Dangerous Creatures (30 page)

She stared at the card in her hand. The note left Ridley no choice. She had to accept that there was more to Lennox Gates than a love of gambling and nightclubs. There was too much—his powers of Persuasion, Manifestation, and Temporal Distortion—it was too much for one Caster, and she didn’t know how or why he had come to be so powerful.

But it was something.

Something that made him either potentially dangerous or potentially useful.

It was an interesting thought.

Ridley leaned back against the couch. She felt awful about Link and worried about Necro.

No wonder they had kicked her out.

She heard the water running in the other room. The bath. She stood up, feeling the soft pile of the thick white rug beneath her feet. Maybe a bath would help her calm down. Think more clearly. Figure out what to do now.

A few bubbles couldn’t hurt.

She tried not to look at the enormous bed as she wandered through the bedroom. All she noticed was the circular skylight cut into the ceiling and roof above it. She imagined lying there, studying the stars.

Princess Charming had one hell of a view.

Ridley found the door to the bathroom and shut herself safely inside, where the massive tub was filling itself with rose-and lavender-scented water. Exactly as Lennox Gates had promised it would.

Only then did she let herself cry.

She told herself it was the soap burning her eyes.

Three thick white towels later, Ridley felt like a new person. Wrapped in a plush robe, she toweled dry her long wet hair.

She lectured herself as she stared in the mirror, brushing out her tangled curls.

Pick yourself back up. Get it together, Siren. This is what you do. Stop acting like you care about them. Stop acting like Uncle Macon.

Like you can’t accept who you are, how Dark you are. Like you have a choice. Like you have a home.

Like every other door wasn’t slammed in your face on the night of your own Claiming.

Let it be.

Ridley put down the brush and stood up, before the face in the mirror revealed anything to the contrary.

The apartment unfolded into a kind of luxurious stillness in front of her. She padded through the halls in bare feet, wandering into the living room to investigate. Beyond the foyer, the apartment was divided into a living room, a bathroom, a massive closet area, and a bedroom. The living room was framed by a wall of windows, with a marble fireplace dominating the far end of the room.

As she stood in front of it, the fire lit itself, crackling to life.

Nice touch, Prince Charming.

Above the fireplace, Ridley noticed a framed piece of parchment, old and yellowing. It was a passage from Homer’s
Odyssey
, familiar to all Sirens: “The Song of the Sirens.” She knew the words almost by heart. Uncle Macon had a similar page in his library. The pages were rare, but important.

A Siren relic, if such a thing existed. How weird to find it here.

Come hither, come, Odysseus, / Whom all praise, great glory of the Achaeans!

Bring in your ship and listen to our song. / For none has ever passed us in a black-hulled ship

Till from our lips he heard ecstatic song, / Then went on his way, rejoicing and with larger knowledge.

For we know all that on the plain of Troy / Argives and Trojans suffered at the gods’ behest.

We know whatever happens on the bounteous earth.

Ridley stared at the words, remembering what they had first meant to her. Being Dark was hard to accept at sixteen; knowing that it was her destiny made it easier. For centuries, Siren after Siren had shared her fate, just as sailor after sailor had shared the rocks.

Why should I be spared?

She touched the parchment gently. The world was a cruel place, but at least it was consistent. Ridley understood who and what she was.

Ridley understood destiny.

She moved along the wall, looking at paintings and photographs and other Gates family memorabilia—until she came across a childhood photograph of Nox and his baby sister, sitting in a woman’s lap.

A dark-eyed man stood behind them. He looked familiar.

Even though it was only a photograph, she could feel the unmistakable power resonate through the room.

The Power of Persuasion.

Here.

Now.

Sirensong. Sirene. Everything Ridley had felt in the club. Suddenly, it all made sense.

The woman in the photograph was a Siren. The woman in the photograph was also, most likely, Nox’s mother.

Lennox Gates had Siren blood running through his veins.

