Sunlight danced on the marina. A briny zephyr caressed my skin, causing a loose black curl to slip from my messy ponytail. I brushed it away and kept scribbling notes.
An ocean gust threatened to rip today’s entry out of my journal.
Entry #13: Eleventh day observing subject A. Still no suspicious activity.
I leafed through my notes. I had to be missing something. I patted the sheathed dagger in my boot. Mr. Geoffrey had insisted I keep weapons on me at all times while investigating Subject A.
I peered through the window. The bookstore was hosting an event. Subject A, a male in his mid twenties, sat under a papier-mâché tree with a book in his lap and fifteen children seated around him.
I entered the bookstore and found a seat amongst the mothers in the back of the room. This was my opportunity to study Subject A up close. Subject A began speaking.
“Hi, I’m Mr. Dylan Marino, and I manage Anchor & Bean!”
The children reacted, waving their little hands and saying, “Hi, Mr. Dylan!”
“Today is Children’s Day, and I wanted to share one of my favorite books with you.” He held the book up high. The book cover featured two rats.
“It’s called The Infamous Ratsos by Kara LaReau.”
He pushed away a lock of his medium-brown hair and began reading aloud. His voice sounded deep, rich, and melodic, as expected for a siren.
The kids were enraptured, but there didn’t seem to be anything malefic about his voice. Mr. Geoffrey’s warnings reverberated in my head. Don’t get caught in the net of Subject A’s charms. A chill ran down my back.
The children laughed, interrupting my thoughts.
Once he finished reading and was answering questions, I slipped out, hoping he hadn’t noticed my presence.
Things weren’t lining up. It didn’t help that I had no memory beyond the past three months. All I knew was that they erased my memory because my last case had been too traumatic. My shoulders tensed. My past was like an abyss behind me.
I perused the aisles of the bookstore, gravitating towards a table with books about paranormals. My eyes scanned them. I had to be missing something. I found it. The Power of a Siren’s Voice. I reached for it.
My pale fingers collided with someone else’s. A cool sensation of water rushing over my skin and up my arm overtook me. I looked up, and aquamarine eyes met mine. For an infinite moment, I was lost in the depths of the ocean. Sinking deeper and deeper.
“I’m sorry. This book was overpriced, and these books are on sale.”
I looked at him, confused, trying to put meaning to his words.
“I’ve seen you around here. I’m Dylan, the store manager. What’s your name?”
My tongue was tied. Should I give him my real name? No. Mr. Geoffrey said to use an alias.
“I’m Jasmine.” I offered an awkward smile.
“Nice to meet you, Jasmine. Can I get you a coffee refill?”
I smiled and nodded. Something about him seemed familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was like I had known him in another life.
“Follow me.” He led me to the cafe area.
“You always have black coffee. Right?”
I blinked and nodded.
“Are you lactose intolerant?”
“Something like that.” I mused. My body couldn’t tolerate the concoctions humans added to their coffee.
“Care to sit and talk for a while?”
“Sure.” I nodded.
We sat at a table in the corner.
“So, you have an interest in sirens?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “I’m a graduate student at UCSC. My thesis is on the history of sirens.”
He fidgeted with his straw. “Fascinating. If you’d like, I can order more books about sirens.”
“I’d love that!”
* * *
Twenty-four days later.
Pounding surf intermingled with the hollow roar of the wind, and lightning lit up the darkness outside. I sat inside Anchor & Bean staring at a nearly empty page.
Entry #37: Spent the day behind my laptop observing Dylan work.
I didn’t know what else to write. Mr. Geoffrey said the case was taking too long and they would close it today before midnight. I had found nothing on Dylan. I leafed through my journal, searching for clues that I knew weren’t there.
Entry #4: Subject A arrives at work at 6:57 AM every day.
Entry #9: Subject A helped an older woman cross the street.
Entry #15: I went to the Museum of Art and History with Dylan. I learned about Dylan’s family. His mother went missing when he was a boy. His sister was murdered three years ago.
Entry #19: We went to the Boardwalk and held hands on rides. I learned about his acrophobia.
Entry #20: Suspicious of my icy hands, Dylan deduced that I was a vampire and divulged that he was a siren. I countered, confessing my amnesia.
Had I shared too much?
Entry #25: We had dinner together. Animal blood and salmon. We went swimming in the ocean and kissed for the first time.
My mind swirled like a storm. Was I in too deep?
Entry #30: Dylan asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes.
Entry #33: I visited his apartment. I searched his residence and laptop while he was in the shower. Nothing.
Dylan’s life was clean. No criminal record. Not even a traffic violation. I had to be missing something. Maybe Mr. Geoffrey had the wrong guy. That’s what I kept hoping.
Deep down, I knew something was wrong. Like the electricity in the air, I sensed that I was on the precipice of discovering something colossal.
Dylan turned the sign on the door to read “Closed.”
I shut my journal as he sauntered towards my table.
He kissed my head and slid into the seat across from me. “Darling, I found that photo of my mother I told you about.”
He handed me the photo. A woman, a little boy, and a toddler girl. In that moment, a million memories flashed through my mind. In pain, I braced my head with my hands.
No wonder he had seemed so familiar. It was because of her. The same eyes. Same nose. His mother saved me from drowning when I was a little girl, and my parents’ yacht was shipwrecked. Shortly after the rescue, the Order of Silent Sentinels (OSS) killed her and kept me. They said I was special. Immune to siren voices. They trained me for years and transformed me. I became their most skilled siren power siphon and assassin.
Guilt crushed my chest. My hands were blood-stained. So many sirens, I had lost count. Dylan’s sister, too.
The irony was that the woman I used to be, the one who assassinated countless innocent sirens, was so foreign to me. It was like meeting a stranger for the first time.
My phone lit up with a text message.
Mr. Geoffrey: Siphon and execute Subject A now.
My heart thudded. I knew how to do it. It was second nature. I reached for my dagger. Something stopped me.
Was it my new identity or had I fallen in love? It didn’t matter. If I didn’t do it, OSS would. I clenched my fist. I couldn’t let that happen.
“Are you okay, darling?” Dylan’s voice was edged with concern.
I hesitated. “I got my memory back.”
His eyes searched mine.
I spit it out. “I know who murdered your mother and sister. You’re in grave danger.”
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“I’m compromised, and I need you to leave Santa Cruz because you’re next. Change your identity and get lost. Forget that you ever met me… please.”
“I can’t forget you, Jasmine.” His voice pleaded.
“You need to run away before it’s too late.” I insisted.
His breath hitched. “I can’t leave you.”
My eyes burned. “We can’t be together.”
I flung my laptop and journal into my bag and ran out into the pouring rain. I couldn’t tell him the truth, and I needed to put as much distance between us as possible.
Footsteps followed behind me. I was faster. I’d lose him. Thunder crashed overhead. As lightning illuminated the marina, I turned for one last look at him. Dylan was on the ground. Something was wrong.
I ran back to him. His white shirt was now red. A bullet had pierced his heart. My eyes traveled to his neck. If he had been human, I could have turned him to my kind.
His blood was everywhere. It was too late. I cradled him in my arms.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered.
“It’s okay. I love you.” He choked. And then his eyes became still and lifeless.
Agony ripping through me, I fought the urge to scream.
OSS was nearby. I had to leave him and run. I couldn’t let them capture me and force me to kill.
That wasn’t me anymore.