Tera Childs - Sweet Venom

I kick off my Ralph Lauren espadrilles, wiggling my toes against the plush white rug, and harness my mental powers. Fall will begin officially in a few days and I’ll have to put my warm-weather wardrobe away. But for now, I’m holding on to the last bit of summer. And my last bit of sanity.

Soon, schoolwork and extracurriculars and other responsibilities will overwhelm me on a daily basis. I’ll have limited time for shoe shopping, let alone more important things. Like Kyle.

The other night, when I bailed on him, he bought the phoned-in “I got marinara sauce on my top” excuse and was totally understanding. Or uncaring, I can never really tell with Kyle. Still, he was a good sport. Now I owe him.

Pulling out my cell, I call Kyle’s number. He answers on the fourth ring.

“Babe,” he says with an exaggerated drawl. “What’s up?”

I cringe, then release the tension. I don’t need to allow any more stress right now. “Hello, Kyle,” I say politely. “Would you like to come over tonight?”

“Abso-righteous-lutely.” He laughs at his made up slang. “What time?”

I ignore his display of idiocy.

“I’m doing a little shoe shopping right now, but I’ll be home soon,” I answer. “Come over anytime.”

“Right on.”

I’m about to hang up, to sink into the bliss of shoe shopping and pretend surfer-boy isn’t in prime form tonight.

“Greer,” he says, dropping the overwrought-dude act. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I answer, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the chair. “It’s been a stressful few days.”

Saying that makes a little of the tension ease from my neck. Nothing can make it go away altogether, but every tiny bit helps.

“I’ll bring my magic hands,” Kyle says. “That stress will be history by the time I leave.”

I grin. A massage would be—

“If I leave,” he adds, with a suggestive undertone.

Did he have to ruin the moment? Well, I won’t let him. I need him tonight. And maybe . . . Maybe . . .

“Kyle, honey,” I say, in my sweetest tone. “Bring some strawberries.”

I hang up before he says something that changes my mind. After all the ridiculous things that have happened in the last few days, taking the next, not-quite-all-the-way-but-pretty-close step in our relationship might be precisely the memory eraser I need.

“Here we go,” Kelly Anne says, emerging through the curtain with a trio of shoe boxes in her hands.

She sets two of them down, opens the third, and pulls out all the stuffing to reveal a high-heeled strappy sandal in a brilliant shade of dark lime green.

“It’s beautiful.” I take the shoe and run my fingertips over the satin straps.

“Try it on,” she instructs. “It feels divine.”

She holds out her own foot to show me that she’s wearing the same shoe in bright purple.

The bell above the door tinkles. Kelly Anne goes to greet the new customer as I unbuckle the ankle strap and slide my foot into the shoe. She’s right, it does feel divine. I quickly step into the other one.

“Let me go grab that for you,” Kelly Anne tells the new customer. She rushes by me, asking, “Don’t you love them?” as she goes.

“They’re gorgeous,” the new customer comments, with a weird click in her voice. “Are they comfortable?”

I glance up, ready to say, “Yes, quite.” But I freeze when, instead of a fellow shoe-shopping woman, I see a woman’s body with the head of raven.

She twists her feathered head to the side, studying me.

There is not a bird-woman in the shop, I tell myself. There is not a—

“Here you go,” Kelly Anne says, bringing a pair of boxes to the woman who—no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise—has the head of a big black bird. Her inky black feathers gleam yellow in the fluorescent light.

I can’t take it anymore.

Standing, I grab my satchel and head for the door.

“Is something wrong, Greer?” Kelly Anne asks, rightfully concerned about her favorite client—me—walking out of the shop.

“No,” I squeak. “Fine. I love these. Put them on my tab.”

“No problem.”

I push open the door, desperate to get away.

“Greer, wait!”

I ignore whatever Kelly Anne is trying to say. She has more important things to worry about, like finding the perfect shoes for the bird-woman. Probably something in a black patent pump.

Sweet mercy, not even Kelly Anne’s boutique is safe anymore.

As I hurry down the sidewalk, I hear her call out, “You forgot your espadrilles.”

A small price to pay to escape the presence of yet another monster. Why? Why is this happening to me? I’ve been a good girl, for the most part, all my life. I try to meet and exceed everyone’s expectations. I don’t lie unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m loyal to my friends, I get stellar grades, I make my bed every day. I don’t drink, do drugs, sneak out, or break any laws. What did I do to deserve this kind of fate? I’m going insane as I’m surrounded by ever-increasing numbers of freaky monsters.

Seriously, a woman with a raven’s head?

I jerk to a stop in the middle of a crosswalk. There is only one person—well, two people, actually—who can answer my questions. Who can tell me why this is happening and how to make it stop. Because it has to stop. The same two people whose presence in my life seems to have been the harbinger of my descent into madness.

My—I swallow tightly—sisters.

A blaring horn bursts my thoughts and reminds me I’m standing in the middle of the street. But now I know where I need to go. Only I don’t know where to go. It’s not like I collected business cards when they showed up on my doorstep. Or when Grace and I were fighting the crazy sea snake.

I don’t even have a phone number for them.

Something in my gut compels me to head downhill to the marina. It’s such a strong feeling, I don’t stop to think. I jog across the street—Kelly Anne was right about these heels, they are ultracomfortable—just in time to catch the bus. Seven minutes later I jump off at Marina Boulevard.

Not sure why, I turn and head east toward the nearest pier, toward the big warehouse-like building jutting out over the water. It’s like I’m on autopilot.

