Dangerous Creatures(62)

“A Siren,” Sampson said. “And we’ve only been around one of those.”

“That we know of,” Link snapped.

“Would she do something like that?” Floyd was wide-eyed. She stepped away from Link, as if the fact of his knowing Ridley was itself somehow contagious.

“No. Never.” Link was sure of it.

“Your Siren’s never hurt anyone before? Even if she didn’t mean to?” Floyd looked doubtful.

Link didn’t answer.

She never means any harm.

Much.

“Because if that’s true, Link, she’s the first Siren in the history of the world who could say that.” Floyd sounded bitter.

“It wasn’t her, Floyd, I know it. She wouldn’t have done it.”

“You’re just whipped. You can’t even see it.”

Link brushed her off. “What does it matter, anyway? Rid’s gone now. Knowing if she did it doesn’t help Necro.”

“Of course it matters. I need to know whose ass to kick,” Floyd snapped.

Sampson shook his head. “Floyd’s right, Link. You don’t get it. Only the Siren who did this to Necro can undo it. You can’t save her if you can’t find the person who tricked out that knife.” He looked at Link. “Necro’s running out of time.”

“You think you can find her? Ridley?” Floyd asked.

Link looked bummed. “She just took off. I have no idea where she is. But I’m telling you, it wasn’t her.”

Sampson practically growled. “You’re sweet, Incubus.”

Link grabbed Sampson by the collar of his shirt. “Listen up, Maybelline. I know Rid, and she didn’t do this. I swear on my life.”

Sampson looked at him calmly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Link flexed his hands, releasing Sampson’s shirt. “Sorry, man.”

As he pulled his hand away, his Binding Ring began to glow again—this time turning from red to a pulsing golden color.

Link stared at it, holding it in front of his face. Floyd and Sampson watched the ring change colors.

“What’s that?” Floyd reached out for it, letting pink glow spill across her fingers. “It’s sort of beautiful.”

“Old magic,” Sampson said. “And powerful. It doesn’t feel like anything else. Not that I’ve encountered.”

Link held up his hand. It glowed color after color, as if it had suddenly come to life. “I think this thing is tryin’ to tell me somethin’. That, or it just wants to burn my finger off.”

“Let it tell you, whatever it is.” Floyd stared at the ring like it really was made of fire.

Link held his arm with his other hand. “It’s pullin’ me out the door.”

“Whoa,” Floyd said.

“Then follow it,” Sampson said as the ring lit up the room.

“I think I know how to find Ridley,” Link said slowly. “Or at least, I think the ring does.”

Floyd turned toward the bed. “Don’t worry, Necro. We’ll be right back.” She straightened Necro’s blankets, then grabbed her leather jacket. “Let’s go.”

“You’ll stay with her?” Link looked at Sampson, who nodded.

“One thing.” Floyd stopped Link when they got to the door. “I don’t care if she’s your girlfriend or not. We’re going to find that Siren and kick her ass.”

Link didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

If Ridley had anything to do with this, it wouldn’t be Floyd who dealt with her.

“Hold on.”

Link stopped for his backpack. He just needed to get one thing. Burning ring or impatient Illusionist or wounded Necromancer—or not.

A rusty old pair of gardening shears.

If Ridley was involved in something this Dark, there had to be a reason. And if there was a reason, well, it wasn’t likely it was a good one.

Better to be prepared.





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.”