Dangerous Creatures (22 page)

Link was center stage, bending over the mic, dipping it backward on the stand as if they were slow dancing. It was his audition. They were letting him do whatever he wanted. That was clear by the way they were all watching him.

Link as lead singer? Were they setting him up to fail?

Either way, it didn’t seem to matter much to Link. He looked like he was having the greatest night of his life.

“
You know I love you, Saucy Bossy Girl
,” he crooned to his imaginary meatball. The mic crackled enthusiastically—and the crowd screamed.

That mic will probably make a better girlfriend than I ever will
, Ridley thought, feeling guilty.

She sighed.

Downstage, Necro’s blue faux-hawk was flying in every direction over the enormous keyboard, like it had a mind of its own. Sampson stood next to Link, singing into a mic—with the tattooed arms and hypnotic presence she remembered from the night she first met him at Suffer. His hands sped across the strings of an über-modern electric guitar. The body curved into a wide U shape, like a harp. Behind Sampson, Floyd jammed on a bass as big as she was. Ridley couldn’t tell if the guitar was part of her body or not.

A red plaid hipster drum kit sat waiting for Link in the center of the stage. As the crowd screamed, Link threw down the mic and picked up the sticks, sliding back behind the drums. The drums had always been the one instrument you could safely hand him. At best, it was a loud banging. At worst, it was also a loud banging. There was something reassuring about that.

The crowd screamed louder.
“Roll me! Bread crumbs!”

Sirensong was rocking the house.

She’d had enough.

“Ryan—”

Her little sister’s eyes lit up the moment she saw Ridley back on the floor. “There you are, Saucy Bossy Girl.”

“Don’t ever say that.”
No Sirensong. No Meatstik. No more lyrics.

“You missed most of the set. Link has been so—”

“Uh-huh. Say hi to Mamma for me. Love you.” Ridley shoved the envelope into Ryan’s hand and she was gone. You couldn’t even hear the Rip over the music.

Ridley breathed a sigh of relief. Her sister was safe. For the time being.

Your move, Gates.

She closed her eyes and stood there, in the middle of the crowd, listening to the music. Something wasn’t right. She could smell it, almost taste it.

Her skin was crawling with it.

Come out. Show yourself.

I can feel you. I know what you’re doing.

She opened her eyes. She didn’t know what kind of answer she was expecting, but there was nothing.

She couldn’t help but check inside her purse, where her last cherry lollipop remained firmly wrapped.

Yet, somehow, the Power of Persuasion was thick in the air around her. Ridley was sure of it, even if she wasn’t the one responsible for it.

Which only left one question…

Who was?

Backstage, beneath the jungle of scaffolding and light stands and extra amps and extension cords, Sirensong was celebrating. Bottles were popping, and fountains of champagne—no, from the smell of it, make that shaken cans of cheap soda—sprayed in every direction.

Geez. You would have thought Sirensong had never played a hit song to a full house of screaming fans before.

Maybe because they hadn’t.

“Dude. We smoked it.” Floyd fist-bumped Link. “Like Roger Waters.”

“Like bacon.” Link fist-bumped her back.

“Like a cigar,” Necro said. A shadow passed over her face, but Floyd sprayed both of them while Sampson ducked out of the way, and soon Necro was laughing as hard as everyone else. When Floyd’s fist began to actually smoke, Ridley shook her head and pulled Link away.

Illusionists.

Link flung his arm over Rid’s shoulder. “You just got me the greatest gig a my entire life, Babe.” He kissed her, smack on the mouth, without even stopping smiling. “Did you see the crowd losin’ it durin’ our set? They loved us.”

“Yeah. They did. And now we’ve got to get out of here.”

Link pointed at Rid. “Roll me! Bread crumbs!”

“I got that,” Rid said. “The whole recipe. I was there. Let’s go.”

Link took one look at her face and gave up. It was clear there wasn’t going to be all that much celebrating tonight. “Aw, come on. Geez. What now? Why are you givin’ me that stinkeye?”

“Link. Come on.” Now she was frustrated. He just wasn’t getting it. “Did you ever wonder why everyone was chanting that chorus?”

He shrugged. “Because meatballs are awesome. And so is Sirensong. And so am I.” He couldn’t stop smiling.

“Or?” Ridley looked at him. She could feel the anxiety tightening in her chest.

“Or what? What are you gettin’ at? They loved us because we killed it. Because of Floyd bringin’ it and Necro whalin’ on it, and Sammy Boy tearin’ it up out there. We made Meatstik look like beef jerky.” Link was starting to look insulted.

