Sirenz Back in Fashion (4 page)

“Oh!” I breathed,
à
la Marilyn Monroe. “I'm soooooo sorry!”

The figure whipped around, the gray tatters swirling around his body. Rags didn't look good on mummies, and it wasn't working here.

“You did that on purpose!” Charon whipped off the hood—and then
she
glared at me.

My mouth dropped open.

“No, I'm
not
Charon. He's on vacation. I'm filling in while he gets some R&R.”

“So who are you?” I asked.

She flipped her long, silky black hair over her shoulder. “I'm Aglaia.”

Hmmm. If I admitted I didn't know her, she was probably going to act all pissy, like all the gods did when you didn't know their names, histories, where their temples were, what they did, who they hated, and whatever. What should I say?

She let out a long suffering sigh. “Can't you tell?”

Pop quiz!

“Uh, give me a sec—”

She jammed the pole into the muddy bottom and snarled, “Fires of Olympus! You mortals are so stupid! I'm one of the Graces, but I guess you don't hear much about us. It's not like we're one of the big gods, like Zeus, oh no”— her face took on a really scary sneer—“gods forbid!” She snorted, then tossed her head. “
Some
people are jealous of our talents and make sure we don't get our fair share of time on Olympus.”

I smiled back at her, a sympathetic look on my face.

Her hands fisted and she ripped off the rags. Her dress, made entirely of gold coins, clinked. That had to weigh a ton. Literally.

“We sing. And dance.” She held out her hands, palms up. Another agonizing second of silence. “For the
gods
.”

“So Agla, do you entertain only on Mount Olympus?”
It always helps to show interest in other peoples' lives.

“It's Ag-lee-ay-a,” she huffed.

“Sure thing, Aggie,” I replied. I couldn't bring myself to call her Ag-whatever.

She gritted her teeth. “Just call me Splendor. And no, no singing and dancing on Olympus or anywhere lately.”

Uh oh, another Greek tragedy.
I put on my best tell-me-your-poor-wretched-tale face, even though inside I was thinking,
here we go again with the sob story
.

“I entertained all the gods, on Olympus or wherever they requested my talents. Then
she
got mad at me”—Splendor snapped her fingers—“and now I have to hide out here until she gets over it.” She glanced around, grimacing. “Luckily, Charon is a friend. He let me take over here for a song while he's away.”

Let's see … a ticked-off goddess making threats. I could think of three: Persephone, of course, but she'd never allow another good-looking goddess, or female anything, near Hades; Demeter, her mother, but she wouldn't want Persephone mad at her for sending pretty Splendor into her territory—she'd almost made that mistake already with me; and that left the queen bee.

“Hera?” I whispered.

“Shhhhhh!” Splendor hissed. “Don't say her name! She hasn't figured out where I am, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you! She has spies.”

Well, this was getting interesting, but it would have to wait for another time. “You'll have to tell me the whole story,” I whispered conspiratorially, “but, ah, first I've got to get to wherever it is I'm going. Girly things to take care of.” I promptly sat down on a bench and jiggled my legs.

She merely grunted, pulling the pole out of the mud. A desperate soul who had been hovering in the background—and who looked suspiciously like a recently dead senator—made a frantic leap for the boat. Splendor whacked him with the pole.

“You want on the boat, you either hand over the coin, or you go through
me
!”
The poor shade fell into knee-deep water and was promptly sucked under, black bubbles furiously rising where he used to be.

“That's what happens when you spend all your retirement money!”

With that, Splendor pushed the boat away from the shore and resumed rowing. I shuddered, glad I'd never even dipped a finger in the river.

She didn't spare a glance for me.

Guessing she wasn't interested in becoming acquainted, I opened my purse. All the yakking had worn off my new fave gloss, Tangerine Tantrum. I pulled it and my gold monogrammed compact out, reapplied, and smacked my lips. Much better! A girl could face almost any dire situation when she looked fabulous. Perfect makeup was a courage booster. Maybe I'd die fighting, but I'd look good doing it.

“What is that?!” demanded Splendor.

I jumped. “What?”

She pointed to the lip-gloss.

“This?” I waved it at her.

“I smell oranges.” She squinted at me, sniffed, then widened her large aqua eyes. “And it makes your lips shine!”

I shifted, snagging my bikini bottom on the rough-hewn seat. With all the gold he had, you'd think Charon would have parted with a few coins to have the boat refurbished for his passengers. We did pay, after all. Pulling free, I nodded at Splendor.

“Yeah, it is amazing! It's the newest line by Shiseido. It's called ‘Fruits of Temptation.' I got this at the salon when I worked for Ark—never mind. But it lasts for a long time.”

