Ridley was a little rusty on her Kanji, but she knew this one. It was familiar to Sirens worldwide, and a popular tattoo—aside from the more magical Dark Caster variety. Plus, it was the same in Chinese characters, Japanese Kanji, or old Korean Hanja. In its most rudimentary form, the brushstrokes formed a square body with a tail.
A bird.
Sometimes the character was slightly different. Sometimes it was a person with wings; sometimes it was a bird rising from ashes, like a phoenix; and still other times it was the bird of long life and spirit, the crane.
But it was always the bird.
That was the mark of the Siren, even for a sophisticated, edgy club like Sirene. When it came right down to it, that was what Sirens were—pretty songbirds with nightmares for nests. Creatures with wings that still never managed to fly free. They sabotaged themselves too often for that. Talons for nails—so sharp they could draw blood, so fast you’d never know you were bleeding.
Even when, half the time, the blood was their own.
Sirens were messed-up Dark creations. There was no denying it.
Rid backed away from the door and the club, taking in the street. She was in Brooklyn. She knew that much.
Real Brooklyn. Mortal Brooklyn.
Home to a Siren club.
That was what this was. There was no doubt about it now. The sign, the name, the Sirenes—he wasn’t trying to hide it. It was his little inside joke.
Lennox Gates has someone Charming his club. He has a Siren working for him. Ridley shivered. She’d heard of such a thing before. Abraham Ravenwood had once kept her locked in a cage until she agreed to do his bidding. It wasn’t common, and it wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Sapping some poor Siren’s powers. Making someone else do his dirty work.
She shuddered.
But there was a Siren’s hand in all of this—in Sirene, and Sirensong. Ridley was sure of it.
Why?
What does any of this have to do with me?
What does Lennox Gates really want from me? From us?
And where the hell is my boyfriend?
Ridley had to find him.
Ten blocks later, when it was raining ten times harder, Ridley found Link.
To be fair, it was Lucille who found him. Rid only saw the cat, standing in the street, complaining. Of course, Lucille had managed to stay completely dry. That cat had nine hundred lives, and she lived better than a Siren in every one of them.
Better than a part-Mortal, too. Especially this one.
Link was sitting on an abandoned couch tossed halfway on the sidewalk, halfway into the street. The sopping, puke green cushions were wetter than sponges in a fishbowl, as Link would normally say, but he didn’t seem to care that sitting on them was only making him wetter. Not now.
She knew the mood. He was past caring about anything.
He was past furious.
She’d crossed a line, but in her mind, she had crossed it so long ago that she couldn’t even remember when or why or how it had happened.
It was hard to keep track of the lines, there had been so many.
She sat down next to Link.
He didn’t look at her. The rain hit his face as he stared out at the depressing park with the cracked pavement right across the intersection from them. “You don’t believe anything good can happen to me. Ever.”
“That’s not true.”
“You think I’m stupid.” He sounded defeated.
“Don’t be—” Stupid. She caught herself just in time. “I don’t. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks about you.”
He shook his head. “See? There you go again. Why do you assume whatever someone thinks about me will be bad?”
“Because you act like a freaking idiot so much of the time.” There. She’d said it. She couldn’t help it.
“Thanks. Don’t hold back, now.” Link turned to her. “Answer me this, Rid. Did you use magic in there, at any time, when we were in Sirene?”
“No. I told you that. It wasn’t me. But I have an idea—”
He cut her off. He was in no mood to listen. “Did you, for even one second, stick one of those stupid lollipops in your mouth and do your thing?”
“No. Not once we got inside.” I even double-checked, she thought uncomfortably. But I think someone did.
Link looked relieved. “Then why are you freakin’ me out about the best gig a my life? Maybe the greatest night a my life? Why can’t you let me have that? Why can’t I enjoy this for just a second before you come in and take it all away from me?”
Ridley didn’t know.
She didn’t know why she broke everything she played with. Why she hurt everyone she cared about. Lost everything she found. Pushed away everything she wanted.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you. Anything else,” she said carefully. “And if it wasn’t me helping you tonight, then—”
Link held up a hand. “Face it, Rid. You’re jealous.”
“Jealous? What do you have that I could ever be jealous of? Except maybe me.” She refused to bring up Floyd the Rockerette, because deep down, she knew that none of this was really about her. It was about something bigger.
“You’re jealous of my dream,” Link said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Ridley scoffed. “I’m looking out for you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re jealous because you don’t have a dream of your own.” Link braced himself like he was afraid to say it. Like he was ready to duck from whatever she was going to throw at him.