CONTENT WARNING: brief descriptions of blood, religious trauma, mild psychological horror, familial death, survivor’s guilt

Rain drummed steadily against the windows of the RV, pattering like a million little pawsteps across the roof. Josephine had laid blankets and pillows on the floor, which was where Siren and her friends lay now, conversing happily in the low light from the windows. It was the very picture of a cozy afternoon, but the day had worn on in Siren’s mind in a way that felt like something was egregiously missing.

Hemlock sat to her side, talking to the other five, but Siren was more interested in the wall on her other side. The rain, to her, drowned out most of the conversation, letting her sit with her thoughts.

Why them? Why now?

It was so odd to Siren, losing her sister only to gain two kids she didn’t even know. Part of her was filled with a sense of rage by it, simmering like water on a stove. Was this some kind of cosmic joke? Killing one of the most important people in her life, then handing her two complete strangers like that would make it better? It was cruel, unfair, utterly insensitive… but also not really their fault.

As much as Siren hated the feeling that Georgie and Hemlock were forcing themselves into the space Harpy had once filled, it wasn’t something she could blame them for. As angry as it made her, and as ripped apart as she was by the torrential tides of her grief, Siren didn’t want to take it out on them. She knew better than that. They couldn’t have known what she was going through, couldn’t have known whose presence had held that space before them. She was sure, if they knew, that they would feel just as sorry for her as anyone else. Maybe even guilty for being there, standing in the place of a ghost.

Siren didn’t want either of them to feel guilty.

Hemlock was a kind person. He was quiet and watchful, like she was, but still so different from everything that made her her. Where she was sharp-tongued and calculating, he was thoughtful and gentle. He worried about small things, spoke awkwardly, looked like he didn’t know what to expect. His movements were tentative, not at all assertive or sure. Siren was certain that if Josephine hadn’t dragged him in like a wet rat, she never would’ve even realized he existed. On some level, she was glad that his sudden introduction had been the case instead. Leave it to Josephine to find the weirdest ones.

It was hard to admit it through the heaviness that clung to her like a shroud, but Siren could see herself being good friends with Hemlock. He was a nice change of pace from her louder friends, but not exactly boring either. If they’d met at an easier time, maybe they would’ve hit it off instantly. She couldn’t hate him for coming into her life, no matter how bad the timing had been.

Georgie was a similar case, but his nature was felt more sharply than Hemlock’s. Like Siren, he didn’t talk much. He was blunt, sarcastic, and nonchalant. Like Siren, he had something obviously wrong with his life, too. Something missing. Something taken brutally, the way her sister had been taken from her. Though it was unfathomable to her at the present moment, something told Siren it might’ve even been something worse than that.

The missing leg he bore and the paranoid look in his eyes certainly hinted at something awful, at least. She couldn’t hate him, either. He’d asked almost gruffly that morning if anyone else liked to bake or cook, and then talked for thirty minutes about how to fry eggs at breakfast. The adults had discussed taking a hike near the hot springs tomorrow, and he’d gotten a look in his eye like it had never occurred to him that he could actually go see Yellowstone with the rest of them. It made her wonder where he’d been before now, if the idea of going out to see nature was so shocking to him.

“So,” she heard Julian ask after a bit, though she was only halfway listening. “Where do you two come from?”

“Here in Wyoming, actually,” Hemlock replied softly from next to her. “Not near Yellowstone, but still Wyoming.”

“And you’ve never been taken camping before?” Julian replied, as though his mind was a little boggled by the idea. “You’ve got Yellowstone and Grand Teton basically right in your backyard.”

“It’s… a long story. For ridiculous reasons.”

“Well,” Rosie chimed in, “Better late than never, right?”

Better late than never…

The words inspired something in Siren for a moment, and she moved her head up to join the conversation before freezing, eyes locking on something in the corner across from her.

Brown spots on shining white fur, fluffy off-white wings, warm yellow eyes.

Harpy, with her signature smile offset by her bleeding head, disappearing in an instant.

What the fuck?

“Siren?”

Shit, Rosie noticed.

“Siren, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the brown cat blurted more harshly than she meant to. “I just… got distracted for a moment. There was a weird shadow on the wall. Sorry.”

Georgie, who was on the other side of Hemlock from her, poked his head around to look at her. He looked… concerned? Genuinely sympathetic?

Both. It was both.

“Happens to the best of us,” he assured her softly. His tone was stiff, but Siren could infer that he was trying to be comforting. 

Hemlock, for his part, gently offered her a paw, which she quietly rested one of her own next to. She couldn’t have explained why, just that it felt… right. Like what she needed. What would ease her pain, even if only for a moment. He was warm. Pleasant.