Splendor's eyes bugged out. “When I get out of here, I'm going to get some.”

Hmmm. Forced to wear a raggy uniform in a skanky damp cave, ferrying irritable dead souls—except me, I didn't count because I wasn't dead—and hiding from a powerful goddess with a grudge. Could this lip-gloss get me out of here?

Splendor hungrily eyed the tube.

Oh yeah, she wants it.

She resumed poling across in silence, although she kept glancing at me covertly with a speculative but guarded gaze. When I opened my mouth to speak, she turned away and hummed a tune. A clear indication to shut up.

Well! Ever since that night in the subway, it had been one person after another giving me the cold shoulder or a hard time. Jeremy was the first. Then Persephone, Demeter, and now Splendor and Hermes. The anti-Shar fan club was rapidly expanding. Why was there animosity everywhere I went? Had Hades hexed me for his own purposes? Maybe a little, but I had to be honest with myself and admit that maybe I wasn't overly likable. I'd begun to perceive that being friends with Alana, Kate, and Caroline was like being part of a plague; people respected the damage you could do, but they never welcomed you.

I was shallow. Or at least, I used to be. I'd learned a lot about myself during the past couple of months. It wasn't all about looking the best—it was about
being
the best; the best friend, the best person.

I missed Meg.

The boat thumped gently on a dock of black stone. Swallowing a few gulps, I gathered my purse and looked around. A long, shiny black marble pathway lead off to the—surprise! Black marble palace in the black distance. Not a single living thing in sight. With a mother-in-law like Demeter, whom he abhorred, I guess it was understandable that Hades wouldn't want any reminders of her in the Underworld. But it sure made for dismal surroundings.

I stood carefully, not wanting to end up in the hungry water and risk being sucked under like the dead senator by who-knows-what, or experience bladder leak. Rivers don't have rest stops. Hades better have a bathroom or I was in a tight spot—no trees! Open view!

My feet on solid ground, I turned to Splendor.

“Before you leave, here.” I held out the lip-gloss.

She looked at me suspiciously.

“Take it,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed to two slits. If I did that, I'd definitely have wrinkles in a year or two.

“What do you want in exchange?”

“Nothing. It's yours.”

She didn't believe it. “You don't want
anything
from me.”

“Can you get me out of here?” I asked.

“No.”

I slapped the gloss into her hand. “So there's nothing you have that I want. See ya!” I gently stepped off the black stone dock. After a few moments, I heard the slow slap of the water as Splendor maneuvered the boat away. I gave her a tentative wave that she didn't return. She only stared at me from her spot on the water. I turned to go.

“Sharisse!” she called.

I whirled around.

“If you're ever, you know, down by the water … ” She trailed off.

Poor Splendor. How long had she been stuck down here? I waved again. “I'll call you!”

She nodded, then lifted her pole. A second later the boat was swallowed by mist.

I made a friend!
I thought, smiling to myself, and started down the path.

I hadn't gotten far when a figure slowly wobbled toward me. Being on this side, I knew that at least he wasn't going to beg me for money. I squinted, trying to see better in the gloom. White hair pulled into a ponytail. A Humpty Dumpty figure. Buckled shoes. I recognized that pasty-looking face.

With a huge smile, he held out his hand, which matched the tissue-paper-thin skin on his face. Gingerly, I shook it.

“My dear! Such a pleasure to meet you! Benjamin Franklin, at your service.” He made a courtly bow over my hand.

I was right! I was shaking hands with Benjamin Franklin!

Wait. What could
he
have done to end up
here
?
Did this mean the only “here” in the hereafter was in Tartarus? I shivered at the thought. Eternity with Hades. All that time wasted in Sunday School when I could have slept in.

“You know who I am?” I asked.

“Of course, Miss Johnson. Hades informed me of your arrival and insisted I meet you personally. I would have been here sooner, but Charon and I always end up arguing.” He leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “A penny saved is a penny earned, but he takes it a bit too far. No charity in him, that one.”

“Uh huh.” If he didn't know that Charon was on vacation and Splendor was filling in, I wasn't going to say anything. Or start any trouble. And what did someone say to an iconic figure in American history?

“Do you know that you're on the hundred dollar bill?” I asked.
Brilliant as usual, Sharisse.

He
preened.
“Yes, Hades allows me to hear a few things from the mortal plane. But come.” He took my elbow and led me toward the castle. “His lordship's prepared a special suite just for you!”

“I'll bet he has,” I mumbled.

His eyes darted nervously over my indecent attire. “I'm sure you'd like to, um, freshen up.”

