Both Harper and Gemma knew the sirens were coming after her—it was just a matter of time. They spent a long time discussing possible ways to break the curse and doing what research they could think of, but when they came up with nothing new or substantial, they prepared themselves to fight the sirens.

Harper put earplugs in her dresser drawer so the siren song couldn’t enchant her, and she shoved a butcher knife under her pillow. She put a baseball bat under her bed, and they brought in the shovel from out back and put it in the front hall closet.

Their father had plenty of tools, like saws and even an ice pick, out in his work area in the garage. Harper considered bringing them in, but they felt too gruesome to fight with. She could still get to them if she needed to, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

In a way, all the prep work they’d done reminded Harper of Home Alone, like they were children setting up booby traps for burglars. Gemma went along with everything, but she seemed dubious.

The trouble was that neither of them knew what else to do. They hadn’t found a way to break the curse, so they were only left with fighting back. Harper would do whatever it took to protect herself and her family, and if she had to kill the sirens, she would.

Once the preparation was done, and Harper had stashed weapons everywhere she could think of without Brian finding them, an odd peace settled over her. She’d done everything she could. Now they had to wait.

Brian came home from work that night in an astonishingly good mood. His daughter was home safe and sound. Because of the holiday on Sunday, he had Monday off, giving him a three-day weekend. That seemed to set the tone for the whole night.

Harper was making spaghetti and meatballs for supper, and Gemma offered to help. Brian cracked a beer in the living room to watch TV and relax after work for a bit, leaving the girls in the kitchen to handle supper.

“Harper,” Gemma said, barely stifling a giggle as she held up a misshapen meatball for Harper to inspect. “What do you think of my balls?”

“You’re so immature.” Harper rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smirking at her sister.

They stood at the kitchen counter, making the meatballs. Harper seasoned the raw hamburger, and they rolled it into balls. She’d done it a hundred times before, sometimes with Gemma’s help, but this was the first time that Gemma had been unable to stop giggling.

“Oh, come on, Harper,” Gemma said, refusing to be deterred. “It’s funny. Admit it’s funny.”

“It’s really not.” Harper laughed, but only because Gemma’s laughter was contagious. She shook her head and motioned to the meatball Gemma was making. “That one’s lumpy.”