A second roll of notes rose from the stage. The drill silenced, the saw stopped, the hammering halted.
Even the screaming children and laughing crowd fell still, holding space for the song. To witness it. Waiting.
Gladys began to sing.
The music, the magic in it was blinding. Each note built on the next, climbing, skipping, tumbling, joyous, and free.
A shout of laughter punched out of me, a cheer I couldn’t hold back. A cheer echoed by everyone around the stage.
Then we were walking, jogging, running down that hill to be closer to the stage, to worship at the feet of song and promise, woven through with words I didn’t understand. My soul craved that sound, my spirit caught in the delicate net of a voice that could bring the world to its knees.
Being the Bridge for Ordinary meant magic didn’t hit me as hard as it did others. So while I was running toward the stage, a part of my mind knew this was a bad idea.
I knew I needed to break the Siren’s spell and get Vivian out of here before she caught on that there was something otherworldly, that there was something magical about the woman on the stage.
But we weren’t the only ones rushing toward the stage. Everyone within four blocks was headed this way, a nearly silent stampede of people desperate to get closer to the song.
This was bad. This was really bad. People could get hurt in crowds like this.
I yelled for Ryder, who was just a few steps ahead of me, and even over the Siren’s song, he heard me and spun toward me, his arms open. My momentum threw me into his arms, and he wrapped them around me.
I was found, tethered, harbored against the storm.
“We have to stop her,” I said near his ear. “We have to stop Gladys.”
His arms tightened, and he nodded. I didn’t know if being in contact with me made it easier for him to resist the song, or if it was because he was claimed by a god, and therefore had his own bit of resistance to magic.
But just in case it was contact, I held on to his hand and tugged him sideways to the flow of people, over to the stairs that led to the stage.
I was surprised the crowd hadn’t swarmed the stairs, but instead they were pooling out below the front of the stage like an ocean wave fingering out across the sand.
Gladys had control of her song, maybe not of the initial draw, which was especially strong on humans, but definitely of the tone and message of it.
The first notes had tempted, the next notes had drawn people in. But now the song held them, speaking of family and friends and the sorrows and victories of life, of togetherness, of love.
No one rushed the stage, because her song drew them together, cherished them, loved them, and it was enough just to be held in that thrall.
But if she kept it up, things could very easily get out of hand. I stood on the stage, hidden behind one of the heavy purple curtains.
“Gladys,” I called out. “Stop. You need to stop!”
I moved toward her. I didn’t want to tackle her, but if it meant ending the song, I was on for it.
The crowd below me gazed up with adoring eyes. Humans, yes, but there were vampires and werewolves, shape shifters and dryads in that crowd. Our town gilman, Chris, was down there, as were several gods—Odin, Frigg, and Athena.
The gods were watching me instead of Gladys, which made sense. They weren’t as susceptible to her magic either.
Ryder, who had been right behind me on the stairs, was nowhere to be seen.
I didn’t have time to worry about him. Vivian had found the other set of stairs and was walking in a trance toward Gladys.
“Hey, Gladys!” I tapped her on the shoulder. “Good job. That’s real good. Show’s over folks!”
She stopped singing and looked back at me. “Oh, hello, Delaney. Didn’t see you there.”
“That was just great,” I said, making eyes toward Vivian who stood halfway across the stage, a confused look on her face. “You really have a fantastic set of pipes.”
She glanced at Vivian and her eyes went wide. “Oh gods,” she whispered. “Is that…?”
