(NOTE: This story is a stand alone short story not connected to any of my longer works. It was inspired by the Reedsy writing prompt: Center your story around an artist whose creations have enchanted qualities. I did not enter the contest, but the prompt did inspire this story. Enjoy and feel free to share your thoughts.)
“Elodie Pfeiffer,” Sam, the student working backstage organizing the people auditioning, called my name.
I sucked in a slow breath. My hands holding my sheets of music shook. I didn’t need the pages. My magic had scribbled the piece across my memory in permanent ink. I took another breath to steady my nerves and stepped on the stage from the wings. I had to control my siren magic, and this audition would guarantee me a place in the Bell School of Music.
As a siren, I had a natural ability with music. And just like the mythology around siren music having an enchanting quality, I was cursed with this fact. Unlike mythology, siren musical power wasn’t about dragging some unsuspecting human off in a trance-like state into the depths of the oceans. The actions of rogue sirens gave rise to the stories.
I’d worked hard with people in the magical community to control the enchanting quality of my musical abilities without the support of my family. Many sirens lived productive lives and maintained their ability to enchant people. Even though my family disagreed with living among humans, I was determined to be one.
I’d attended a human concert once, and the swell of music accompanied by the vocal ranges of human singers captured me. That sparked my desire to study music from humans, much to my family’s chagrin.
When I’d first told them I wanted to attend a human institution, they didn’t understand my decision.
“Why can’t you attend Siren Academy for Music?” That was my mom.
In all fairness, she mostly wanted me to stay close to home for my studies. Some people in the magical community felt magic wielders and non-magic wielders shouldn’t live or work together. This prejudice had kept us separate for centuries.
Times had changed in the last few decades as humans became aware of the existence of magic wielders. We were no longer myth and fantasy; we co-existed.
“What can you learn about music from humans when you’re a siren? They should learn from you.” My dad had voiced these words. His opinions were pretty staunch and buried in an elitist foundation.
I could understand where he came from even though I disagreed. Most sirens believed we understood music better because our magic worked symbiotically with music. However, in my experience with human music, I found a variety and quality that siren music lacked. Our songs were monotonous melodies primarily used for enchantments.
Siren music was great if you wanted a protective ward or to defend against an attack. The enchantments also worked to animate paintings or bring stories to life. And this is where my magic sometimes got out of hand.
I kept my breathing slow and steady as I stepped across the stage to the piano. It wasn’t a long walk, perhaps fifteen steps, but it felt like a thousand.
The room was quiet. Three judges were seated in the middle of the auditorium.
I was excited for my first performance in a room humans had created for music. I’d learned that the padding on the walls, the soft seats, and the thick carpet helped absorb the reverberation and loud sounds. These features created a pure musical experience for the listener.
At the center of the stage, I paused in front of a microphone. One judge was shuffling his papers. A second was writing notes on one of her pages. The judge in the middle held the wireframe of his glasses with his fingers and nibbled on the end of one of the arms as he studied me. His gaze didn’t make me nervous, but I fidgeted, already sensing my magic smoldering under my skin. I was about to play the piano and sing, and the magic expected to be a part of the audition.
“State your name and your performance for the recording,” Judge Number Two requested without looking up from her fastidious writing of notes.
“I’m Elodie Pfeiffer. I will play Over the Rainbow on the piano and accompany it with my vocals.”
“You will be performing in two categories?” Judge Number Two stopped writing and glanced at me over the rims of her glasses.
“Yes.”
“And what is your vocal range?” Judge Number Three, who hadn’t stopped watching me, asked.
“All.”
“All?” His brow bunched up. He leaned forward, but the end tip of his glasses remained in his mouth.
“Yes, Sir.”
There was a pause. The judges turned to each other and whispered.
“I’m… I’m a siren.” I knew I didn’t need to divulge that information. I also knew my honesty might go against my audition. Humans didn’t have the vocal ranges sirens had. If they judged me as a human, my vocal ability would be unique. As a siren, it was normal.
The judges stopped whispering and looked at me with curiosity.
“A siren?” The first judge asked.
“Yes, sir. I have worked hard to control my magic. You will hear my musical ability and nothing more.” At least, I hoped my magic wouldn’t push through. I could feel it swarming under my skin like fire ants. I resisted scratching my arms.
I breathed deeply and closed my eyes for a moment to help ground myself and settle my magic.
The judges whispered again. They all nodded, coming to a consensus. Judge Number Three pointed at me with his glasses. “The stage is yours.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped back from the microphone and sat at the piano. I placed my sheet music on the music desk and rested my fingers over the keys. My right foot was ready to press the pedal.
The first chord of the musical introduction rang through the auditorium. Instantly, the music transported me. My magic instantly responded, and I gave the notes extra focus to keep my mind from wandering. If my mind took a stroll with the beauty of the music and my magic squeezed past my control, images inspired by the lyrics would fill this place and enchant the judges. They’d forget all about me and be left dazed and enthralled. That would be a sheer disaster.
My voice joined the rich melody, igniting the magic under my skin. The song was only a few minutes long. I could do this. I would make it through this audition without releasing siren magic.
I sang the first stanza. The words—depicting a place only told of in children’s songs—were personal. I’d dreamed of the human realm all my life, and here I was on the cusp of living that dream. My magic stirred, and an image of me sitting on a rock near my childhood home interrupted my focus. I tamped the stray picture down before it became a part of the auditorium.
I made it through the first stanza. My brow had the sticky, damp feel of sweat. It was from the exertion of holding back my magic. I couldn’t wipe the moisture away as my fingers danced across the keys. My body swayed with the music, and my focus was on giving the most perfect non-magical performance.
The second stanza spoke of dreams, the things we hope to come true. Another image punctured my thoughts, and I smiled. It was the day I’d received the invitation to this audition. My magic burst and nearly escaped, but I’d spent months practicing control for this moment. I yanked the magic back and tightened my hold on it. I had to get through this song.
I managed the third stanza without interference. My voice swelled. The mixture of the rich piano notes and my voice soared in purity. Then I began to sing of the bluebirds who made it over the rainbow, and I saw myself flying as one of those small but majestic creatures. The words and music captivated me, and I didn’t notice the moment my magic found a crack in my control and slipped past.
I came to the song’s last note and let it hang in the air. As the moment faded, I was suddenly aware of the escaped magic. I glanced at the judges. Judge Number One and Judge Number Two were writing notes. Judge Number Three was leaning back in his seat. I couldn’t tell due to the distance, but it looked like his eyes were closed as he savored the final remnants.
Their process of evaluating my performance gave me a moment to glance around the room, and I saw no visual trace of my magic. I inhaled with relief. Maybe I had better control than I’d initially thought.
And then I heard it—a very faint flutter of wings. I glanced up, and the beautiful blue bird I had imagined was staring down at me from the rafters.
I breathed easily. I hadn’t kept a cap on my magic. It had found a way out, but seeing that bird encouraged me. That bird was a part of me. That bird in the song beat the rainbow and found the place of dreams. I’d done it. I’d have to wait for the audition results for at least a week, but I’d made it this far with a touch of magic. I had a feeling that even if I didn’t make it into Bell School of Music, I’d make it in the human world with my music. I’d made it over the rainbow. My dream was beginning.
K. M. Wray 