Sweet Venom (17 page)

I have no idea where the hot spot on this creature is—I'm not even sure what the creature is called—but since I'm not interested in my first taste of monster, I'm hoping a single bite in the torso will do the trick. Since it's a human torso, I'm going for close to the neck.

She's not thrilled to have me as a passenger, that's obvious, and as soon as I wrap my arms and legs around her, she starts thrashing around, trying to dislodge me. I squeeze tight and ride it out, hoping for an opportunity to bite her without knocking my teeth out in the process.

The world around me spins, everything a blur. I hear a big splash.

Oh no, what if she takes us into the Bay? She might be able to breathe underwater, but Greer and I would drown. I have to take a chance and get my fangs into her flesh fast.

Without further hesitation, I pull myself up a few inches, close my eyes, and bite. Thankfully, I feel my fangs pop out as my lips brush her flesh. I can only hope my venom is making its way into her bloodstream.

After a few more moments of holding on for dear life—only now accompanied by the eardrum-bursting screams of a monster in agony—suddenly my arms are wrapped around thin air. I fall several feet to the weathered boards of the pier, landing with a thud. My breath whooshes out of me. It takes a few seconds of painful effort to get my lungs working again.

“Holy goalie,” I gasp, rolling onto my back and staring up at the overcast sky. “We did it.”

When Greer doesn't respond, I call her name. Nothing. I sit up and look around, afraid something awful has happened to her. But then . . .

I stifle a giggle.

“Uh . . .”

Well, she's not dead. That's something.

“Guess I know what that splash was, huh?”

“Apparently.”

Greer is standing about ten feet away, right at the edge of the pier, completely drenched. Her beautiful hair is hanging down in limp, dripping clumps. The gorgeous sequined tank and gray skirt have a slightly brownish tint. One of her shoes is missing.

“Oh Greer,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “I'm so—”

“Don't.” Her eyes squeeze shut. She looks like she's doing deep-breathing meditation or something.

“Can I help?” I offer. Slinging my backpack to one shoulder, I unzip the main compartment. “I have my gym clothes in here. They're not exactly clean, but they're dry.”

“This is
all your fault
.”

I jerk back, confused. “What? How? How is this my fault?”

“You were following me,” she accuses.

“Well, um . . . . kinda.”

“Well, um,” she says mockingly. “Then that creature must have climbed out of the Bay to find
you
.”

“It didn't,” I insist, even though I can't really be sure of that. From everything Gretchen has said, I think that's unlikely, but even she admits that things are changing right now.

“If you hadn't shown up on my doorstep today,” she continues, “I would still be upstairs, enjoying exquisite shrimp scampi with Kyle and deciding whether he's earned a goodnight kiss. I would still be blissfully ignorant, and monster sighting would just be an embarrassing childhood memory.”

“I'm sorry.” I don't know what else to say.

“Instead, I'm drenched in stinky, fishy Bay water.” She looks like she wants to throw up but has too much class to do it. “I'm seeing mythological monsters again. I've lost a two-hundred-dollar shoe to the murky depths, and my favorite date outfit is completely ruined.”

I feel awful. Especially since my only side effects from the fight are a bad taste in my mouth and getting the wind knocked out of me for a few seconds.

“Maybe, if you take it to a dry cleaner . . .” I suggest.

She spears me with an annoyed look. A clump of seaweed drops off her head and onto her bare foot.

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” she says with a finality in her tone that worries me, “I need to go figure out how to retrieve my purse without my boyfriend—or anyone more than absolutely necessary, for that matter—seeing me in this state.”

“But Greer—”

“Good.” She turns on her one shoe and stomps lopsidedly away. “Bye.”

With sloshy up-and-down steps, she disappears around the corner. Okay, so she's not thrilled. And I feel bad for her getting dunked in the Bay, I really do.

But I can't help but be excited. She saw the snake-lady
and
left her dinner to do something about it. She's not completely immune to our responsibility.

