Dangerous Creatures

CHAPTER 27 Fly to the Angels

Ridley’s phone was dead, along with her resolve. Lost phone chargers notwithstanding, no one accidentally missed a hundred calls, not even Link.

Message received, loud and clear.

She had promised one day, and Nox could have it. Nox and his mysterious Siren, she thought. If Ridley knew more about the Siren in the photograph, maybe she would understand the secret behind Nox himself.

Her battle armor was simple enough: The closet had offered up a vintage floral slip dress, along with chained and studded black leather ranger boots and a matching studded jacket.

The closet, it turned out, was partial to Saint Laurent. Go figure.

The sun rose leisurely, like it had nothing better to do. The day started late and continued with tea in the lobby and a tower of macarons, brought in from Ladurée, Madison Avenue’s own Parisian tea shop. Rose, strawberry candy, and of course chocolate, and maybe the melon. All the best flavors.

In another lifetime, Ridley would’ve thought it was perfection.

Nox drank tiny cups of espresso as if they were hot chocolate. Ridley couldn’t stand coffee. “The world is already a bitter enough place,” she said. “I’ll stick to chocolate.”

“Chocolat chaud,” said Nox.

“That, too. Now hand me the good stuff.” She reached for the nearest plate of cookies.

“Un de chaque, that’s what you want.” Nox smiled, offering Ridley half a salted caramel macaron. He looked particularly out of place in his club clothes—black jeans, a vintage black jacket, and a skinny black tie—surrounded by pink and purple pastel cookies and pastries.

“What’s that?” Ridley popped the macaron into her mouth, making a face. Salty sweet wasn’t so much her thing as sweetly sweet.

“Well, in Paris they’re not quite as indulgent, but the Italians get it. Uno di tutti. That’s what I say when I walk into a Roman bakery. One of everything. Try the coconut.”

She had.

Then she tried it again. And again and again, until the tower of plates was empty except for crumbs. With her mouth as full of sugar as it was, she hadn’t had much time for questions. Not yet, she thought. Soon.

After breakfast, they wandered down Madison to the Whitney. Construction crews had ripped open the sidewalks, taxis were honking and screeching, fast-walking people were jabbering on phones.

It was a perfect New York City morning. At least, it should’ve been—and if things had been different, it would’ve been.

“It’s only one day. Why waste it in a museum?” Ridley argued. “Is that what a real New York Siren would do?”

Now. Show me what you’re about.

“It’s not just a museum. It’s my favorite of all the New York museums,” Nox said.

“A favorite museum?” Ridley shook her head playfully. “Really? I don’t believe you just said that. Favorite means you’ve gone to more than one.”

“I have. So should you. Think about it. Andy Warhol did Marilyn and Liz. If they weren’t Sirens—”

“They weren’t.” Ridley rolled her eyes.

“They should’ve been.” Nox laughed. “Show me a great artist, and I’ll show you—”

Ridley cut him off. “A gift shop and a snack bar.”

“A great Siren.” Nox grinned.

“Is that it? Marilyn and Liz? No other great New York Sirens you want to introduce me to?”

He looked at her, his smile faltering.

She met his eyes.

Now. The woman in the photograph. Tell me.

But Nox’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his jacket, frowning. “Sirensong pulled out of a sold-out gig for tonight. What’s going on?”

The moment had passed, and with it the light and the laughter of the morning. Nox’s face was once again dark and impenetrable.

Ridley couldn’t worry about it, though, because once again all she could think of was Necro.

Ridley pulled his wrist toward her and looked at his watch. “I’m sorry. I need to get back.”

There. She could stop pretending it wasn’t on her mind.

“To your friends?” Nox asked. “I thought they were the ones who kicked you out.”

“They were, I mean, Link was. But my—” What was I going to say? Friend? Was that what this was? “Necro’s sick.”

“Necro?” Nox pulled his arm back, straightening his shirt. “What kind of sick?”