Before I know it, I’m banging on a big metal door. An echo thunders around me and through the building beyond the door. It sounds empty.

After a couple of minutes I’m starting to think my insanity must be expanding to new and different levels. Why would I come here, of all places?

But when I’m about to turn and walk way, the door swings open with a painful screech.

“What do you want?” Gretchen asks, her seemingly ever-present scowl in place.

Oh, thank goodness.

“I’m seeing monsters,” I explain. “Everywhere.”

She shrugs, as if to say, What should I do about it?

“They’re in the park and at my school and just . . . everywhere! I need to know what exactly is going on,” I explain. “I need to make it stop.” Because clearly my force of will isn’t going to be enough.

“Greer!”

I turn and see Grace hurrying across the driveway. When she gets to the door, panting, she says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“And how exactly did you get here?” Gretchen asks with a snarl.

I look from Grace to Gretchen and answer honestly, “I don’t know.”

Grace gasps. “Did you autoport?”

“Did I what?”

“Autoport,” she repeats. “You know, did you just zap here?”

“No.” I am so confused. “I took a bus.”

“Oh.” Her face falls. Then, after a beat, she beams. “Oh! You must have Medusa’s gift. Second sight.”

“Look, can we—” I struggle to retain my trademark calm. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Gretchen doesn’t speak, but she steps out and pulls the door shut behind her. As she walks past us, I share a look with Grace. She shrugs and heads off after our sister. Not having anywhere else to turn, I do the same.

Grace

I can’t believe I’m sitting at a table in a sushi restaurant with my two sisters. My sisters! I don’t think I’ve been this happy since we adopted Thane—who is hopefully busy working on his own bid for happiness—and this is happy on a whole different their-blood-is-my-blood level.

Gretchen and Greer don’t seem to share my excitement.

To my left, Gretchen’s arms are crossed and leaning on the table, a stormy look on her face. There’s a line between her eyebrows where she’s squeezed them together. Her eyes are a darker shade of gray than I’ve ever seen in my mirror. I wonder if that’s what I look like when I’m angry.

Or am I more like Greer, sitting stiff spined in her chair, exuding haughty annoyance and looking like she might fracture into a million pieces at any second?

Either way, the tension at the table is practically killing me. I’m not just going to let things go and pretend like everything is okay, though, because big things are going on and we need to talk about them. Sitting up straight in my chair, I look at Gretchen.

“I know who Sthenno is.”

Immediately her demeanor changes. “Who?”

“My counselor, Ms. West,” I say, so proud to have figured it out. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to her about it because, well, she disappeared.”

“Not like you?” Gretchen clarifies. “Not autoporting?”

“No, she just walked out of the building—”

“I’m sorry,” Greer interrupts. “But, Sthenno? As in the immortal Gorgon Sthenno?”

“The same,” I say with a grin. “After you and I fought the serpent-lady at the wharf—”

“Sea dracaena,” Gretchen mutters.

“Right.” I flash a scowl at her. As if that’s helping right now. “Anyway, after you left, then Gretchen’s mentor, Ursula, visited me. Only she’s not just Ursula, she’s really the other immortal Gorgon, Euryale.”

“An immortal Gorgon visited you on the wharf?”

“Yes.” Am I being unclear? I don’t think so. “She autoported to me, thinking I was Gretchen, because she’s been imprisoned somewhere and I guess her autoporting wires got crossed—”

“Grace,” Gretchen interrupts with a snarl. “Can we get back to the part where you discovered your counselor is Sthenno?”

“Oh, right.” I guess it’s better to stay on track. “Anyway, she got away before I could ask her, and I thought maybe, if you want, we could go talk to her together. I could make an appointment for after school or something.”

Gretchen nods and I sigh with relief. We’ve found Ursula’s sister and now maybe we can figure what’s going on and why things are changing. That’s one thing checked off the list of unanswered questions today.

“Great,” Greer says, not sounding thrilled. “Can we get back to my problem here?”

Gretchen scowls. “Of course,” she sneers. “Because this is all about you.”

“Now, Gretchen,” I say, wanting to diffuse the sudden tension.

“No,” Greer says before I can finish. “That’s fair.”

Gretchen seems stunned that Greer would make that kind of concession. I guess I’m actually a little surprised too. They look at each other—okay, glare—and I feel caught in the middle.

Thankfully, the waitress arrives, breaking the unsisterlike tension.

“You girls ready to order?” she drawls, looking from Greer to me to Gretchen. “Well, aren’t you three adorable? Triplets, huh?”

I smile. “Yes, we—”

“I’ll have salmon nigiri and a bowl of miso soup,” Greer says, cutting off my answer.

“The tempura platter,” Gretchen says. “With extra shrimp.”

The waitress quickly scribbles down their orders and then looks at me.

“Can I just get an avocado roll?” I ask. When the waitress nods and adds it to the order, I say, “Thank you.”

The waitress grabs our menus and leaves, probably eager to escape the tension-filled table. If only I could go with her. No. I’m not going to run away. I’m going to face this and find a way to make them see reason.

“We’re here to talk,” Gretchen says. “Let’s talk. Ask your questions.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver from Greer, who’s been practicing the silent treatment since we left the loft. I don’t have to know her like a sister to literally feel the anger pouring off her in frosty waves.

While they have a little stare-down, I drum my fingers on the underside of my chair, feeling powerless. With two such strong personalities, how can I ever make them see how lucky we are to have found each other? We need to find an element of common ground, beyond our shared DNA and monster-hunting destiny, something to show my sisters that we aren’t as different as we seem.