Page 91 of The Last Lost Girl

Hudson looks away as I sit back down. I ignore Wraith when he tries to keep talking to me. Eventually he leaves.

“When will they bring your breakfast?” I ask.

“They won’t.”

I glance at the saw, still within his reach. Hudson said last night that Peter always wins, and he will when it comes to Hudson. He’ll either starve to death and die or cut himself free and die from the wound.

Either way, Peter is rid of him. Peter wins.

I give him half my food. We share the water.

It’s the last meal anyone brings to me, too.

Peter always wins.

I hear singing… So melodious and rich, the sound is otherworldly. My eyes crack to see lavender light washing over a room I don’t recognize.

The bed dips under the weight of a man climbing over me. His feet hit the wooden floor in a room I don’t recognize.

I crane my neck to watch him walk outside.

What the hell?

Twin doors wave on their hinges, and I stare at them for several breaths until all I can see is Belle’s nightgown, flapping in the breeze the night I thought she might jump. The past days come back in a rush of memories and I yell for Hudson, scrambling out of bed after him.

I remember hearing stories of sirens who use their song to lure men into the sea. The melody that dances through the air is so entrancing, it can have no other origin. I clamp my hands over my ears and run after him.

“Hudson?” my voice shrills.

He’s already halfway to the rail. He doesn’t turn or even flinch.

There is movement from all around the ship. From the crow’s nest, Surat slowly begins to descend. The wind tousles his dark hair with the rigging.

There are loud bangs at the door that leads below deck. Smee has barred the others inside. Not to keep them safe, but to prevent them from beating him to the siren who’s calling them. My giant friend woodenly climbs the steps to the deck. His eyes are unfocused, the lids heavy.

Hudson reaches the railing. His knuckles turn white as he stares out over the water looking for her.

Smee, Surat, and Hudson pause for a long moment as the sound of the song muffles. In the lull, I release my ears and shout their names. Wave a hand in front of Hudson’s face. Shake him.

But the siren’s grip on him is unshakeable.

Where is she?

Her voice is little more than a muffled murmur.

Smee wears a dagger on his hip and keeps another in his boot. I’ve seen the hilt peeking out of it. I disarm him quickly, not that he notices.

A silken shroud of fog hangs low over the faceted sea. As I gaze into the waters, the siren’s head breaches its smoky surface. The spikes upon her spine stand at attention, and her claws rake the water. She sees me and smiles, her serrated teeth gleaming before she begins to sing again.

Her voice is so clear this time, it drives the men to madness. Clenching the knives, I press my fists to my ears as the men below decks fight to free themselves from the door that blocks them. There are crashes and bangs, clatters and muffled sounds of pain.

I can almost see the broken noses and the split lips, cheeks, and brows.

The siren swims closer and her song becomes more insistent.

When Hudson tries to climb over the rail, I tug the back of his shorts. Hard. He falls on his ass, the sight reminding me of the night I pulled Belle off the ledge.

The mermaid’s song doesn’t work on me the way it works on the men. I’m not sure why, but it’s a good thing I’m not tangled in her web with the three dazed men on deck, and those driven to madness below. The only problem is that I’m outnumbered.

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