Sweet Venom (10 page)

“Gretchen. And not far,” I fib. Nothing's far in San Francisco if you catch a bus. “We're in a lot of the same classes, so it will really help as the school year goes on.”

I'm a little surprised at how easily the lies fall out of my mouth.

“Okay,” she relents after a moment of hesitation. “Be home for dinner.”

“Mom,” I whine. “We won't have time to get anything done.”

She heaves a sarcastic sigh and drops her rag. “Fine, be home by ten. And call when you're on your way.”

“Thanks.”

I'm gone before she can change her mind. As I dart through the dining room, I throw a glance at the boys. Milo's dark head is bent over a book. Thane catches my eye and lifts his brows in question.

“Going to a friend's,” I explain quickly. “See you later.”

“Grace,” Thane says, and I spin back to face the table. “Be careful.”

His dark-gray eyes are guarded and intense.

“I—” For some reason, I can't just give him a glib reassurance that I'll be fine. “I will.”

He nods, apparently satisfied with my answer, and turns his attention back to his book. I grab my backpack to make it look good, even though I have no intention of studying with Gretchen, and hurry to the closest bus stop. I've been putting this off for three days, but now that the decision is made, I'm anxious to talk to her—just to
be
with her again, and to feel like I belong to something, even if she doesn't want me there.

I'm not sure which buses to take to get to her pier, but I'll ask the driver. They should know, right?

My heart starts pounding at the thought of seeing Gretchen again. I'm not big on confrontation, and I have a feeling she's not going to be too thrilled to see me again. But for once in my life, I'm going to stand up for something. For myself. I hope she doesn't slam the door in my face.

“It'll be fine,” I tell myself. “I mean, we're obviously sisters. She can't dismiss that. She can't shut me out forever.” A wave of doubts washes over me. “Right?”

I sense another person stepping up beside me at the bus stop, but I keep my eyes straight ahead. After only a few days in the city I've learned that making eye contact can be dangerous. When Thane and I went to the grocery store the day after moving in, we ran into a woman on the street who shouted at us and shot an imaginary pistol in my face. I was terrified. Thankfully, Thane grabbed my wrist and dragged me down the block.

Since then, I keep my eyes averted as much as possible.

“Which bus goes to the Presidio?” the person asks.

“Um, I'm not sure,” I say, unable to ignore a direct question. “I'm new in town and I haven't really—”

I freeze when look up at the person next to me and see that it's not a person at all, but a woman with the shiny head of a cobra. A pair of yellow beady eyes peer at me from opposite sides of the triangle-shaped head, and wide, scaly flaps spread out beneath each ear. Maybe if I'd played it cool she wouldn't have noticed, wouldn't have realized that I saw her true form. But I'm not cool and I can't stop the scream that bursts from my throat.

A sickly sly smile spreads across her dark-green lips. “Must be my lucky night.”

Before her forked tongue can slither out between her lips, I turn and run. I make it only a few steps before I feel her human hands clamp over my shoulders. Our momentum thrusts me face-first into the pavement, and her weight crushes against my back, knocking the wind out of me.

As soon as I recover my breath, I struggle to pull myself away, out from under her, my fingertips scraping raw on the rough concrete. There is nothing for me to grab, no traction to drag myself out of her grasp. Still, I reach, desperate to find purchase.

Her weight lifts, but before I can scramble away, she flips me onto my back and pins my arms and legs with her own.

A thin line of serpent drool dangles from her scale-covered chin.

“Ew!” I struggle to shake off her grip, but she's too strong for me.

The ridiculous thought floats through my mind that, if I survive the night, I should totally change one of my electives to Tae Kwon Do. Ms. West will be so happy. If I'm not dead.

Her snake head slowly lowers toward my face. “I've never tasted a huntress before.” The tongue darts out, flicking my nose. “You don't need to be whole to earn me my freedom.”

What?

As her fangs descend toward my neck, I squeeze my eyes shut against the sight of her yellow eyes. Bleak, empty eyes. Hungry eyes. I can't believe I'm going to die like this. Move to the big city and the fears are rapists and murderers and even doomsday cults, but death by giant-snake bite?

Mom is going to be very upset.

The weight suddenly lifts away.

“Ugh,” I grunt as I lift my free arms to my head.

“Grace?”

