Page 5 of A Song of Death and Desire

“I’d love to come too if you'll have me?” Both Don and Steve try to mask their surprise at my words. I don't blame them for being caught off guard. I don't think I've ever volunteered myself for anything and certainly nothing that involves socializing.

“Wow, really, you want to come fishing with us?” Don confirms, looking uncertain, like he may have misunderstood me.

I fidget with my hands and have trouble meeting their eyes. “Yeah, is that okay? I'd love to get out fishing, and it sounds like fun.” l try to put some excitement into my words, but they still look a bit suspicious.

Don shrugs and smiles at me, telling me that I'm more than welcome. “We’re going to leave from the docks in Witches Cove. We will meet you there?” he checks.

I never go fishing in Witches Cove. I’m not superstitious but the stories about disappearances have always made me uneasy. I prefer to drive to the next town over. It feels safer.

Pushing these worries aside, I agree and leave the break room, looking forward to telling Kelly that I'm going fishing with my work colleagues. I hope I can manage to at leastlooklike I’m having a good time while I’m out with them. And hopefully, my wariness about fishing in Witches Cove waters is nothing.

Chapter 4

The day begins like any other. We set out to hunt, driven by the hunger creeping up on those who were unable to feed in the last collection. A storm rages ferociously above, churning up the ocean. The rain and thunder roar. Lightning causes blinding flashes of light that make me wince from the brightness, my eyes more familiar with the darkness of the depths of the ocean.

I swim upwards until my face breaches the surface. I brush the long strands of my hair out of my eyes and enjoy the feeling of rain on my skin. It's a sensation I don't get to experience as often as I would like. Although storms occur frequently in Witches Cove, we tend to avoid coming to the surface unless it’s to hunt. The rain hits my face with a pounding ferocity, but it doesn’t bother me. It is cooler than the ocean I swim in and lacks the salt I am accustomed to. It feels refreshing and I allow myself asmall moment in time to feel the rhythm of the rain and inhale the scent of the storm.

Following the pattern of all our hunts my sisters start to sing. They are impatient today and don’t use their song to influence humans to crash their boat, which is, more often than not, our preferred method of hunting. Fewer questions are asked when a boat is found in pieces. Humans are more likely to assume it was a horrific accident.

Today my sisters decide they don’t want to wait. Increasing the intensity of their voices, they compel the humans aboard the boat to jump straight into the ocean. There's no playing today, no relishing the hunt. They want to eat, and they want to eat now. Despite my hunger and the energy drain from my time on land, I’m not at all eager to hunt.

The adrenaline of the hunt spurs them on, and they rip and tear at the humans as if it’s been months since they have eaten. We all enjoy the taste of humans but many of my sisters are more bloodthirsty than me. I don’t begrudge them their appetite or their food preferences, but I am much less likely than they are to fall into a mindless frenzy at the mere scent of human blood. I think that is simply because I spend more time on land than they do. I’ve come to learn that humans are much more than just food, and it makes me anxious if I think about it too much. So, I’ll partake in these hunts and have a bite or two, but mostly, I try my best not to think about the lives these humans may have had before meeting their violent end.

Something feels different today. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I am even more disengaged from the hunt than usual. There’s an overwhelming feeling of wrongness, and nausea churns my stomach along with an urge to escape.

I know the moment the bodies hit the water that there won’t be enough to satisfy everyone today. Only four humans. Better than one or two, but still not enough. I wait and watch as mysisters feed. Many of us were able to consume a soul during the last hunt, so there isn’t too much disappointment for those who miss out. But there are still some who push a bit more aggressively to get more than others.

I’m unable to collect a soul this time, and I don’t bother to involve myself in the fight for the flesh. There simply isn’t enough to go around. I have the tendency to put the others before myself and prefer to ensure they are satiated first. The continuing nausea is masking the hunger and causing me to feel even less interested in the hunt. I'll be fine without having a bite today. While fish are bland in comparison to humans, they are nutritious enough to get by on, and I think they will sit better in my stomach today anyway.

I'm more disappointed in the lack of souls. Not for the first time, I feel angry that we are only able to consume souls in our siren form. It would be so much easier if we were able to do so on land, as there are many humans to choose from. Instead, we have to wait until they venture into our waters. Many years ago, sirens attempted to lure humans from land to the ocean; however, it started to raise suspicion as the sirens could not do this discreetly. So, while it makes far more sense for us to be able to hunt on land, we are unfortunately restricted to the ocean—just another evolutionary disadvantage.

