Sweet Venom (8 page)

“Good morning, Mrs. Deckler,” a woman's voice says about fifteen minutes into homeroom.

I look up and see Ms. West standing in the doorway.

“I need to see Grace Whitfield.”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Deckler scans the room for me and says, “Your presence is requested.”

I push up from my desk and make my way down the aisle. As I pass Miranda's desk, she slides her leg into my path. Luckily, I see it in time and manage to leap over it, saving myself from a face-plant. Miranda laughs, but I ignore her. I stiffen my spine and follow Ms. West into the hallway.

She has a very serious look on her face. “Are you having a problem with Miranda?”

“No. No, it's fine,” I insist. The last thing I want is to make a bigger deal of it than it already is. If I ignore Miranda's taunts and jabs, then maybe she'll eventually give up. She'll decide I'm no fun to mess with, because I don't fight back.

Hopefully.

“Are you certain?” Ms. West's eyes narrow. “We do not tolerate disrespectful behavior here at Alpha. If another student is—”

“Really.” I appreciate her concern, but I want to handle this problem myself. “It's fine.”

I force a cheery smile.

“All right then,” she says, shifting her focus. “I wanted to check in and give you one last opportunity to change your elective choices.”

“Change them?” I ask. “Why?”

“The drop deadline is tomorrow,” she says. “I thought I should give you one last chance to trade Yearbook for something else, something more . . . challenging.”

My schedule is full of challenging. Yearbook seems like it's going to be fun, and it will give me a chance to meet lots of other students in the process.

“Actually,” I say, “I think I'll stick it out with Yearbook.”

“Very well.” She clasps her hands behind her back. “As long as you're happy with your choices.”

“Oh, I absolutely am.”

“Wonderful,” she says in a less-than-thrilled tone. She glances past me, into the classroom. Maybe at Miranda. For a moment I'm afraid she's going to make a bigger deal out of that situation after all, but in the end she just says, “You should get back to your class.”

Then, without waiting for me to respond, she turns and walks away.

As I make my way back to my desk, wondering at Ms. West's disapproval, I avoid Miranda's leg again and swing into my seat.

“Ms. West is pretty harsh,” I say, kind of to Vail, but kind of to myself in case she ignores me.

She doesn't.

“Guess so.” She shrugs. “Never really talked to her much myself.”

“Oh,” I say, a little surprised to hear that. Why am I the lucky one? “Maybe she takes a special interest in new students.”

This time Vail does ignore me.

“Grace,” Mrs. Deckler calls out, “can I see you for a moment?”

This time I circle around to the next aisle and bypass Miranda completely. As I reach Mrs. Deckler's desk, she hands me a book.

“We'll be starting this in class today,” she says with a sunny grin, “but I thought you might like a head start.”

I inspect the book, a brand-new–looking copy of
Poetics
by Aristotle. “Thanks.”

“I always begin the year with the origins of Western literature,” she explains, “with Greek myth and drama. Aristotle is the perfect introduction.”

An image of the griffin pops into my head, followed immediately by the feathered serpent, the fire-breathing lizard, and—of course—the minotaur. Like I need
more
Greek myth in my life at the moment. Not that I say that to Mrs. Deckler, because she seems very enthusiastic.

Instead, I say, “Cool.” And try to look as excited as she does.

She winks at me. “There are perks to being in both my homeroom and my English class.”

Back at my desk I glance over at Vail and see that she's busy coloring in the letters on the cover of her calculus textbook with a black permanent marker.

I'm not rebellious enough to doodle the cover with marker, but when I flip open
Poetics
to the title page and find a line drawing of an old Greek guy in a drapey dress, I take my pencil and shade in the fabric of his toga. Still light enough that I can erase it before turning the book back in, but I feel a little daring for the effort.

Now, if only I could be more daring in everything else. Too bad real life isn't erasable.

