Sirenz by Charlotte Bennardo

e ye contact with the driver, nodding while Shar rattled off the address to the penthouse.
    â€œAll right,” I said, once we were back in the apartment. “We have less than two weeks. What do we do?”
    â€œI know what I’m going to do,” Shar said, raising up a shopping bag. “I’m going to try some of this stuff on. I have no idea what we bought, or what sizes things are. Those guys were just throwing everything at us. At least they got the colors right.” She dumped a bag onto a chair big enough to be a bed. “Here, take yours.”
    I poked at the black pile. I liked the black umbrella that some balmy guy had tossed to me, but I hated the idea of how much it all cost and the certainty that someone in some far-off third-world country was being exploited because of it. I fished out a sheer, antique-looking black blouse with faceted jet buttons. Shar was already heading to her room with an armful of pink fluff.
    Cloistered in my bathroom—there were too many mirrors, I didn’t need to see that much of myself—I took off my top, slipped the blouse on, and buttoned it. When I looked up, I squinted at the mirror. There was a small shadow behind me, but it didn’t make any sense. I undid a few buttons and slipped the blouse off a little. Twisting around, I caught sight of what looked like a feather.
    â€œDamn it,” I muttered. Probably one of the pricey accessories in our stash had stuck to the blouse. I pulled at the feather and a twinge of pain shot up my spine. Frustrated, I closed my eyes, stopping myself from groping at the thing and making it worse. Some tag or pin must be caught in the fabric. Carefully, I got hold of it again and pulled slowly. I let out a squeak in spite of myself—that really hurt!
    Then Shar screamed.
    Topless except for my bra, I ran to her room. A new pair of jeans lay on her pink bed, ready to be tried on. She’d taken her shoes off, but that’s as far as she’d gotten.
    The toes on her left foot were fused together into three scaly … talons.
    â€œMy foot!” She hopped around. “How am I going to wear my shoes?” When she saw me she stopped. “Oh … Meg …”
    â€œWhat? What’s wrong?”
    She reached a slender arm over my shoulder and gently tugged on a long black feather, waving the top of it at me. Then she gave it a little tug. And sneezed.
    â€œOw!” I howled.
    â€œIt’s growing !” she cried.
    â€œOf course it is. You’re becoming my Sirens.” We both jumped. Hades was lounging on Shar’s bed in a pose suggestive of a Harlequin romance, wearing a half-unbuttoned copper shirt and dark brown trousers. I blushed and swiftly covered my chest.
    â€œRelax, Margaret.” He snapped his fingers and I had my T-shirt on again. “Why so surprised? You know what Sirens look like. I do so love literal textbook interpretations! Every time you use your powers, you become a little more Siren-like. Naughty girls! I warned you only to use them on Mr. Romanov.”
    â€œYou could have been more specific!” I spat. “And you should have told us it doesn’t work on females!”
    Shar stepped forward. “Now we can never look at or talk to any guys!”
    â€œA minor detail, Margaret. And Sharisse, of course you can do both those things.” Hades rose to his feet and pointed at us. “But you did more than simply talk to them and look at them today. You engaged those gentlemen in the coffee shop and in Bendel’s with your eyes, didn’t you Sharisse? You wanted their admiration—you were preening! And Margaret, you just had to tell them what to do. Stop! Please save me from the weirdo convention! ” Hades mimicked my voice perfectly. “Sound familiar? Your looks and voice obeyed your intents.”
    â€œWe didn’t know!” Shar fumed.
    â€œYou should have. I told you, only use the powers on Mr.