Silent Echo (10 page)

She noted the now-familiar spark in Max’s eyes when she referenced the mating.

“I’m also a huge Ella Fitzgerald fan.” She offered up the non sequitur to change the subject. Music especially was a topic they seemed to never exhaust.

“Really? You’ve got to be the only sixteen-year-old alive who even knows who Ella is.”

“Not true! Besides, since you seem to be on a first-name basis with Ms. Fitzgerald, I’d venture to say that you’re not unfamiliar with her yourself.”

An annoying pop-up window flashed on her screen with a link to a ‘.god’ address. She X’d it out immediately. She hated pop-ups.

“OK, busted. But I think I prefer Billie Holiday.” He smiled into the webcam.

“Well, while we are admitting things,” Portia typed out hesitantly, X’ing out the pop-up again when it reappeared, “I think I might also have Bieber Fever.”

“NO WAY! You do not.”

“I’m telling you,” she wrote out hurriedly, “the kid can sing.”

“Oh baby, baby, baby, no,” Max gave his hair the signature Bieber shake.

Portia smiled. “That was pretty dead-on for a hater,” she wrote.

“Yeah? Well, I can also do a mean Dave Matthews,” he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth just as Matthews was known to do. “You know, my dad and I went to see him in concert right before his, um, breakdown. It was awesome—we had backstage passes cuz my dad had done some copyright work for the band once. I got to meet all of them—even Tim Reynolds was there. It was amazing, Portia!” she loved hearing him say her name. “I acted like a total groupie, though—asking them to sign my iPod,” he held up the device, showing off the bold autograph of Dave Matthews.

“That must have been awesome,” she wrote back. “I love Dave Matthews.” She glanced at her own iPhone, the screen filled with a barrage of unsolicited reminders to start her
Odyssey
research.

I think I’m going to switch to a Blackberry…

“That’s a relief coming from the Fitzgerald–Bieber fanatic,” Max chided her.

The pop-up on her laptop came back, this time in bold red letters, which inadvertently made Portia’s hair stand on end. Who the hell ever heard of a .god address anyway?

“Hey, Max—can you check out this link I keep getting? I’m totally paranoid about viruses and since you’re so chivalrous and all…” she batted her eyelashes into the camera as she typed out the words.

“Anything for you, m’lady,” he obliged.

Portia copied the link and zoomed it across cyberspace to her knight in shining armor.

“Send it over, Portia.”

“I just did…here, wait, I’ll do it again,” she wrote. Copying and pasting again, she looked for a sign in Max’s face that he had received the link. After her tenth attempt, he was still coming up with nothing.

“Never mind,” she wrote, determined to get back to the flirting at hand.

“You sure? That’s weird that you couldn’t send me the link. Did you try to type it out manually?”

She had, actually, but every time she tried sending the link to Max, her screen went blank for a millisecond before bringing him back into focus.

“Yeah, whatever.” She wrote. She was exhausted—it was almost 2:30 a.m., and they had been chatting for hours.

“You look tired,” he said. He seemed to have a knack for reading her thoughts. “Should we call it a night?”

“I would normally say yes,” came her response, “but I’ve been having such bad dreams lately. I feel like falling asleep is just an open invitation for the creepies to come get me.”

“Really, what have you been dreaming about?” Max asked.

Portia was embarrassed to tell him about the strange cast of characters that had occupied her dreams recently. She didn’t want to describe to him the monstrous flock of white birds, who kept beckoning her to “wield her powers,” or the ancient withered man, who was obsessed with her getting an A in her
Odyssey
elective. Clearly all the pressure was really getting to her.

“Too personal,” she wrote back. She knew she sounded vague, but what was it Helena always said?—“Always keep them guessing…”

“Oh, is that how you’re gonna play it?” Max smiled. She could have sworn she heard his dimples crunch.

“Well, how ’bout I sing you to sleep then, Portia Griffin?”

I gotta get me some of that confidence.

