Tera Childs - Sweet Venom

“What?” I pull to a stop. That sounded very ominous. “What do you mean you have to go away?”

“Not for long,” he says. “Maybe two or three days.”

“But why? Where are you going?”

“I—” He hesitates and I get nervous. Thane doesn’t normally hesitate. He either answers a question or he doesn’t, no indecision involved. Finally he says, “I told Mom I’m staying with Milo. Because of our soccer training schedule.”

He told Mom that, which means that’s not where he’s really going. “Thane, I don’t like this.”

“I know,” he says, his voice gruff and unhappy. “I don’t either.”

“Why are you telling me?” I ask. “You lied to Mom, you could just as easily lie to me.”

“Because you should know the truth,” he answers. “Or at least part of it.”

“Thane, just tell me—”

“And because you might talk to Milo in the meantime and then you’d find out anyway.”

“This is ridiculous,” I say, getting a very bad feeling about this. “Just tell me where you’re going. I won’t tell Mom, I swear.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“But you’re still not going to tell me.”

“I can’t,” he insists. “Not now. I just . . . have to figure a few things out.”

I’ve always known Thane had things going on he didn’t talk to me about. There’s a look he gets that makes it seem like he’s thousands of miles away in his mind, and that look has a touch of pain. He won’t tell me what’s wrong, but I know it’s something big. And if wherever he’s going will help him fix the thing that haunts him . . . well, then I can’t exactly begrudge him the chance to try.

“Okay,” I finally say. “I understand.”

“Thank you, Grace-face,” he says, using the nickname he hasn’t used since we were kids.

“Call me?” I start walking again. “To let me know you’re okay.”

“I’ll—” He huffs out an unhappy breath. “I’ll try.”

“Hey, I love—”

He’s gone before I can finish. For the next few blocks, my mind wanders, trying to guess where Thane might be going and why. But since he’s never let me into that part of his life, I have less than no clue.

I’ve found the missing part of me—my sisters and my legacy—and I can only hope that he finds the same kind of fulfillment on his quest as I’m finding on mine. He’s my brother and he deserves at least that.

Greer

After my unwelcome dip in the Bay, I’m ready to forget about recent events, forget about my sisters and mythological monsters, and just focus on the life I’ve worked so hard to create. That’s really hard when monsters keep showing up everywhere I go.

It’s as if, when my sisters showed up on my doorstep and resurrected that memory of the centaur in my room, a switch flipped in my brain. All those costly hypnosis sessions—and that final one with a different therapist—unraveled, and now my mind is trying to make up for years of not seeing any monsters.

I see the first one Saturday morning on my jog through Golden Gate Park. On my second loop around Stow Lake, I move aside for someone I sense running up behind me, and as they pass, realize it isn’t a person but a gigantic, slobbering boar. And it’s wearing running shorts and a headband.

Without finishing my run, I turn off at the Japanese Tea Garden and head inside for some head-clearing ginseng.

Later that afternoon, Kyle invites me to visit the Explor-atorium at the Palace of Fine Arts. I’m not a huge fan of the science museum, but I adore the neoclassical grace of the building and the peaceful pond out front. I agree to go and—after walking through the special exhibit about soap bubbles—convince him to sit on a bench with me and feed the birds. Splashing around among the gulls, ducks, and swans is a bizarre creature with the upper body of a horse and the tail of a fish.

I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, the creature is still there, frolicking. Just playing in the water. I close my eyes and count to one hundred, alternating each number with a mantra.

One. There is no monster. Two. There is no monster.

By the time I reach a hundred and force my eyes back open, the beast is gone.

See, I am still in control of my life and my mind.

Mother wakes me up Sunday morning to remind me that I promised to play hostess for her event at the de Young that afternoon. As much as I want to stay in bed with the covers over my head all day, I know can’t back out on that commitment. Besides, it’s the de Young. There is a special exhibit of Picasso from Paris that I’ve been dying to see. My primary job is to hand out name tags, making sure I give special attention to Mother’s most generous and prestigious donors. I fail to recognize the ex-mayor’s ex-wife because, it turns out, she is actually a woman with the body of a lioness.

This cannot be happening! I mentally scream. Why are there suddenly monsters everywhere? And from what I can tell, none of them are trying to attack or eat anyone, least of all me. The ex-mayor’s ex-wife is on numerous committees with mother; I’ve known her for years. Has she been a sphinx all this time?

I feel a complete mental breakdown coming on.

I’m sure Mother will be furious, but I hand over my name tag duties to the nearest server and leave without ever having the chance to see any of the exhibit.

By the time I get to the end of the school day on Monday, I feel like every nerve in my body is stretched tight and I’m just one monster away from snapping.

“If no one has any other new business,” I announce to the assembled Alumnae Tea Committee, “then I’ll declare this meeting over.”

A quick scan of the ten girls—the socioeconomic elite of Immaculate Heart—seated around the antique mahogany conference table reveals not a monster in sight and one predictably raised hand. Veronica. She’s been ignoring my order to forget the ice sculpture idea and has been petitioning the other committee members to support the proposal.

I inhale and immerse myself in the leadership role, to the exclusion of all other distractions.

“Very well,” I say, ignoring her. “Let’s adjourn and—”

“Excuse me,” Veronica says, obviously annoyed.

She has no talent for disguising her true feelings. While that kind of open-book honesty might be refreshing, it won’t serve her well in a society that operates on a smile-to-your-face-and-stab-you-in-the-back principle. Poor thing.

