Sweet Venom (22 page)

G
ood riddance to would-be sisters,
I think as I unbuckle the ankle straps on my new shoes. I had a voice mail from Kelly Anne letting me know she charged my account and that I can come by anytime to pick up my espadrilles. These really are the most comfortable heels ever. I skipped the bus home from the sushi bar, opting to walk off my frustration instead. Between getting myself to Gretchen's loft and back home, I must have walked three miles in them, and my feet feel as fresh as ever.

I'm glad to be done with those freak girls. I don't want sisters, I don't need sisters. And I definitely don't need to hunt monsters for the rest of my life.

“As if I have time for that.”

How ridiculously depressing to look forward to that never-ending future. I really feel sorry for them.

Opening my closet, I slide the new strappy sandals into the spot vacated by my Bay-sunk Jimmy Choos.

I smile wryly at the memory of my unexpected swim in the Bay. If I'm being truly honest with myself—and I try very hard to be—I have to admit it was a bit of a thrill. Holding on to that serpent tail for dear life, I felt . . . invincible. Like I could take on any mythological creature that gets thrown my way.

Most of my life is barely a challenge. Having to actually fight for something felt, well, it made me feel like I'd actually accomplished something. I'd never felt that way before.

I've replayed the battle in my head a hundred times, and every time I change the course of events a little bit. Sometimes Grace is the one getting splashed into the Bay. Sometimes I'm the one who bites the creature in the neck. Every time we're victorious.

And every time I'm energized by our success.

This time, in the mental replay, the fight concludes with a group hug shared by me and my sisters.

“My sisters,” I whisper.

I picture Gretchen, looking all gruff and tough in her leather and cargos. She's had a tough life, I can tell, and I don't even know anything about her. Maybe I misjudged her at first. When they first showed up here, I had no idea what kind of craziness she has to face on a daily basis. She's basically giving up a chance at a normal life to keep the unsuspecting populace safe from monsters they can't even see.

I can't help but admire that kind of sacrifice.

And then there's Grace. Cute, sweet, good-girl Grace. She's the girl-next-door type, the kind who gets to be friends with cute boys and is always a teacher's favorite. She might not be the most bold or confident or aggressive type, but she's just as willing as Gretchen to dive headlong into this world of monster hunting. I'm sure she's scared, but she doesn't show it. Much.

And they're my
sisters
. My identical flesh and blood. I've never had anyone but Mother and Dad, and, to be honest, they are barely around enough to feel like family. What would it be like to have Gretchen and Grace in my life? To feel like I truly belong, without having to be the best or the prettiest or the smartest girl in the room to win their approval? We share a genetic code and a mythological legacy. I belong just . . . because.

A tight feeling fills my chest, and my stomach sinks. As much as I try to keep emotion out of my life, I'm not completely immune. I know what this feeling means.

“Sugar,” I mutter.

I thought I could just walk away, but my heart has other ideas. My heart knows that I belong side by side with my sisters. I have a duty, a responsibility I can't deny. Although I'd like to think my walking away from that table, following Gretchen out the door and leaving Grace sitting alone, is the end of the story, I know my conscience won't let that happen.

I've always planned to become a successful professional, blaze a trail into government office, and have the kind of life everyone dreams of. But this other thing, with my sisters and my legacy, it's bigger than a plan.

Clearly the pair of them could use a leader, someone to keep them from doing imprudent things, like showing up on someone's doorstep and blurting out that they're mythological monster hunters.

And my second sight, that power to just . . . know things, well I must have that for a reason. Maybe it has something to do with the Key Generation thing Grace mentioned. Maybe they need me and my power to make it work.

Helping them is the right thing to do. And I always do the right thing.

I repeat, “Sugar.”

I hate groveling.

The doorbell rings. I take a deep breath.

That'll be Kyle. Time to make up for bailing on him at the Wharf the other night. I'll figure out how to apologize to my sisters tomorrow. Just because I'm choosing to embrace my destiny doesn't mean I'm abandoning the rest of my life. The two will just have to coexist.

I bound down the stairs, thankful that it's Natasha's night off. My parents are at a cancer research fundraiser. The house is empty, and I want to greet Kyle with a welcome that shows him precisely how sorry I am about the other night. He'll definitely be getting more than a good-night kiss this time.