“Whaddya mean?” she typed with an equal measure of eagerness and anxiety.

“You know,” Max responded, “like a lullaby.” His easy affect gave off the impression that he was like some kind of angel who spent his nights flying from room to room, easing girls into the delicious and undemanding throes of slumber.

“We can try that, I guess.” There was an anxious twitch in her fingers as she typed out the words that welcomed this next level of intimacy between them.

She looked into the webcam, wondering if he realized that she was a bundle of nerves.

“Hold on a sec,” he said. He disappeared for a minute and then came back into view with his guitar. During his absence, Portia was able to see that his room looked like a tornado had hit it, piles and papers covering every surface.

She X’d out the determined .god pop-up again. Nothing was going to force her away from this moment.

“Let’s see,” he made a great show of cracking all his knuckles at once. She smiled at the gesture.

He started strumming his guitar. “Relax, Portia,” he said. “It’s not like I’m going to show up in your bedroom or something.”

When he said it, she realized that a part of her was actually hoping he would.

I have got to stop comparing myself to Bella Swan.

“It’s just a lullaby,” Max was saying. “Why don’t you lie back and try to relax?”

She took his advice, crawling under her heavy quilt, resting her head on the soft cotton of her pillowcase. When she had the laptop comfortably perched on her belly, she gave him the thumbs-up sign.

“So, have I mentioned that I’m a bit of a car fanatic?” Max asked as he adjusted the tension of the strings.

“No, but I thought I spotted a pile of
Car and Driver
magazines on your night table,” she typed.

“Yeah, well, I’m a bit of a slob, too. Comes with the territory of creative genius. At least that’s what my aunt always says.” He smiled widely.

“I’m sure you’ve said it a few times yourself, Max,” Portia shot back.

“Maybe. Maybe. Anyway, let’s see what you think of this one:

You won’t share your dreams,

But I’ll tell you mine.

They ease with extended release.

They don’t stray from the theme,

And I’m lost in time

As I dream every crevice, each crease.

There’s a way your hip curves–

It invites, then recedes,

And it makes a man wish for the road.

It sways and it swerves,

No limits to speed.

Ease the clutch, man, before overload.

You’re the Moyenne Corniche,

the Autobahn,

Just stop and admire the view.

And my dreams they do teach

That I could drive on,

But I’ll always just come back to you.

Max closed his eyes, folding himself around his music. Portia noticed the beginning of a kneehole in the faded denim of his jeans. She wondered if he realized just how loaded his lyrics were and then berated herself for her naiveté.

He probably patted himself on the back with every double entendre he wrote
.

He switched octaves and continued.

Road maps don’t reveal,

No warnings to heed,

Be aware there are sharp turns below.

Behind this wily wheel,

Shoulders just increase speed,

And bumps also can’t get you to slow.

And the rearview so appealing–

God, where’s the U-turn?

I’ve gotta see it again.

My tires are squealing,

Almost crash and burn,

But this time I’ll take it at ten.

Cuz you’re the Moyenne Corniche…

She was melting in her bed. One minute his sounds were rich and multilayered, the next his vocals were absolutely weightless as they traveled into falsetto. She imagined him whispering the suggestive lyrics into her ear, breathing them into her neck. He opened his eyes momentarily to assess her reaction, further electrifying her, mirroring her own desire and longing.

Our bodies now sweaty,

The wipers full force,

But still it is so hard to see.

I’m Mario Andretti,

I’m stuck on the course,

And you, baby, are the Grand Prix.

And then the dream starts to slip,

It’s time to look for a spot,

The end of this driving mission.

But that clutch I still grip,

Idling not,

My key always in the ignition.

Max looked directly into her eyes and sang the refrain once again. At this, Portia couldn’t take it anymore. Rubbernecking deeper into her pillow, she pretended to sleep. It was the only way she could think of to quiet the storm that was brewing between them.