M
onday morning comes too early and too hard. I ditch first period to catch an extra hour of sleep in the third-floor janitorial closet and to avoid running into Nick in biology. After what he saw on Friday night, I need to come armed with a reasonably believable excuse for two guys vanishing out from under me in that courtyard. I've got a marginally lame one, but I'm in no rush to feed him the story.

Instead, I snooze until the bell and then slip into the between-classes crowd in time to make second period. Mr. Alioso's lecture on the Constitution lulls me to sleep, and since it's a PowerPoint presentation and the lights are off, I get to catch a few more winks.

But the power nap must dull my senses, because when I head for my third period, I forget to take the long way and wind up slamming right into Nick as I round the corner on my way to the stairs.

“Gretchen,” he says with a huge smile. “I thought you were out today.”

Stupid, Gretchen. Top-notch stupid.

Can't exactly pretend the full-on body crash didn't happen, so I might as well face him now instead of later. It's not like he's the type to let things go anyway.

I back up a step. “Nope, I'm here.”

“You're not trying to avoid me, are you?” he teases.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” I ask with full-throttle sarcasm. “I've been nothing but nice to you since we met.”

He laughs at my joke, but his grin quickly turns into a scowl of concern. “I really was worried about you all weekend. After what happened at the club, I thought—”

“Nothing happened,” I interrupt, ready with my stupid story.

“Nothing happened?” he says with a humorless laugh. “You beat the hell out of two creeps and they disappeared right out from under—”

Before he can finish his sentence and blurt out everything right in front of the stream of students swarming around us, I grab him by the T-shirt and yank him through the crowd, across the hall, and into the empty computer lab. I don't want to deal with a school full of red-flag-raising questions and gossip. I'm not messing around anymore.

Once inside, I push him against the cinderblock wall and slam the door shut. Nick needs to be off my trail once and for all.

“Look,” I say, squaring myself in front of him with my hands on my hips. “I don't know what you think happened on Friday night—”

“I know exactly what happened.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You were fighting with two thugs and then, in a flash, they were gone. They evaporated.”

I clench my jaw and roll my eyes behind closed lids. There goes the hope that maybe he didn't see anything truly wacky or that he might have convinced himself he was seeing things. Why couldn't I be lucky with him just this once?

Why couldn't he think he's delusional?

No, he has to just stand there with his dark eyes fixed on mine, one hundred percent confident in what he saw that night.

Fine. The lametastic lie it is.

“I heard it was something in the drinks,” I say, giving him the only conceivably plausible line I could think up to explain what I know is unexplainable reality. “Somebody spiked the water supply with something way worse than alcohol.”

“Gretchen,” Nick says in a disappointed tone, “we both know it wasn't something in the water.”

From the intensity in his eyes, I almost believe he really does know exactly what's going on. But that's impossible, isn't it?

He pushes away from the wall, advancing on me in such a way that I have to back up and turn at the same time. In less than three steps he's maneuvered me against the door, penning me in place with his long body and his arms braced at either side of my head. I'm trapped like the monsters I usually hunt.

My heart rate and my breathing pick up and I feel my cheeks warm. I don't know if it's because of his nearness or his tactical dominance or the possibility that he knows more than he should about this situation. Whatever the reason, as he leans in close, his dark eyes growing bigger and bigger in my vision, my self-preservation instincts kick in.

I'm about to execute a sharp knee to the tenders when he bobs to the left and whispers, right next to my ear, “You know you want to tell me what really—”

Before he can finish, the door handle by my hip turns and I'm shoved into Nick as the door bursts open. His arms clamp around me as we both stumble away from the doorway. I try to jump away, but he holds me tight.

“Let me go,” I insist, pushing against his chest. “Don't say a word.”

He lets go and I turn around to explain to the interrupting teacher why I'm in an empty room alone with Nick. No one ever said I couldn't use my hypno-eyes for personal gain.

Only I don't find myself face-to-face with a teacher. Or even a human.