Together, we defeated the monster. It's my first battle victory, and although I know there are tons more where snake-lady came from, I feel like I can take them all on.

Gretchen is going to be so proud of me. Of both of us.

Pulling my phone out of my backpack, I'm about to punch the speed dial for Gretchen's ultraprivate phone number when I sense a presence. I look up, don't see anyone around, and am about to dismiss the weird feeling when a woman appears right in front of me.

I mean
right in front of me
.

“Gretchen?” she asks, a faint scowl on her sophisticated gray brow.

She's tall and elegant, like a graceful ballerina. Her clothes—softly flowing pants and a long, draped top made of a kind of stretchy, purple-gray fabric—ripple around her in waves.

I shake my head, uncertain what to say or what is going on.

“Silly me,” she says with a gentle laugh. “You must be Grace. My sister told me about you. The resemblance is remarkable.”

She reaches out her hand, like she wants to touch my cheek, but pulls back at the last moment.

“There isn't time for that.” She kind of flickers, like a holographic image. “Do you know who I am?”

I didn't. But as soon as she asks the question, the pieces fall into place.

“You're Ursula, aren't you?” I ask, even though I already feel the truth of the guess. “Gretchen's mentor.”

“I am.” She grins. “Good, that means you and Gretchen have found each other.”

“We've found Greer too.”

Her elegant brows arch up, surprised. “That is an un-expected delight.”

“She doesn't want anything to do with us,” I feel compelled to confess.

“Give it time,” she says.

As if startled by some noise behind her, she looks over her shoulder. Now she seems frightened.

“Listen carefully.” She fixes her gaze on me. “You must take a message to Gretchen for me. Tell her I have been taken prisoner. I—”

“Oh no,” I gasp. “Are you all right?”

“Yes dear, I'm fine.” She smiles sadly. “Well, fine enough.”

“But—” None of this makes sense. “If you're being held prisoner, then . . .”

“How am I here?”

I nod, but the answer is already forming in my mind.

“I think you can guess,” she says. “We are connected by power.”

“You're—” Is this even possible? “You're . . . Euryale.”

“Smart girl.”

This can't be. Euryale was a Gorgon who lived thousands of years ago. How can I be standing here talking to her? Of course, I know the answer to this too. She is immortal.

“I wish we had time to discuss this,” she says. “But I'm afraid things are quite urgent.”

Right. Focus on the immediate problem, Grace. “Where are you being held?” I ask, wanting to help in any way I can. “We can come get you or—”

“I'm afraid that is impossible.” She looks over her shoulder again. When she turns back this time, there is more urgency in her voice. “This is a very dangerous time. Now that you girls are reunited, things are only going to get worse.”

“Because we're the Key Generation?”

Her eyes widen, but she recovers quickly. “Yes, in part. Your reunion with your sisters is no accident. It is pre-destined. My sister and I have been waiting for this time. It saddens me that I cannot be there to guide you through it.”

There is such longing in her eyes and her tone that I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.

“Do not fret, Grace. I am unharmed.” She gives me a forced smile. “But you must find my sister. I do not know what name she uses—we have kept our communication at a minimum out of necessity. I do know that she is here, in San Francisco.”

“How are we supposed to find her?” I ask desperately. “There are so many people—”

Ursula jerks back, as if pulled by an invisible hand.

“Tell Gretchen I miss her terribly.”

“No,” I shout at her retreating form.

“You must find Sthenno!”

In a flash, she's gone.

I'm alone on the deserted end of the pier, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can't fully process what has just happened. Gretchen's mentor is really the immortal Gorgon Euryale, and she's been captured. She knows about me and Greer. She knows we're in danger and that we're the Key Generation. She wants us to find her sister, the other immortal Gorgon, Sthenno, but doesn't know who or where she is.

I can't make it add up in my brain.

I do the only thing that makes sense. I call Gretchen.