Careful
, Ridley told herself. But Ridley also never listened to anyone—including herself. And she had spent far too long with Lennox Gates tonight to not know how high the stakes were.

There was no time for careful.

“Really, Link?” Ridley crossed her arms. “Do you really want to do this now?”

“Yeah, really,” Link said. He crossed his arms, too.

“Because I hate to break it to you, but everyone watching you was high.” There. She’d said it.

“What?”

“Sirensong. The joy juice. The Power of Persuasion. Whatever you want to call it. They were Charmed. This whole place is. It’s not you, it’s them.” She tossed her hair defiantly, just for emphasis.

“That’s not what you’re sayin’.” Link stiffened. “You’re sayin’ it’s not me, it’s you.” Link was madder than she could ever remember seeing him. Ridley hated to keep going, but she didn’t have a choice.

She shook her head. “Just listen to me. I didn’t Charm anyone tonight but the bouncer. I told you I wouldn’t do it, and I didn’t. But if someone else is messing with you like that, we need to get out of here.”

Link looked at her in disbelief. “Do you hear how crazy that sounds? You’re freakin’ out because I did okay for once?”

Ridley grabbed his sweaty sleeve. “Nobody’s going to be doing you any favors at Sirene. We can’t trust Lennox Gates. This whole thing is a setup. Why can’t you get it through your thick skull?”

“I don’t know, Rid. Maybe on account a the hole where my brain is supposed to be?”

“Link—”

“Well, don’t worry. Here’s another hole for you, and I’ll make sure it’s an even bigger one. The one between you and me.” Link took off before she could say a word.

Ridley was stunned.

She closed her eyes and held out her hands, using her powers to see what the club really felt like beneath the pounding beat of the bass, above the thick layer of conversation and clinking glasses, through the buzzing lights and the roar of the sound system.

What is going on in here?

She smelled the thick elixir of sugar in the air, the coppery scent of blood. A fire. A kitchen. Things cooking, like in any restaurant. Smoke from a cigar or two.

Her own sweet power.

Basically, it was the smell of Suffer, or Exile, or any Underground Caster club, so long as she was in it.

Ridley felt power, but it felt no different from her own. It spread thickly through the air around her, like the Power of Persuasion. But she didn’t know who was behind it. She was the only Siren in the club, as far as she knew. And she wasn’t using her powers on anyone.

Have I lost my mind? Or just my way?

But her boyfriend was disappearing through the crowd in front of her, and she didn’t have time to wait for the answer.

 
CHAPTER 19 

Something to Believe In

L
ink!” Ridley pushed her way through the crowd after him, trying to catch up. She followed him up the stairs, down the hall, and through the doors marked
BROOKLYN
. Moments later, she found herself standing on the empty street, in the miserable, rainy night, but it was too late.

He was gone, and she wasn’t a hybrid Incubus. She couldn’t keep up. She could barely walk in these shoes. And she didn’t have a jacket.

Even Lucille Ball the cat looked sorry for her, dry as she was beneath the awning of the liquor store next door, beating her tail against a trash can lid.

Lucille let out a sympathetic howl.

What a mess.

This wasn’t the way they’d come in, and Ridley was pretty sure it wasn’t the way they should have come out. The doors that opened onto the street appeared to be the doors to a Chinese Laundromat. Signs in the windows in Mandarin advertised what looked like free detergent with every load. A neon sign in Kanji seemed to be the only marker for the club.

Ridley was a little rusty on her Kanji, but she knew this one. It was familiar to Sirens worldwide, and a popular tattoo—aside from the more magical Dark Caster variety. Plus, it was the same in Chinese characters, Japanese Kanji, or old Korean Hanja. In its most rudimentary form, the brushstrokes formed a square body with a tail.

A bird.

Sometimes the character was slightly different. Sometimes it was a person with wings; sometimes it was a bird rising from ashes, like a phoenix; and still other times it was the bird of long life and spirit, the crane.

But it was always the bird.

That was the mark of the Siren, even for a sophisticated, edgy club like Sirene. When it came right down to it, that was what Sirens were—pretty songbirds with nightmares for nests. Creatures with wings that still never managed to fly free. They sabotaged themselves too often for that. Talons for nails—so sharp they could draw blood, so fast you’d never know you were bleeding.

Even when, half the time, the blood was their own.

Sirens were messed-up Dark creations. There was no denying it.

Rid backed away from the door and the club, taking in the street. She was in Brooklyn. She knew that much.