The Siren

Chapter 9

The first note had barely finished echoing, but he was entranced. I forced myself to hold his gaze, even as I shuddered. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But I couldn't. There was only me, Wyatt, and the lyrics floating up from somewhere deep inside me.

This wasn't the same lullaby that I'd sung before. No; this was something completely different. Darker, harsher. I'd never heard it before, yet I somehow knew every word.

Sister Sirens, we gather together
From lakes and ponds and seas and oceans
Ready to put our plan into motion
Come one, come all
To the place where it all began
Listen to my voice, heed my call
Come one, come all
Sing our song, sing along

I let out a ragged breath as I finally closed my mouth. Wyatt stared at me with that same entranced look in his eyes, holding my gaze for so long I had to force myself not to shudder. I should have been crying, screaming at him, cursing him... But I couldn't. I was numb, hollow.

"There," I replied, voice flat. "Now you keep up your end of the bargain." My voice nearly broke on the last word, but I willed it to steady.

He didn't smirk or snicker as I'd expected him to. Instead, he merely nodded. "Until next time, Faye," he replied as he turned and swam away.

I didn't even wait until he'd disappeared before I turned back to my family, meeting their concerned gazes. Beside their concern, as I'd expected, however, was shock. I didn't think they'd ever heard me sing before. Drew was the first one to speak, his voice calm.

"Your voice... It's beautiful, Faye." There were tears gleaming in his eyes as he looked at me. He swam to me, wrapping his arms around me. I melted against him, eyes squeezed shut. Without his arms around me, I honestly didn't think I'd be able to stay upright.

The exhaustion from the fever still lingered, causing me to be sluggish. Though I could hardly find the energy to lift my head, I felt featherlight kisses being placed on the top. As she'd done only hours before, Waverly gripped my hand as we swam back to the palace. I swam as if in a daze, my head throbbing.

I felt as if I was watching myself from a distance—another out-of-body experience. We swam to my suite in silence, Dad closing the door behind us. Mom spoke then, her voice loud in the deafening silence. Her eyes were locked on my own, tears gleaming in them. "I'm so, so sorry, Faye. I completely understand why you felt like you couldn't tell us what was going on. Just know that we all love you, sweetheart, and we would do anything for you."

I had just laid my head on her shoulder, drained and empty, when the knock sounded on the door. Though my body felt incredibly heavy, I lifted my head and swam to open it. A mermaid with hair the color of the sunrise floated in front of me. Steely gray eyes stared into my own, a gentle smile on her face.

"I am Mica Brooklyne. Faye Mercer, Sister Siren, we welcome you." With that, she handed me a large, golden conch shell. Confused, I looked at it, then back at her. Very beautiful, conch shells were normally used for communication, as their wide bulge was ideal for channeling sound and funnelling it back out again.

The mer had the power of sending letters by merely speaking the name of the person who the letter was addressed to. Some used both their power and conch shells; some used one or the other. It all depended on their preferences.

I had never used my power or a conch shell, so seeing the latter up close was startling, to say the least. It was beautiful. I opened my mouth, but before I could even utter a sound, she was gone.

Hesitantly, I held it up to my ear, faltering as a heartbreakingly familiar voice began to speak. I was sure I'd heard it when I was very little, but even though I had no memory of it, it was as familiar to me as my own voice.

"'Faye, my darling daughter. I never meant for you to find out this way. I am a descendant of the Sirens. Ancient, powerful mermaids with voices made to enchant, mystify—if used for good. There have been instances where the power has been used for other purposes, to harm and even kill. Very rarely does the power pass from generation to generation.'"

Here I had to pause, lower the shell and blink back tears. My mother—whom I had hardly any memory of—was speaking to me. I felt a hand settle on my shoulder, yet I didn't look up. I knew who it was.

After a minute, I raised the shell back to my ear, bracing myself. "'I had hoped to be able to explain everything to you and your sister when you each turned 17. But if the time comes when I am gone and both your birthdays have passed, I couldn't fathom you not knowing the truth.

"'Your voice is your own—you choose how to wield it. Be careful. There are those who would seek to exploit your gift, use it for harm instead of good. Lean on your brother and sister—they will keep you safe. I love all of you, my darling daughter. I'm always with you.'"

When the message ended, I had to clamp down on a cry. I wanted more than anything to listen to it over and over—to memorize her voice until it was implanted in my mind, my heart. But I didn't. Instead, I made myself set the shell down, turn to my brother.

Drew's face was pale, eyes wide and gleaming with tears. As I'd mentioned before, he had more memories of our mother than me, but I knew that hearing her voice had had just as much impact on him as it had on me. He wiped his eyes before pulling me into his arms, stroking my hair. "She loved you so much, Faye," he whispered, voice thick with tears.

Again, I clung to my older brother, silent tears flowing down my cheeks. Heart broken, body impossibly heavy, I spoke, my voice barely audible. Full of tears, grief, and sadness, every word was broken. "I need to go home." The last word had barely left my mouth before I faltered.

Mom and Dad were in front of me a heartbeat later, taking my weight effortlessly. "Oh, honey," Mom was saying, her own voice thick with tears. "I'm so sorry."

I wanted to say that it wasn't her fault—that it wasn't anyone's fault. The thought had barely crossed my mind before the implications of it settled inside me, like a stone in a pond. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't anyone's fault. I'd spent so many years silently suffering, blaming myself and others for tragic circumstances that no one had any control over.

But the truth was, sometimes life throws you curveball after curveball—you just have to decide whether to stay down or get back up. I didn't blame anyone—not my birth parents, not my adoptive parents. Not even myself.

I mulled over those thoughts as I laid awake in bed that night, simultaneously craving and dreading sleep. Finally, my need for exhaustion won out, my eyes closing. I made a silent promise to my birth mother—a mermaid who had sacrificed everything, even her own life, to protect her children.

I will, Mom. I promise.

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