Sweet Shadows

  When Nick first appeared in my life two weeks ago, I thought he was a puzzle. A guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, who wouldn’t back down from me, and who was somehow immune to my hypnotic eye power. Now I know he must be something more, someone involved in this as more than just an innocent bystander.

  No one else knows my phone number. No one else could have made that call, warning me to get out of the loft. It must have been Nick.

  I dial the number.

  He picks up on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?” He sounds sleepy.

  I grit my teeth. Seriously? He went back to sleep after that?

  “Where are you?” I demand.

  “What?”

  “Where. Are. You?”

  There’s silence, some shuffling, and then, “Gretchen?”

  “Of course it’s Gretchen,” I snap. “Didn’t you think I’d be calling back?”

  “Calling back?” he echoes.

  “Or did you think I’d be dead?”

  “Dead?” His voice clears in an instant. “What’s going on?”

  “Tell me where you are,” I demand for the last time. “Right now.”

  To my surprise, he actually gives me the address. I floor the accelerator, reaching for my spare gear under the passenger seat as I go. Within five minutes, I’ve restocked my pockets and I’m speeding into a parking spot behind the wooden apartment building on Twin Peaks. The slope is killer, but he must have a great view of the city. If I weren’t about to pound his face into the dirt, I’d be jealous. It’s a great spot to do a monster sniff test.

  I don’t notice him standing outside, waiting, until he walks up to my window and knocks on the glass.

  Without hesitation, I pull the handle and shove, sending Moira’s door into Nick’s hip and knocking him to the ground. I jump out, take my advantage—he’s got several inches of height on me, so I’ll take whatever I can get—and straddle his waist. I clamp one hand around his wrists and reach into my cargo pocket with another, pulling out a zip tie.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demands, bucking and trying to knock me off. “What happened?”

  I don’t say a word. I slip a zip tie around his wrists and yank, tugging it not quite tight enough to cut off circulation, but enough to secure his hands.

  “Gretchen,” he says, resting his blond head back against the pavement, giving up on trying to get free, “tell me what’s going on.”

  He sounds almost reasonable, like he’s not at all shocked that I’ve tackled him to the ground and tied him like a prize pig. I shouldn’t be surprised. He knew the explosion was coming, which means he knows who—and what—I am.

  Maybe I should give him a tiny bit of credit for saving our lives.

  A tiny bit.

  “We’re going for a drive,” I explain. “Either you can get in the passenger seat under your own power, or I’ll put you there myself.”

  He studies me for a second, watching me with those midnight-blue eyes. I can’t tell what’s going on in his mind—can I ever?—but he just nods and says, “I’m good.”

  I push back to my feet, yank him to his, and then follow him around the car. He pulls open the door and climbs in without argument. Well, that’s something going right.

  When I get back in the driver’s seat, I can feel his eyes on me. He’s waiting for me to say something, but I’m so angry I don’t know what to say. All that built-up energy—the leftover fear and adrenaline—is vibrating inside me and I feel like a rubber band pulled almost to the snapping point. Maybe keeping my mouth clenched shut will make him spill more than he would otherwise.

  I back out of the parking spot and wind my way down off the mountain. Silence fills the car as I navigate my way across town, down Geary, heading for a nice, safe, deserted location. Somewhere humans won’t overhear us and monsters won’t find us.

  Ocean Beach is the perfect spot.

  I zoom past Cliff House and down the hill toward the public beaches. They’re closed at night and the parking lots are empty. Not even those willing to risk a citation for being on the beach after hours are out this late.

  I pull Moira into a spot facing the ocean, cut the engine, and palm the keys. Just in case. I stare out over the waves, the moonlight glinting on the cresting peaks. So peaceful. So completely at odds with the fury and confusion warring inside me.

  “Something happened tonight,” Nick finally says, his voice gentle. Tentative. “What?”

  “What?” I laugh. I can’t help it. Is he seriously going to play dumb about this? “You know what.”