A
fter spending the last four years risking my life to hunt down freaky monsters and their hybrid offspring, I don't have much tolerance for elitist snobs who care more about the state of their closet than the state of the world around them. Gee, I'm proud to have a sister who's one of them.

I shift Moira into the next gear and floor the accelerator.

If anything, I feel bad for Grace. She's so much more optimistic than I am, so much more hopeful and willing to believe the best in people. She's going to get burned by that eventually. Too bad I can't help her learn that lesson without making her heart break in the process.

And I hope Greer isn't the one who does it.

“Frigid, snooty heifer.”

Cutting the wheel sharp to the right, I squeal onto the Embarcadero, heading south.

As if her freakin' tea is more important than her sisters. More important than her legacy.

I could cut her some slack, give her a little leniency for the giant, out-of-the blue whammy we plopped on her front stoop today. But I can't get the image of her out of my head, in diamonds and cashmere, looking down her upturned nose at the pair of urchins who dared to ring her doorbell. As if she's untouchable royalty who can't afford to waste a single second on anyone below her on the social ladder.

No thank you. I'm better off without her. So is Grace—not that she realizes that.

Still, I can't suppress a very reluctant grin at the thought that Grace and I are triplets. It makes so much sense, what with there originally being three Gorgon sisters. Our ancient ancestors liked cycles and repetition. If I'd thought about it for more than a second, I might have guessed. Grace figured it out in less than a week.

She's a smart girl. I just hope she smartens up about Greer.

I'm just about to make the turn onto Bryant, heading for the loop onto the Bay Bridge, when I catch a glimpse of something small and furry in the shadows of the bridge above.

With lightning-fast reflexes, I slam on the brakes and pull a sharp U-turn. The beastie looks up, its orange eyes widen, and it starts to run. Unfortunately—for it—it heads in the wrong direction. I maneuver Moira to pen the cercopis, a small monkey-shaped monster, against the dirty brick wall fencing in one side of the empty lot.

When it starts to run back the other way, I swing open my door to block its path.

“Going somewhere?” I ask as I jump out and grab the creature by the shoulders and haul it out into the open.

“No, no, no,” it cries, shaking its furry head violently. “Going nowhere.”

Not anymore.

“Don't send me back,” it pleads.

“Back?” I smile sweetly. “Back where?”

“You know where,” it says. “Huntress always send back.”

“That's the general job description,” I agree. “Send bad beasties home.”

It must be a sign of my frustration that I'm taunting the monkey. Usually I just get my bite in and go home. But for some reason, I feel like playing with my prey a little.

And besides, I could use some answers about this supposed bounty on our heads. Maybe the monkey knows something useful.

“Not bad.” It shakes its head again. “Not all bad beasties.”

“What do you mean? I send home every bad beastie I can find.” I'm definitely not counting the hybrids that got away recently. Before that my track record was pretty perfect.

“No, not all beasties
are
bad,” it says carefully.

I laugh.

It takes advantage of my distraction to wriggle out of my grip, crawling up my arm and heading for my shoulder. Before it can reach my neck, I squat and then jump, flinging myself back in a somersault over the monkey and knocking it to the ground as I land. I press my right foot to its furry little chest, securing it against the crumbling blacktop.

“And I thought we were getting along so well.”

“Why you toy?” It lifts up a foot, presenting it for my biting pleasure, I guess. “Do already.”

“Not so fast.” I shake my head, surprised that the creature isn't fighting back. “I have some questions first. Tell me about the bounty.”

“Bounty?” it echoes. “What bounty?”

“Nice try.” I press down on its chest. “Talk.”

“Ow, okay,” it says. “Sillus hear about bounty.”

I release the pressure from my foot slightly. From the broken speech, I'm going to assume that
it
is Sillus.

“Word say, big honcho on Olympus want huntress. Any huntress. Any way, live or no live.”

“What big honcho?” I think back to Ursula's hushed conversation I overheard a few months ago. “Zeus?”

“Maybe.” It pushes against my boot with tiny monkey hands. “May not be. Sillus no go home for many months. No hear firsthand.”

