Sirenz - By Charlotte Bennardo Page 0,19

Jeremy Jamison.” He gave us both a disarming smile that made my knees weak.

“I’m Sharisse.”

He nodded and turned to Meg. “And you are?”

She was afraid to answer, I could tell. Unintentionally using her powers on Sweet Jeans and sprouting new feathers had to be her biggest worry. Well, at least she wouldn’t be able to talk her way into going out to some club with him. Then the horror dawned. I wouldn’t be able to bat my eyes into a date either!

Finally, she spoke.

“Meg,” she answered timidly. She smiled prettily—scary pretty—and stuck out her hand for him to shake.

Total foul! That’s my approach! But before he could say anything else, Demi the receptionist interrupted him.

“Not so fast, Jeremy. They have to fill out applications.”

We’d forgotten about Ms. T-Rexy.

“I do the preliminary approvals.” She curled a mauve lip. “And it’s not looking good for these two. Resumes?” She crooked a long and forceful index finger, its nail polished to match her lipstick.

Meg fidgeted.

“Oh, ahem,” I stuttered. “We could drop them off tomorrow. Or email them tonight.” Hades said go, so we went. Why couldn’t he just get us the jobs? It probably amused him to watch us squirm.

Jeremy leaned on a corner of the bare and gleaming silver desk. “Look, I’m desperate for help. Give them the forms, Demi. If you two can start work tomorrow, you’re hired. Unless”—and he turned the charm full blast on us—“I find out you’re spies for another house.”

We both shook our heads vigorously.

If Demi could refuse him, she simply wasn’t human. But why was he doing this for us? Was it our Siren powers at work? Meg had only said one word and I’d made no direct eye contact. Nervously, I wiggled my remaining toes. They didn’t feel different. The last thing I needed was to grow another talon. I’d have to get custom-made shoes. How fun would it be to explain those ugly feet? I forced my concentration back on Demi.

She quirked an auburn brow. “I don’t think so. There are to be no exceptions. For anyone. Mr. Romanov depends on us to protect him from …” She gave us a scornful look. “Undesirables.”

“We’re both seniors on scholarship at the Academically Independent High School, and I’ve been accepted to FIT and Meg to NYU,” I blurted. Meg nodded and grinned at Jeremy.

He smiled back.

No fair!

“And they love to fight over shoes. I’ll clear it with Mr. Romanov myself,” Jeremy said. Demi huffed and gave us both a look that promised retribution, while Meg blushed. When Meg turned her head and our eyes locked, it was clear. We both want him. It’s going to be war.

War it would be. And may the better-looking, better-dressed, nicer girl—namely, me—win.

Bad Kitty

I’d always pictured my first real job as championing some underdog, not-for-profit charity project, or maybe interning at a record label—not this.

Not wanting to waste any time, Shar insisted we call our parents and tell them we’d be spending the rest of our winter break with the other one’s family. This way, she reasoned, we’d be close to Arkady, the job, and the portals with as few distractions as possible. Even as task-oriented as Shar was, I knew she had ulterior motives. Not only was being at the center of a fashion three-ring circus a dream come true for her, but there were the countless potential opportunities she’d get to corner and—drat her—talk to Jeremy.

“We need to get to work early,” she bubbled. “Show some initiative. We’ll win that Demi woman over. And we need to get close to Arkady. It would be better to see him without his hat and glasses just so we’re sure when we voodoo him. We should plan on staying there late.”

I didn’t want to stay at the House of Romanov a minute longer than I had to, but Shar had a point. Demi clearly didn’t like us, but she was only a receptionist, or at best some sort of office manager. Still, the last thing we needed was anyone blocking access to Arkady. I dreaded seeing Demi, but at least I knew I could speak to her without sprouting more feathers. I would, however, have to control myself, especially around Jeremy.

It was barely light when we left the apartment the next day; I wasn’t on the street this early for school.

“It’s not seven yet,” I said, pulling out my pocket watch. “Will the building even be open?”

“Relax,” Shar said smoothly. It was overcast, but she wore pitch-black sunglasses to make sure no