The conversation rolled on without her, but she listened carefully, observing the patterns on the blankets. “I’m from San Diego,” she heard Georgie say. Though she wasn’t looking, she could feel the look Rosie was giving Josephine to tell her not to call him a city slicker. Instead, their tabby ringleader switched to ask:

“Did you go to the zoo there? Or the museums?”

“… Not really. I didn’t live there for very long,” he replied somewhat sullenly. “I was in foster, so I bounced around a lot.”

Silence.

“Oh,” Josephine replied. “Sorry, I forgot you’d mentioned that. That’s my bad.”

“It’s fine. It wouldn’t be fair to expect you to know what bouncing homes would entail.”

Siren looked up again, head swinging towards Georgie because of how uncharacteristically gentle he sounded, but stopped halfway through.

A familiar smile, a beloved face stained red… and then gone again, replaced by Georgie, who was smiling awkwardly at Josephine, trying to reassure her after her social blunder. Georgie, whose smile looked nothing like Harpy’s, who was shorter and wingless and definitely not bleeding from his cranium.

… What’s going on?

Bewilderment and unease settled themselves in Siren’s body, stomach zinging with disconcerted butterflies. This was… something. And definitely not a weird shadow this time.

How did I mistake an entire person for someone else? He’s nothing like Harpy at all!

Maybe the grief was finally catching up with her. Maybe, despite how quickly their whole caravan had fled Big Sur and driven miles away to Yellowstone, it had followed their every step, and was coming for her now. Coming to remind her of all the images she was trying to forget and all the ‘what-ifs’ that plagued her.

All the impossible things she could – or rather should – have done.

Things she would have done if she knew they would stop her from losing her big sister.

Maybe if she’d told Harpy to be more careful, or kept them on the river shore instead of hopping across the rocks in the water, or suggested an idea other than going to the water. Maybe if they’d brought an adult or moved slower or had a picnic on the shore instead of trying to move around and show off. Maybe then, she could’ve changed the outcome.

Or would the universe make it happen no matter what? Was Harpy always supposed to die, or was it just bad luck? If it was destined, was it Harpy specifically, or just anyone in their little group that day? A million faces and ways to die and potential losses flashed through Siren’s mind all at once, stealing her breath away for heartbeats that felt more like lifetimes.

That was when a soft, fluffy tail swung to rest against hers. Hemlock’s. Nobody else in the room had a tail that bushy. She confirmed her suspicions when she turned her head, seeing the rest of the group engaged in conversation about Josephine’s home state of Nebraska while Hemlock looked at her with soft golden eyes.

He said nothing. Neither did she.

Then, carefully, he reached out a paw to touch against the edge of hers, as though asking if she was alright. Siren let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding and relaxed, moving her own paw to rest more confidently against his.

“Are you alright?” he asked her so softly that she was temporarily sure she’d hallucinated it. Siren just shook her head.

“I’ll… I’ll be okay. My eyes are just playing tricks on me, I guess.”

She tried not to think about the yellow friendship bracelet on her wrist. Harpy had made it for her when they were younger, and used to own a matching blue one that Siren now kept safely stored in the smallest pocket of her backpack. She didn’t want to think about Harpy right now.

She didn’t want to see the crimson stains and the exposed bone and the way the water went murky with blood. She especially didn’t want to see another vision of Harpy standing in the room with her, upright and alive despite her fatal injury.

Hemlock, to her relief, didn’t press anything. He just sat there while she took some deep breaths and paused to adjust his glasses with his paw.

I should probably try making small talk, Siren decided after a moment, mostly because she didn’t want to be silent anymore. Very awkwardly, she opened her mouth and forced out “Uh… So. How are you holding up?”

Hemlock looked like he had a miniature heart attack at the sudden and clearly unexpected question, which made Siren have to bite her tongue so she didn’t start laughing. “It… Uh… Um… Good, I guess? It’s been good? Nice?”

“Glad to hear it. Everyone’s kind of assumed that since you’re new here you might need some help settling in,” she replied with a shrug that was intended to be friendly. “You’re 15, right? Most of us started being RV kids when we were between two and ten, so we’ve had a lot of time to settle in. I assume it must be pretty jarring to be going into high school and then just… flung into a life of travel, I guess.”

The brown cat paused, staring blankly at her for a moment as though computing something in his brain. Then, very slowly, he began to give her a shy, awkward smile. “Oh. Thank you for worrying, but I’ve actually been feeling pretty good so far,” he said, looking more than a little sheepish. “It’s a big change, but I’m already feeling pretty settled after four days. I think it’s because of you guys, actually. So thank you.”

