Sweet Venom (7 page)

“Wow, that's—”

If it weren't for everything I've seen in the last twenty-four hours, I would think she's lying. I shake my head, realizing that everything I thought I knew—about myth, about Medusa, about whether monsters might really exist—is wrong.

“How—” I begin again. I have to swallow before I can finish. “How did that happen?” I ask. “How did the real story get so twisted?”

“Ursula, my mentor, says it began with Athena's jealousy.” Gretchen shrugs as if it's no big deal. “She thought Medusa seduced Poseidon, and she wanted revenge.”

More mythology lessons resurface. “That's why she helped Perseus kill Medusa, right?”

Gretchen nods, and I feel a little surge of pride.

“Ever since her assassination it's been up to her descendants to keep the monster population in check,” she explains. “Something I've been doing for the past four years.”

Four years? That's a long time, a quarter of my life. I wonder if it's been a quarter of her life too. As much as I might want to believe she's my long-lost sister, just because we look alike and see the same monsters doesn't necessarily make it true.

But I have to ask.

“And do you think . . . ?” I can't bring myself to finish the question.

In truth, I'm not sure what I want the answer to be. There are pros and cons either way. If it's yes, then I'm some kind of mythological monster hunter, destined to fight the disgusting creatures I've been seeing for two days. If it's no, then Gretchen isn't my twin and that empty spot in my heart stays wretchedly empty.

“That you're one too?” she finishes for me. “I guess it's possible.”

As I look at the girl who might be my sister, I realize the cons don't matter. Blood matters. Family matters.

“I'm adopted,” I blurt, suddenly
wanting
everything to be true.
Needing
it to be true, needing Gretchen to be my real flesh and blood, even knowing what that means. As much as I love Mom and Dad and Thane, we don't share any genes. It's not the same. “I don't know anything about my birth parents.”

Gretchen hesitates, freezing like a statue. I try to tune in, to sense some kind of twin connection. But she's like a brick wall. Finally, after a long exhale, she says, “I was adopted too.”

There's something in her tone, in her use of the past tense about her adoption, that makes me think that she wasn't quite as lucky as I have been. I wouldn't trade my mom and dad for anyone. I know things could be so much worse, that other kids wind up in awful homes all the time.

My heart goes out to her.

“Are you sixteen?” I ask, knowing this is the only way to be anything close to certain right now. It's a very
Parent Trap
moment, only without the summer camp and the prank war. When she nods, I say, “My birthday is July thirtieth.”

I hold my breath, waiting. Hoping.

It feels like a lifetime before she says, “Mine too.”

My mind reels. Literally reels. I've always wondered about my birth parents, imagining what they might look like or what kind of people they are. Where did I get my silver eyes and my crooked pinky fingers? I used to spend hours at the mirror, studying every little detail and wondering where it came from. The identity of my birth parents has never been something I desperately needed to know, though. Mom and Dad are my parents in every way that counts. Maybe by the time I turn eighteen and can get access to my records, I'll be ready to investigate.

But now, finding out that not only am I a descendant of some mythological guardian, but I also have a sister. A
twin
sister. It's a little—

“I think I need to sit down,” I say, feeling a little bit lightheaded.

Gretchen pushes away from the counter. “Let's go to the library. You can sit and I'll try calling Ursula.” She leads the way into the room lined on three walls with books and binders. “There is some serious weird going on lately, and she might know why.”

She yanks open the sliding glass balcony door, and I suck in a breath of salty night air as I drop into a chair at the conference table.

“Weird how?” I ask.

“Like three monsters showing up in one night.” She drops into the desk chair and spins around once.

“That doesn't usually happen?”

“No,” Gretchen pulls out her phone and starts dialing. “There is supposed to be a one-beastie-per-night rule in place.”

That's a relief. Or it would be if it were still true.

“What about during the day?” I want to ask as many questions as possible while she's answering. Who knows how long this opportunity will last.

“They don't come out when the sun is up.” She dials the phone and holds it to her ear. “They're nocturnal, I guess.”

