Cursed

“Your coming here was a mistake.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Is that what you came to tell me?”

“Yes.” Partly. I move to the dining room, sink into a chair.

He follows again, taking a seat beside me. “What are you afraid of?”

Afraid is exactly the right word. In a rare moment of honesty, I answer, “You.”

He looks surprised. “Because we’re attracted to each other?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Then simplify it.”

It takes me a minute to gather my thoughts. Zack sits quietly, his expression calm, expectant.

Okay. I can do this.

I start with the obvious. “There are so many reasons why we can’t give in to this attraction, the least of which is that we are partners. Even if we’re not breaking any rules, we have to work together. We have an important job to do, one that’s sometimes dangerous. We can’t afford to lose focus. The job has to come first.”

“You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself. But you said you were scared. Why?” he says. “Come on, Emma. Take a risk, just a little one. Trust me.”

My heart beats like a jackhammer in my chest. So many years. So many secrets. Can I trust him with mine? He already suspects I’m not what I seem. For the first time, I have a partner I can be honest with. Should I be? His gaze, so steady, so patient, coaxes the words from my lips. “You were right yesterday when you said I’m not purely human.”

He smiles. “I already knew that.”

“How did you know? When did you know?”

He taps the side of his nose with a finger. “Everyone has their own scent. Yours changes. It’s subtle, but discernible. The night before last, here in the kitchen, I’ve never smelled anything like it. It was . . . extremely compelling. So much so that I forgot myself and mentioned it. You deflected the question.”

“And you let me.”

Zack nodded. “When I was training, when I was in the field, I came across it all. But I’ve never crossed paths with anyone, anything that smells so intoxicating. What are you?”

I swallow. “There are only three of us.”

“In the area?”

“In existence. I’m a Siren, Zack. I . . .” The words catch in my throat.

His expression grows skeptical. “A Siren? Like in the story about Ulysses?”

“No. That’s a stupid myth,” I snap. I regret the heat of my reply when Zack sits back. Goddamn Homer and his idiotic story of the Sirens’ song. How I wish Leucosia, the elder of my sisters, had never met him and never scorned him. Homer was the reason we had a falling-out. The reason we decided it would be best to go our separate ways, to seek our separate redemptions. “I don’t sing and I don’t drive men insane. And . . . I’m real.”

“Are you sure about the insane part? Because you do drive me just a little—”

I glare at him.

“Okay,” Zack says, raising his hands as if fending off a blow. He chooses his next words carefully. “How did you become a Siren?”

“You don’t become a Siren. I was born, of Gaia. It was very long ago—a different time, a different world.”

“You’re talking about the world of the Titans and Olympians? Seriously? If you tell me you’re here to destroy the world or save mankind, I’m going to have to trade this coffee in for a stiff bourbon.”

“I’m here for one reason: to save the innocent from peril, to find and bring home the missing.”

Zack stares at me long and hard. “You expect me to believe that?”

“You change into a wolf once a month. You expect me to believe that?”

Again, just the hint of a smile ghosts his lips. “Touche.”

“It’s my sentence, my punishment,” I continue.

I can hear the weight of emotion in my voice.

Zack must hear it, too. He stands abruptly, heads for the credenza, and splashes two fingers of bourbon into a couple of glasses and brings them back to the table. He thrusts one at me. “Punishment for what?”

I take the glass, sip. The bourbon burns, grounding me. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing. “For allowing Persephone to be taken. For not finding her quickly enough. For failing. Finding Amy Patterson and others like her may bring me one step closer to redemption.”

“Then what? You go back to . . .”

“Olympus. I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve been at this a long time. I could be at it a lot longer. One thing I do know is that this, between us, it shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be feeling any attraction to me. My powers are suppressed and yet—”

“What powers?”

I have trouble maintaining eye contact. “I can insinuate myself into the minds of others.”

“You’ve been reading my mind?”

I shake my head. “It’s not like that. No. I can plant an idea, or a command really.”

“You’re compelling me to be attracted to you?”

“Of course not. But I can compel someone to reveal the truth.”

“Like a vampire’s thrall?”

“A vampire can play with memories. I can’t. If I question someone, or command them, they’ll remember it.”

“There’s more to it.” His tone tells me he knows I’m holding something back. This time, he’s not going to let me get away with it.

My mouth is dry. “Sirens were made to be seductresses. But I live in a mortal world. I try to live a mortal life. If I use, when I use my powers to get someone to reveal the truth, there are consequences—”

“And you did it to me, the other night, to find out if I was on the take.”

“Yes.”

“And what were the consequences?” He pauses, studying me. “You think the attraction between us is a consequence?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

Zack reaches for my hand. “Maybe it wasn’t a consequence. Maybe it was already there. From before.”

“Was it?” Our eyes meet.

He nods. “Yes.”

I gently pull my hand from his. “That makes pursuing a relationship even more dangerous.”

“Dangerous? That’s a strong word.”

Shit. I don’t know how to respond. I let the silence drag on too long and Zack has looked away, his eyes distant and unfocused. After a few more seconds of silence, they again find mine.

“I don’t know how having a relationship with you could be dangerous. But you obviously do,” he says.

I swallow. His words hang in the air. The memory of Demeter’s nocturnal visit is too fresh. I’m still shaken by it. I need to do what I came here to do. Put my partnership with Zack back on course. He can be an asset. I need to look at him as an asset.

He knocks back the last of the bourbon. The sound the empty glass makes when he sets it down on the table has a ring of finality to it—a decision’s been made.

“I could argue with you,” Zack says. “Tell you we are both adults and can handle whatever is thrown at us. Tell you that precisely because we are different from others, we could make it work. Tell you there could be something special between us and that we’ll figure this out, whatever it is, together.” He leans back in his chair. “But you have to want it, too. It needs to be real. And it needs to be right, for both of us.” His expression is solemn, serious. “If there’s going to be another move, it’s going to have to come from you.”

“And if that never happens?”