Chapter 05 | The Devil of Siren City

Skylar

“Skylar.”

I flinch awake. One word and I’m pulled out of it, the sights and scents of dreams sanitized by sunlight pouring in from the windows ahead. The salty air tickles my nostrils as I sit up, the couch creaking slightly beneath my shifting weight.

Adrian lingers beside the couch, his hands casually nestled in the same pants he was wearing when he left yesterday. Same shirt. Same icy blue stare.

“Adrian,” I say, clearing my dry throat as my voice cracks. I push my hair to one side, cringing as I comb through the unsightly knots at the ends. “Hi. Good morning.” 

“You slept out here,” he simply says.

I scan the living room, my eyes darting toward the fireplace, but the evidence is gone.

Are you sure?

“Yes,” I answer, touching my feet to the floor. “I didn’t get the chance to go shopping yesterday. No bedsheets yet, so I just took the couch.”

His blue eyes crawl downward, passing over my chest. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, confused as I push off. It’s just a couch, man. “I didn’t think it’d be an issue. I was listening to the band on the beach and I fell asleep. I... won’t do it again.”

Adrian’s gaze remains on the couch. “You could set it off in your sleep,” he says.

I look, and my stomach tightens. The revolver pokes out from beneath the throw pillow, the matte black grip obvious against the white cushion.

“Oh,” I say, frozen. Caught. “I, uh...”

Adrian picks it up, the compact frame practically a toy in his large palm, and expertly releases the steel cylinder to look inside.

“It’s not loaded,” I say, chuckling nervously. “Sorry. New girl in a big city. You know how it is. Gotta be cautious. I’m sorry. I should have asked if you were okay with guns.”

“I’m okay with guns.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Are you okay with guns?” he asks, eying me as if he already knows the answer. As if he can see right through me and read my darkest secrets.

“Uh...” I say. “Not generally, no.”

Adrian holds it by the barrel and offers it back to me. “You should learn how to use it.”

I take it. “I will. Sorry.”

“Stop doing that.”

I pause. “Doing what?”

“Apologizing,” he says. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Oh. S—” I stop myself. “Bad habit, I guess.”

“You can sleep wherever you want to.”

I hold my breath. “Okay. Thanks.”

Adrian turns to look out the windows. The harbor beyond is bright and busy, the sounds of seagulls mixing with the city below. The sunlight stains his shoulders and dark hair, igniting him with a rich glow. Like a king basking in the glory of his kingdom.

I stay back, unsure if I should move. Should I make small talk? Ask how his night went? No, it’s none of my business. Maybe I should just—

“I have an errand to run in Old Town,” he says after a minute. “Come with me. I’ll take you down to Market Street.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

He walks away, targeting his room down the hall.

“... wait for me to finish my sentence,” I mutter to myself with a sigh. “I guess we’re going down to Market Street today...”

Can’t hide forever.

***

Turns out, Market Street is a lot more than just a street.

We walk together two blocks south of Aurora Avenue, heading toward the waterfront. Heavy traffic fades away behind us as Adrian leads me down the boardwalk; buildings of concrete disappearing more and more in favor of smaller shops and stalls. Markets for home goods and accessories. Cafes and boutiques. Pretty much anything one might need on any given day, they can find it on Market Street.

My senses dance, from the laughter of locals to the alluring aromas of fresh-cooked food to the brightly colored banners from cultures I’ve never seen before in my life. The boardwalk stretches along the southern coast for several blocks; the paths cutting between the buildings, thin alleyways leading northward with signs pointing into Old Town.

My stomach growls as we pass a stall, the warm scent of coffee and pastries nearly doing me in.

“Hungry?” Adrian asks.

“I could eat,” I say casually.

He pauses his stride, his hand already taking cash from his pocket. “Two, please,” he says to a grinning woman with heavily tanned skin at the stall. “And two coffees.”

She replies, her thick-accented words lost amid the sound of a boat’s horn blaring in the water nearby. Adrian gestures for me to come closer and points at the pastries lined up on trays behind the glass.

“Pick one,” he says.

Quickly, I scan them, and just as quickly, I choose. “That one, please.”

The woman grabs it with her tongs and offers it to me. “Little miss is hungry this morning!” she says, laughing.

As I take it, I realize what she means. The pastry is huge, easily as large as my face and over an inch thick. But the dough is fluffy and warm, the light brown drizzle dripping deliciously onto my knuckles, and my mouth fills with saliva.

“I’ll take one, too,” Adrian says, the edge of his lip twitching with a smile that never fully surfaces.

“And two coffees!” the woman says as she snatches a second pastry for him. “Creme and sugar?”

“Yes, please,” I say.

“Not for me,” Adrian says.

She pours two coffees into black to-go cups and sets them down, her impossibly wide smile never faltering. “Have yourselves a good morning now!”