With Gretchen's attention fully on her phone call, I turn mine to the room around me. I instantly forget the crazy news that just moments ago threatened to overwhelm me, the news that I have a sister and a heritage and, apparently, a destiny. Instead, I am hypnotized by row after row of books.

I'm not really such a bookworm—my academic specialty veers more toward the digital—but I appreciate the amount of data and research contained in these volumes. It lures me out of the chair and toward the shelves.

My fingers trail respectfully over their spines as I scan the titles. There's an entire case of books on martial arts and fighting techniques. Another two full of books on mythology and ancient Greece. The rest are titles on a variety of minor subjects, like computers and technology and geology and cartography. What those have to do with monster fighting I'm not sure, but they must be useful.

I'm a little gaga over all the books, but it's the final case that captures my attention. Its shelves are full of white three-ring binders. Not so unusual, I suppose, but the spine labels promise something very unusual inside:
MINOTAURS. HYDRAS. SERPENT HYBRIDS. CHIMERAS. LAELAPSES. UNIDENTIFIED SPECIES.

With a quick glance at Gretchen, who has left her chair and is staring out over the Bay, I pull the one labeled
MINOTAURS
off the shelf and flip through. There are sections on history and myths, traits and characteristics, preferences, sociology, physiology, and battle tactics. There are myths and legends about the minotaurs. A table of reported sightings. A detailed anatomical drawing, with a big red circle around the back of the neck.

“Come on, Ursula!”

Gretchen's boots squeak on the sparkly white tile as she starts pacing back and forth, dialing and redialing her phone. With no luck, judging from the curse that punctuates the end of each attempt. With a final curse, she throws the phone onto the table in the middle of the room.

I slide the minotaur binder back into place. After a quick estimate, I conservatively calculate that there must be over two hundred binders. Two hundred different kinds of monsters, with valuable hunting information trapped inside the pages. The whole collection should really be digitized. Maybe even made into a smartphone app so Gretchen can get the info she needs anywhere, anytime. That could be a lifesaver sometime.

“Where is Ursula?” Gretchen snaps. “It's not like her to disappear for days at a time without letting me know.”

She sounds really worried, and she doesn't seem like the worrying sort.

“How long has she been gone?” I ask.

Gretchen spears me with a look, and I'm pretty sure she forgot I was here. Or maybe thinks I'm to blame for the weirdness going around and her missing mentor. I hope it's the first, because I spotted what I thought was a knife handle sticking out of her boot when she carried me out of the club. I confirmed it when her pant leg was rolled up earlier. I bet she knows how to use it too.

Finally, reluctantly, she says, “A few days. Maybe a week.”

“Does she leave often?”

“Yes,” Gretchen answers. “But she usually sends me an email or a text so I know she's okay.”

“She could be somewhere with no signal,” I suggest.

“Yeah, maybe,” Gretchen agrees.

I think she's humoring me.

For what feels like an hour Gretchen stares blankly at the table and I stare blankly at Gretchen. Like I'm staring in the mirror. I mean, it's a little freaky. Our faces are identical. And even without an adoption record or a DNA test, I know without a doubt she's my sister. My twin. I can
feel
it in the same way I feel Thane when he sneaks up behind me. I just know.

“So . . . ,” I finally say to break the silence. “What do we do now?”

“How should I know?” Gretchen barks.

I jump back a little at her harsh tone.

“Everything's going sideways at the moment. Ursula's missing, monsters are breaking the rules”—she spears me with a glance—“you show up in the middle of it all.”

Even though I didn't do anything but move to a new town, I feel a little guilty. Gretchen obviously thinks these changes might have something to do with me, and how do I know that they don't?

“I'm sorry, okay?” she says before I can apologize, still sounding agitated but a little more calm.

I give her a little slack. “No problem,” I say. “You're worried about your mentor. I understand.”

It's a lot to take in all at once. Multiple monsters, missing mentor, long-lost twin. No wonder she's a little snappish.

