Page 1 of Siren's Call

Chapter One

The leaves crunched undermy feet as I stormed down the street. I clutched my messenger bag alittle tighter and lined up by the telephone pole, my shoulderstrembling like the brittle tree branches as the gusts of wind blewthrough.

Two years, but I nevercomplained, even though the pay was crap and the customers werejerks. Fired and all because of Dave. Smug bastard screwed overanyone who wouldn’t screw him. The balding little creep had houndedme ever since Billy and I split up a couple of months ago. Goodriddance to both of them.

I rubbed my bare arms as another gust blewthrough. The town lights were twinkling and stores began to flicktheir neons on. Where was this bus?

A paper fluttered on thetelephone pole, one of those hastily scribbled adverts with aserial-killer scrawl.

A punk show in JeffersonCity? Nowthatwas a rarity. These people were either the worst marketersever or looking to raise hell. I tugged the flyer loose and scannedit. Tonight only, the band Babykiller would be opening for the mainact, Discord’s Desire. I lifted the paper, ready to crumple it up,but stopped.

The subtle glow thatringed the paper and the exotic perfume wafting off it sent mysupernatural radar into overdrive. The flyer was saturated with afae glamour meant to reel any average humans in the second theyspotted it.

Unfortunately for them, I was the weirdrarity.

Magic, glamour—none ofthat stuff affected me. I’d been seeing weird shit my entirelife—fae, satyrs, centaurs, nymphs—everything that walked arounddisguised as humans. For some reason, their voodoo never worked onme.

Not the best ability whenthe rest of the world thought you were insane. After my first tenencounters with therapists trying to talk me through delusions andmy “cries for attention,” I gave up and bounced from city to cityuntil I moved all the way out here. Biggest perk of living in themiddle of nowhere? Less chance of bumping into any of thosesupernatural weirdos, which meant I could live a semi-normallife.

I stared at the flyer,cursing its existence. Should I ignore this invitation and leavewell enough alone? Of course, but now my curiosity was piqued and Ihad to find out why supernaturals wanted to muck around inJefferson City.

The bus approached in thedistance, the groan and squeak of the brakes echoing over to whereI stood. As I stepped onto the bus, I yanked my cell phone from mypocket.

Time to call Viola.

****

The kitchen light cast acouple of dim rays over my living room. A couple of weeks back, thebulb inside my coffee-table lamp had burned out, but I hadn’tbothered to change it. Dark shadows created ample trippingopportunities, from stray heels to stacks of old Heinleinnovels.

I fumbled my way to thebathroom, tugging on the pair of boots I’d found in the process.The fluorescent light accentuated the yellow sludge on my walls, agift from the chain-smoking prior tenants.

I tugged my hair out ofits constricting ponytail as my mind raced with all of the problemsthat came with losing a job.Rent on thisshitty apartment? Screwed. Bus fare to go interview for new jobs?Screwed. Food? Unless I start eating roadkill, I’m prettyscrewed.

I needed a distraction. Adrink, a good tumble, anything—even this sure-to-be-trouble punkshow.

The eyes staring at me inthe chipped mirror spelled murder. That was what happened when yougot sacked without just cause—one pissed-off chica looking to blowoff steam.

I picked out a quickensemble from the piles of clothes stacked around my bed. Low,tight-fitting v-neck, a pair of beat-up cargos, and my combatboots. I figured my thrift-store dreads would fit right in. I ran acomb through my tangled brown waves until the strands were a littleless limp and a little glossier. Heavy eyeliner, check.

A knock sounded outside mydoor.

Had to be Viola. I gargledcinnamon mouthwash and spit it into the sink before stalking thefive paces to my door. Before I reached for the doorknob, the doorflew wide open. I blinked, staring at the five-foot-tall pipsqueakstanding before me. She’d done something to her hair … curled ituntil her short strands were poodle-perfect, and she’d attached apair of glittery falsies to her lids, giving her eyes more bang fortheir buck.

Combined with theneon-pink dress that covered little of her thighs, the magentaleggings, a light-pink sweater, and the pompom earrings, Violadelivered more of a fluffy-puppy look than whatever she’dintended.

I tilted my head to theside, the first smile of the afternoon hovering on my lips. Violacaught my grin and laughed in return.

“Like my outfit? I’m goingfor counterculture. By showing up to a punk rock concert in theleast punk-aesthetic outfit possible, I’m the most punk personthere.” There was a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I snorted and pouredday-old coffee into an empty mug lying on the counter. Not even ajolt hit me as I chugged the coffee-flavored sludge and wiped mymouth with my forearm. The caffeine kind of stopped working whenyou drank a potful a day.

“Can I skip ahead to thepart where I have a job again?” I ran my hands through my hair,trying to ignore my looming headache from this lack-of-jobbusiness.

“Dave’s a twatwaffle. Fuckhim.” Viola rested on my chair, boots on my rickety coffeetable.

I grabbed my purse fromthe table. “Yeah, well, the not-fucking thing is what got mecanned.”

“Eh, not worth the nasty.He was a creepy little worm. Although it couldn’t hurt for you tohit the town for some tail. What’s it been, like twenty years?”Viola glanced my way, swinging her legs onto the floor. “Yourclaptrap’ll get dusty, darling.”

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