At this moment, though, it’s all I can do to keep my stomach contents where they belong. I close my eyes and shake my head.

“We should go,” Thane says.

Milo nods. “You get her outside and I’ll pay the bill.”

“No,” I whisper, swallowing down the nausea as best I can. I don’t want to ruin this night. “I’m—I’ll be fine. Just give me a—”

The front door to the restaurant opens with a whine and the stench hits me tenfold. I feel my eyes roll back as my body tries to reject the smell. Or to protect me from whatever’s causing it. I’ve never had such a violent reaction to an odor before.

“Maybe we should—” I force my eyes open, but instead of Milo’s adorable face or my brother’s strong one, my gaze focuses on the thing that has just walked in the front door. The creature.

The body looks like a normal man, with arms and legs and everything in between. The head, though. . . . It’s the head of a bull.

I’m not joking. A man with the head of a bull has just walked into an all-night dim sum restaurant as if it were normal.

I look at Thane for reassurance, hoping the panic I’m feeling shows in my eyes, telling him everything he needs to know. He turns to look at the door then back at me, jaw clenched and eyes wide. “Let’s go.”

I nod.

“What’s going on?” Milo turns and looks too. “Do you two know that guy?”

“Guy?” I choke. Is he blind? Can’t he see?

For that matter, can’t everyone see? Why isn’t anyone screaming or running away? Slowly, I scan the rest of the tables. No one else seems to have taken notice of the man-bull, who is now crossing the main floor and heading for the back room.

I look at Thane, certain he must have seen it.

But no, the look in his eyes now is simply concern for me. Did I just imagine the look of recognition I saw a moment ago? Milo doesn’t see it, and neither does Thane. No one does. I’m the only person who saw a slobbering beast instead of a man.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m just—” I shake my head. “I don’t feel great.”

Both boys nod, as if it’s totally normal and logical and not at all out of the ordinary, when it’s anything but. There’s only one possible explanation for this hallucination. I must be going crazy.

Chapter 4

Gretchen

Even twenty minutes in a scalding shower can’t completely wash the stink of minotaur off my body. I lather-rinse-repeat five times, hoping to purge the lingering residue from my hair. Getting up close and personal with a monster is never pretty, but sometimes it’s worse than others.

By the time this one popped back to wherever he came from, my pores were plugged with his toxic odor. Dis. Gust. Ing. I might have nightmares.

With one white fluffy towel wrapped around my chest and another cocooning my hair, I cross to the library and drop down into the task chair in front of the computer. I glide the mouse over the sleek black surface and click open my e-mail.

“Nothing from Ursula,” I think out loud.

This is getting weird. She usually sends me some kind of message if she’s going to be gone overnight. I’ve been living with the woman for four years, and I still have no idea where she goes or what she does when she disappears for days at a time. At first I was too nervous to ask. The woman saved me from the streets and gave me a purpose. I wasn’t about to piss her off by questioning her movements. Now I accept her random hours as normal and keep up my half of the don’t ask, don’t tell policy.

How many other sixteen-year-olds have free range of an awesome loft and a Mustang and no curfew? I know how lucky I am. Fighting beasties and keeping my questions about her whereabouts to myself are prices I’m more than willing to pay.

But when I last saw her a few days ago—has it been a week already?—she promised it was finally time to answer some of the lingering questions about my Medusa heritage and my huntress legacy. I would finally find out the full deal about being the latest descendant of the mortal Gorgon, instead of just knowing the piecemeal story she’s fed me over the years.

Ursula has been scarce ever since.

Four years’ worth of patience is running out, and she goes and vanishes. I’d say it wasn’t fair, but whoever said life was supposed to be? I didn’t ask for awful, selfish parents who liked to hit me when the drink and drugs ran out any more than I asked to be responsible for keeping the human world safe from monsters. You can’t change destiny.

Composing a new message to Ursula, I type up my report as fast as possible. I still have school in the morning and about an hour of homework left to do.

To: roamingursie@magicmail.com

From: grrretchen@wazoo.com

Subject: Hunt Report #0427

Target: Minotaur, male

Discovery: Scent of wretched puke sour hay and bile while sniff-testing the air from the balcony window.

Location: Chinatown, all-night dim sum restaurant, back room

Result: Discovered the subject on the verge of attacking human couple on sappy romantic date. Used eye hypnosis to keep human couple focused on sappy romantic date. Had little trouble engaging and neutralizing minotaur given his massive head and lack of coordination. Entire incident over in less than five minutes.

Sightings: None

Unit: Gretchen Sharpe

I’m not sure why Ursula makes me fill out my name in the report. It’s not like there are other descendants of Medusa to do this dirty work. I’m not even sure why she makes me write up the reports at all. Who cares about how I took down a Cabeirian horse in the frozen foods aisle or a cyon chryseus at the base of Coit Tower?

From what little Ursula has told me, San Francisco is the only vortex for monster activity. She and I are pretty much the front, back, and only line of defense. And although she can see them, she can’t fight them like she used to. She’s cagey about her age, but she has to be sixty at least. Not spry enough to wrestle a siren on a rampage. That’s partly why she’s training me.

That’s not the only reason though. One day, a few months ago, I overheard part of a hushed phone conversation. I wouldn’t normally eavesdrop, but I heard my name and was curious. But the only other words I could make out were “Zeus must be behind this, cousin” and something about not trusting Athena.

