Sweet Venom (9 page)

I throw my head back against the seat and ask the heavens, “Okay Ursula, where are you when I really need you?”

Standing outside Ursula's door, I know there's no other choice. She's been gone for too long and things have gone too sideways for me to keep pretending her disappearance is normal.

Still, I hesitate as I reach for the doorknob. One of the things I love most about living with Ursula is the freedom. The autonomy. She doesn't question when I go out late at night or whether I've done my homework or if my room is clean. She trusts that I take care of business, that I'm mindful of my duties and responsibilities. She lets me have however much privacy I need, and she gets her own privacy in return.

Which only makes me feel worse for what I'm about to do.

“I have to.”

Taking a deep breath, I turn the knob and push open the door. It swings open silently, revealing a pristine room that hasn't been touched for days.

Her bedroom is in the corner of the loft, so she has windows along two walls, with a sliding glass door in the middle of one, leading onto the balcony. Sleek white built-in drawers line the third wall, while her bed is pushed up against the wall with the door. The stark platform number, covered with steely gray sheets and pillows, is perfectly made. There is a full glass of water on the nightstand, next to a book with an ancient Greek statue on the cover.

It feels like an invasion to be in here without her permission.

“I don't have a choice.”

I take a quick breath and then begin the search.

Starting with the drawers, I pull open each one and sift through the contents. Lots of soft and flowing clothes in elegant neutrals, like camel and ivory. Ursula always looks soft and elegant, in sharp contrast to my dark and hard wardrobe. As I process each drawer, I make sure to leave it just as neat and organized as I found it. Ursula's gone, but that doesn't mean I get a free pass to mess up her stuff.

I slide the final drawer shut and turn to evaluate the rest of the room. The only other furniture is the bed and nightstand.

Dropping to the floor, I peer under the bed frame. Nothing but empty space. A clear view over the flat carpet to the balcony on the other side.

I quickly flip back the bedding, checking under the comforter and the pillows. Nothing.

Same thing under the lamp and the book on the nightstand. With only one place left to look, I tug open the nightstand drawer.

Inside, in a neatly organized drawer divider, are Ursula's essentials. Lip balm, nail file, reading glasses. A tube of her lemongrass lotion. No note.

I grab the lotion, twist off the top, and squeeze a tiny drop onto the back of my hand. As I rub the silky lotion into my skin, I'm overwhelmed by the scent memory.

She smelled just like this that night four years ago when she first brought me back to the loft. I was scared out of my mind, afraid to trust this woman who seemed to know things about me and my history that no one should know, but even more afraid to go back to the street life I'd been living since I'd run away.

“Welcome home, Gretchen,” she said, gesturing one arm in a wide circle, sweeping over the sparkling surfaces and furniture of the loft.

Home? My whole life, I'd only ever had two homes. The filth hole of dirty clothes and broken junk where Phil and Barb slept and the abandoned warehouse where Ursula found me. As much as I hated both, I belonged in both of those more than I belonged here. With my ratty clothes and filthy hair, I shouldn't even have stepped inside somewhere as gleamingly pristine as this heavenly space.

“I—”

I couldn't say it. As much as knew I didn't belong here, I
wanted
to even more.

“Come,” Ursula said. “Let me give you the tour.”

As I followed her around from room to room—a training gym, a library, a kitchen with a refrigerator full of fresh, delicious-looking food—I found myself inching closer and closer to her side. As her fresh scent of lemongrass enveloped me, I found myself hoping I could belong here someday. Wanting to be good enough for a place like this.

“And here,” she said, leading me to the final unopened door, “is your room.”

The door swung wide, revealing a place I had only dreamed about before. There was a big bed with fluffy bedding, a tall dresser, a closet full of fresh, clean clothes.

“Go on,” Ursula said, urging me forward. “Look around.”

“I c-can't,” I'd stammered. “It's too—” I bit my lip and shook my head, unable to finish.

“It's yours,” she insisted, pushing gently on my back until I stepped inside.

A bed of my own. A whole room, without a stack of dirty laundry or torn upholstery or broken floorboard in sight. The opposite of everything I'd ever had.

In that instant, I was determined to make myself worthy.

I spun around to face her. “Tell me what to do,” I said, full of a courage I was only beginning to feel. “How do I earn my place?”

It feels so long ago now. Ursula insisted I didn't need to earn anything, that the room was mine without conditions.

But I was eager to prove myself. We started training the next day. Everything from martial arts to weapons to memorizing mythology. Ursula has been my guide and mentor in everything about my heritage.

