Sirenz by Charlotte Bennardo Page A

Romanov. Do you think those men would have followed you if you were just two teeny-girls out on a latte binge? Of course not. They heeded the Siren call because that’s how you intentionally acted. Of course, you can access all this information on the iPhone. Didn’t you check the apps?”
    â€œNo,” I snapped. “Who’s had time for that?”
    â€œIt’s a handy little device. You should make time.” Then he sent a suggestive look in Shar’s direction. “ You can always speed-dial me if you want me.”
    I turned away, disgusted.
    Shar glared at him, then gestured angrily at her feet and my feathers. “Is this … permanent?”
    â€œOnly if you don’t finish your assignment.” Hades smirked. “But I’m sure you won’t let that happen.” He stood and stretched languidly, then disappeared.
    Shar sneezed. “This is a problem. I’m allergic to feathers.”

Chinese Fortune Cookie Say …
    This is a disaster! Not even a good pedicure will disguise these!” I wailed. “No peek-a-boo pumps, no strappy sandals!”
    â€œYou’re not alone in this Greek tragedy,” said Meg derisively. “Look at me! What if someone sees this? Or maybe you know someone at your fancy salon who plucks chickens on the side?”
    Okay, Meg was right. She had it worse. I could imagine the horror on people’s faces if she wore a tank top. Back wax? Not going to cut it.
    â€œJust don’t get naked in front of anyone,” I offered.
    â€œBrilliant, Shar.”
    She turned around and around, trying to see her feathers in my full-length mirror.
    I thought it was a good idea , I mused as I tried to shove my bird toes into a pair of bunny slippers.
    No go.
    â€œOh for God’s sake! Not only do I have ugly feet, but they’re bigger!”
    â€œStop whining, Shar. It gives you an excuse to go shoe shopping.” Meg was trying to tuck a stray feather back down into her shirt. It refused to stay put. “Grrr! Let’s order some pizza while we figure out how to deal with this.” She stomped off to the kitchen. I followed.
    â€œNo pizza!” I shouted after her. “Remember what happened last time?”
    She tapped her cute little size nine-and-a-halves impatiently. “We can do Chinese—but only if it’s vegetarian.”
    I jammed my fists onto my hips. “I’m a carnivore, and I want barbecued ribs and pork fried rice.”
    Meg huffed, blowing up her bangs. “Fine. I’ll order.” She muttered something under her breath about vultures.
    â€œTop of the food chain, baby,” I replied sweetly. She didn’t respond. I returned to my room to find footwear that fit.
    â€œAbout twenty minutes,” she said a few moments later.
    I was trying on all my boots. No dice. My former feet were narrow. All I could get into were my Uggs and some ratty old sneakers. My talon clicked on the marble floors as I dejectedly went to set the table with the Limoges china I’d seen in the dining room cabinet; leave the paper plates and plastic cutlery for the school cafeteria. When the doorbell rang, I reached for my glasses—no need to entrance the delivery guy—but I couldn’t find them. I’d have to make do. When I opened the door, a rich aroma of garlic and roasted meat escaped from the boxes he carried.
    â€œMeg! Food’s here!” I yelled, averting my eyes. I grabbed the packages out of his hands. “Here’s a fifty. Keep the change. Bye.”
    I thrust the bill into his hand and slammed the door. Two seconds later I heard the ding of the elevator, but just to be sure, I looked through the peephole. He was gone.
    â€œMiss Manners would not approve,” drawled Meg.
    I made a face. “The Siren mojo. Didn’t want him drooling all over the doorstep.”
    She threw up her hands. “Half the world’s population is at risk. What’s