I blink my eyes open to find Gretchen standing over me, looking like I'm the burning bag of dog poo left on her porch Halloween night. Why would she look at me like that when she obviously just saved my butt from snake-head lady?

“Thank you, I—” But as I sit up and look around, I see that I'm not on the sidewalk around the corner from the bus stop. I'm on the metal steps above Gretchen's garage. Halfway across town, without a snake-headed lady in sight. “How did I—?”

Did I . . .
teleport
here?

That's ridiculous. It's not only physically impossible, it's also . . . well . . . I don't know,
impossible
! I must have hit my head too hard against the concrete. And then maybe a bus driver found me and—

Oh, who am I kidding? The only reasonable no-matter-how-crazy-it-sounds explanation is that I somehow beamed across town to Gretchen's loft.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, clearly unhappy to see me. “I thought I made it clear that you needed to stay in your safe little life.”

Now that makes me angry. Who is she to tell me what to do? She has no right to give me orders. And she doesn't know anything about my life.

My emotions are running a little high from my snake attack. I need to get this under control before I make Gretchen even angrier. We need to talk about this—about my popping to her doorstep and her seeing Milo at school—and we need to do it calmly and rationally so we can figure out what to do.

Deep breath, Grace.

Besides, my “little life” isn't exactly safe, is it?

“Tell me something, Gretchen,” I say climbing to my feet and holding out my hands so she can see my raw fingertips. “Have you ever teleported out of a fight?”

O
ne second I was about to become snake food,” Grace says, barely pausing for breath in her recounting of the day's events as she follows me back into the loft. “The next I was at your door, staring up at you and you scowling down at me. Has anything like that ever happened to you?”

“No.”

“Well, have you
heard
of anything like that?” she asks.

“No.”

“Think hard,” she says. “Maybe your mentor mentioned some—”

“No!” I close my eyes and take a breath. Taking my frustration out on Grace isn't fair. This isn't her fault. She didn't ask to be part of this world. I turn to face her. “At least, not that I can remember.”

“There must be
something
.” Her voice tightens like she might be on the verge of panic—or tears. “I mean, people don't just teleport across town. It defies the laws of physics.”

“I know, but—” Wait a minute. Teleporting . . . no,
autoporting
. “I do remember Ursula saying something about my powers. That they are gifts from Medusa and her sisters.”

Ursula showed me a book in the library once. I don't remember the exact title, but I know it was small and purple.

Grace follows me, saying, “Maybe that's it.” She hesitates before adding, “Guess this eliminates any doubts, huh? We're sisters.”

I can't tell if she's thrilled or bummed—or which I want her to be—so I focus on searching the shelves. I scan the books, looking for that familiar spine.

“Aha!” I grab the small purple book off the shelf.

Legends of the Gorgons
.

Flipping open the book, I scan the table of contents as Grace reads over my shoulder.

“There,” she exclaims, pointing to the chapter titled “Powers of the Gorgons.”

I shoot her a sideways glare—I am literate, you know—but she's too focused on the book to notice. After turning to the chapter, I step away to read out loud. The first few pages talk about the shared powers, those that all the Gorgon sisters possessed. Keen sense of smell, hypno-eyes, monster-biting fangs, and our deadly/healing blood. Grace's autoporting ability must be one of the unique powers, one that belonged to just one of the Gorgons.

“‘Each of the Gorgon sisters was gifted with an extraordinary power that aided in their defense against the monster realm. Medusa was the wisest and had the gift of second sight, the knowledge of things unknown and those to come, known as omnicognition.'”

“That's definitely not me,” Grace says with a laugh. “If I could see the future, I'd have helped my parents win the lottery a long time ago.”

I ignore the little stab of envy when she mentions her parents with such warm feeling. Phil and Barb never did anything to deserve even being called parents.

“Yeah, me neither,” I say, then continue reading. “‘Sthenno was possessed of corposuperiority, a great and unnatural strength, both physical and mental.'”

“You've got that one for sure,” Grace says with a grin. “I knew you were superstrong when you threw me over your shoulder like a bag of cotton candy.”

I feel a tiny burn of blush on my cheeks—partly because I feel bad for hauling her out of the club like that, and partly because I'm not used to compliments. She's probably right, though. I've never thought much about my strength, and I always figured it was training or mind over matter or something. But maybe it's a little more special than that.

I can't believe Ursula has never told me about this. Maybe I should have read the book when she showed it to me.