Clearly, something bigger than me is going on.

That’s when I started asking questions again. Ursula kept putting me off, telling me it wasn’t time yet. And now that it’s time, she’s nowhere to be found.

I take a frustrated breath and force it out. There’s nothing I can do about it right now. I’ll keep on with business as usual until Ursula gets back. Then I’ll pin her down for the promised answers.

The only other messages in my inbox are spam. I trash it all, shut down the computer, and head for bed. Schooltime will be here too soon, and I can’t exactly be late for the second day. That would draw way more attention than I need. A girl’s got to stay below the radar if she wants to keep slaying monsters in her free time.


In the dream, I’m asleep at my desk in biology. The sheep of Euclid High School—pretty much the entire student body—are the actual, wool-covered, bleating variety. And the teacher lecturing at the front of the class has a forked tongue. Well, three actually. One for each head.

“Misssss Ssssarpe,” she says, first with one mouth, then echoing with the other two, trying to rouse me. “Misssss Ssssarpe!”

I try to ignore the three-headed, serpent-tongued teacher, burying my head in the crook of my arm to block out the fluorescent light.

“Miss Sharpe!”

I jerk up at the sound of Mrs. Knightly’s shout. “Yes?”

She frowns at me from the front of the classroom. The sheep—back to their regular, trend-obsessed, mindless human selves—all stare and snicker at me. I casually swipe my hand across my mouth, in case I’m having a drool moment. All clear.

“First warning,” Mrs. Knightly says before turning back to her notes about photosynthesis on the board.

It’s just bad luck that I have biology first thing in the morning. I actually like the subject—and Mrs. Knightly too, not that I’d ever admit it to the ballbuster—but with my nocturnal schedule, I’m usually barely awake for first period. It’s still early enough in the semester that she’s giving me warnings. She’s even given me a slide on the homework I forgot to do last night. If past experience is anything to go by, though, her leniency will last about two weeks. After that, it’ll be straight to the office for every little offense, which is the last thing I need.

Keeping my record clear and uninteresting to school counselors, administrators, and welfare officers is mission critical. The last thing Ursula and I need is someone with a government badge and a sudden interest in my guardianship. It’s not like our situation is easy to explain.

When Ursula found me, I was on the short path to nowhere, living in a warehouse, stealing candy bars and energy drinks to survive. I can still picture the moment she appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, inside my makeshift home. The scent of lemongrass hit me first, sweet and tangy against the dust- and rotting garbage-filled environment. Then she was there.

I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the broken bottle that was my only defense against intruders.

“You have no need of that weapon with me,” she said, stepping forward. Her long, shimmery gray dress rippled around her. “I am here to help you.”

“Don’t need no help,” I snapped.

Her soft eyes smiled. “I am sure you do not.” Another step forward. “But I hope you will accept it all the same.”

“No thanks.” I flung the bottle at her, skewing my aim so it missed by a mile. I turned to run.

Before I took a step she was in front of me, blocking my path.

“How’d you do that?”

“Don’t you want to know about your destiny?” she asked, ignoring my question. “The one the oracle told you about.”

I jerked back. How could this stranger know about the fortune-teller I’d visited a few weeks ago, the one whose reading had prompted me to run away from home once and for all? The one who had promised me a greater destiny than I could even imagine.

“How do you know about that?” I demanded.

“Come,” she said, turning and walking away. “I shall explain over a nice hot meal. I find myself quite famished.”

Four years later, I’m amazed she didn’t run screaming from the filthy, tattered girl who tried to attack her with a broken bottle. Instead, she took me in, told me about my destiny, and trained me to fulfill it. There’s nothing on the books about our arrangement, and nothing about it that would pass a Child Welfare Services sniff test.

As long as I keep my nose clean at school, we can go on as we are. That suits me fine. But one red flag in the wrong file and I’ll be in the foster care system before you can say “unfit guardian.” Or, worse, back with Phil and Barb. No thank you. Twelve years with them was enough to last a lifetime.

I pull myself up in my desk, straightening my spine to improve blood flow to my brain. Rubbing the backs of my hands against my eyes, I allow myself one last yawn before focusing my attention on the lecture.

I grab a pen out of the pocket of my cargo pants, click the top, and start to write the date in the corner of my blank sheet of paper.

The classroom door creaks open as I underline the date for the third time. I continue my doodling, covering the left margin of my page with diagonal stripes. I assume the visitor is an office aide come to request the presence of someone less adept than me at keeping below the radar.

The hush that falls across the room is my first clue.

Usually, an interruption by an office aide means an excuse for the sheep to start talking. They snatch the opportunity to trash-talk each other or trade juicy stories while the teacher is distracted. That they’ve fallen into silence means this isn’t an ordinary office aide visit.

I glance up.

“Class, this is Nick,” Mrs. Knightly explains, gesturing at the boy standing next to her desk. “He’s new at Euclid. Please welcome him.”

The sheep erupt into chatter, instant gossip about the new boy. He looks fairly ordinary: on the tall side; short, wavy blond hair; dark, unreadable eyes; features that look carved from stone—okay, not so ordinary. But not so exceptional among the male half of the herd.