The thing barging into the room has the head and arms of a woman, but that's where the resemblance ends. Everything from its shoulders to the floor is covered in an armorlike shell, and behind it swings the long, curving tail of a scorpion. A nasty skorpios hybrid. Ten to one that stinger is coated in poison.

My fangs drop into place automatically.

What the hell is this thing doing out in the daytime?

“Huntress,” the beast spits.

It obviously came in here after me.

“How did you—” I sense Nick start to move. I swing my arm out to keep him safely behind me. “Uh,” I glance sideways at the normal—but unhypnotizable—human boy behind me, forcing my fangs back into their hiding spot, “my name is Gretchen. You must have me confused with someone else.”

The beast's eyes follow my glance and focus in on Nick. For a second I almost think I see a glimmer of recognition. Then I don't have time to think anymore as the beast lunges past me, grabbing for Nick's throat.

The monster-hunting side of me goes into autopilot. Even without my gear, even with it coming after me on my turf, even in broad daylight when monsters should be nowhere in sight, I'm instantly in fight mode.

With a powerful spin, I land a roundhouse kick to the beast's belly, using my momentum to push Nick away with a shove that sends him flying backward.

“Watch out!” he shouts.

I turn just in time to see the beast's giant scorpion tail swing down at my head. I drop and roll to the left. The foot-long stinger pierces the yellowing linoleum, and for a second the beast is anchored to the spot. I use the opportunity to jump to my feet and race around to the beast's back, pulling out the ABS plastic dagger that never leaves my right boot and plunging it in between the exoskeletal plates covering the torso. It sinks deep into the vulnerable interior flesh.

The beast lets out a howl of pain that I'm sure can be heard on the other side of school. Great. Someone's going to call the cops. I need to finish this quickly.

There's no way I can get my fangs in through any of the armored parts of the body. My best chance is the spot where the neck meets the exoskeleton.

I leap onto the beast's back, trying to get high enough to reach the unprotected flesh, when it pulls the stinger free. Suddenly it's like I'm riding a bucking bull, holding on with a death grip to keep from getting flung into the nearest wall.

As I get spun around, I see a blond blur rushing toward the monster. Before I can yell for him to stop, Nick grabs a metal desk-and-chair combo and swings like he's trying to hit a home run.

But apparently skorpios hybrids are Olympic-weightlifter strong. The beast forgets me as it grabs the desk midswing, lifts it and Nick into the air, and tosses them away like they were crumpled newspaper.

“Aaargh!”
I scream.

A wave of adrenaline pumps through me. Tightening my legs around the creature's waist, I lever myself up to eye level with the neck.

Before I can drop my bite, the beast twists around and, using its tail for leverage, slams back-first against the nearest wall. The impact stuns me and I lose my hold on the smooth exoskeleton. I crumple face-first to floor in a giant splat.

“Ugh.”

With the wind knocked out of me, I take a few seconds to recover. I sense the beast moving past me, through the door and into the hall. My body processes the adrenaline and my lungs struggle to suck in great big gasping breaths of air. There is a throbbing pain in my ribs where the beast must have gotten in a blow in the heat of battle. I hadn't even noticed.

Can't stop for pain. There's a monster on the loose, and it has a head start.

I'm halfway out the door, checking the hall just in time to see the skorpios hybrid round the corner out of sight, when I hear a faint moaning from across the room.

“Nick,” I gasp.

He sounds hurt. I hurry back between the rows of desks to where he landed. I fling aside the desk he tried to wield against the monster.

“Stupid fool,” I mutter, leaning down to feel for a pulse.

His neck feels hot and full of life, with a strong and steady beat. What kind of idiot throws himself into a fight with a giant scorpion? Can't he tell I can take care of myself? I don't need anyone to save my skin, especially not a mortal human with zero clue that monsters are more than myth.

But he does have an uncanny ability to know just where the beastie's bad parts are swinging.

Nick groans and turns his cheek toward my palm. I let my thumb brush gently over the soft skin beneath his eye. He looks so sweet and innocent and just . . . beautiful. I know it's not a typical word to describe a guy, but there is something about the smooth texture of his skin, long blond eyelashes, and chiseled cheekbones that brings the adjective to mind. Without stopping to think, I lift my hand from his pulse point to trail shaking fingertips across his temple.