No, I'd like to get dressed and use proper facilities, but I was not going to discuss that with a founding father. We walked along, old Ben humming a tune slightly off-key. Apparently musical ability wasn't one of his many talents.

I turned to look at him, frowning. “And why are
you
here? Weren't you a good man? Church-going, charitable and everything?” He stopped and I followed suit.

Ben smiled serenely. “Even saints have been known to falter, Miss Johnson. But I'm not here because of an indiscretion. Hades and I have a gentleman's agreement. I wanted to meet the great people of history, and in return, I keep order in his realm. I shall only be here a thousand years, and then I'm off to other places and things, which I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss.”

“Yes, I know all about the nondisclosure clause and his work-for-hire programs.”

We started walking again to the palace/castle/mansion/temple/outrageous abode of Hades. Everything was over-the-top with this guy. And here was one of the greatest people in history, acting as his estate manager. Only Hades.

“Who else is here?” I asked as we reached the—what else—massive black doors.

“Many people. Some just pass through, others stay for a while. You'll meet many of them.” Stopping at the morbid-looking doors in front of us, Ben laid his right palm on one and it swung open on silent hinges. “The domicile will recognize you once you meet with Hades.” He ushered me in. “You are free to roam about, but I must warn you to beware of two things. First, the Pit.” He gave me a chilling look over his wire-rimmed glasses. “It is to be avoided at all costs. The Titans are imprisoned down there and with good reason. They are wily, deceptive, and self-serving, and have surrounded themselves with the scum of both Olympus and Earth. While they are bound and cannot get out, anyone can venture in. If you do, you are on your own.” Ben gave me a stern, fatherly look. “Do not expect anyone to rescue you.”

I threw up my hands in surrender. “Got it. Not going in to see bad boys. What's the other warning?”

“Lastly, beware of those who talk of escape routes. Do not heed these wild tales. This is Hades' realm and I assure you, if there was a way out, he would have found and eliminated it. He is no man's fool.”

But would he be a fool for a woman … like me?

Meg

Half Full

Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have minded an afternoon alone with Jeremy, but things were far from normal. He stood there, the sun behind him highlighting his tight, low-riding black jeans and worn leather jacket; the same outfit he'd had on when we first met in that pizza shop.

“You seem … distracted,” he said, tucking a dark lock behind his ear. He pulled a chair over to mine and sat, draping his arm around me. “Is everything all right?”

I leaned my head onto his shoulder, looking up into his sky-blue eyes and hoping they would take me to some place far away. It didn't work. I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek into his shoulder, breathing deep. Old leather, patchouli,
Jeremy
.
And here I was again—watching my words and keeping secrets.

“Yeah. Just school and things, you know. Too much going on to keep track of.”

Besides everything that had just gone down with Hades, I was bothered that Jeremy showed up alone and didn't ask about Shar. While the omission made me uneasy, I didn't bring her up; if the subject wasn't discussed, I wouldn't have to lie about why she wasn't here. Instead, I asked him about his fall schedule at NYU and what classes we might have together. He ordered a salad and finished my hummus plate; I couldn't eat.

To my relief, he had plans for the night, and sadly, I was glad when we parted ways at my subway stop an hour later.

“If everything goes well tonight, I'll have some good news to text you later.” He smiled mischievously and ran his fingers through my hair, pulling me close for a kiss before allowing me to get off the train. It took every ounce of self control I had to smile and wave goodbye until the train entered the tunnel.

On the way back to the dorm, I rewound Shar's disappearance in my head, and then started walking faster. I wanted to be back in our room. Not that there would be any answers to our problem amongst Shar's things, but I had a desperate desire to get back and just feel her presence.

The dormitory was pretty empty when I got there; a lot of students went home on the weekends, then returned Sunday night for classes on Monday. Praying I wouldn't have to meet any eyes or make any small talk, I strode down the hall and rode the thankfully empty elevator to the third floor. The institutional, cream-colored walls were punctuated every few feet with solid-looking green doors, and every now and again music blared out of some of them as I passed. A bulletin board overflowed with numbers for tutoring, jobs, books for sale, and summer-abroad programs. I got to our door having seen no one, and with a sigh of relief I unlocked it and pushed inside.

I'd left my laptop on; the screen saver, a slide show of the band Elysian Fields, renewed itself over and over. Posters lined the walls on my side of the room, so that not even a hairline of the standard-issue paint could be seen.

Shar's side of the room was empty.

I started hyperventilating.

Calm down! This won't help either of you!
I scolded myself.

When I was in control, I nudged the door shut with my hip, threw my purse and the fleece—still in its garment bag—on my bed, and stumbled into the emptiness that used to be Shar's space. I opened every drawer in her desk, in her dresser.

