The Sirens Are Singing

By Kedrick Rue

Malefic giants, baleful specters, hideous were-jaguars. A parade of vile abominations. Ho-hum. As guardian at the gate to the Realms, Charles has seen it all. He would rather spend his pre-dawn hours chatting with Lindsay, the waitress at a run-down diner--a place where words like "vile" are reserved for the soup and "abomination" for the meat loaf. But his growing feelings for Lindsay are making it hard to resist certain long-suppressed urges. Vampiric urges. When a creature abandons a crate full of hungry baby wombats at the entrance to the Realms, Charles finds a twinge of his long-suppressed humanity and takes them home to raise as his own.

First mistake.

Maybe love is the real monster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kedrick Rue
• Release date: Dec 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311511386

Kedrick Rue

Kedrick Rue was named after the street where he was born. Most of his work has been published surreptitiously in very small editions. The books in the Twin Series Cities are the first available to a wider public at large.If you enjoy attempts at humor, the books of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, and wombats, chances are you'll enjoy this.

Book preview

Chapter One

I can’t say it’s boring. Just the other day I watched a charred duende stumble through with a wooden crate, muttering about Hell-Hounds before dying right there in front of me. Don’t ask what happened to the wooden crate and its contents. The Hell-Hounds were nowhere to be seen, but the duende literally turned to ash before my eyes.

So far today I’ve seen a man-eating chicken, a were-jaguar, and a bhuta spirit with a spectral hangman’s noose around its neck, followed by an animated parasol hopping along behind it like a faithful retriever. And it’s only two hours into my shift. Of course the shifts themselves can stretch out for what seems to be an eternity, depending on the way the Realms is bending time, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Sometimes I think I’ve got a handle on the way the light bends in the corners of the sky—the faint glimmers which mark the separation between the Realms and the Mundane World, but then if I blink too fast it seems to inch closer, or farther away. The Realms is a living entity, but not one you can know or understand. Sometimes I think it’s benign; sometimes I think it’s angry; sometimes I think it’s just as aimless and in thrall to cosmic forces as the clouds of ice dust in the far-flung reaches of outer space. Most of the time I just hang out in the branches of the willow tree. As guardian of the gate, there’s usually not much more to do. If a creature passing through the gate has language, I might say hello. If the creature passing through the gate is a man-eating chicken spirit, I stay up in the branches.

A form shimmers at the border: Meridiana, and her friend Djuro, a Psoglav with a dog’s head and teeth of iron. He is the ugliest thing on two legs. Real bad news. Meridiana is a succubus with a sleek black bob and quite the opposite. Stacked. What is that line about Marilyn Monroe? About Jell-O on springs?

Charles, love, she says. "You look so hungry."

As she approaches I make an effort not to stare into her cleavage, which is mountainous. And I have the perfect vantage point from the branches of the willow. I skipped breakfast.

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. That wasn’t what I meant.

I know what you meant, Meridiana. You’re a big tickle.

She turns to her escort. Have you met Djuro?

I’ve met everyone, I say, nodding at Djuro.

She frowns, her soft lips puckering petulantly. He’s missing a package, she says. A delivery. You wouldn’t happen to have seen a package coming through?

I don’t deliver the mail.

No, of course not. But don’t most of the packages come through this way? This was a package from the mundane world. It flew a long way, on one of their abominable airplanes.

I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about, I say.

Meridiana leans close to the tree, her cleavage pushing up against the trunk. Oh, sure you would, she says. You would have heard them. They make the cutest little noises.

I glance over at Djuro, but he only scratches at one dog’s ear with his human hand. He’s too stupid to sense my worry. Meridiana catches the glance, though. It’s the kind of problem I might have to report to the Raven, she says. They’re very expensive to import. All the way from Australia, on one of those mundane airplanes. At least I think that’s where they come from. Is that where they come from, Djuro? She scratches his chin and he grunts agreement.

How did you get them through the barrier?

"Well, they’re for the vamps, of course. Eveyone knows that the vamps