“I would like the committee to consider—”

I cut her off before it goes too far. “We have already discussed the ice sculpture.” Ad nauseam. I can’t let her turn this meeting into a circus, with an ice sculpture in the center ring.

She stands, her chair legs squeaking across the hardwood floor. In her ragged graphic tee and worn-and-torn jeans, she looks like a perfect thrift-store match for her starving-artist boyfriend. She does not, however, look like Immaculate Heart alumnae material. Nor does she sound like one.

“There should be a vote,” she whines. “It’s not official unless there is an accounted vote.”

We have a brief stare-down across the conference table. After the weekend I’ve had, I’m in no mood for a debate. My patience meter is at zero. Time to end this patronize-the-arts campaign once and for all.

“Fine,” I say, turning my attention to the rest of the committee. “Veronica proposes we have a hideous melting ice sculpture of a dragon—”

“Greer,” she complains.

“—on the buffet table. All in favor.”

If the other committee members know what’s good for their social standing, they will read the correct answer in my piercing silver glare.

Only Veronica raises her hand.

“All opposed.”

Every hand in the room—except Veronica’s—shoots up.

“The matter is decided.”

“But—”

“This meeting is over.” I gather my paperwork into the Alumnae Tea binder. “We will meet here again next Monday at the same time, for our final planning session before the tea on Saturday.”

Veronica, I’m sure, is ready to explode. I could care. Actually, I couldn’t. Let her explode, preferably somewhere brilliantly public and reputation damaging.

Sliding the binder into my grass-green Coach satchel, I turn and walk from the room before she starts begging or crying or some embarrassing combination of the two.

“Hey Greer,” Annalise calls out, jogging to catch up with me. “Rory and I are going to drive down to Santa Cruz for the afternoon. Want to come?”

Normally, I would relish the chance to head down the coast and spend a few hours on the sand. Just me, my friends, a giant towel, and generous amounts of high-SPF sunscreen. But today my mind is racing too much to relax. I would be terrible company. I should really be alone.

“Not today,” I say. “I have a ten-page report for Huffington due tomorrow.”

It’s not a fib. Only I left out the part where I’ve had the paper finished since last weekend. A little lie of omission is a small price to pay for the solo time I need at the moment.

“Okay,” she says with a bright grin. “Next time.”

“Definitely,” I say, as she hurries down the hall.

As I slowly make my way through the empty school to the main entrance, the only person I see is the janitor, quietly mopping scuffs and dirt off the tile floor. Everyone else has vanished.

As I pass by, I turn to nod. Only I don’t see Harold, our kindly school janitor. Instead, I see a giant spider, rubbing the mop back and forth across the tile.

It takes the last little bits of my control to not freak out completely and run screaming from the building. What, did the spider eat Harold and take over his job, so no one will know? Harold’s been at Immaculate Heart for decades. Everyone loves him. He’s an integral part of the school. How dare that . . . thing eat Harold.

I will not just stand by and let the spider monster get away with this tragedy. I’m not certain what I can do, but I have to do something.

“Good night, Miss Greer,” the spider says as I start marching in its direction. “You be careful of that wet tile there.”

I jerk back.

Harold? The spider is Harold? Harold is the spider? What—? How—? I don’t think my brain can handle this information. Insanity overload.

I mumble a quick good-bye and burst out into the open air.

What is happening to my carefully constructed world? A week ago, everything was perfect. Simple. Understandable. I was simply Greer Morgenthal, daughter of Elliot and Helen Morgenthal, most popular girl in the junior class, if not the entire school, and girlfriend of the most popular boy at St. Stephen. Future CEO, Junior Leaguer, and—if my plans work out right—first female president. Now, suddenly, I’m adopted, I have triplet sisters, and I see mythological monsters around every single corner!

I think my brain is imploding.

Without thinking about where I’m going, I walk right past the bus stop and head toward Fillmore, to the one place that always makes me feel in control of my world.

Before I know it, I’m pushing open the door and a tiny bell is tinkling to announce my presence. I collapse into one of the four hot-pink armchairs in the center of the space. As my satchel hits the floor, Kelly Anne emerges from the back room, a beaming smile on her face.

“Greer,” she squeals with delight. “Darling, it’s been weeks.”

“I know,” I reply, welcoming her hug as she leans down to give me a quick squeeze. “I’ve been busy.”

She laughs. “I was beginning to think you joined Shoe-aholics Anonymous.”

“Never.” I smile, a real and true smile.

At least some things remain the same.

“What can I show you today?” she asks, swinging her arm in a broad gesture at the walls of shoes lining either side of the shop.

“I need a new strappy date shoe,” I explain. “One of my silver Jimmy Choos—” Well, I can’t exactly tell her it got lost in the Bay when a giant serpent creature tried to drown me. Not unless I want a one-way ticket to the psychiatric ward. “It’s beyond repair.”

Kelly Anne gasps. Shoes are her life, and telling her that one is damaged is like telling someone you ran over their dog. Only with more tears.

Before she starts crying, I say, “I’m feeling colorful today.”

She nods, swallowing her grief. “I have just the thing.”

She slips into the back and I sink against the chair. With my eyes closed and new shoes on the way, I almost feel back to normal. What I need to do is will the monsters away. I’m a strong believer in mind over matter. Surely, if I focus my willpower on the issue, I can make the monsters disappear back into my subconscious.