I resign myself to feeling flat and fatigued until the next hunt. I know that going to land as often as I do increases my need for souls, and I am not able to last as long before consuming another one. I know this but I don’t stop. I’d rather have low energy all the time than give up my time on land. It is too important to me.

In no time at all nothing is remaining of the humans. I send out the call to return home when I notice that they have finished feeding. Some of them grumble amongst each other, disappointed in the hunt and dissatisfied with the small bites. I rub a hand over my face and sigh to myself. I hate the feeling ofresponsibility I have for their hunger. It's not my fault and it's not in my power to change it but I don’t like feeling helpless. There isn’t a way to increase the availability of souls and protect our species at the same time. I know without a doubt that if humans discover us we will be hunted, and I just can’t take that risk.

My family line has always been known to take on a leadership role in our siren group. Sirens do not have a particularly long lifespan due to our restrictions and the increasingly limited access to human souls. This is becoming problematic for our species, given the late age of fertility. Fewer sirens are being born, and our group is dwindling. I am not the oldest in our group, but when my mother passed away a year ago, my sisters looked to me. We do not require much governing as we exist quite harmoniously, but it can be helpful during hunts to ensure that someone takes charge, to ensure that souls and food are distributed evenly. Often this is me, but occasionally others take over and I don't mind. Many of my sisters don’t need a soul yet; their last feed is able to sustain them for months still, but I have noticed an increase in their greed lately. Some of them crave the energy from a fresh soul and get frustrated with our hunting limitations.

As I move to join them, a dullthudpulls my attention.

A heartbeat?

We missed one.

For a moment, I believe that I am mistaken. There is no way that my sisters would have ignored a perfectly good human. My focus narrows in, and I’m shocked to realize that someone has, in fact, escaped.

I follow the noise, driven by curiosity and an unexplained pull, wondering how a human managed to slip past us unnoticed. When we are driven by hunger, we become apex predators, all our senses heighten to ensure that no prey escapes. I’msurprised that one has done it. They were all so focused on trying to get as much food as possible that a human somehow escaped their clutches. This isn’t good. We can’t afford to get sloppy in our hunts. Our species is already perilously close to extinction, so we need to be careful. I can’t let him get away.

From a safe distance, I watch as the man swims towards the shore. Well, tries to, at least. His breath comes in gasps as he fights to suck in the air but coughs when his mouth is filled with water instead. He's dragged under the waves and thrown around again and again but manages to pull himself to the surface each time. He battles against the ocean and the sky, both seeming determined to pull him to his death as he stubbornly continues to swim to the shore.

For the first time in my life, I consider letting a man escape unharmed. It seems wrong to kill him when he is fighting so hard to stay alive. I don’t usually see them fight for their survival. They are enchanted so easily and are mostly completely unaware. There’s also this unexplainable feeling that urges me to let him go. To turn a blind eye to his survival and swim back to my sisters. I have no idea where this thought comes from, and I shake my head, willing it to disappear. No one can escape. It’s not safe, and it’s not what we do. So, I swim after him.

The man reaches the shore and crawls onto the sand, coughing and heaving with a force that racks his whole body. He immediately loses consciousness as he succumbs to his exhaustion. Curiosity overwhelms me and I’m overcome with the irresistible desire to see the face of the man who was able to escape our song. Without stopping to think about what I'm doing; I follow him onto the shore. The moment my full body is out of the water, my tail separates, and my body changes forms as I shift from siren to human.

I sit beside the man who is lying face down in the wet sand and I roll him onto his back. I'm not sure why I do this, but itfeels like the right thing to do. I'm not sure why I'm here at all, actually. My eyes roam his waterlogged body and his handsome face. His thick, dark hair clings to his forehead and he has matching dark stubble, not long, but long enough to cover the bottom of his face. I can’t explain why, but I am inexplicably drawn to him. He’s attractive, that’s for sure, but that’s not all there is to him. I’ve never felt this way about a human, and I don’t know how to process these feelings. Or what to do about this man who lays in front of me unconscious and vulnerable.

My instincts are at war. Part of me feels the pull to his soul, wanting to consume it and feel the flood of energy and vitality flowing through my veins. The other part wants to leave him here unhurt, soul intact. It almost seems like he deserves it for being able to get away, and the thought of ending his life makes me feel uneasy and, to be honest, physically ill. My predatory instincts win out when I remind myself of my duty to protect us all.

Bending more so that I am face to face with the man, I begin to sing. Even unconscious, his mind and soul register my voice, and his face softens in peace and contentment.

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