  “I don’t,” he insists. “Look, I’m cooperating. I got into the car. I’m not even complaining that I can’t feel my fingertips anymore.”

  I glance down at his hands, zipped together and resting on his thighs.

  I flick a glance at him. “You won’t run?”

  He shakes his head.

  I reach down into my boot and pull out one of the backup daggers I keep there. My missing mentor, Ursula (who, I recently learned, is the immortal Gorgon Euryale—I’ll never get used to calling her that), preached the wisdom of being prepared for a worst-case scenario. I’ve always thought that keeping the extra set of clothes in the trunk, and the gear under the seat and in my locker, was a bit of overkill. Tonight I learned why they’re necessary.

  With a quick flick of my wrist, hopefully fast enough to make Nick worry about getting sliced, I cut through the zip tie. As I slide the dagger back into my boot, he rubs his wrists.

  I guess I underestimated how tight I tugged the tie.

  He doesn’t run. But he doesn’t start talking, either. He’s not going to fight me, but he’s not going to spill his secrets unprompted. I’m going to have to take the offensive.

  “What caused the explosion?” I ask flatly. “Was it a bomb or—”

  “Explosion!” To his credit, he sounds truly shocked. “What explosion? Gretchen, what happened?”

  “What happened?” I echo. “My home blew up! Everything I own, everything that wasn’t in this car”—I pound my wrist against the steering wheel—“is gone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he mutters, rubbing a hand through his short wavy hair. “They must have moved up the timetable. They weren’t supposed to—”

  “They?” I demand, not missing his slip. “Who’re they?”

  He looks at me, his dark eyes bleak and seemingly full of pain. It’s a good act. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s such a good liar. He’s been keeping secrets from me since the moment we met. He’s something more than human, and I should have seen it sooner.

  “Who are you?” I ask. “What are you?”

  If my hypno powers worked on him, I’d have had my answers ages ago.

  He shakes his head, like he can’t process what’s going on. I can tell he’s thinking, can practically see the thoughts tearing through his mind.

  Part of me—the smart part—thinks he’s trying to come up with a believable lie. But the rest of me believes he’s truly at a loss.

  “Look,” I say, “you’re obviously not all bad. You called to warn me. You saved my life and my sisters’ lives.” I swallow hard. “I should be thanking you.”

  “I didn’t make that call, Gretchen, I swear it.” His voice is steady and—I huff—convincing. “I would have if I’d known it was coming, but I had no idea.”

  “Then tell me what you do know.”

  He takes a deep breath and drops his head back against the headrest.

  Finally, after what seems like forever, especially for someone with as little patience as I’ve got, he says, “There is something I need to tell you.”

  I’m torn between the urge to make a sarcastic reply—Really? You think?—and shoving my fist into his nose. In the end, I just stare at him.

  “I was sent to protect you,” he says. “To watch over you when Euryale was taken. To guard you from those who don’t want you and your sisters to be reunited.”

  My body reacts before my mind fully pr
ocesses his words, and I give in to the urge to punch him. My knuckles hurt like hell, but the satisfaction that he’ll have a bloody—and possibly broken—nose and a pair of black eyes makes the pain bearable.

  Unable to sit still, I jump out of the car and walk to the seawall. I press my palms against the rough concrete along the top and stare out over the moonlit ocean.

  All this time I’ve known that there is something wrong with Nick, something different about him. Something … not human. Why didn’t I ask myself more questions? I should have interrogated him, pushed him for answers. If I had, maybe things wouldn’t be as screwed up as they are now.

  Maybe I could have prevented the explosion. Maybes and what-ifs. Equally useless.

  I hear the passenger door shut with a soft click and then Nick’s shoes scrunching across the pavement.

  “Who sent you?” I demand before he can offer more lies.

  “I—” He takes the spot next to me, leaning his forearms onto the wall. “I should have told you the truth sooner. I should have told you everything. I just thought …”

  He shakes his head and lets his words trail off.

