Chapter Three
Perched atop her assigned rock on the island’s edge, Jenny combed out her corkscrewed, still green hair. At least she’d gotten past the point of wincing whenever she hit a snarled spot. Gallons of conditioner and habit meant she could now handle the daily torture. Raidne insisted she do it, even if her hair tangled within moments and the sailors never seemed impressed with her strange-colored locks. “Looks like moldy straw,” more than one of them observed. And no amount of bleaching or hair products could change that fact. But at least it was soft, even if it always had a windblown appearance.
“I don’t feel any vibrations,” Raidne hollered, interrupting her rhythmic strokes.
Probably because Jenny wasn’t singing yet. This was the part of her day she always dreaded. All the sirens on the Isle, even Jenny, the adopted, honorary one, took a turn crooning to the waves. Although, in Jenny’s case it was less croon, more like croak, massacre, and torture anything with ears.
Despite all her lessons, everything Jenny uttered seemed to grate upon the listener. Nails on chalkboard couldn’t compare with her voice.
Didn’t stop her teachers from insisting she sing. They were convinced she held some siren root—a warped one—probably passed down through one of their rare male offspring sent off into the big world because Siren Isle catered to women only. Well, women, their children, and their captive lovers. Of which currently only lovers applied. The sirens hadn’t sired any daughters in decades, centuries in the case of Thelxiope and Raidne. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though.
Each of the sirens had their own harem of men, lovers whose sole purpose was to serve their mistress in whatever way she desired. They also made great maids and farmers when their boudoir talents weren’t up to par or in need.
How Jenny sometimes envied them the extra helping hands. Poor Jenny had no sailors to do her bidding. Her one and only boyfriend was a courtesy one given to her by Molpe on her twenty-first birthday to take care of her virginity problem. He solved it all right, and she’d even grown fond of him and he of her until the idiot removed the wax plugs in his ears.
He couldn’t swim away from the isle fast enough when he heard her truly sing for the first time. He didn’t get far. The Styx harbored too many hungry denizens.
Heartbroken for a while, Jenny got over his loss, but she never accepted the offer of a replacement. If you asked her, sex was overrated. She much preferred a good book, but she did miss his mopping and dusting skills.
“Still not sensing any singing!” Raidne yodeled.
In spite of clearing the area before her open-air concerts, her teachers always knew. Apparently Jenny’s special melodic talent caused a deep thrumming in the rocks lining the island. It also caused nosebleeds, deafness, madness, and screams for mercy from those unlucky enough to actually hear it.
Forget the usual tales of sirens and their lovely melodies luring sailors to their deaths or enslaving them to their will. Unlike her aunts who could charm a man into doing anything they wanted, when Jenny sang, things wanted to kill themselves.
And yet her adopted aunts all insisted she practice her corrupted talent.
“Jenny!” Raidne hollered her name.
No more putting it off. Time to pitch a note. Jenny’s lips parted, and she sang. It didn’t take long for the effect to show. A lone bird dropped from the sky with a warbling croak. The dancing waves that rolled onto the rocks on shore retreated. The sunlight from the mortal realm, which streamed through the odd hole in the clouds, dimmed.
Despite it all, once Jenny started, she relaxed. Smiled. Closed her eyes and, in her mind, to her own ears, heard only beauty.
A shame no one else did.
The screaming started about halfway through her seventh song.
“Make it stop!” a voice shrieked. “Please, by all that’s unholy, make it stop singing.”
Jenny cut off mid note in time to hear a smooth, masculine reply. “Shut up you, idiot. It’s not that bad.”
A brow arched of its own volition. Not that bad? She’d never heard anyone say that before. Even Molpe, the most patient of her teachers, couldn’t hide a pained wince when Jenny went all out. While their siren attributes made them more or less immune to the effects of her voice, strong musical renditions tended to grate unpleasantly even for them.