“Gretchen,” he whispers.

I jerk my hand back like his skin has turned white-hot. What am I thinking? I'm definitely cracking up. This boy has been nothing but trouble since he shoved his way into my life. I can't go getting soft feelings for him. Or
any
feelings for him.

And I have a runaway monster to catch.

Shaking off the weird moment, I grab his shoulder and shake hard. “Wake up!”

His dark eyes blink open and find me immediately. He smiles weakly. “Gretchen.” Then, as if the memory of moments before hits him, he bolts upright. “What happened?”

“You, uh—” I hate to do this, after he was trying to be the hero and all, but it has to be done. It's for his own protection, really. And mine. “You came on to me. I pushed you away, and I guess I don't know my own strength, 'cause I sent you flying.”

His dark blond brows scowl. “No, that's not what—”

“Sorry.” I push to my feet and pretend to dust off my jeans. “But don't get so close next time.”

I'm already at the door when he makes it to his feet. “Gretchen, I know there was a—”

“Stay away from me, okay?” I ask, glancing back to make sure he's not wobbling on his feet or anything. Then, before I can check myself, I add, “Please.”

I'm in the hall before he can answer.

Pushing Nick and my pathetic plea from my mind—I can't believe I just begged like that—I break into a run after the creature.

I'm blind to the mostly empty halls around me. So I'm shocked when I round the corner and skid into a boy. You'd think I'd learn to watch where I'm going around corners, especially after last time, but I'm not exactly thinking straight at the moment.

“Sorry,” I mumble, sidestepping and moving on.

But the boy calls after me. “Grace?”

“No, no, no.”

Am I really still surprised at this point? It's not as if nothing's been going to hell in a flaming handbasket lately. From now on I should just expect the worst-case scenario on a regular basis.

I kick into full speed and am down the hall and out onto the sidewalk before the boy can say another word. No sign of the skorpios hybrid. Lifting my nose to the breeze like a dog, I inhale a big sniff and . . . nothing. Not a hint of monster on the air. How is that possible? It can't have just vanished. I need to grid-search the area.

“Things can't possibly get any worse,” I mutter as I reach the spot two blocks from school where I park Moira. I probably shouldn't have issued a direct challenge to the universe like that but, really, what else could go wrong? As soon as I pull out into traffic, I voice-dial Ursula's number. As I listen to ring after ring after countless ring, I drum my hands on the steering wheel.

“Come on.”

I keep trying as I circle the block around school and gradually radiate my search out to surrounding blocks. A dozen fruitless circles, a dozen phone calls, and a dozen this-voice-mailbox-is-full messages later, I pull Moira into our building and cut the engine. I drop my head against the lovingly worn steering wheel and close my eyes.

“There's some seriously bad stuff going on,” I tell Moira as if she were not a car but a confidante. She is the closest thing I've got at the moment. “Monsters out in daylight, monsters coming to my school, monsters out in pairs and threes. Monsters getting away from me. My twin, who can see them too. Ursula needs to know about all of this. I need to know what's going on, and she's the only one who might have the answers.” I take a rough breath. “So where on earth is she?”

Is it just a coincidence that all of this is happening right at the time when Ursula disappeared? Or when Grace and Nick show up?

I'm pretty sure Nick is more than he seems. When the beastie's scorpion tail was about to spear me, it was almost as if he saw it coming. It shouldn't be possible—just like he shouldn't be immune to my hypnosis—but if he hadn't warned me, I'd be Gretchen-on-a-skewer right now, instead of sitting here, confused, in the dark.

This is getting to be too much. There are so many questions and I don't have any answers. I'm the huntress, the hired gun who fights the creatures that go bump in the night and then reports in to the boss. Only the job isn't that simple anymore and the boss is MIA. What am I supposed to do?