The Afterlife (Siren Suicides, Book 3)

Chapter 21. Marble Bathtub

Time has a peculiar way of turning on its head. I'm transported back to the very first time I met Canosa, on the edge of the lake. The cherry expanse of the door rolls out between us in a six-foot long welcoming carpet. She stands on its opposite end, the way she stood back then, except, she's not a gorgeous femme fatale anymore. Her face and body are distorted in the way a heart attack would wreck havoc on its victim, leaving her features lopsided. My scream that proved lethal to both Teles and Ligeia hasn't exploded her, but it seems to have damaged her beyond repair. Only half of her tissues appear dead. Her mouth is open in a grimace. Her hair is reduced to a sorry matted mess and pushed to one side; on her other side, she holds Hunter in a neck bind. The only thing that didn't change is her penetrating gaze, her big green eyes oozing some prehistoric, primeval hatred.

"You bronze bitch. Let him go!" I roar.

"Make another move and he's dead," she hisses.

I lower my leg, having almost taken a step.

She tilts up her head up and laughs, her slick, moist breasts jiggling unpleasantly. My guts spasms in revulsion.

"Oh, I've been dying to see this pain on your pretty face. Marvelous," she exhales. "Now, kiss your boyfriend goodbye, Ailen Bright." She tightens the headlock. Hunter claws at her fingers, choking.

There is no time to think. It's not your typical staring and sizing each other up deal. Forget it. This is a battle for life or death, and I dive into it with zeal.

To say that I leap at her is to rob your imagination. I crash at her in a combination of an acoustic and a physical wave, ear-splitting in my shrill, all-consuming in my wake, oscillating and howling. I head-spear into her slimy stomach and we tumble down the stairs in a tangle of limbs, rolling all the way into the foyer and stopping only inches from the front door. The racket we produce must have roused the entire neighborhood.

I grab at everything I can, digging my fingernails into her flesh, biting her with my teeth, even reaching up with my feet in an attempt to kick her. Hunter is half-sandwiched between us, thrashing. He can't yell, his air is cut off by Canosa's arm. I can't see his face, only the back of his head.

We cartwheel around the floor, ripping coats off the hooks from the open wardrobe, spilling about shoes, and knocking down the umbrella tree stand with a clang. Canosa's hair meshes into my mouth, her limbs bulge with veins. Her mouth opens almost to an audible cracking of her skull, and then her teeth sink into my arms, my stomach, my face.

I'm about to be eaten alive. I don't care. There is only one goal on my mind. To free Hunter. If I can't overpower her with my strength, I can try to overpower her with my voice. I inhale, but before I can burst into a song, my throat splits open. Using her nails, she rips out a chunk of flesh from my neck, tearing both gill openings open. I gurgle blood, as pain blinds me.

"You disgraceful, ignorant girl! I'm sick of you!" Her voice booms around me and through me. "I will show you how to fight me. I will show you what happens when you dare to fight the Siren of Canosa!"

Whatever is left of me gets abandoned in haste. Canosa pulls herself up with a grunt and leans against the front door, Hunter firmly in her headlock. His eyes are closed; he's not moaning or struggling anymore. It appears he has passed out. I'm surprised he was able to stay awake at all, after everything that happened to him since yesterday. He only managed to snag a few hours here and there snoozing, and I don't remember him eating anything. His only drink was that muddy water from the mountain river hours and hours ago.

I want to scream at Canosa to leave him alone. I try to stand up, but my feet slide on the slick floor. My leg muscles are torn by her nails, the clear liquid of my dead blood pools between wooden planks of the parquet. I try to prop myself up on my elbows and succeed for a few seconds. I stare at my naked, mutilated body, watching skin and muscles begin knitting together with a quiet hush, itching like crazy. My elbows slip apart and I drop my head on the floor with a sickening smack.