 
CHAPTER 25 

Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

L
ink didn’t have time to pick up the phone. To be honest, he didn’t have time to think about Ridley. He didn’t have time to do anything but freak out.

In a big way.

A hybrid Incubus–sized way.

More than anything, Link hated it when girls cried. He hated it when they cried or when they were mad at you or when they just gave you those big old eyes so wobbly that they made it seem like they belonged in a basket of puppies.

But this was worse.

Necro wasn’t doing any of those things. She was just lying there—not moving. She didn’t even look like she was doing all that much breathing. She didn’t look all that different from the dead she was supposed to be talking to, Link thought.

Her skin was pale to the point of near greenness. Shadows had emerged under her eyes. The gash on her neck almost seemed to be growing, from the looks of it.

It was a mess.

All three of them had taken turns trying to bandage her neck. The results were pretty shoddy, but it didn’t matter. The black ooze seeped through, no matter what they tried.

Even Lucille Ball sat on the foot of the bed, staring.

“That can’t be good,” Floyd said. “It should’ve stopped by now.”

“You think Necro hit an artery or somethin’?” Link asked. “Do you have arteries in your neck?”

“I don’t know.” Floyd looked at him. “You think she’s going to bleed out?”

“No.” Link shook his head. “You can lose up to one-third of your body’s blood before you die. But we need to suture her.”

“What?” Floyd looked at him. He didn’t sound like himself to her, but that was probably only because she hadn’t known him during Shark Week.

“Sew her up.” Link shrugged. “I saw it on the Discovery Channel.”

“Hold on. Let me get my needle and thread.” Floyd was losing it.

“That only works if it’s sterile,” he informed her. “You guys got a Insta-Clinic Super 24 around here?” Link tried to think what the New York version of that would be.

“You want to take her to a Caster emergency room or something? Because, guess what? They don’t exist.” Floyd sounded desperate.

“She’s probably going to die,” Sampson said from the other end of the room.

“Shut it, man,” Link practically shouted.

“Please.” Floyd shook her head.

“Let’s face facts.” Sampson paced across the room. “I don’t know how long a Necromancer can stay like this before the effects are permanent. Not long. She spends enough time in contact with the Otherworld as it is. All it takes for someone like her to cross over is a little shove in the Other direction—”

“You think?” Link snapped, and bent over her bed. “Hey, Necro. Wake up, man. That was a killer gig. You gotta wake up so we can talk about it.” He shook her arm. He was desperate, and he couldn’t think straight.

What would Ethan do in this situation? What had Ethan done, seein’ as everythin’ that could go wrong in the whole universe had already gone wrong for him? Why is my finger burnin’ like crazy where that stupid ring is?

But it didn’t matter who tried, or what they said or did. Necro didn’t respond. She looked pale and small, lying half under the blankets. Floyd sat next to her on the floor.

“Esperanza,” Floyd said.

“What?” Link looked down at her, confused.

“Her real name’s not Necro. It’s Esperanza.”

Link looked at the sleeping punk. “Are you sure about that?”

Floyd smiled sadly. “She hates it, and she’ll kick your butt if you call her that. But sometimes she still seems like an Esperanza to me.”

“You guys have been friends for a long time, haven’t you?” Link suddenly felt almost as bad for Floyd as he did for Necro.

Floyd shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. She’s all right. For a Necro.”

“Who did this to you, Esperanza?” Link leaned closer to her face. “Esperanza? Wake up and kick my butt.”

It was no use. The blood was seeping from her neck, turning the whole bandage black and green.

Link gave up. “How did this happen? We would’ve seen it if she was in a fight.”

“Not in the night, when she’s sleepwalking.” Floyd looked stricken.

“And I don’t sleep, remember?” Link said. “I shoulda seen her, comin’ and goin’.”

“Not if someone didn’t want you to see her.” Sampson looked up from where he stood, leaning against the doorframe. “Not if the right Cast was in place.”

Now he was next to them. “Not if the right Caster was behind it.”