Many months? “Do you mean you've been here, in San Francisco, for—”

The blaring ring of my phone interrupts my thought. The monkey is instantly forgotten, because I'm hoping it's Ursula.

My cell number is unlisted—not even the school has it—so if things ever get hairy and we need to slip away, I won't need to get a new number. It's been nearly two weeks since I've heard from Ursula. I'm a little disappointed when I answer and Grace is on the other end. I forgot I gave her the number just in case she's ever in danger.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “Not really.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “What happened? Are you hurt?” I swallow hard. “Is Greer—”

“We're fine.”

I exhale a huge sigh. I'm not used to having people to worry about, but apparently my sisterly instinct is strong enough to make me panic at the thought of them in trouble. I shouldn't give a centaur's backside what happens to the ice queen, but I do.

Sillus starts to wriggle under my boot, as if I'm so distracted it could just sneak away. I press down harder and wag a finger at the naughty monkey.

Grace says, “We were fighting a monster and—”

My muscles tense up again. “What kind?”

“I don't know,” she says. “Some kind of serpent-tailed lady who came out of the Bay, but—”

“A sea dracaena?” I squeeze my eyes shut. “You fought one of Scylla's spawn alone?”

“I guess.”

“Idiot.” A sea dracaena. Of all things. “Grace, they're among the most dangerous creatures out there. She didn't scratch you, did she?”

“No,” she says, sounding a little exasperated. “But Gretchen—”

“You're lucky.” I don't care if she thinks I'm being overprotective. This is serious. “One scratch is all it takes. There's no antivenom for—”

“I saw Ursula!”

I nearly drop my phone. “What?”

“After the fight,” Grace explains. “I was about to call and tell you what happened when she appeared right in front of me. Out of nowhere.”

“What do you mean?” I shake my head. “Out of nowhere?”

“She materialized,” she says. “Gretchen, she autoported.”

Autoported? That must mean— “She has your same gift. She has Euryale's power.”

A part of me aches at the realization that Ursula has kept this secret from me for so long. How did I not know this? How did I not figure out that she was a descendant just like me? She sees the monsters, used to fight them. I should have guessed. I feel so dumb.

Sillus struggles again. I'm too stunned to deal with it right now.

“Hold on,” I tell Grace.

Reaching down, I grab the little monkey by the scruff of the neck.

“Please,” it begs. “Don't send me—” When it sees my fangs drop, it sighs. Lifting up its foot, it says, “Fine. Make quick.”

I almost feel sorry for the little monster. With my quick bite to the sole of its foot, it's gone.

“Okay, Grace,” I say, my attention back on the call, “so Ursula is a descendant too. What else did she—”

“Gretchen,” Grace says, like she's bracing me for something, “Ursula is
Euryale
.”

For a second I think I'm going to collapse to the ground. All the air whooshes out of my lungs. I sink to my knees, sitting back on my heels.

“She's—what?”

“There's more,” Grace says.

How much more could there be? Not only is my longtime mentor secretly my relative, she's one of my immortal ancestors.

“Wait, why did she come to you?” I ask. “Why didn't she visit me?”

“I'm not sure,” Grace says. “At first she called me Gretchen, so she must have been trying to reach you. But I think her situation probably made things more difficult.”

“What situation?” I'm so not used to being the one asking questions of Grace. I'm usually the one with all the answers.

“Gretchen, she's been taken prisoner.”

I lurch to my feet. “What? Where?” In three quick strides, I'm pulling open Moira's door and sinking into the driver's seat. As I turn the key in the ignition, I say, “I'll pick you up so we can go get her.”

“We can't,” Grace says. “She says we can't come get her, but she's safe.”

There is a hesitation in her voice. “She said she was safe?”

“Yes.”

“But you don't believe her.”

“No, I—” Grace takes a breath. “I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. She's trying to protect us, I know. She knew about me and Greer and that we're all in danger right now.”

