The Masked Siren: Seducing My Enemy

The subway ride to the Bronx took forty minutes.

The air in the car changed the further north they went. The smell of expensive perfume and coffee faded, replaced by the scent of stale sweat, cleaning chemicals, and old metal. Aine sat in the corner, clutching her purse.

When she stepped out, the skyline was different. No glass towers here. Just brick and fire escapes and graffiti that looked like scars on the buildings.

Aine walked three blocks to a building that was nothing more than a blackened skeleton. The windows were blown out, looking like hollow eyes.

She stood in front of the charred doorframe.

Run, Aine! Don't look back!

Her mother's voice echoed in her head. She could feel the heat on her skin, smell the acrid smoke of burning plastic. Her mother had pushed her out the window. She hadn't made it.

Aine reached out and touched the burnt wood. Ash coated her fingertips, black and greasy.

Her phone buzzed. A notification from the bank. The supplementary card Augustine gave her had been activated. The limit was higher than most people's annual salary.

Aine looked at the number. She felt nothing. No joy. No relief. Just calculation.

She turned away from the ruin and walked into a cramped internet café down the street. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Aine sat at a terminal in the back and logged into the dark web.

She typed a message to her Handler. Need a full identity package for The Onyx Room. High-end. Vocalist. Alias: Siren. Full anonymity required.

The reply came in seconds. Talley family is digging into the old birth records again. Watch your back.

Aine typed back: Let them dig. Dead people don't talk.

She left the café and headed to a thrift store two streets over. She didn't shop in the front. She went straight to the back room, down a flight of creaky stairs.

An old man sat behind a sewing machine. He didn't look up when Aine entered. He just pointed to a garment bag hanging on a pipe.

"Modified to your specs," he grunted.

Aine unzipped the bag. Inside was a vintage gown, reworked with silk and velvet. It was dark, mysterious, and looked like it cost a fortune. Alongside it was a custom-made Venetian mask, intricate silver filigree that would cover the top half of her face.

Aine went behind the changing screen. She stripped off the wrinkled dress from the morning and pulled on the gown. It fit like a second skin. She looked in the cracked mirror.

The girl from the Rust Belt was gone. The girl who slept in Augustine's bed was gone.

Aine practiced her smile. Not the cold smirk she gave Augustine. This one was softer. Fragile. Mysterious. The kind that made men want to save her.

Her phone buzzed again. It was Lazlo, the manager of The Onyx Room. Audition passed. You're on tonight. Big client requested fresh talent.

Aine knew who the client was. Julian Talley.

Across the city, in a glass office that touched the clouds, Mercer stood in front of Augustine's desk.

"She went to a ruin in the Bronx, sir. Then we lost her in a blind spot."

Augustine frowned, tapping a pen against the mahogany desk. "Did she use the card?"

"She bought high-end audio equipment and a vintage dress from a secondhand dealer. Also, a mask."

Augustine let out a scoff. "Of course. She wants to be a star. A gold digger with a microphone and a flair for the dramatic."

"Should we intercept?"

"No," Augustine said, standing up. "I want to see this train wreck personally. Prepare the car. We're going to The Onyx Room."

Backstage at the club, the air was thick with hairspray and nervous energy. Aine sat at the vanity, applying red lipstick.

She reached down to her thigh and adjusted the lace garter. Tucked inside, against her skin, was a micro-blade. Just in case.

"Five minutes!" the stage manager yelled. "Don't screw this up. Talley is in the VIP box."

Aine took a deep breath. Her heart rate slowed. Her eyes shifted.

She wasn't Aine anymore. She was Siren.

She stood up and walked toward the heavy velvet curtains. She could hear a laugh from the other side-a high, entitled laugh. Julian.

Aine clenched her fist, feeling the nails bite into her palm, then released it.

The lights flared. She stepped out.