“Keep going,” Grace urges. “Mine has to be next.”

“‘Euryale was called
the far-roaming
,'” I read, “‘because of her incredible ability to travel distances, short and far, in the space of a moment. A power known as autoportation.'”

“That's it!” Grace squeals. “That must be what happened.” She bounces over and reads the page again. “Euryale,” she repeats. “Wow. Just wow.”

I look at this girl—my sister, my twin—who has no idea what she's in for. Things seem to be spiraling out of control exponentially. My world is changing so quickly and I'm just trying to hang on. The old rules are out the window, and I'm getting blindsided by new things every day. It's easy to forget that Grace is just trying to hang on too. Where in Hades is Ursula? Is it a coincidence that she disappeared right before monsters started breaking all the rules and this twin sister I never knew I had showed up in my life? No, I'm not that naïve. Somehow, all these out-of-the-ordinary events are connected. Only I don't know how. I feel like I'm missing a few essential pieces of the puzzle.

Meanwhile, Grace is excited to find herself part of an ancient legacy. She has no clue what membership will cost her in the long run. Her family, her friends, maybe even her life. How can I initiate her into this world? How can I take on that responsibility too?

I've done fine on my own for this long, and I'll keep on doing the same. I can save Grace from the lonely fate I've chosen. She can have the safe, normal life I gave up a long time ago.

“Listen, Grace,” I begin, “I really think you should—”

“No.”

She glares at me with hard determination in her silver eyes.

“What do you mean, no?” I ask. “You don't even know what I was going to say.”

“I bet I do,” she says, stepping forward and meeting me toe-to-toe. “You were going to send me home. Back to my
safe
life—which isn't so safe, in case you hadn't noticed.”

She's right.

She holds out her hands, palms first, as if I need the reminder of her brush with a basilisk hybrid. She nearly died—would have died if instinct hadn't engaged her autoporting power—and it's my fault. I thought if I sent her away from me, she would stay safe. As if I am the only reason monsters attack. I fight monsters on the verge of killing humans every day. Even if they didn't know that she's a descendant of Medusa, she'd still be in danger.

Keeping her away from me won't protect her.

“So if you think you can just play the martyr,” she continues, “and shoulder all this responsibility on your own”—she punctuates her words with a pointed finger at my chest—“then you're mistaken. I need to be part of this and—”

“You're right,” I admit.

She opens her mouth, as if she is ready to keep arguing, but then jerks back as she realizes I have just agreed with her. “I am?”

I nod. It was stupid to think that her life could be normal ever again. She needs training, skills, and knowledge to help her defend herself the next time she's attacked. I shudder at the thought, but I have to be practical. It's bound to happen again.

“Now that you're in San Francisco,” I explain, “there's no turning back. You see monsters, and that puts you in danger.”

She looks down at her shredded hands, in a kind of helpless gesture. Yes, this is what she wanted, but maybe she's realizing this is a life-changing moment. Good. She needs to have a healthy respect for the seriousness of the situation.

The wounds on her hands—a fresh reminder of just how dangerous beasties can be—still need to be treated. There may not be any monster venom in her bloodstream, but a little antibiotic ointment couldn't hurt.

I head for the first aid kit in the bathroom.

“Where are the monsters?” she asks, following me. “When they're not in our world, where do they live?”

“In another realm,” I explain—not that I fully understand the logistics. “Like a parallel underworld, a dark, cavernous abyss full of all the bad creatures ever born.” I flip on the water. “Here, rinse off your hands.”

“Have you been there?”

She slips her hands under the faucet. I'm impressed that she doesn't scream at what must be a burning sting all over her palms.

“No, but from how Ursula has described it,” I explain, “I picture a bleak, stinky cave, with nasty stuff dripping from the ceiling and nonstop beastie-on-beastie prizefighting.”

Grace snorts a little and I smile.

“How do they get out?” she asks.

“Ursula says the gods had to leave a crack.” I grab a tube of antibacterial ointment and twist off the cap. “A window barely big enough for one to get out at a time.”

Or, at least, it used to be barely that big. Now it's big enough to let out two or three or who knows how many. Another sign that something big is happening.

I hand her the tube.

“So they're in this parallel underworld, hanging out, until they can sneak through the crack.” Grace squeezes a glob of ointment onto her hand. “Why do they come out? Just because their parallel underworld is so bad?”