  Well, I’m not about to let him get off that easy.

  “You thought what?” I demand. “That you could just stand by and watch while my sisters and I got killed for the bounties on our heads?”

  “No, of course not.” He turns to face me, and I’m disappointed to see only the tiniest trickle of blood from his nose. Either my aim is off or he’s got some of that supernatural healing power my sisters and I share.

  He adds, “I don’t know anything about a bounty.”

  Anger boils through me, and I think if a scolopendra climbed out of the sea and went for Nick right now, I’d let the thing eat him. After I let its snot-covered nostril hairs rub all over him for a while. I should have let the skorpios hybrid spear him with her tail. Or let the griffin claw his face—

  “You saw them.” How did I not realize this earlier? My hands clench tighter. “You saw them all. The monsters I was fighting.”

  He nods, not even ashamed. “Yes, I saw them.”

  “I should have known you could see their true forms,” I mutter. “No way you landed that punch square between the griffin’s eyes by accident.”

  “Look, Gretchen, I wanted to tell you, but—” he begins.

  “But what?” I interrupt. “You were having too much fun teasing me? Mocking me for thinking you might actually be interested in me? I am such a jerk.”

  “No,” he insists. “That’s not it at all. I was following orders.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “It’s complicated.”

  I snort. If that isn’t a code word for I don’t want to explain the truth, then I don’t know what is.

  “Fine.” I sneer. “What can you tell me?”

  “Not much more than you already know,” he says. “There are those who would like to see you and your sisters dead, and there are those who would like to see you succeed.”

  “Which side are you on?”

  His eyes shift a little to the side. “I’m protecting you, aren’t I?”

  “I don’t know—are you?” I retort. “And that wasn’t an answer.”

  “Look, I can’t give you all the answers.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “Fine,” he says with a sigh. “I won’t. Too many are risking their lives—even their very immortality—to ensure the right outcome. I can’t expose them any more than you would expose your sisters if you didn’t have to.”

  I grind my teeth and try to pretend he doesn’t have a point.

  Just because I might believe him, though, doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  He grabs my shoulders and turns my body toward him. I let him do it, but I keep my face turned to the ocean.

  “I am interested in you, Gretchen.” When I still won’t look at him, he presses his fingers against my jaw and gently turns my face. He is looking straight in my eyes when he says, “I’m interested in you.”

  His midnight blues burn with an intensity that almost makes me believe him. Makes me want to believe him. He knows just the right thing to say to mess with my mind. He always has. He leans in closer, watching me. His lips are a breath away from mine.

  This time I’m not buying it.

  My knee connects with his soft spot and he doubles over, gasping for air.

  “Find your own way home,” I snap before turning and marching back to my car.

  I’m squealing out of the parking lot when it hits me that I don’t have a home to go to anymore. A place to sleep, yes. Not a home. My vision blurs and I realize there are tears in my eyes. Tears. For the love of Medusa, I’m turning into an emotional mess.

  I quickly wipe away the moisture and focus on driving. Focus on getting to the safe house. I won’t find answers there, but I’ll find a bed and a good night’s sleep. In the morning, my head will be clearer and I’ll figure out a game plan.

  All I know right now is that the first item on the list will be finding and rescuing Ursula.

  My first instinct is to visit the one person I know has a connection to the mythological world. When I visited her a few days ago, she helped me locate the immortal Gorgon Sthenno in the city, which helped Grace figure out that Sthenno is her school counselor. If anyone can help me figure out how to rescue Ursula, how to figure out if Nick is what he now appears to be, she’s the one. The oracle.

  At this time of night the streets of her neighborhood are practically deserted. I park Moira right in front of the vacant-looking storefront, facing the wrong direction so I can jump out closest to the door. I click the remote locks as I reach for the handle on the oracle’s front door.

  I expect the handle to turn easily, as it has the two previous times I’ve visited her. But the tarnished gold doesn’t budge. Jerking at it a few more times, I have to accept the fact that the door is locked.