Nothing.

Nothing hung in the closet.

Nothing tucked beneath the naked mattress.

Nothing hidden under the bed—not even dust.

An infinite circle of nothing.

I wandered over to my densely packed side, which contrasted harshly with the starkness of hers. Shoving the stack of textbooks on my desk to one side, I sifted through the papers underneath, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of Shar's powder-puff pink Post-it notes, but once again, nothing.

Continuing the frantic search, I tackled my dresser, going through every stuffed drawer and every bottle and trinket on top, searching for something,
anything,
that was hers. All I found were my own clothes, black and purple nail polish that Shar would die before wearing, perfume she said smelled like a funeral parlor, and a tangle of Lucite necklaces.

I felt chilled. I'd reached that numbing sense of acceptance you get when something has gone horribly wrong; a kind of autopilot. All I could do was stare at Shar's half of the room.

She was … gone.

At some point, it got dark outside, and I must've crawled into bed and fallen asleep, but I couldn't remember when. All I knew was that when I opened my eyes, pale sunlight was streaming in through the window. When I managed to squint at the clock, 7:04 blinked out in insistent digital lines. Horrified, I jumped up.

School!

I was still in my clothes from yesterday, and while I'd kicked off my Westwoods, I hadn't bothered to take off my makeup. I shoved on Converse sneakers and grabbed books, notebooks, and pens, stuffing them into my messenger bag. I dropped it over my shoulder, pulled my purse off the floor, and headed out. Catching sight of myself in the full-length mirror screwed to the door, I made a disgusted noise at my reflection. Black liner was smeared under my eyes, and my hair was sticking up in all directions. I found a fedora and smashed it over my dark mop, then left before I could start thinking about trying to fix anything. Shar always said I looked like the walking dead—now she was right.

Out in the street, I shambled over to the academic building. The cool, fresh air woke me up a bit and I tried to look at everything logically. Maybe Jeremy not asking about Shar had nothing to do with Shar's disappearance. Maybe Ian had canceled and he was embarrassed, so when he saw that I was alone too, he didn't bother to bring it up. But what about that empty room? Would she need
all
her stuff in Tartarus? How long was Hades planning on keeping her?

What would I say if anyone asked me where she was? Shar was in my Calc and Lit classes and had other friends besides me. I decided to go with yesterday's plan—Shar had a family emergency and left, I assumed, for her parent's house in Bronxville. Hopefully no one would want me to elaborate. Thus armed, in I went.

The first bell rang just as I got to the second floor. Kids in the hallway started moving left and right, into the empty classrooms. Girls and guys turned to me as they passed. The girls smirked; I was a walking wreck. The guys stared a moment, some of them smiling slightly, before moving on. I wanted to demand that someone—anyone—say they'd seen Shar.

I slipped into the room past Mr. Lazarus, who was sitting at his desk taking attendance, checking off names in his grade book as people came in. A few people looked my way but said nothing. Once I was settled, I kept my eyes glued to Shar's desk and tried not to swallow my tongue when Maddie Harris plopped herself down into it; she usually sat behind Shar. My eyes shot to Laz, who was particular about people keeping their seats, but he made no move to correct anything.

Don't freak out. It's just a seat.

Then he got up from his desk and started babbling an intro to the day's Calc lesson. I bent my head to my notebook and scribbled something, anything, to look busy. It was bad enough that Maddie was sitting in Shar's seat and that Laz said nothing about it, but without lifting my head, I felt sure the dozen or so guys in the class, in between taking notes, were glancing my way.

With a shiver I remembered the rules of the Siren game.
Males will be drawn to you
,
Hades said. And they had been, even before our deal was renewed. Thanks to Shar and the mini-makeover she gave me—a sharp, sleek haircut coupled with an acceptable dose of color—I felt a new confidence. Whatever the reason, Siren superpower or revamped look, I'd been handling the attention I was getting. But now I had to be on guard; my powers were back, and even though they weren't as strong without Shar around, I'd have to be careful and use them only for the assignment.

The assignment! I was so consumed with Shar that I hadn't given a thought to Paulina Swan-whatever. I'd have to deal with that later. Right now I had to get through Calculus and avoid entrancing any of the males that crossed my path: classmates, teachers, janitors. Unless I engaged them with my voice, they'd leave me alone and I'd have no reason to bother with them.

Laz droned on and on, writing problems and page numbers on the board. Dutifully I jotted them down, gripping my pencil hard and digging it into the page. The point snapped under the pressure and I let out a small but exasperated sigh.

