Sweet Venom

  “Guess I never learned to take no for an answer.”

  I don’t know what else I can say or do to get him to back off. Seeing me throw down with beasties on two occasions—even if he couldn’t see their true form—didn’t scare him away. What kind of guy wants a girl who gets into fistfights on a regular basis?

  Obviously, this kind.

  I drive in silence, not knowing what else to say, but not wanting—for some unfathomable reason—to hang up yet. When I pull into the garage, I’m suddenly struck by how very empty the loft upstairs is going to feel. For the first time, I don’t have even the tiniest hope that Ursula will be waiting inside. Without her it’s like an empty shell of the place that used to feel like home.

  What if Ursula never comes back? The question sneaks into my thoughts before I can block it. Bracing myself on the steering wheel, I take deep breaths. My hands are shaking as fear speeds through my bloodstream. I’ve never felt like this, not even when Phil was on a bender and his fists were swinging.

  Until now, monster hunting was business. A duty, a responsibility I upheld as a part of my legacy, because it is my destiny. It was a straightforward job and I did it well. But I cared about as much as I cared about the color of my non-existent nail polish.

  Ursula in danger makes it personal, and I feel the fear like a tight fist around my heart.

  She’s the only real mother I’ve ever known. I don’t buy for a second her insistence that she’s safe. I can’t just sit around and do nothing while she’s in danger. I might feel helpless right now, but I’m not. I have to do something.

  “Gretchen?” Nick prods.

  “What?” I snap into the forgotten phone in my hand.

  “I have a confession to make,” he says, ignoring my anger, as usual. “I didn’t call to ask about biology homework.”

  “Really,” I say sarcastically. “Had me fooled.”

  “I’m tricky like that,” he replies. “No, I’ve got tickets to a concert in Golden Gate Park tomorrow night. Actually, the concert is free, but I’ve got a blanket and picnic basket and I was wondering if you wanted to—”

  I click the phone off before he can finish his question. I know exactly what he was going to ask, and there’s no way I can say yes.

  Slipping the phone into my pocket, I get out of the car and climb the creaking staircase up to the loft.

  Girls like me can’t date. Imagine, sitting down to a nice dinner and catching a whiff of rotten meat. It’s not like I could say, Excuse me. Have to go take care of the Nemean lion that’s prowling the streets. Be back in a jiff.

  My phone rings again and I ignore it. The situation isn’t going to change. Girls like me have to be alone.

  I toss my ringing phone onto the couch and head to the fridge. Maybe some dinner will help clear my mind. I yank open the freezer door. It’s stocked with a month’s supply of frozen dinners.

  I grab a turkey-and-stuffing box, tear it open, and pop it into the microwave. While the microwave whirrs and my dinner spins hypnotically in circles, I can’t help feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt. Not only because Ursula, my one and only true friend in this world, is being held prisoner. Not only because I’ve discovered I have two long-lost sisters, one of whom is safe at home with her loving family and the other who wants nothing to do with me. Not only because I can never, in any conceivable universe, let Nick or any other ordinary human boy close enough to discover the true me. Not only because I’m not even sure who the true me is anymore.

  No, I feel completely and utterly alone because, for the first time since the day I realized my adoptive parents were abusive trash and I was better off on the streets than with them, I don’t want to be alone. For the first time, I want to let people in. I didn’t want to hang up on Nick, I had to. Because, for the first time, I wanted to say yes.

  And I can’t imagine anything more dangerous. For me or for him.

  The microwave beeps, and the jarring sound pulls me from self-pity into the real world. It’s like I have an instantaneous moment of absolute clarity.

  “I know how to find Sthenno,” I blurt out to the empty kitchen.

  Without another thought for my dinner, I grab my phone, jacket, and keys and dash back to Moira at full speed. My best chance of finding Ursula’s sister is the same person who told me I was destined for greater things than what Phil and Barb had planned.

  The oracle.