I drop the tube of lotion back into the nightstand and slam the drawer shut. “Where are you?” I shout to the empty room. “How could you just disappear?”

Frustrated, I throw myself onto her bed. As I bounce, a pillow lurches to the side, knocking the book off the nightstand. With a groan, I roll to the side, leaning down to pick it up.

When I do, a small white envelope falls to the ground.

My heart rate triples.

I set the book back on the nightstand, snatch the note off the floor, and sit up, holding the crisp paper in both hands. Scrawled across the envelope is a single word:
Gretchen.

My breathing shallows as I lift the flap and pull out the folded notecard covered in Ursula's elegant script.

 

Dearest Gretchen,

     If you are reading this note, then I must have been gone for some time already. I feared this might happen. Since your sixteenth birthday some weeks ago, things have been changing. Perhaps you've begun to notice. I knew this time was coming and have been making preparations for the upcoming events, but there are still some mysteries I must solve first. The hunt for answers may take me into danger. Do not worry about my safety—I assure you I am fine. But if I am kept from you at this critical time, you must find my sister. Although we have remained out of touch in recent years, I do know she is living and working in the city. I wish I could give you more information to go on, but our separation has been essential for your protection. Find her, as she can help guide you into this next phase if I cannot. I apologize for the cryptic nature of this note, but if it is discovered by someone other than you, I must guard our secrecy at all costs.

Yours ever,

Ursula

 

“What. The. Hades?” I reread the note, not believing it could be as mysterious as it first seems. But after four passes, it still makes no sense. My birthday, changes, new phase, secrecy. She's in danger, but she's safe. Her sister? Does she know that I have a sister too?

I flop back onto her bed. Great. I found a note, exactly what I was hoping for, but I'm even more lost than before. I'm used to knowing exactly what to do—sniff a monster, find it, send it home. I'm at a total loss right now. And I don't like the feeling.

S
tanding in the cafeteria line, waiting to pay for a bottle of kiwi-strawberry juice to go with the hummus-and-spinach wrap and baby carrots already in my reusable lunch bag, I'm not really excited to spend another lunch period in the library. Last week was bad enough, and I could at least claim new-girl status as my excuse.

But by day three, shouldn't I have someone to sit with?

Maybe not. This whole new-girl thing is totally foreign to me. I try to remember new students at Orangevale, and how long it took them to assimilate. I only remember one who—

“You're up,” a gruff female voice says from behind me in line.

I twist around. “Oh, Vail. Hi.”

She jerks her head toward the checkout.

I step forward and show my juice to the cashier. After handing over my money, I turn and say, “Thanks.”

She shrugs, sliding her tray of lumpy school food forward.

I turn, ready to head out the side door for the library and another lunch hour alone with the books. It could be worse, I guess. I could have to eat lunch with Miranda.

“You can sit with us,” Vail says as she walks by with her tray.

Did she just say what I think she said?

“What?” I hurry to catch up with her. “Really?”

She gives me a duh-are-you-stupid? look. I just grin and follow her to a table in the center of the cafeteria.

There's a handful of other kids at her table. The group at the far end looks like vamp-loving goths, dressed all in black, with deep purple lipstick and heavy-duty eyeliner. Two empty seats separate them from Vail's diverse trio. Next to Vail sits a girl who looks like Marilyn Monroe, with platinum-blond hair, ruby red lipstick, and a low-cut vintage dress. Across the table is a boy with turquoise-blue hair and matching eyeliner. He's wearing a black
HELLO KITTY
tee, black skinny jeans, and a wide, white, studded belt. By comparison, Vail is almost tame. Over the weekend, she dyed her hair tips lime green, a shade that perfectly matches her baggy cargo pants and the bleeding smiley face on her tight black tee.

With blah-colored clothes, hair the color I was born with, and nothing but a dab of organic lip balm on my mouth, I definitely feel like the outsider in this group.

“This is Lulu,” Vail says, nodding to the girl at her left. “And that's Jax.”

Better the outsider
in
a group than the outsider
without
a group.

I smile at the boy, Jax, and set my tray down next to him. “Hi,” I say as I slip into the seat. “I'm Grace.”

“Charmed, I'm sure,” Lulu drawls, offering her hand across the table like I might want to kiss her ring. I gingerly take it and give it a quick shake.

“Lay off,” Vail grumbles, swirling her fork around her plate.

“I think we have Computer Science together,” Lulu says, in a completely normal voice.

“Yeah?” I reply, wondering why I didn't notice the retro bombshell in class on Friday. Right, because I was too busy researching minotaurs.

Jax turns to me. “You're very eco-chic, aren't you?”