Laz turned around, caught sight of me, and smiled for a second before going back to his blackboard. I dropped my gaze quickly and carefully folded the flap of my messenger bag back to get another pencil. My hand was deep in one of the pockets when I heard a soft
plip
. As I straightened up, a neatly folded note was resting on top of my open Calc book.

I slowly slipped it off the desk, flicking my glance between it and Laz. Unfolding the paper as quietly as I could, I read:

Me, Jordan & Sarah r going 2 Starbucks @ 3:15,
can u come?

Jordan. Sarah. There was only one other person in that trio—Trey Addington-North. Cautiously, I lifted up my head and turned to the right, only to see him staring at me from the next desk, a hopeful expression on his face. I raised the note a little, and he grinned and raised his eyebrows as if to ask,
Well?

I stifled a laugh behind my hand. Blond, perpetually Bahama-tanned, and status-conscious Trey of the hyphenated last name was asking
me
if I would join him and his pals for their daily latte slurp at Starbucks? I wondered how Jordan and Sarah would feel about
that
?
My guess was not too happy, since they'd never liked me. As for Trey, we'd sat next to each other in this class since September and I was lucky if he would pass worksheets to me.

Before I could stop myself, I looked over at him again, expecting to see the superior expression he usually wore when speaking to the unwashed masses. Maybe he'd be laughing that I actually believed he was serious. Instead, I found him grinning expectantly.

The bell rang.

Grabbing my bag and shoving books, papers, pencils and whatever into it, I wrangled my way to the front of the room, a clutch of guys straggling around like shy groupies after a rock star. They kept their distance, although they hung in the doorway. Was this Hades' idea of diminished powers? Either that or I was totally working the neurotic mental patient look.

“Gentlemen, don't you have somewhere to go?” Laz said to them—they were blocking the entrance, preventing the next class from coming in. When they didn't budge, he went over to shoo them away and I seized my chance.

I glided over to the desk where Laz kept his grade book and discreetly scanned the roster of names, written neatly in his block printing in alphabetical order.
Harris, Hernandez, Jackson … Kwan?
No Johnson, Sharisse. An uncomfortable tingling raced up my spine. I read it again. And again. She simply wasn't there. We'd had two tests, five quizzes, and God knew how many homeworks so far for this quarter. I knew she'd done them—we studied for the last test together and she beat my score by three points, but now there was no record of it.

“Margaret?” I jumped when Mr. Lazarus said my name.

I looked up from the grade book and found him standing on the opposite side of the desk, smiling as he had when I broke my pencil during class. Hades and I would definitely have to have a chat.

“Do you need something?”

I mashed my lips together, somehow turned them into a smile, and shook my head. “Nope, I'm good.” Then before he could say anything further, I spun on my heel and headed out the door. Thankfully, my fan club had dispersed and gone to whatever class they had next. But I hadn't escaped completely.

“Meg!” a male voice shouted. Trey jogged up to me. “So, can you come?” he asked.

This is ridiculous! Last week you wouldn't give me the time of day!
I put my face in my bag as if I were looking for something.

“It's my treat,” he added.

“I can't,” I mumbled. “I'm meeting my boyfriend after school … and if I don't leave now I'll be late for French!” I ran for the stairwell, not looking back.

Classes proved uneventful. In French I sat in the back of the room off Madame Cratier's radar, fielded a question in Social Studies without consequences, and survived a lab—with two guys on my team—by not making any requests or issuing any orders. At lunch I sat alone, burying my face in my notes to discourage any conversation. In Lit, again, Shar's seat was occupied by someone else, and she was MIA from Miss Winning's grade book.

When the final bell rang, I made my way down to Shar's locker—there was one last thing I wanted to check. No one had asked me about her, and I hadn't brought her up—yet. I wove my way through the milling students who chatted as they walked to their lockers, all the while searching for Alana Dean.

I spotted her at her locker, Caroline and Kate close by. I approached the group with trepidation. They were talking and giggling, and when I heard Alana's voice, it dredged up the memory of that last text, the one that Shar read to me before she was taken away:
Going out with your vampire roomie again?

They ignored me as I sidled up to them, and I stood there for several seconds, apparently invisible.

“Alana,” I began. She didn't turn around right away, but I could tell she heard me—or at least her friends did, because they stole glances at me, whispered, and snickered.

When she finally did face me, she regarded me like I was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“Alana, um, can I talk to you for a second?” I asked.

“Why?” she snapped, a sneer on her face. I wanted this to be quick, but she was determined to turn it into a sideshow. Months of Shar's waning interest must've really taken its toll. Caroline and Kate looked down their noses at me, covering their mouths to unsuccessfully mute hasty giggles.