She runs a hand over her hair, swiping her bangs back across her braid.

“Look, I think the best thing you can do,” she says, her tone final and far more mature than our sixteen years should have made her, “is to go back to your world. Forget about this one. Go back to your life. You'll be safer there.”

What? “I—”

“I'll drive you home.”

“No, Gretchen,” I argue. “I don't want to—”

She stomps out of the room without another word. I don't want to follow her. I want to stay here, to talk and get to know her and ask more questions. Does she sneeze in threes too? Does she hate cherries and love avocados? What's her worst subject in school? I can't just walk away from all of this. I can't just walk away from her.

If we're twins, like I have to believe we are, then her heritage is also mine. Her duty to hunt monsters is also mine. Is it fair to let her continue to carry that responsibility all on her own?

But as much as I want to embrace this new part of myself, I'm a little scared. I can see that her lifestyle is dangerous. I mean, she took down three mythological monsters by herself tonight. They probably don't go down without a serious fight. She got injured on her ankle and her neck, and I bet that's nothing compared to other injuries she's had. It's dangerous and probably potentially deadly.

Maybe Gretchen is right. Maybe I should go back to my safe world, with parents and a brother who love me very much and would be devastated if I got eaten by a chimera. If I stay and try to help, I might even get Gretchen hurt in the process.

My heart sinks at the thought of going back to my ordinary life and pretending this night never happened, but it might be for the best. For both of us.

Quietly, I follow Gretchen down to the car. As I drop into the passenger seat and she revs the engine, I can't help feeling like a total coward. That somewhere, wherever she is, our birth mother is ashamed. Buildings blur by my window as I wipe a tear from my eye. But I don't say a word.

Coward it is.

A
fter a night of horrible and heartbreaking dreams, I finally drag myself out of bed Saturday morning with only an hour to spare before it turns into afternoon. As I face the mirror in the bathroom Thane and I share, I'm amazed I still look like myself. So many things changed last night, it seems impossible that I haven't.

I squeeze a dollop of toothpaste onto my brush. While I scrub back and forth across my teeth, memories flash through my mind. The minotaur. The griffin. The feathered snake and the fire-breathing lizard. Gretchen. Her Mustang. Her loft. Her library. The tight feeling in my chest when she told me to get lost. The look I imagine was on my face when I surrendered to my fear.

I spit into the sink.

“It's not like she wanted me around anyway,” I say, trying to convince myself. “She wanted me gone.”

As much as I might want to know my sister, she obviously doesn't want to know me. And I'm perfectly happy to pretend that monsters and Medusa are figments of myth.

“Minotaurs don't exist,” I tell my reflection.

Maybe if I pretend hard enough, I'll actually believe it.

I stare into my silver-eyed reflection, willing myself to embrace the lie. To forget about Gretchen and minotaurs and my mythological heritage. To never see a monster again.

I sigh. “No such luck.”

“Trying to will yourself bigger boobs?”

“Thane!” I gasp, spinning and throwing a hairbrush at his privacy-invading head. “Get out of here.”

He ducks, avoiding death by hairbrush, and grins. I should be angry, but it's hard to be mad when he's in such a good mood. Especially after he was so angry at me for ditching the club.

“About last night,” I say, knowing I need to apologize. “I should have told you before I left.” Although it's hard to say your good-byes when you're hanging over someone's shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

He bends down to grab my brush, and when he stands back up, his entire demeanor has changed. “You should be.”

“I—” How can I explain this without
explaining
this? “I was just so . . . excited to see my friend. She's really the only person I've connected with in San Francisco.” True. “I didn't stop to think.”

His expression doesn't change, but I can read the silent
Obviously
as clearly as if he'd shouted.

“I'm sorry,” I repeat. “It won't happen again.”

He nods, accepting my apology, and I'm relieved. As much as I hate lying to my family, I hate being in fights with them more.

“Family breakfast,” he says, handing me my brush. “Mom made pancakes.”

Mmmm.
“I'll be right there.”

He vanishes as silently as he appeared.