“Baby, I come back to you…”

He hummed a few last bars until eventually his voice trailed off, leaving swirls of steam in its wake.

Though she had pretended to fall asleep quickly, the fact was that Portia couldn’t fall asleep that night. How could she have after being serenaded like that? Were people even still serenading each other these days? She felt like she had been thrust back in time to an era where romantic inclinations were a thing men wore proudly on their sleeves.

No—sleep would definitely not be happening.

Recalling that Charlotte was a die-hard insomniac, she decided to scroll through her buddy list on the off chance that Charlotte was online. Scrolling down to Trotter, her hand stopped dead on the track pad when she saw Marsyas’s name front and center on her buddy list.

He was inviting her to chat.

Her hair did the standing on end thing again as her mind urged her hand away from accepting the chat. How many lectures had she heard about cyber-bullying from her parents? How many RPA assemblies had been devoted to this exact scenario?

But logic had no voice tonight and she ushered Marsyas into the sanctuary of her bedroom with a single click. The craggy caves of his cheeks appeared on her screen, his thin lips hanging like tattered curtains over the run-down stage of his mouth. It was hard to make out where he was, the background behind his image fuzzy and dark.

Portia stared at the screen. The time travel thoughts she had had about Max just a few moments earlier came swarming back to her. Only this time she was venturing way before the era of Victorian gentlemen or medieval knights. Marsyas looked like he was born at around the same time as the world itself.

“What do you want from me?” The words were rising up in her throat, but she forced them back down, touch-typing the question instead as she stared at him over the webcam. If she couldn’t reveal her voice to her family and friends, she certainly wasn’t going to reveal it to this anachronistic cyberstalker.

The .god link popped up again and she was about to X it out when Marsyas suddenly spoke:

“Hit the link, Portia.”

How did he know?

“Portia, hit the link,” he repeated.

And so, against her better judgment, she clicked on the link.

The link, laboriously titled “www.daughtersofachelousandterpsichore.god,” brought Portia to a digital storytelling site, where the lines of reality and fantasy were blurred and blended so skillfully that by the time she brushed her teeth in the morning, she was certain that if she lived until the end of time, she would never forget the story of the sisters that was revealed to her that night…

♪

More than three thousand years ago, when Gods lived among mortals and cast their magical spells at every turn, there lived three sisters. The sisters dwelt on an island just beside the evil Six-Headed Scylla, who with each of her long-necked heads plucked sailors from the hulls of their ships and feasted upon their flesh and bones. The island was lush, blanketed in flowers and rich with olives. The grass grew green and the trees provided cool shade from the ever-shining sun.

The three sisters, Parthenope, Ligeia, and Leto, were of hauntingly beautiful face. They had inherited the milky skin of their mother, Terpsichore, Goddess of the Dance. From their father, Achelous, God of the Rivers, the young maidens were gifted with eyes so green they made the purest emerald appear lackluster. A bounty of fiery locks crowned their delicate heads like silk woven of the finest threads.

The extraordinary beauty of the maidens was contained in their voices as well. For they could sing more sweetly than a lyre cast of solid gold.

And so the sisters enjoyed goodness, faring well on the island that was their home.

As children, often were the sisters visited by Marsyas, an immortal with music running through his very veins. Marsyas played all manner of instrument with blessed skill and passed many days with the sisters, playing the double-piped reed or the ivory harp while they sang their glorious songs.

But as the years of their childhood passed, Parthenope and Ligeia thought to challenge Marsyas, though he had become but a brother to them. They tricked him by singing ever slowly and then suddenly speeding up their song. They sang melodies with which Marsyas was not familiar. Then they teased him with cruel words:

“Marsyas, Marsyas,

Ever is he smart with us,

Thinks he’ll play the harp for us,

But now he’ll play apart from us…”

The sisters taunted Marsyas, wounding him in his heart for he had thought of the young Sirens as no less than his own kin.

“Parthenope, Ligeia, why do you wound me so?” he asked the Goddesses.

