“Marina?” she called, but I was already hurrying out the door, swallowed by the night air, leaving her standing there with the microphone and the first verse of a song she’d have to finish on her own. Or without me, at any rate.
The cool night air hit my face like a slap, but I didn’t stop running until the house was far behind me, swallowed by shadows.
I didn’t expect Poppy or anyone else, for that matter, to follow me. I figured the gypsy would stay at the party and finish her song, finding someone else to take up the harmony. I certainly didn’t expect to find a small, flustered blonde bobbing along beside me in the dark.
Poppy’s voice was steady, gentle, but insistent when she spoke. She held my gaze, eyes wide and concerned. “Did I… did I offend you? I certainly didn’t mean to if I did.”
I forced myself to slow to a normal walk. I knew I must have looked like a crazy person, running from the walking embodiment of human altruism. Poppy had proven herself to be a kind and thoughtful person—actually, probablythekindest and most thoughtful person in Haven Hollow, but...
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. If I told her the truth, she might be afraid of me. Sirens have long been considered unpredictable and dangerous. I couldn’t even argue the semantics. I might not have been unpredictable, but I was dangerous, just because I existed.
“N-no,” I stammered, forcing a small, shaky smile. “I’m… just tired. It’s been a long day. I think I should go home.”
Poppy’s expression softened slightly. “Are you sure you won’t stay a little bit longer? I know we’ve only just met, but it feels like something is… bothering you?”
“Nothing’s bothering me and nothing’s wrong,” I lied. “I just… I need some air. I’ll be fine. Really.”
Her eyes searched mine, lingering, trying to find the truth beneath the lie. For a moment, I saw worry, confusion, and even a little hurt in her expression. And then, carefully, reluctantly, she let the subject go, thank God.
“I’m going to head home, Poppy,” I said with a smile. “Go back inside and have a fun night with all your friends. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
She gave me a quick smile and an even quicker nod, then turned around and started for the house, leaving me to my lonesome, which was exactly what I wanted.
The evening air was crisp and still, carrying the faint scent of damp grass and late-blooming flowers. I could hear the occasional rustle of an animal in the underbrush as well as the chirp of crickets.
And then there was the sky.
The stars. Not like the smeared, ghostly glow of a New York night sky, where only the brightest peeked through the haze of light pollution. Here, in Haven Hollow, the heavens seemed to stretch out to the horizon. Here, I could trace constellations I hadn’t seen in years, mapping them as if they were old friends. Somehow, the stars reminded me of my own nature—of what I was, and what I always had to control.
Somehow, they reminded me that I was a monster with a deadly voice and deadlier instincts.
I kicked off my shoes and stepped onto the grass, barefoot against the cool blades. The calm was almost deceptive. Out here, away from the crowd, away from the music, my song was quiet. I could feel it coiled inside me all the same, but it was restrained, yet still awake. For the first time all night, I could breathe without fearing the sound of my own voice.
I put my shoes on again once I reached my car, the gravel crunching under my boots. For a long moment, I just leaned against my borrowed car, chest heaving, as I stared at the dashboard. The relief of being alone pressed against my ribs.
Holding it in hurt. Always had. Probably always would. The first time I’d let my song slip, even just a note, someone had ended up dead. Since then, I’d learned to bury it, to keep it locked inside no matter how much it screamed to get out. I’d tried to destroy my voice with smoke, drowned it in whiskey, and bruised it with physical trauma. And yet, it had all been for nothing. I’d found out too late that restraining it could also make it stronger—even more dangerous. That was the truly cruel part about my curse. The longer I held back, the more furious its vengeance when it finally slipped free.
I pressed my hands to my face, the urge to sing clawing through me. This wasn’t unusual. Because I was a siren, it was within me to want to release my song. My throat itched, tight and burning. If I drove far enough away—way outside city limits, I was fairly sure no one would hear me. No one would get hurt. Still, I hesitated. Memories flashed by, haunting in their clarity—the Mike incident, the chaos, the frightened faces.
I don’t trust myself. Even alone, I don’t trust myself.
But the tension was unbearable. My hands curled into fists in my lap as I stepped on the gas, heading down the main road in Haven Hollow that led to the highway, which led out of town and into the mountains. My shoulders shook. I didn’t know why, but the need to sing was almost suffocating. Maybe because I hadn’t in so long? I wasn’t sure.
I didn’t even know when I’d hit the highway, nor how long I’d been driving on it. There were no other cars around and after another few minutes, I was outside Haven Hollow city limits. There was nothing and no one around me.
So, finally—finally—I let a single note slip, trembling at first, barely audible over the car’s interior.
The sound bloomed. The thread of it wrapped around me, curling through the cabin, echoing off the glass. My heart thundered in time with it. I could feel the power of my Siren’s song thrumming through me, down to my bones.
Then, as if I’d somehow granted it permission, the rest followed. A soft stream of melody that rose and fell in time with my tears. I didn’t even know when I’d started crying. Only that I had.
No one could hear my song. No one would suffer from it.
For the first time in months, I felt free.
Chapter Two
Sleep didn’t come easily that night.
