Read Sirenz for Free Online

thought was tape was a label. The spidery writing read:
    S. Johnson, M. Wiley
    Penthouse H2 at 100 West 81st Street.

Retail Therapy
    We waited until morning to take a look at Hades’ apartment. I was hoping that this was all just a bad dream, but that was shattered when I woke up to find the iPhone, keys, and credit cards on my desk where I’d dropped them before going to bed. I called Shar at home and we agreed to meet outside my building.
    I dashed off a note to my parents explaining that I’d be spending a few nights at Shar’s, then I managed to get out the door before anyone else awoke. She was waiting outside, looking immaculately groomed and completely coordinated, whereas I’d barely taken the time to brush my teeth and hair.
    â€œLet’s do this,” I said. The worried look in her eyes must have been a perfect partner for the grim set of my mouth.
    At Hades’ building, the doorman ushered us into the festively decorated lobby without question, and we didn’t pass anyone going up to the penthouse. The shiny key slid easily in and turned the lock of the heavy silver door.
    We walked into a living room that was a montage of pale neutral colors, sparkling chrome, and huge vases of artfully arranged exotic flowers. It had one wall that was entirely glass; our view of Manhattan was spectacular for those not prone to vertigo.
    Even so, I was about to swear that I wouldn’t spend so much as a single night there when I noticed a door with a brass plaque that had my name etched onto it in gothic letters: my bedroom suite. Expecting another beige nightmare, I gasped when I saw the room I’d often sketched in my journal but hadn’t shared with anyone else. There were the blood-red walls, the yards of black lace hanging from the ceiling like cobwebs, and my secret piece of lust-furniture, an ornately carved tester bed with scarlet drapings, all placed just as I’d imagined it. There was also a Victorian writing desk with secret compartments, each lacquered drawer stuffed with cash. I heard a squeal from Shar, who no doubt had gone to check out her room.
    Taking a deep, reluctant breath, I slammed the door on my dream haven. There was a size-thirteen, triple-wide carbon footprint for all this materialism.
    â€œI can never tell my mom about this place!” Shar said, throwing herself into a huge latte-colored leather chair near the wall of glass. Despite the panic in her voice, I could tell that she was thrilled with her bedroom suite. If she was that happy, I had no doubt it was decorated in every vicious shade of pink this side of Barbie.
    I looked around the spacious living room and cringed; the place was impossibly high-end and sterile. With an all-powerful god as the landlord, it probably cleaned itself.
    â€œWe can’t say anything to anyone. Ever,” I told her.
    â€œAnd how are we going to chase after Arkady? He’s a celebrity! There are laws against stalking! It’s going to be impossible!” Shar’s voice had risen an octave.
    â€œWe’ll figure it out.” I raised a hand at her. “Please, don’t have a panic attack.”
    I wandered over to the kitchen. Black marble tiled floors supported massive mahogany cabinets that stretched all the way to the ceiling. Along with the stainless steel fridge, I discovered, they were crammed with every sinful treat down to our favorite ice creams—Rocky Road for Shar and Cherry Garcia for me. How did he know? Ah, yes. God. Omniscient. Check.
    â€œWhat have we done, Meg?” Shar said as I came back into the living room. She buried her face in her hands, then raised her head and looked around hopelessly. “How are we going to get that guy to a portal? He’s rich and famous, and we’re nobodies.”
    â€œWe can’t back out now, done is done.” I sighed, making her scooch over. “This is probably one of those things that’s a lot easier than it seems at