“You, too!” I say, happily taking a whiff of my coffee.

Adrian gives her a kind head bow, and we continue down the boardwalk.

I take a bite of my pastry, my taste buds igniting with the flavor of sea salt caramel. “Holy hell,” I say, chasing it with a sip of coffee that’s just as delicious. “This is good.”

Adrian takes a bite, but his expression doesn’t change. “I haven’t had one of these since I was a kid,” he says after swallowing.

“I thought you said you just moved here,” I say, licking the sugar out of the corner of my mouth.

“I said I hadn’t lived in the apartment long.”

I think back, recalling the conversation. “Oh, so—” His sharp eyes stop me from apologizing. “I guess I misheard.”

Adrian angles toward the railing along the boardwalk and stops, casually leaning against it as he takes another bite. I stop with him, happy for the pause so I can enjoy my breakfast. “I was born here,” he offers. 

“Really?”

He doesn’t reply, his eyes on the water as he drinks his coffee. I eat more of my pastry, watching the boats leave the harbor, the water splashing against the dock beneath us. Seagulls linger above, hoping for a crumb or two, but I might just eat this entire damn thing. It’s that good. Sorry, fellas.

Damn. I’m even apologizing to birds.

One lands on the light pole next to me. I look up, admiring a metal sculpture built into the pole as a sharp wind tugs at my clothes. Half woman, half fish, her hair nearly as long as her scale-covered tail. Glancing down the boardwalk, I notice them on every pole, their poses slightly different. Their faces are blank, but somehow filled with emotion.

“They’re sirens.”

I look at Adrian. “I thought mermaids,” I reply. “But I guess sirens make more sense here.”

“They’re different.”

“Right. Sirens are meaner, right? Lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom? Mermaids just... sing songs and comb forks through their hair.”

“Local legends say they live in these waters,” he says, ignoring my joke.

“Is that why it’s called Siren City?” I ask.

“Perhaps. Others say that the sounds of sin and debauchery along the boardwalk could be heard for miles out to sea.” He drinks the last of his coffee, his pastry already gone. “Captains didn’t even need the lighthouse to make it ashore. Just had to listen for the call of sirens.”

I chuckle. “Both could be true.”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns and tosses his empty cup into a receptacle nearby. “Do you remember how to make it back?” he asks.

“Uh... yeah,” I say, glancing over my shoulder the way we came. “Just follow the boardwalk, then two blocks north?”

He nods, then turns to leave, his body language telling me not to follow him this time.

“Thank you!” I say. “For breakfast, I mean. You didn’t have to pay. I do have cash,” I add with an awkward chuckle.

A couple thousand currently burning a hole in my pocket. Thanks to him.

“I’ll dock it from your pay,” he says, his indifferent tone making it hard to tell if he’s kidding. One step and he pauses, turning back. “Don’t be afraid to haggle.”

“Haggle?” I repeat.

“Every price in Siren City is negotiable.”

With that, he walks off down the boardwalk, leaving me to my shopping.

***

Adrian

Beyond the boardwalk lies the edge of Old Town.

It’s more crowded than it was before. Dozens upon dozens of people displaced, forced to leave the comfort of their homes by the new regime. And, by the looks of it, many haven’t recovered from the change. Tents fill parks that once echoed with children’s laughter. Litter piles up next to receptacles that haven’t been emptied in weeks. Closed businesses outnumber open ones by a growing margin.

Not as bad as it could be, but it’ll get there soon enough.

I believed everything Candy told me. Still, I had to see it for myself.

This is not Siren City.

This is not my city.

This is Zeus’ handiwork.

When I’m done with my crew, I’ll deal with him, too.

I head north a few blocks, finding my way to St. Nicholas’ Church. The patron saint of sailors and seafarers, the pirates who founded this city kept him close. His church is one of the oldest buildings still standing in Siren City. Despite that, it’s still in good condition; better than other buildings around it at the moment, that is.

I stop, lingering at the fountain in a small courtyard, the path beyond it leading to the church’s open doors. The statue of St. Nicholas gazes upon me, his expression benevolent, yet cold. In the hand by his side, he holds a small pouch, rumored to be filled with pirate gold.

The fountain’s water is calm, but filled with muck. No offerings lie along the bottom, the contents most likely picked clean by the desperate denizens of Old Town.

I reach into my pocket, my sharp fingers palming the coin inside. Heavy and gold, the stamped sigil protrudes against the pad of my thumb; a two-pronged pitchfork surrounded by ocean waves.

I roll the coin over my knuckles once before flicking it into the water.

I’m sorry, Dominic.

I couldn’t save my brother. But I will avenge him.

One-by-one, they will pay for what they’ve done.

Starting with Ethan.

With eyes on the church, I step away from the fountain. Dirt and dead leave crunch beneath my feet as I walk, each step taking less effort than the last.

“Adrian.”