As I reach the door, I pause to catch my breath and check myself in the foyer mirror. Perfect, if a little flushed. All that walking did wonders for my complexion. I'm practically glowing.

With a huge grin, I pull open the door, ready to throw myself at Kyle.

“Hey baby, I'm—”

My scream pierces the night.

The hulking, six-armed giant standing on my stoop steps toward me and laughs. At least I think it's a laugh. “Hello, huntress.”

I slam the door as hard as I can in its face and turn to race through the house. Self-preservation instinct takes over. My only thought is escape. If I can just make it down the back steps to the garage.

As I dash down the stairs three at a time, I hear the monster pounding across the kitchen floor above. It must have smashed down the door. I snatch my keys from the rack, fly to my car, yank open the door, stab the key into the ignition, and punch the garage-door-opener button. My honey purrs to life, and I'm waiting for the door to clear my roof height when the monster bursts into the garage. It slams all six meaty paws on my hood, leaving three matching pairs of dents.

Screw the garage door.

I pound the clutch, shift into reverse, and release the clutch as I floor the accelerator. I only hope there are no cars coming as I squeal out onto the street.

“T
he book.” Punch. “Is.” Punch. “Wrong.” Punch, punch, punch.

The training dummy shudders at my assault. It hasn't done anything to deserve my fury, but I have to let it go somewhere. Otherwise, next time I see Nick, I might punch him in the face for no particular reason. Not that that's such a horrible idea.

I swipe a hand over my head, slicking my bangs back with sweat. Too bad I can't wipe my thoughts away that easily.

I don't even know why I'm so upset. I'm happy with how things have worked out. I don't need anyone new in my life anyway, so it should be a relief that my sisters are out of the picture now. That I pushed them out of the picture. I'm just annoyed that everything got so mixed up in the meantime. That's all.

“Then why.” Punch. “Am I.” Punch, roundhouse, side kick. “So freakin' mad?” Uppercut, jab, swing punch, back kick, flying roundhouse.

I throw so much of myself and my anger into the flying roundhouse that I knock the training dummy back two feet and my momentum carries me the rest of the way around, spinning me off-balance and sending me crashing to the floor. “Son of a centaur.”

For a few seconds I allow myself the embarrassment of lying facedown on the floor. I've got to pull myself together. My focus is all over the place. If a beastie hit the streets right now, I'd probably end up in the hospital. An
evil
beastie, I guess I should say, since apparently there are other kinds.

Pushing to my hands and feet, I force myself to stand and walk to the door, where my water bottle is sitting on the floor.

Why am I so distracted? It's not like me to be so scatter-brained.

I spin the cap off and throw back a long gulp. Cool, crisp water pours into my stomach. As I wipe the extra drops from my lips, the answer clicks into place.

“They're my sisters,” I say, knowing that means everything. “It's my duty to train them. It's my duty to protect them.”

And, by walking away, by pushing them away, I let them down. I let myself down. I let the whole lineage of descendants of Medusa down.

“Aaargh.”
I roll my head back and wince. I'm going to have to apologize.

I set the open water bottle back on the floor and take off at a full run toward the dummy. I'm soaring through the air, a perfect flying side kick aimed right at the dummy's left temple, when the odor of moldy cabbage overtakes the room. The scent isn't familiar, but I know the reek of monster when I smell it. Even if it's a new one.

And this one is close. Like, in-my-loft close.

My attention distracted, I miss the dummy and end up flying right past his shoulder. Thankfully, I twist myself in midair quickly enough to land on my feet, falling into a crouch and scanning the room for the beastie du jour.

Before I can even make a three sixty, a massive weight knocks me to my stomach, pressing me into the floor. I can barely breathe.

“This is the end, huntress,” the monster says, slobbering against my ear. “Your sisters are no more. And you're next.”

No!
I struggle against the crushing weight, only managing to twist around to my back because the creature allows me to. I stare blankly into the eyes of the manticore. Grace and Greer can't be dead. They can't, not when we've just met. Not when I finally realized we need to stick together. Not when I haven't had the chance to apologize.