I take back the tube and replace the cap while she rubs the ointment over her raw wounds. They're looking better already. She probably shares my quick-healing ability, a definite plus for a huntress. I'm—we're—not immortal or anything, but our supernatural genes do wonders to speed up recovery time.

“Partly, I suppose.”

“And the other reason?” she asks, proving that she won't let me get by with half answers.

“To hunt humans,” I blurt, because there is no way to soften this blow. “They come out to feed on humans, on their life force. It gives the monsters a kind of high.”

I leave out the part where it also gives the monster control of the human. Grace is probably freaking out enough already about all this stuff.

“And the ones that escape . . . do you kill them?”

“I wish. Follow me.” I head to the kitchen and grab an apple out of a bowl on the counter. “From what I understand, there's some sort of magical protection so they can't be killed in our world. A little bonus rule that some god or goddess slipped into the ritual when Olympus sealed the realms apart.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.” We share a wry smile. “Ursula says no one knows who for sure, but everyone suspects Athena.”

“Makes sense,” Grace says. “Since she's the one who got Medusa killed in the first place, she probably didn't want our jobs made any easier.”

I shrug. “Anyway, the best I can do is send them back where they belong.”

“How?”

“With these.” I pull back my upper lip, revealing my teeth as my fangs pop down into place.

Grace's eyes widen. “Fangs?” She touches her own canine teeth, as if expecting fangs to suddenly burst through. “Are we, like, vampires?”

“Not even close,” I say, tossing the apple from hand to hand. “These babies don't suck, they inject.”

She looks concerned, like she doesn't believe my insistence that we're not bloodsuckers. I'm kind of surprised her fangs haven't made an appearance already. Especially during her run-in with the basilisk hybrid tonight. Maybe if her subconscious didn't know about the pair of weapons hiding in her mouth, they couldn't engage. Self-preservation instinct sent her magically to my door instead.

Obviously she needs training, to learn how to defend herself against the creatures that would love nothing more than to send their own nasty venom coursing through her veins. As much as I wish I could send her away, back to the world she's always known, that's not possible anymore. Monsters know about her and she knows about them. The floodgates are open, and there aren't enough buckets on the planet to get the water back behind the dam. I'm going to have to train her, for her own protection, and this might as well be lesson number one.

“Here, take this,” I say, handing her the apple. “And close your eyes.”

I think back to Ursula's earliest lessons. It's been four years since she found me and we started training, but I remember every session as if it were only yesterday. When you've spent a lifetime feeling like a worthless burden, you tend to pay attention to the person who gives you a destiny.

Grace closes her eyes.

“Now,” I say, circling around her as I speak, “think about the monster that attacked you at the bus stop. Picture every slimy, snaky detail.”

Her brow creases and her upper lip curls in disgust. Good girl.

“Imagine it has you pinned down. You're trapped.” I step close and whisper, “You're scared and helpless and angry.”

She starts shaking all over, and I have a feeling I'm getting it pretty close to what actually happened. I'm not trying to freak her out, but she has to learn to overcome the fear. I wouldn't be good at my job if I went out hunting terrified of what might happen.

To her credit, she doesn't open her eyes or beg me to stop.

“You think you're about to die,” I say, making my voice as low and hypnotic as possible. “Now”—I stop in front of Grace—“picture yourself flipping it over, so you're on top and it's trapped beneath you. You're in control.”

Her lips spread into a small smile. Two perfectly white fangs slide into place so smoothly, she doesn't notice.

“Now, pretend the apple is the beast's neck,” I command. “Bite!”

Without hesitation, she lifts the apple to her mouth and sinks her teeth into the shiny red skin. She sighs, and my own fangs tingle with envy. When the venom flows, there's a kind of sweet euphoria. I call it the huntress bliss, an amazing feeling that you want to experience again and again. It makes you want to hunt again and again. After four years, the novelty has kind of worn off, but sometimes it catches me by surprise. If I could bottle that feeling, I'd be a billionaire.

I cup my hand around hers and pull it and the apple away from her mouth. Her fangs recede as she opens her dreamy eyes, clearly confused about what has just happened.

“Did I—?”

She doesn't need to finish the question. I hold out the apple, showing her the twin fang holes oozing with the translucent purple liquid, the venom that holds the power to send monsters back to their realm, and the unequivocal proof that she's a huntress too.