“Uh . . .” I look down at my yellow
TREE HUGGER
tee.

“I like it,” he says. “You make a subtle statement.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Oh, making a statement is always a good thing.” He sticks out his tongue, revealing a shiny black piercing. Then he nods to the girls. “We're not usually subtle about it. It's refreshing.”

“I—” I smile, a little confused, but I think that was a compliment. “Okay, cool.”

My ears feel a little warm as I open up my lunch and pull out the recycled foil–covered wrap. For several minutes, I eat in silence, listening to the rapid-fire chatter of Jax and Lulu with occasional interjections from Vail. They are all so comfortable with one another, I kind of envy that. I wish I could have that with someone. Maybe with Gretchen.

I shake my head and pop a baby carrot into my mouth. No point wasting time on that daydream. That's not going to happen. She wants me as far out of her way as I can get.

At least I can sit here and enjoy not being alone at lunchtime for once. Not having to sneak my food into the back corner of the library. I can eat in relative, nonlonely peace.

Maybe things at Alpha won't be so bad after all.

“Nice to see you've found others of your kind,” a snooty voice whines from behind me.

I don't have to turn around to know who it is.

“Get lost, Miranda,” Vail says, glaring over my right shoulder. “Don't you have a Botox appointment? Your forehead is looking a little wrinkly.”

“Funny,” she says, without humor. “I wanted to congratulate Grace on finding the loser table. You make a nice quartet, like four best girlfriends.”

Vail's gaze flicks to Jax half a second before she pushes to her feet. Lulu grabs her by the arm and tugs her back down. “Don't.”

“Do you think that's an insult?” Jax laughs. “I'd rather be called a girlfriend than a stereotype any day.”

I whip around to see Miranda's reaction, but before she can say a word, Ms. West walks up, looking all elegance again in a lavender blouse and khaki slacks.

“Everything all right here?” she asks, running her gaze over the whole table.

Her eyes settle on me, and I feel compelled to answer. Flicking a nervous glance at Miranda, I say, “Yeah. Fine.”

“Excellent.” Ms. West turns to Miranda and asks, “Would you mind helping me prepare some handouts I need to distribute in seventh period?”

“Of course,” Miranda replies, turning instantly into a perfect ray of sunshine. I hadn't realized she was such a kiss-up.

As she follows Ms. West away, she turns back and gives our table—
our
table—a sneer. As if they've preplanned it, my three lunch mates simultaneously flip her the bird. A little more extreme—and detention earning—than I am. But since Miranda huffs and storms away, it's obviously effective.

Lulu gives Jax a high five over the table.

“Such a waste of perfect hair care.” Jax sighs. “Lowlights that beautiful should only go to the most deserving.”

“You might not have noticed,” Lulu says to me, “but Miranda is Vail's archnemesis.”

Yeah, I've noticed. “She's been pretty awful to me too,” I say, glad to have found something in common with Vail and her friends.

“She was born bad,” Jax add.

“You give her too much credit,” Vail grumbles. “She's insecure. She makes herself feel better by belittling anyone with confidence and picking on those without.”

“Isn't that what I said?” Jax asks with fake seriousness.

Lulu laughs.

Vail rolls her eyes and goes back to her mush.

My mind processes what Vail said. Is that why Miranda picks on me? Because I don't have any confidence? I definitely don't have the courage Vail has to stand up to her, but I didn't think of myself as such a total weakling. Maybe I can absorb some confidence from the group around me.

I look around at the three friends with wonder, amazed at their ability to confront Miranda as a unified team and bounce right back from her attack. Strength in numbers.

For some reason, that makes me think about Gretchen again. I keep picturing the three monsters in the nightclub and how she's out there fighting them all alone. I keep thinking about how she pushed me away, and I let her.

My wrap becomes a little hard to swallow, and I take a big swig of juice to wash it down. If a unified front can take down Miranda, it can't hurt when fighting mythological monsters.

Have Gretchen and I made a big mistake? And will I get a chance to fix it?

Thane and Milo are already at the dining table doing homework when I get home. I try to act all nonchalant, dropping my backpack casually by the door and heading for the kitchen, as if I'm not dying to sit down at the table with Milo.

Playing it cool is so much harder than it looks.

I pull open the refrigerator and let out the breath I've been holding since I first saw Milo's dark curls at the table. I take my time choosing from the array of pop on the second shelf, when I already know I want pineapple Fanta. What if Milo thinks I'm a freak for disappearing from the club on Friday night? Which is nothing compared to what he might think if he ever knew my mythological truth, but it's bad enough. Besides, Thane is still kind of mad at me, so there's no telling what he said to Milo today.