  The storefront looks exactly as I remember. Plain, non-descript, with dark velvet curtains that might have been red at one time blocking any view inside. Hanging in the door is a small wooden sign that reads FORTUNES TOLD, with a line of ancient-looking letters below: μαντεοn.

  At twelve I thought they were magical symbols. Now I recognize the text as ancient Greek: ORACLE.

  Just as before, the place looks deserted from the outside. A thick layer of grime covers the windows, no light shines through even the tiniest crack in the curtains or door, and there is no sign indicating whether the place is open or even when it might be. But I know, in the same unnatural way I knew four years ago, that she’s inside.

  I walk up to the door, grab the tarnished brass knob, and twist. The door glides open like it floats on air. Except for the streetlight streaming in the now-open door, the space inside is dark as night.

  “You came back,” a gravelly voice says from the void. “I knew you would.”

  She steps into the beam of light, looking the same as before. Long black robes swirling around her tiny frame. Long black hair falling down her back in thick waves. Long beaked nose protruding out from a haggard and wrinkled face. She looks like an evil witch from a child’s fairy tale.

  “I know what you came for,” she says, her voice crackling.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  When I passed her door four years ago, taking the long way home from the grocery store to avoid going by Phil’s favorite bar, I was desperate. Searching for any light at the end of the dark tunnel I saw my life becoming. The nameless fortune-teller greeted me, as she did now, with the promise of things I wanted to know.

  She led me to a table in the back room, studied my palm, and told me I was marked for a great destiny. Despite my protests, she insisted I had to run away, to get away from the people who kept me from greatness.

  I thought it was all garbage until she said, “The creatures are your future.”

  No one but Phil and Barb knew I saw monsters, and they beat it into me that I was crazy to say so. But this woman knew, and she thought it was important.

  That night I ran away.

  Ursula found me a few weeks later. All of Olympus, she later explained, received reports when an oracle—a fortuneteller—read prophecy to a lost descendant. My visit to this oracle four years ago sent immediate red flags up around the mythological world.

  Because Ursula had been paying close attention, anticipating my appearance, she found me first.

  Walking into this place again brings all those memories flooding back. It’s amazing how much my life has changed since then, and all because of this woman’s reading.

  “Then tell me,” I say, stepping inside and closing the door. “Tell me what I want to know.”

  Even though my eyes aren’t adjusted to the dark, I sense her turning and walking to the back. I follow her into the same room where my path shifted four years ago.

  “Sit, sit,” she says, waving at the table as she lights the candles scattered around the room.

  When there is a soft ambient glow illuminating the round table and the otherwise empty space, she takes the other chair and sits across from me.

  “First,” she says, a hint of an old-world accent rolling the word, “you wish to find the sister.”

  I don’t ask how she knows. She just does.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  From the folds of her robes she pulls out a piece of paper. As she smoothes it onto the table, I see that it’s a map. While I’m studying it, identifying it as a map of San Francisco, she pul
ls another object out of her folds. A small, pointed crystal at the end of a gold chain.

  “We must concentrate,” she says, dangling the crystal over the map. “Focus your mind on the woman you seek.”

  I do my best, spending the next few minutes thinking about Sthenno and where she might be and what I’m going to do once I find her. But my mind keeps drifting to Ursula, to the news of her capture and her real identity.

  “Psha!” the fortune-teller spits, jerking the crystal and stuffing it back into its hidden pocket. “You do not focus.”

  I don’t bother denying it. I’m trying, but my mind is just too full, I guess.

  “There is another way.” She peers at me in the faint light. “Blood.”

  “Blood?” I echo. “Whose blood?”

  “Yours.”

  I meet her unwavering gaze for a long moment. Then, knowing I don’t really have another choice, I reach down and pull the dagger from my boot. In one swift movement, I slice a line down the center of my palm—my right palm—drawing a fine trail of healing blood from my flesh.

  “Here,” I say, holding out my hand as I slip the dagger back into my boot. “Does this work?”