That doesn't surprise me. Those are probably some of the answers she kept promising to tell me. I lean back against the headrest.

“What does she want us to do?” I ask, knowing Ursula wouldn't go to these measures just to not tell me where she is.

“She wants us to find her sister,” Grace says. “She says we need to find Sthenno.”

Her sister. I already know that from her cryptic note. “How?”

“She didn't know.” Grace makes a frustrated sound. “They have been out of communication, trying to keep us safe. She only knows that Sthenno is in San Francisco and that she knows me. She told Ursula about me.”

“Do you have any idea who she means?”

“No clue.”

I squeeze the phone. “Then how are we supposed to find her?”

“I honestly don't know.”

This is a lot to take in. I'm usually pretty steady on my feet, but all this news has me a little shaken.

“And Gretchen,” she says, her voice taking on a sympathetic tone. “She wanted me to tell you she misses you. Terribly.”

I can't remember the last time I cried. Maybe the time Phil turned his violent anger against Barb and I pleaded with her to leave him. Maybe the night I ran away and found myself alone and scared in that empty warehouse. Maybe my first night in the loft, when I realized I would never be alone and scared again. But there is no mistaking the sting of salty tears in my eyes.

I quickly wipe them away.

“Thanks, Grace,” I say, trying to sound fine. “I appreciate it.”

What I can't tell her is that I'm relieved to have her on my side. Even if I am scared at the moment, terrified for Ursula and whatever is going on, I know I don't have to go through it alone.

“No problem,” she says. “Do you need me to come over?”

“Nah,” I say, not wanting her to think I'm as concerned as I am. “I'm out. I'm fine anyway.”

“Okay.” She doesn't sound convinced, but she lets it go. “I should probably get home.”

“Be careful,” I say, meaning it more than ever.

“Yes, boss.”

My finger is shaking as I click off the call.

Why is everything going so wrong so quickly? Two weeks ago, I was totally certain. Ursula was here, I was a runaway with no family, and I hunted monsters—one at a time after dark—to protect the human world from real creatures straight out of Greek mythology. Now Ursula's imprisoned, I have two sisters and two great-many-times-over-aunts, and the rules I used to know and love have gone to Hades.

And there's nothing I can do about any of it.

I give Moira's floorboard a solid kick, like that's going to solve anything. Exhausted—from the fights and the news and everything just adding up—I'm headed home, pulling out into traffic, when my phone rings again.

“Yeah, Grace,” I say, thinking she must have forgotten to tell me something.

“Sorry,” the male voice at the other end of the phone says. “Not Grace.”

If it's not Grace, then who could have this number? “Who the hell is this?”

“It's Nick,” he says with a laugh. “Glad to know your manners are just as endearing on the phone as they are in person.”

I want to scream. I
do
scream.
“Aaargh!”

Why won't he leave me alone? I've given him every possible stop sign I can without breaking any bones or major laws. So why does he keep trying?

I should hang up. I should block his number and change schools, but curiosity gets the best of me.

“How did you get this number?” I snap.

“I have my ways.”

I can hear his cocky grin through the phone. Trust me, if I could reach through the airwaves and strangle him, I'd do it. Twenty to life would be worth it right now.

I should have let the skorpios hybrid get him.

“How?” I repeat. “It's unlisted.”

“Nothing is
that
unlisted.”

“My cell number is.” I clench my hand around the steering wheel as I cut over to Market. “No one has this number.”

“Someone must,” he argues. “Otherwise you wouldn't have it.”

“Where did you get my number?” I shout.

Normally I have a lot better hold on my emotions, but it's been a rough few days. Plus, this boy has an unparalleled knack for pushing all my buttons in the wrong order. For a moment, I consider flinging my phone out the window. The only thing that stops me is that if Grace is in trouble or if—scratch that—
when
Ursula gets free, they'd have no way to reach me. I consider throwing my
self
out the window. Or maybe driving into the Bay. An icy-cold dunk might be exactly what I need right now.