A wave of super strength washes over me, and I shove against the beast's stonelike lion chest with all my might. It moves enough for me to roll to the left, out from under its mass, and bounce to my feet. At twice my height and quad-ruple my weight, the monster is too big for me to beat in hand-to-hand combat. The thing is so much stronger than me, my only chance is reaching the wall of weapons. I don't have to use them often, but this is exactly the worst-case-scenario I've trained for. And once that massive spiked tail starts swinging, I'm going to need something that can take out this monster from a distance.

I'm only a few feet from the collection of battle-axes when I feel fur-covered arms wrap around my legs, knocking me to the floor.

“You like the chase,” the manticore says.

Keeping my legs secured, it climbs along my body, closing its massive paws over my wrists when I try to claw myself away. With all my limbs pinned spread-eagle, I can't move an inch. I buck my torso, trying to dislodge the manticore without success.

This is it,
I think.
I'm going to die. Just like my sisters. And they will never know I wanted us to be together.

I lay my head down on the rough carpet, strangely calm in the face of my demise. It could be worse, I suppose. I could have been forced to watch them first die.

I feel the creature's face loom closer. Then it stops.

At first I'm not sure why—I'm easy prey at this point—but then I hear it. Pounding. On my door.

And shouting.

“Gretchen!” Grace screams. “Let us in!”

Greer shouts, “We were both attacked! We don't know if we've been followed!”

They're alive!

“No!” I shout back. They can't be here. “Get away! Run!”

The beast slams my face against the floor. “Silence.”

The pounding and shouting and rattling of the door handle continue. With the loft's ultra-high-tech security system, they'll never get inside. The best thing they can do—the only thing they can do—is save themselves.

I suck in as much breath as I can and then shout, at full volume, “RUN!”

The pounding stops. I release a relieved sigh. Good, they listened. They'll get away and they'll be safe. They'll live. I relax against the tile, thinking that almost makes this okay.

Then, just as I'm accepting my fate and ready for the creature to finish this, it starts wailing and flailing around. Suddenly free, I jump to my feet, shocked to see Greer wrapped around the monster's body and Grace holding on for dear life to its tail.

Needing to slow the beast down, I turn and grab a broadsword from the wall. It takes me three running strides to reach the creature, and one thrust to send the battle sword deep into its chest. It barely flinches. After a second, a dark-orange liquid starts trickling out of the wound. That won't kill it or send it home, but it will sure as hell hurt. And hopefully give one of us a chance to get a bite in.

With its wild movements, I can't get close enough to finish the job.

“Be careful, Grace!” I shout. “The tip of the tail is deadly.”

“Kinda figured that.” She has both arms and legs clamped around the tail, which is swinging wildly back and forth.

Maybe if I move around to its back, I can get close enough to—

Grace and the tail come swinging my direction. She loses her grip, flies through the air, and tackles me to the ground.

“It's so strong,” she gasps, pushing off me and to her feet.

As she pulls me up after her, I say, “Tell me about it.”

“Hang on, Greer!” Grace shouts.

“We need to stop the tail,” I say. “It's too dangerous.”

Grace nods at the wall of weapons. “What about one of those?” she suggests. “Maybe we can pin it down.”

“Great idea.” I grab a pair of spears and hand her one. “I'll go around the other side. You move from this side. Whoever gets first stab—”

“—goes for it,” she finishes. “Got it.”

As I circle around, I see the manticore trying to snap at Greer with its rows of sharp teeth. When that doesn't work, it lifts its spiked tail, ready to strike.

“Grace!” I shout, because she's closer.

But she's already seen the movement and dives onto the tail, throwing the creature's aim off just enough to miss Greer. I close the distance to the tail and, as it rebounds to the ground, tossing Grace off to the side on the first bounce, I lift the spear above my head and slam it down as hard as I can into the scaly flesh.

My shoulder feels like it's on fire.

The beast yowls in pain. Though its tail still wriggles, the creature is pinned into place.

I race around to the front, holding my right shoulder with my left hand, searching for a spot to get close enough to get a bite in. But between the flailing claws and the snapping jaws, there's no opening that won't get me a seriously painful injury. Even if I could, I'm not much better than a monster chew toy with my shoulder out of joint.

“Greer, you have to bite it!” I shout.

“Me? I—” She looks at me, helpless. “I can't. I don't know how.”

“You have to. Close your eyes and do it,” I insist. “ Instinct will take care of the rest.”

Grace shouts up from the floor, “We believe in you!”