  She nods. With craggy, gnarled fingers, she folds my hand into a fist and wraps her hands around mine. Holding it over the map, she squeezes tightly until a single drop of blood drips from the bottom of my fist.

  Releasing my hand, she pushes the map at me. “There, it is revealed.”

  I wipe my palm on my pants as I look at the map. The single drop of blood landed in the marina district, only a few blocks from my loft. With a shaking finger, I smear the blood away and read the name of the building beneath.

  Alpha Academy. Grace’s school.

  Well, at least now we know where to look. Sthenno is someone at her school.

  “Good?” the fortune-teller asks.

  I nod, taking the map and folding it into one of my cargo pockets.

  “The other question,” she says. “The one you are afraid to ask.”

  I don’t have to say it out loud to confirm she’s talking about Ursula. There are a million questions I’d like to ask. Where is she? How do I find her? Is she safe? But I ask the one that answers them all. “Can I save her?”

  “You can,” she says, and I release a tight breath. Then she adds, “But it has yet to be written whether you will.”

  I take a shaky breath. I could be terrified by that prediction, by the fear that I might not save Ursula in the end. But I’m not. The bottom line is: I can save Ursula, and so I will. I won’t allow myself to fail.

  Chapter 20

  Grace

  When I showed up at Gretchen’s on Saturday morning, the first thing she told me was what the oracle said. That the immortal Gorgon Sthenno is at my school.

  Now, I don’t know if that means she’s a teacher or student or staff or administration or what, but I’ve spent all day Monday studying every single female at Alpha to see if anyone, I don’t know, clicks with me. Someone who reminds me of Ursula maybe. So far, no such luck. If Sthenno is here, she’s doing a great job of disguising herself.

  By the time Lulu and I walk out of Computer Science after the final bell, I’m starting to think the oracle was wrong. Gretchen is adamant, but maybe she just wants to believe her.

  “Do you think Miss Mota is ever going to notice that Orson hid that perverted message in his web page?” Lulu asks, pulling a compact out of her giant tote bag and checking her fire-engine-red lipstick.

  “She hasn’t so far,” I say, relieved to think about something other than searching out my immortal ancestor.

  “Well she obviously adores you.” Lulu drops her compact back into her bag. “You could create a page about cow manure and she’d still call us all over to admire it.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “She’s kind of over the top.”

  Maybe she—

  “Grace,” I hear a woman call behind me. When I turn, I see Miss Mota running after me. “You forgot your handout.” She’s panting and a little out of breath, but with a huge grin on her face. “Can’t do your homework without the style guide, can you?”

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the handout.

  She has been kind of over-nice to me. I thought it was just because I’m a solid computer geek—aka her ideal student—but maybe it’s something more. Could she be Sthenno?

  As she turns and walks back to her classroom, I start to analyze everything I know about her, to see if anything fits.

  Before I can think back to the first day of Computer Science, I sense Miranda marching up behind me and Lulu. I catch sight of her a split second before she moves to Lulu’s side and rushes forward, knocking into my friend, sending her stumbling forward and her bag flying.

  I have an instant flashback of my first day at Alpha.

  Only instead of acting like an entitled brat, Miranda spins around and says, “Omigosh, I am so sorry.”

  I help steady Lulu on her feet and we give each other a confused look. Apologies are very un-Miranda-like behavior.

  “Yeah,” Lulu says hesitantly. “It’s fine.”

  My jaw drops as Miranda actually squats and helps gather Lulu’s belongings back into her bag. Part of me hopes she’s realized that being mean and nasty doesn’t get her very far. But I’m not the same naïve new girl who started here less than two weeks ago. So much can change in a short time. Miranda’s up to something.

  I bend down to help, snatching Lulu’s bag back when Miranda tries to pick it up.

  She gives me a hurt look. “I was trying to hand it back to her.” She huffs out a breath that sends her bangs floating. “Jeez, sorry.”

  I hand Lulu her purse and watch as Miranda turns and stalks away. Okay, maybe I was wrong. I feel a little guilty about jumping to—

  As Miranda rounds the corner into the next hall, I see her pull something out of her back pocket.