Siren’s chest glowed.

He feels settled here. Because of my friends. And me. Me and my friends.

“That’s good,” she said, voice still flat but thawing into something a little warmer. “I know a lot probably changed when you came here.”

Wow. I sound like an underpaid school counselor. Or like I’m part of a poorly-written movie.

Conversation had usually been closer to Harpy’s wheelhouse than her own. Even in happier times, Siren was never really a great talker. Still, Hemlock didn’t seem to mind, and that made her feel a little less bad in general.

“It has, but… It’s the kind of change that happens for the better, you know? I didn’t really realize people could be so diverse. Back home things were… stuffy, to put it gently.”

“Stuffy?”

For a moment, Siren worried she’d done something wrong. She quickly glanced over at one of the windows as though that would fix it, but snapped her eyes back to her paws when she thought she saw familiar wings again. No. No. Get a hold of yourself.

She was saved again by the sound of Hemlock’s voice.

“I came from a really conservative religious household. We had a ton of rules and beliefs I didn’t realize were weird until I got my first personal computer a couple years ago and got to go on the Internet. I hadn’t even realized people could change their genders or like people of the same gender or not be attracted to anyone at all. I used to hate it because of how unfamiliar it was, but eventually I realized they were just… people. Like me. And then I realized maybe I was one of them, too.”

Oh. Religious trauma.

Given the crosses Hemlock wore, Siren realized she probably should’ve figured out he was Christian or Catholic sooner. She hadn’t really been paying attention.

“… One of them?” she asked absentmindedly, leafing through her previous conversations with Hemlock while she tried to remember anything he’d said about religion before.

“I like boys. I think. It’s… complicated,” Hemlock replied in a tone that sounded like it might blow over with a particularly strong gust of wind, or perhaps like he might cry. “‘Man shall not lie with man’ and all that.”

Siren looked up, glancing at him after that last sentence. “I’m pretty sure it’s ‘man shall not lie with child.’” Her companion looked like he was having an epiphany, and then let out the heaviest sigh of relief she’d ever heard. “Oh. Oh.”

Then, wordlessly, he leaned his head over to rest his cranium against hers. For a moment, Siren considered moving away, but… she needed this as much as he did.

No words, just a quiet moment between the two.

---

After what felt like an entire night’s sleep of resting with Hemlock, the door to the trailer the group of six were huddled in swung open. Marnie, a large, dark grey dog with startling blue eyes, poked her head inside. “Hey. Dinner soon. How are you guys doing?”

Josephine, who had been very animatedly rambling about her thoughts on armadillos, looked up as soon as the words were spoken and shifted gears with a speed high enough to give Siren whiplash. “Oh! Hey, Marnie! We’re doing pretty good.”

Georgie glanced up from whatever he was doing with his paw – playfully batting Julian’s paw, Siren assumed, since the two appeared to be having fun poking each other for presumably no reason – and glanced at the the tall dog, ears perking forward with interest at the mention of dinner. “What are they making?” he asked, the question general and conversational despite his closed-off nature.

“Pasta, I think,” Marnie replied. “Spaghetti with red sauce and meatballs. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I don’t pay much attention to the cooking. I was just reading my book.”

The rain poured down outside, but the scent of something cooking still wafted strongly through the air. Siren knew today’s dinner was going to be one spent under the awnings, probably crowded together, but the prospect of spaghetti and meatballs was worth the drawbacks. Their self-appointed cook, Arthur, always made the most delicious meals that were arguably restaurant-quality. It was a running joke around the entire caravan that his hamburgers would be enough to impress Gordon Ramsey himself.

Georgie said he liked to cook, too. I wonder if they’d get along.

“KIDS!!!”

The call of Josephine’s father’s voice carried with easy command through the air – something to be expected of a man who had once been a sergeant and was now a combat veteran – and his daughter immediately perked up, leaping to her feet. “COMING, DAD!” she called, equally as loud, then glanced over her shoulder at her friends.

“C’mon guys! Dinner!”

She was off like a shot, with Rosie standing up to pad after her and Marnie slipping back out of sight in a blur of dark fur. Georgie pushed himself to his feet with his back legs first before standing on his singular front leg, then hobbled after them with his tail held a little higher than usual. Julian followed, cracking some terrible pun that Siren had definitely heard before.

And then, suddenly, it was just her and Hemlock, sitting in the quiet. With a heavy sigh, she got to her paws, allowing herself a quick stretch before glancing over her shoulder at Hemlock. He was looking at her as though he was hoping she’d move first.

“Come on,” she told him, a weary smile quirking over her features. “Let’s go get some dinner.”