The sisters then laughed and responded, “Marsyas, it humors us that ever you thought your skills could match those of the Sirens.”

Leto pitied the young God and tried to soothe him with her own song. But Marsyas was forever changed by the betrayal of Parthenope and Ligeia. For the rest of his days, he questioned his skills as a maker of music.

Terpsichore, the mother of the Sirens, feared the scorn that her daughters showed Marsyas. One day she lamented her daughters’ ways unto Themis, a Goddess who could see the future.

“Terpsichore,” said Themis, “It saddens me to tell you that the souls of Parthenope and Ligeia are doomed, for their evil ways will only grow stronger with the passing of time. Yet Leto will ever retain a soul that is pure and true. But hear this, Terpsichore, if Leto dares to defy her sisters, they will surely kill her. I have seen a vision of your daughters tearing your youngest limb from limb at her refusal to partake in their evil. But a Goddess such as you, dear Terpsichore, can surely see to it that this vision is never realized…”

The words fell heavily upon the heart of Terpsichore and filled her with great dread. Alas, she did love her Leto best of all her daughters, knowing that she would ever be kind.

As word of Leto’s gentle heart spread among the Gods, Parthenope and Ligeia felt the winds of envy stir within them. They watched as their youngest sister was often invited by the Gods to sing for their pleasure, though they, too, possessed voices of glory. All manner of immortal spoke of the great Leto, whose voice soothed their nerves like a sweet tonic.

One fine day Terpsichore was dancing for the eyes of Poseidon, the great earth shaker. Poseidon’s son, an evil Cyclops called Polyphemus, was moved by the seductive dance of the Goddess. He drew near to Terpsichore, begging her to come dwell with him in his own land, where she could dance for him the many days of his life. Terpsichore said then to the giant Cyclops Polyphemus:

“Surely you must see, Polyphemus, though you stand so tall with your head lost in the skies, that I am bound to another. Achelous, the great God of the rivers, shall forever hold my precious heart.”

So stung was the evil Polyphemus by these words that with his giant hand he thrashed Terpsichore to the ground, impaling her head on the jagged edge of a stone.

The dancing Goddess cried out in her pain, knowing that soon death would be upon her.

“I beseech you, Poseidon, great God of wind and thunder,” she said, “bring unto me my most cherished and youngest daughter, Leto. For upon her glorious face I wish to set my eyes once more before death takes me away. Beg her, make haste, for even now I do feel my last breaths upon me.”

Poseidon beckoned Leto, who then traveled to the side of her dying mother, uttering not a word to her sisters, for she did not dare ignite their fiery envy.

But, alas, Ligeia had been bathing at the edge of the meadow when the great Poseidon came to call upon Leto. Her ears burned with the news of her mother’s imminent death. An arrow of envy pierced her heart with the knowledge that her mother had beckoned only Leto to her side as she made ready to leave this earth.

When the fair Leto reached the side of her dying mother, she wept giant tears of silver. Her mother beseeched her, “Leto, draw near for there are things I must say to you before I am to join the spirits in Hades.”

Leto drew near to the face of her beloved mother, which even now trickled with blood.

“Leto, widely known among the Gods is it that the goodness which grows within you will not as such grow within your sisters. For in them there lies an evil that cannot be destroyed.

“One day it shall pass that Parthenope and Ligeia will beckon you to partake with them in their evil ways. Themis has assured me that if you resist them, they will surely kill you. I beg of you, do not resist the demands of your sisters. For I cannot go in peace to my death without the certain knowledge that you will remain safe.”

Leto swore all that her mother begged as thick silver tears marred her lovely face. She sang sweetly and placed a gentle hand on her mother’s supple cheek, soothing Terpsichore’s nerves. Her song was one of peace and harmony—the magnificence of her voice infusing beauty into the dying moments of the Goddess who once had danced like no other.