Greer's eyes widen in terror and then narrow in determination.
Come on.
Squeezing her lids shut, she opens her mouth and sinks her teeth into the creature's shoulder.

I didn't see her fangs descend. But when the monster disappears beneath them three beats later, sending Greer into a heap on top of Grace, I know she did it.

Gasping with exertion and adrenaline and recovered breath, I grab Greer with my good arm and roll her off Grace before collapsing onto the floor next to them.

For a long time we lie there, side by side and panting, trying to absorb what just happened. If they hadn't shown up, I'd be monster meal right now, some beastie's one-way ticket out of the abyss.

Grace was right. Things are changing and I can't do this alone anymore. Without Ursula—I mean Euryale—around to help me figure things out, I need my sisters even more. And I need to tell them that. My near-death moment has made me realize that I'd better say what I have to say before I lose the opportunity.

“I was going to call you two,” I say, swallowing my pride. “Tomorrow, I was going to call and apologize and say we should train together. We're sisters and it's my duty to make sure you're safe. Training you to protect yourselves is the best way to assure that.”

“Really?” Grace squeals, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “I was going to come tell you the same thing,” she says. “Tomorrow.”

“Looks like the monsters moved up our timetable,” I reply with a laugh.

We both turn to look at Greer, who hasn't responded. She is lying there with her eyes closed and a completely disgusted look on her face, but otherwise looking like her normal icy self. Maybe she'll need some convincing after this. A manticore would horrify anyone who saw it on the street. Let alone having to fight it.

“All right,” she finally says. “I'm in.”

I release a relieved breath and sense that Grace does the same. Neither of us wants her to walk away.

“On one condition,” Greer adds.

“What's that?” Grace asks.

“This monster fighting gig can
not
,” she says, “interfere with my social schedule.”

She hasn't moved, hasn't altered her expression. She's lying there in bare feet and what are probably designer clothes. She's just sent some hideous unknown monster back into the abyss. And she's worried about her
social schedule
?

I'm on the verge of telling her to stuff it when she cracks a smile.

Grace and I burst out laughing.

Thank goodness.

“I'm joking.” Greer sits up. “Mostly. But I'm also kind of serious. I have a lot of responsibilities that don't involve”—she makes a vague gesture that kind of encompasses the whole room—“any of this. I can't cast them aside.”

My laughter dies.

She's right. This world might have been my whole existence for the last four years, but Greer and Grace have been living real lives. They have people who care about them and others who depend on them. They're not alone, like me. It's not fair to ask them to give up all that for something they didn't choose.

“Fine,” I say reasonably. “We'll work around all the other stuff whenever we can.”

“Excellent.” Greer pushes to her feet. “Now, do you have any mouthwash around here? That monster tasted nasty.”

I point her to the bathroom, and she disappears to wipe out the taste of beastie. I don't blame her—monsters taste like rotten garbage, and the sweet taste of our venom is never quite enough to counteract it. You learn to deal, but you never get used to it. Not really. Monster is not an acquirable taste.

“Were you really going to call us tomorrow?” Grace asks quietly.

“I was.”

She's silent for a few seconds before asking, “Why?”

I'm ready to shrug off the question, as if it's nothing major. But when I look in her eyes, I can tell it's a very big deal.

“Because we belong together,” I answer honestly. “What-ever kept us apart all these years, I think we belong together in the end. Things are changing, and although that scares me a little, it's obviously part of something bigger than all of us. We have a destiny to fulfill, and I don't want to fulfill it alone. I don't think I can.”

Oh
, she mouths.

Then, before I can react, she lurches forward and throws her arms around my neck in a tight hug.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”
I scream.

“What?” she gasps.

“My shoulder,” I explain, my eyes clenched against the sharp pain. “It popped out of the socket when I skewered the beastie's tail.”

“Oh, what can I do?”

I give her a quick lesson and then, before I can take a fortifying breath, she shoves everything back into place. I gasp at the shock, but can tell that she did a fine job.

“Okay?” she asks.

I nod.

“Can I hug you now?” When I nod again, she wraps her arms gingerly around my shoulders. “I'm so glad you realized we belong together.”

“I can tell.”

I shrug it off with sarcasm, but inside I feel a strange sensation of warmth. Compelled by some unknown reason, I lift my own arms and hug her back.