voices rose and fell, the lift of someone really getting a kick out of a joke, the shriek of a child running fast enough it felt like flying.
Hammers banged, out of rhythm, a saw shrilled and stopped, a drill droned.
The Ordinary Show Off wasn’t until tomorrow afternoon, so construction of food booths, props, and charity donation stations was still ongoing.
“…many people can get in the way of construction. It’s not safe.” Ryder said to Vivian. They had stopped on the edge of the little footpath that led to the slight rise of hill overlooking the stage and seating.
“We need to go,” I said. “I’m not asking. This,” I pointed at the event, “isn’t open to the public. It is not safe for you to be here until all of the construction is finished. Let’s go.”
“But—”
“I can put you in cuffs if you think that would make a better article,” I offered flatly.
I was not kidding. She must have figured that out.
“One person all the way up here isn’t going to get in the way of the rehearsal,” she said.
“Okay, so cuffs it is.” I pulled mine out of my pocket and had the great satisfaction of seeing her eyes go wide.
“I don’t—”
And then the worst thing happened. Gladys, who ran the Pop Shop popcorn store, and who was also a Siren, got up on stage to sing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ordinary’s ruleswere very clear about god powers—they were to be safely stowed and not used while the god was in Ordinary.
But all the other supernaturals followed different rules.
As long as their powers, magic, or abilities didn’t harm anyone, didn’t give away the secret of supernaturals in town to the mortals who didn’t know their neighbors were the sort of people fairy tales were written about, and didn’t break any mortal law, they were free to be who they were, and do what they naturally did.
So when a Siren steps up on a talent show rehearsal stage, there is just one thing that she’s going to do: sing.
Gladys started softly at first, almost too low to hear over the construction, nothing more than a sweet cascade of notes as fleeting as birdsong floating in winter snowfall.
Still, there was a tug to that sound, a draw. My breath evened out, quieted without me thinking about it. I held still, my head bent so I could better catch those notes again.