♪

And so, after many years, the ageless maidens began to feel the ennui of living only with each other’s company. They gazed longingly at the ships that passed their island, thoughts of evil and mischief clouding the minds of Parthenope and Ligeia.

“Sisters,” beckoned Parthenope one day, “fair maidens such as we should not to all the world go unnoticed. Let us call upon our glorious voices to lure in the sailors who pass us by in their wooden ships.”

Ligeia found favor in the words of her oldest sister and said:

“Dearest Parthenope, long have I waited for the words you have just spoken. What say you, Leto? Shall you join us in wielding our powers of seduction?”

Leto then remembered the oath that she had taken moments before her mother’s death.

“Dearest sisters, I have known only great love for you these many years and will surely be among you in whatever journeys you will take.”

Thus the Goddesses conjured up the giant white wings, which at their behest could emerge from their delicate backs. They flew to the edge of the island and began to sing their sweet song. Their voices carried strong along the waters, rippling in the foamy waves.

As a new ship appeared, they beckoned the sailors and watched as the ship’s mast turned and began rushing toward the island, delighting the sisters and assuring them of their great powers. Their voices thus grew stronger, hastening the current of the waters.

The young Sirens grew more frenzied as the ship neared the island. Their beauty became even greater, their voices more ethereal as they could make out the forms of the mortals. So consumed were Parthenope and Ligeia by their own seductive powers that they failed to notice the great sadness that veiled the face of their sister, Leto.

The sisters floated ever higher and joined hands. The crashing of the waves beat in time to their glorious song as the ship grew nearer to the island.

The sailors were powerless to resist them and called out in earnest:

“Come to us, Goddess of the sea, so that you may make yourselves known!”

Parthenope and Ligeia laughed at the beckoning of the mortal men, thoughts of evil consuming them. They sang louder and flew faster, creating dizzying rings above the sailors, who were mesmerized by this vision of the deities.

“My fair sisters,” said Parthenope, “join me now in the destruction of these mere mortals for they are not worthy to know us. So weak are these men who cannot but for an instant resist the powers of a beautiful woman.”

Leto turned her glorious face from her sisters for fear that they would see her tears. She thought of her beloved mother as she yielded to their demands. The three Sirens then merged their beauty and powers into one great creature. They revealed themselves anew to the sailors with the supple body of one woman, whose form was suspended by giant wings that reached as far as the edges of the sea.

“Oh, beautiful creature surely sent to us from the great Zeus himself, deny us no longer. Come to us so that we may quench our desires for one as fair as you.” The sailors were on bended knee, pleading for the attentions of the Sirens.

But as the thoughts of Parthenope and Ligeia continued toward evil, so distorted did the face of the creature suddenly become that a deep fear and disgust came into the hearts of the sailors. The mortals then knew that danger was upon them.

“Spare us, oh creature of the sea!” cried the men. “For we are but mere mortals, powerless to the beauty of your voice. Now we see that we have been greatly fooled, for your face does reveal to us the evil that lives within you.”

But there was no halting the evil that was growing inside Parthenope and Ligeia. The giant winged creature sang ever louder and swooped down into the hull of the wooden vessel.

Loud were the screams of the sailors, the sounds of their bones crunching as the sisters destroyed and consumed them. The Sirens sang throughout the entire murderous frenzy. They sang of the beauty of women and the foolishness of men, of appetites for passion that could never be sated, of the infinite powers of the Gods.

When the maidens had their fill, they pried their forms apart and were once again three beautiful sisters. They gathered the bones of the men, so light within their immortal hands, and brought them to the edge of the meadow, where they laid the foundation for what would grow to be a great mountain.

That night Leto sought out a veiled crevice of the island on which to lay her weary self. Streaks of silver stained her silken cheeks as finally she drifted off to sleep.

As word of the attack made its way to the many Gods of earth and sea, Morpheus, the great God of Dreams, granted Leto a dream to soothe her aching heart.

Terpsichore once again appeared to her daughter, bearing no traces of the injury which did claim her life.