  I pound on the glass, thinking that maybe she locks the door at night to keep out the unsavories. She could be inside, in the back, or maybe sleeping. I’m not sure if this is her home or simply a place where she hangs out.

  There is no sound beyond the door. No light leaks out around the heavy velvet drapes. No indication of anything alive or awake within.

  I give the door one final pounding, rattling the hinges and shaking the glass in the frame.

  Nothing.

  I turn and stalk back to Moira, swinging into the driver’s seat and turning over the engine as I click my seatbelt into place. For a second I pause, hands on the steering wheel, figuring out my next play.

  Ursula is gone. Taken prisoner I don’t know where, and not wanting me to come after her—or so she told Grace when she appeared to her a few days ago.

  Nick is a confusion. A liar. He’s something more than I thought, someone more like me than I ever imagined. But can I trust him? How do I know whether I should or not? If I can’t answer that question, then I have to keep him at a distance until I can. And answers aren’t available at the moment.

  The oracle isn’t available.

  Grace is talking to Sthenno tomorrow.

  I guess, for tonight, there’s not much else I can do. Hopefully Sthenno will have some answers for us. Or, if she doesn’t, then the oracle will. Either way, tonight’s a bust.

  My arms sag and I realize I’m exhausted. And no wonder. After tackling the manticore in my training room, diving out into the icy bay as the loft exploded, hunting down the two beasts that went after my sisters, and going after Nick, I feel like I’ve been awake for a month.

  Slipping Moira into gear, I head toward the safe house Ursula and I set up. It’s in the Tenderloin, maybe the dodgiest part of town—which means there are few prying eyes and even an all-out monster battle would go practically unnoticed. The police won’t even patrol there.

  In these early-morning hours, there isn’t another soul on the street. I turn into the dark, debris-strewn alley behind the safe house. After retrieving the extra gear from under the passeng
er seat and the duffel bag from the trunk, I trudge up the narrow staircase to the second-floor apartment. My boots barely clear each step.

  I could sleep for a year. If only I didn’t have school in the morning and an appearance of normalcy to maintain.

  Kneeling next to the apartment door, I use a dagger to unscrew the cover from the power outlet in the wall.

  I remember the night Ursula and I installed the false outlet. We picked up the yellowed parts at a tiny hardware store in Chinatown and put a couple of cracks in the cover to give it that old, neglected look to go with the rest of the building. If any of the other tenants noticed the oddly placed outlet, they probably thought it dated to the days when the building was a cheap hotel, when someone might have actually vacuumed the hallways every few years.

  The happy memory stings a little, and I pull myself back into the present. I reach inside, retrieve the hidden key, and replace the cover.

  The door swings open on surprisingly silent hinges, and I find myself facing my new home. Temporary home, I remind myself. As soon as I get Ursula back, we’ll find a new place, a better place. We’ll have to rebuild the arsenal and I don’t know if we can restock the library, but whatever we have to do, we’ll do.

  I’ve only been to the safe house the one time before, when we installed the hidden key safe in the hall and Ursula gave me the ten-cent tour. She pointed out the backup weapons vault behind the refrigerator. The antivenom and first aid supplies are under a loose tile in the bathroom. There are clothes for both of us in the bedroom closet, emergency cell phones under the couch cushions, and prepaid credit cards in a ziplock bag taped inside the toilet tank.

  Ursula thought of everything. Everything I might need if she disappeared. Maybe she knew this was a possibility. Maybe she knew that one day I might be on my own, that she might get taken or worse. I’m glad she was so prepared, but I’d rather have her here.

  The entire place looks like a pay-by-the-hour motel room. Dirty walls, ratty linens, rust and dust everywhere. Not the nicest decor, but the carefully orchestrated kind that wouldn’t raise red flags if the low-rent landlord decided to pop in. On the surface it looks just like any other apartment in the building.