“She passed out onstage. Didn’t you see it? Yesterday, just before I came to the hotel?”

He shook his head. “I left as soon as we—you know.” A shadow crossed his face. “I’m sorry to hear that. I should call someone. Send a doctor.” He felt for his phone.

“I’m not sure they want anything from either one of us right now.” Ridley said the words slowly. “In fact, I’m pretty sure we’re the last two people on earth that Floyd or Link or Necro want to see.”

Nox lowered his cell back into his pocket.

“You think so?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You were there.” When you kissed me. In front of him. While they watched.

“What do we do?” He sounded genuinely worried.

“I’ve left a thousand messages. All we can do is wait.”

“Until what?”

“I’m not sure I know,” Ridley said.

He sighed. “Fair enough.”

“Sirens.” Ridley looked up. I’d better get on with it. The Siren in the photograph. A plan is a plan. “You were going to show me a Siren’s view of New York.”

“First the museum. I think we’ve got to expand your definition of what a Siren is.”

“Enlighten me.”

Nox smiled. “Look, I’m not saying I know you better than you know yourself. I’m saying that if you open your eyes, you’ll figure out you’re not so alone. Or at least, you don’t need to be.”

“I’m not alone. I have—” Who? Not Link. Especially not after yesterday.

Not anymore.

“Well, I have my cousin, Lena.”

Nox nodded. “The Natural. And you have your sister. The little Thaumaturge.”

“Sisters. Can’t forget Reece, no matter how much I’d like to.” She stopped. “Wait—how do you know Lena’s a Natural?” She didn’t like surprises, and she didn’t know if she trusted Nox not to pull them on her.

“She’s Lena Duchannes. You’re Ridley Duchannes. I’ve known many Duchannes, and more Ravenwoods. You don’t exactly keep a low profile.”

They kept walking. “And Ryan? How could you tell what sort of Caster she was?”

“I could feel it. She’s a powerful little girl.” He smiled. “Like her sister, I think. I can tell you care about her. But you have to admit, you yourself? You’re something of a lone wolf. Especially for a Siren. I thought you only traveled in packs? With whole boatloads of your adoring sailors?”

Ridley didn’t say anything. She’d been alone from the moment she’d left home until she’d met Link. Ever since her own parents had kicked her out of her family home, after her Claiming. But even with Link, no matter how well things seemed to go for a while, she always ended up back where she’d started. Alone again.

Back on the curb.

“Maybe I want to be alone,” she said finally, because everything else was too painful to say.

“Maybe you’re as big a liar as I am,” Nox said, holding out his hand.

She took it.

His hand was warm and strong, and she felt inexplicably better holding it.

Even if he was the second most horrible person in the world.

Even if she was the first.

Then he squeezed her hand, as if he felt it, too.

The museum became a picnic in the park and shopping in SoHo. An afternoon walk became delicate sushi. Dinner became dessert, caramel and crème fraîche, and cream puffs drowning in warm chocolate fudge. Waiters stood at attention as if they were bodyguards; doors were opened, cars were waiting, store clerks were doting.

It was like a popcorn wish-fulfillment movie of someone else’s life. Ridley wished it were real. She wished it were hers. But even if she was only playing the part for today, it was better than nothing.

Still, there were no Sirens.

The day might have been charmed, and the prince might have been charming, but there was no evidence of any other kind of Cast or Charm.

Still, she savored every minute of it.

By the time they ended up back at Les Avenues, Ridley let Nox come up to the apartment with her.

“Just for a minute,” she said.

He’s not half bad, she thought, as far as princes go.

“Just to watch the sunset,” he agreed.

He’s not half bad, she thought, as far as enemies go.

“Just to see the stars,” she conceded.

This isn’t half bad, she thought, as far as wars go.

“Just one day,” he said. “You promised.”

And just to take another look at one small photograph hanging on the wall, she thought.

Lennox Gates, what is your Siren story?