Leaning forward on her perch, Jenny peeked over the edge of her rock. Below her was where the dock to the isle, the only safe spot to land, inched out into the bay where the Styx flowed on the one side, and the Darkling Sea buffeted from the other.
A long boat bobbed on the waves, one from Charon’s fleet, similar to the one that had dumped those poor souls last week. Jenny still felt bad about what happened to them.
But as Aunt Raidne said to cheer her up, “Not your fault they got lost. Maybe next time Lucifer will keep better track of his recruits. And besides, having soul-zombies that don’t leave icky body parts everywhere will only enhance our reputation, not to mention keep our beaches clean of corpses.”
Raidne, always seeing the bright and disturbing side of things.
Back to the current boat. Were they here to herd the zombies back to the nine circles of Hell? Did they arrive here by accident?
And who was the tall, good-looking fellow with the deep black hair hued with hints of red and a muscular body usually seen only in Molpe’s calendar of Chippenhell’s Exotic Strippers? Jenny stared. She couldn’t help it.
Most of the sailors who landed on the isle were bewitched by her aunts, pathetic in their eagerness, and mindless in their need to please, their lust was for the one who sang them to the isle’s shores. Jenny’s seamen, on the other hand, were usually crying for their mothers and rocking themselves while humming. It was hard to find a man attractive when he was drooling and staring off into space.
Yet, this fellow seemed unaffected by her singing, unlike his companion who held a rag to his bloody nose. He must be wearing some new kind of protective ear gear.
Whoever they were and whatever they wanted wasn’t Jenny’s problem. She called for her aunt. “We have visitors!”
The sailor, standing on unsteady legs and clutching at his oar, moaned and wavered while fresh blood ran from his nose. The man with the impressive physique didn’t so much as shudder. On the contrary, he swiveled his head and glanced to her rocky aerie, caught her staring, and smiled. Full-lipped, white-toothed, and utterly beguiling.
Oh my. It was Jenny’s turn for once in her life to suffer faint legs. She collapsed on her butt. Stunned. Slightly breathless. And warm all over.
What magic is this?
She didn’t know why, but when a faint chuckle drifted to her on the briny breeze, her nipples hardened and she had to crawl from the edge, lest she give in to temptation and peek again.
She’d just reached the edge of her rock when Raidne appeared.
“Good grief, Jenny, why are you slithering about on the ground like a snake? You’ll dirty your skirts.”
“He smiled at me.” Jenny stated it as if that were all the explanation needed.
All it did was confuse poor Raidne. “Who smiled at you?”
“The man on the dock. He smiled at me, and next thing I knew, I couldn’t catch my breath and my legs went weak.”
“Truly?” Raidne beamed. “This I have to see.”
To Jenny’s horror, her aunt strode to the edge. “Watch yourself, Aunt. He’s got some powerful magic.”
Ignoring her advice, Raidne stared down below. “And a really cute butt. Yoo-hoo, ahoy there, handsome.”
“My lady of the isle, how kind of you to greet me,” was the velvety, masculine reply.
Thank goodness Jenny was still on the ground because the sound of his voice made her shiver. Jenny waited for her aunt to collapse before his seductive magic. She didn’t, but she did let out a low whistle of appreciation.
“He’s also got an impressive set of abs. I think I should inspect those up close.”
Raidne straightened and fluffed her bosom so it practically spilled out of her gown, smoothed down her skirts, and finger combed her long, blonde hair.
“Careful, Aunt. He’s wearing some protective ear gear of some sort. My song didn’t affect him.”
“Don’t worry about me, Jenny. Auntie will take care of the dashing young man.” With a wink and a lick of her lips, Raidne skipped out of sight down the stone steps carved into the bluff.
Tummy still doing flips, Jenny debated heading back to her cave—decked out in the finest ornaments from wrecked sea-ships a girl could ask for—or keeping an eye on her aunt.
Oh, who am I kidding? I want to peek at that man again.
Back she crept to the edge of the cliff. She peered over the edge, met the bold stare of the newcomer, only inches from her face, and shrieked.