  Lulu’s phone.

  I have had more than enough of this girl.

  “Here,” I say, shoving Lulu’s bag into her arms.

  I start after Miranda, ignoring Lulu as she asks, “What’s wrong?” Her peep-toe pumps clack on the floor behind me as she hurries to keep up. “Where are you going?”

  “Miranda,” I call out as I catch up with her, dodging around a couple of jocks who are throwing a football back and forth. When she doesn’t stop, I shout, “Miranda!”

  She spins around so fast, I’m surprised she doesn’t keep going full circle. She demands, “What?”

  My hand is shaking as I hold it out, palm up. “Give it back.”

  She throws an incredulous look at my hand. “Give what back? What nonsense are you—”

  “Cut the garbage,” I interrupt, drawing on my inner Gretchen for the courage to carry out the confrontation. “I saw you with Lulu’s phone. Return it now and I won’t report the theft.”

  Next to me, Lulu digs through her bag. When she finds her phone missing, she says, “You’re right. It’s gone. I know I had it before Computer Science, because Jax asked me to look up the Kiss Me Kitties concert schedule.”

  Miranda looks like she wants to deny it again. I take a step closer, let my fangs drop a fraction, and say, “Now.”

  Her eyes roll halfway around the hall, and her jaw clicks to the side, like she’s going to gnaw on the inside of her cheek a little before telling me where to step off.

  My fangs drop a little more. “Miranda . . .”

  She huffs out another breath. “Whatever.” She pulls the phone out of her purse and slaps it into my palm. Then, spinning on her heel, she calls out over her shoulder, “Losers.”

  As soon as she’s out of sight, my fangs suck back into place and I gasp in a shaky breath.

  “You,” Lulu says, grabbing the phone off my palm, “have backbone. Vail will be so proud.”

  Every limb is shaking with the aftereffects of my confrontational adrenaline. I can’t believe I stood up to Miranda like that. And lived.

  “Holy goalie,” I whisper. br />
  Not only will Vail be proud, so will Gretchen. And, if I think about it, so am I. I never knew I had it in me. Maybe doormat Grace is finally stepping aside. Monster-hunting, Miranda-confronting Grace is welcome to take her place.

  “Go long, dude!” one of the football jocks shouts.

  The other one takes off at a run, racing down the hall . . . and directly toward Ms. West, who is heading this way.

  “Watch out!” I call out.

  But it’s too late. The jock turns, sees Ms. West, but can’t stop his runaway forward momentum.

  “Whoa there,” she says, taking half a step to the side and reaching out her arm right as he passes by.

  I wince at the certain disaster, but instead of jock boy taking Ms. West down with him, she manages to bring him to a dead stop without even losing her footing.

  “No running in the halls, gentlemen,” she says, catching the football that jock-boy was supposed to grab and handing it to him. “That includes chasing footballs.”

  “Yes, Ms. West,” the one who threw the ball says.

  The other one blushes. “Sorry, Ms. West.”

  “Just don’t let it happen again.” She grins at them, waves at me, and then walks away.

  It takes about ten seconds of me standing there, jaw dropped, to realize what just happened. Ms. West should have been knocked to the ground, but she held him off like he was nothing. That was an amazing display of strength.

  “Lulu, I have to run,” I blurt as I take off after Ms. West.

  “Bye,” Lulu calls after me. “See you at lunch tomorrow.”

  I rush around the corner and find myself staring down an empty hall. Ms. West is nowhere in sight. I check every classroom, every door, but she’s vanished. Standing in the middle of the empty hall, I can’t help the massive grin that spreads across my face.

  Ms. West is Sthenno.

  Gretchen is going to be so excited.

  Since it’s such a lovely day, I decide to walk to Gretchen’s loft. It’s only a few blocks away, and after standing up to Miranda and uncovering Sthenno’s secret identity, I feel like bouncing the whole way there.