No, no way. I delete that thought as soon it clears my brain. No matter how mad Thane is at me, he would never badmouth me or anyone else in the family. He's loyal, first and foremost. He could want to strangle me one second, but would still lay down his life for me the next.

Maybe he's so devoted because he was adopted at a late age, long past the time most kids are unceremoniously dumped into the vicious foster-care cycle. When I was seven, Mom and Dad decided they wanted another child. They might have started out looking for a baby, as most adoptive parents do. Then we met Thane.

Everything changed.

He had been picked up off the street, found sleeping in an alley with a mangy mutt curled up against his belly for warmth. We went to see him at the adoption agent's house where they were keeping him until a foster home could be found. He was sitting in the chair next to the fireplace, feet pulled up in front of him and chin resting on his knees. He didn't say a word, just looked up as Mom and Dad approached, not betraying an ounce of the joy I knew had to be bursting inside. I'm sure he didn't want to get his hopes up, only to have his heart broken again.

I think it was those big gray eyes, a few shades darker than my own, that drew them in.

The agent said a lot of couples weren't interested because he was so quiet. They worried he might be brain damaged or mentally deficient. Their loss, because we are so lucky to have him.

Besides getting adopted myself, he's the best thing that ever happened in my life.

Even when he's mad at me.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Ack!” I jump at the sound of Milo's voice, knocking my head against the underside of the freezer door. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he says, reaching out to gently rub the place where I hit my head. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. I lift my hand to the spot, careful not to touch his but hyperaware that our fingers are only millimeters apart. “Just fine.”

I might have a massive knot there in the morning, but for right now I am absolutely fabulous. He's standing oh so close, with his hand on my hair, his pale eyes gazing into mine with worry. I could melt into the floor.

“Didn't mean to startle you.” He pulls his hand away, and my head suddenly feels cold.

“No problem.” I drop my hand too, even though my skull is throbbing as if the blood is going to burst out at any second. I don't want to look dumb, standing there holding my head.

“Wanted to grab another soda.” He reaches around me into the fridge and pulls out a can of Coke.

I'm grinning and nodding like a fool as he turns away.

Then he suddenly turns back. “Hey, I saw you in school today.”

“What?” I shake my head. “You were at Alpha?”

“No, at Euclid.” He looks adorably confused. “I got a library pass in third period and I saw you in the hall. You didn't even say hi. Why'd you take off like that?”

“That's im—”

Holy goalie. Gretchen! He must have seen Gretchen.

I knew this was going to be complicated.

As soon as I saw her walking into Thane's school, I should have known this would happen. But no, I was too caught up in my hurt feelings over her dismissal and my guilt over slinking away like a coward. Sometimes I'm such an idiot.

I'm probably lucky they haven't run into each other before. If Milo weren't a year older or their school weren't so big, I'm sure they would have already met.

“It must have been someone who looked kinda like me,” I finally say. “I was at Alpha all day.”

Both statements are true. I just leave out the part where I know exactly who he saw, and that she looks more than
kinda
like me.

“Must have been.” He shakes his head, like he knew it couldn't have been me but he was sure it was. “Weird.”

“Yeah,” I say with a forced laugh. “Weird.”

He heads back into the dining room and I close the refrigerator door. This can only get worse. If Milo can run into her in the hall that easily, then Thane can too. Eventually he is going to see her, and he won't be as easy to convince as Milo. We've sat across the dinner table for almost ten years. If he and Gretchen wind up face-to-face, he'll know.

I need to talk to her about this.

Plus this is the perfect excuse to go see her again. Because if there is anything I've realized in the days since she dumped me back home on Friday night—especially after seeing that scorpion thing out in the daylight today—it's that I'm not content to walk away and pretend that she doesn't exist.

It might be complicated and dangerous and completely out of my comfort zone, but I have a sister and I'm not losing her right after finding her. I'm tired of being the gutless doormat. It's time I found a spine and figured out how to use it.

“Mom,” I call out as I walk into the master bedroom. “Are you in here?”

“In the bathroom, honey.”

I follow the sound of her voice and find her squeezing caulk around the edge of the bathtub. The painting is done, and now she's doing finishing touches in the bathroom. I'm not sure what's left on her to-do list, but it can't be much.

“It's looking great,” I say.

“Thanks.” She beams, with a smear of caulk across her cheek.

I motion for her to wipe it off, and as she grabs for a rag I ask, “Is it okay if I go over to a friend's house to do homework?”

“What's her name?” Mom's efforts only make the caulk smear worse. “Where does she live?”