Part 7 (1/2)

He slowly stretches his hand toward my face but then pulls it slightly back. I notice a pallor under his olive skin, but a strange heat seems to radiate from his fingertips. I look into his eyes again and move my hand toward his, as if the curious, pulsing heat of his skin draws me to him. We are about to touch, his fingers breathing warmth against mine. He looks away from my eyes and notices the name pendant -a sixteenth-birthday present from CeCe-that I wear around my neck.

”Daphne?” He reads my name. His hand drops, and that strange heat falls away with it. ”You're Daphne Raines?”

”Yes,” I say before thinking better of giving this stranger my name. The trance he held me in is broken. ”How do you know my name? What-are you some kind of reporter?” I notice now that this boy has no sound. No tone, no melody, no song coming off him. Just silence, like the too-still grove that engulfs us from the view of any witnesses.

I also realize that he doesn't have a camera. He's not a reporter looking for a picture.

He takes a quick step back, as if he's about to run away, but then stops, seeming to reconsider. He looks me square in the eyes, but this time, the intensity of his gaze only frightens me. ”Will you come with me?” he says, reaching for my arm.

chapter eleven.

haden

I make it to the gate unnoticed. In the mortal world, the gate is cloaked to resemble two curving trees that create an archway at the north end of the grove. The green light has grown fainter. I wonder if it is even visible to human eyes, but as I hold my hand out, I can still feel it pulsing with energy. The gate is still active, which means it is still the same day in which I arrived.

I have overreacted for no reason.

I am about to return to Simon's home, feeling rea.s.sured and slightly chagrined, when a sound catches my ear. It's a high sound, but not like the screeching of an owl or the wailing of a nursling. It's a flowing sound that evokes the image of a river or the wind streaming through the treetops-and yet still like no other sound I have ever heard.

I cannot stop myself from following the echoing noise. I track it through the thicket of trees until I come to the center of the grove.

There I see a young female, sitting against a strangely shaped tree. She cradles a large object on her knees, and strums the strings that stretch from its wide base up a long wooden neck. The object reminds of the pictographs I often pa.s.s in the murals that cover the walls of the palace. It vaguely resembles a lyre-the great weapon the Traitor had used to deceive Hades all those centuries ago.

But the object the girl holds does not seem like a weapon. Her picking and strumming the strings are what create the reverberating sound. I remove my sungla.s.ses to be able to see her better in the shady grove, and I watch, curious, as she opens her mouth and starts to speak.

No, not quite speaking. Her voice sounds different from that. Her words are drawn out, ebbing and flowing at times and flitting at others, blending with the sounds that come from her strumming. It grows in intensity, swirling around the grove and was.h.i.+ng over me. It pulls at me, evoking something I have not felt since I was in the presence of the Oracle: the feeling of wonder.

When the girl stops speaking and the sound dies away, a gasp slips out of my lips.

She stands, her abruptness making it clear that I have given myself away.

”Who's there?” she asks. Her voice sounds different than before. Lower, but still appealing.

I know I should leave, but I can't. I need to know what it was that she did with her voice. I want to know how.

”I know you're there,” she says. ”So you might as well show yourself, get your picture, and get lost.” She steps closer. The way she moves is almost as appealing as her voice. I feel energy swirling in my chest, growing stronger the closer she gets. I move in nearer to her. She does not see me yet, but she s.h.i.+vers.

”How did you do that?” I ask her. I speak English, but I realize too late that I haven't concealed my Underrealm accent.

”What?” She looks in my direction. ”Who's there?”

”What was that you did with your voice?” I step closer to her, still cloaked in shadow. ”Just now. I heard you.”

She places her hand on her throat. ”You mean my singing?”

”Singing.” I know that word; I have just never heard the sound that it applies to. It has always been an abstract concept to me until now. ”Is that what you call that?”

”Excuse me?” she says, her voice touched with anger. ”Listen, jerk, I don't know who you are. But if you came here to make fun of my singing, you can go . . .” She's angry at me. She thinks I am toying with her for my own enjoyment. She will leave any moment if I don't do something. I step out from my hiding spot in the dark.

She takes a step back, as if nervous. I don't want her to go.

”I'm not here to create amus.e.m.e.nt,” I say, trying to rea.s.sure her as I come closer.

”What?” she asks.

”I just wanted to know what that was you did with your voice. And with that.” I point at the object she holds. ”I've never heard anything like it before.”

She gives me a confused look and I wonder if she does not understand my question. I want to explain further, but I am distracted by her nearness. Energy pulses through my body, stronger than my heartbeat. The sunlight streaming through the canopy of the grove glints off her golden hair, and the curves of her body make my hands p.r.i.c.kle with heat that is unlike what I normally experience before a surge of lightning. Her blue eyes, brighter than the mortal world's sky, meet mine.

I stand still, letting her look at me. I can feel the fire swirling in my eyes. Finally, I blink, unable to bear the intensity.

”Are you real?” I ask her. I have heard stories of mystical creatures that can enchant men with their voices. It is one of the reasons this singing-music-is forbidden in my world. And she is unlike any mortal female who has ever been brought to my realm.

I have also heard stories of sprites that can create mirages.

I raise my hand toward her face, wanting to touch her to see if she is real, but I hesitate, not quite wanting to know the answer. She lifts her hand toward mine, and I can feel electricity pulsing into my fingers. I look from her eyes to her mouth and then lower. A golden pendant sits in the hollow of her neck.

It spells something in English. It takes me a second to translate it. ”Daphne?” I ask, dropping my hand.

Can I really be reading that correctly? Can it really be her? ”You're Daphne Raines?”

”Yes,” she says.

The energy coursing through my body intensifies with her positive response.

I cannot believe my good fortune. For once in my life, the Fates have smiled on me. I have followed my impulses-no, my instincts- to this place, and here she was.