I take a few minutes to wash my face and run a brush through my hair. From the outside, I look like my normal self on a normal day, ready for a normal family breakfast. Well, at least one of the above is true.

I feel like I'm being pulled between two different worlds. On one side, there's the only family I've ever known. The mom and dad and brother I love more than anything and who love me back just as much.

On the other side, there's the family I never knew I had. The family I always dreamed about finding. A sister who, whether she wants to accept it or not, is as close to me as a person can get genetically. Somewhere, maybe, a biological mother who has answers about who and what we are. And a biological father too.

I don't even know which side my mythological lineage comes from, but it's a lineage that dates back thousands of years, to ancient Greece and beyond, to prehistoric myth.

How can I just pretend I don't know about any of those things?

“Gracie!” Dad calls down the hall. “Hurry your behind out here before your brother eats all the pancakes.”

“Coming!” I shout back.

There isn't another option. Gretchen wants less than nothing to do with me—she made that a thousand percent clear. And I have a loving, normal family waiting for me out there, expecting me to be the same old Grace I was yesterday. That's who I have to be right now.

Normal,
I tell myself as I drop my brush back into the drawer and slide the whole thing shut.
I can do this.

In the dining room, I find Mom, Dad, and Thane sitting around the table. There's a steaming pile of pancakes, a pitcher of warm maple syrup, and a platter of greasy bacon. I force myself into the routine of an ordinary family breakfast. As I drop into my chair, Mom hands me the pancakes.

“Delicious,” I hum, inhaling the tasty aroma. So much better than eau de monster.

No! I'm not going there.

I fork a short stack of pancakes onto my plate, smear them with butter, and smother them with maple syrup. Thane waves the plate of bacon in my direction.

“Ha ha,” I say, pushing it away.

He dumps half the bacon onto his plate. “Oink, oink.”

“Thane,” Mom chides.

“It's okay,” I insist. “I'm used to it.”

“That's my girl,” Dad says. “Now, kiddos, tell me about week one. Any horror stories to share?”

Horror stories? Absolutely. To share? Not on your life. Even if I can accept the fact that I'm not insane, there's no way I can tell anyone about seeing monsters. Or meeting my sister. As much as I believe it to be true, I don't think anyone else would.

“Nothing exciting,” I say between bites of pancake. Ignor-ing the topic of my unwelcoming fellow students, I focus on academics. “Alpha has some awesome electives choices. Tae Kwon Do and Operatic Singing.”

“Very impressive,” Dad says with a nod. “And which classes are you electing to take?”

“Computer Science,” I say.

Thane mutters, “Duh.”

I throw a piece of pancake at his forehead. He dodges it, like the hairbrush, and it flies past him and onto the floor.

“And I'm thinking,” I say, as if my brother isn't acting like an idiot this morning, “maybe . . . Yearbook.”

Even though I've already picked my electives, part of me can't help protecting myself against potential disapproval. Ms. West did say I could still change, and if Mom and Dad think Yearbook is a bad idea, then maybe I should.

Mom fills my glass with orange juice. “That sounds like fun,” she says. “It'll be good for you to have something less academic.”

Dad smiles, and I release a relieved sigh.

“I agree,” he says as he grabs a piece of bacon off Thane's plate. “And what about you, Thane? How was your first week at Euclid?”

Thane shrugs, his entire body stiffening at the question. He hates talking about school because it inevitably leads to talking about his nonexistent plans for the future. “Met a cool guy. Made the soccer team.”

A cool guy. As if that's all there is to Milo. As if he's not beautiful and sweet and fun and— Okay, so maybe Thane wouldn't say all those things, but they're true.

Of course, by now Milo probably thinks I'm a flake for disappearing last night. Imagine if he knew I'm a descendant of a mythological monster too. Full-scale freak.

“You know,” Dad says to Thane, “my company has a highly respected internship program.” He takes a sip of coffee. “You should consider applying.”

My head drops and I keep my eyes glued to my plate. Dad and Thane have this continuing battle about Thane's future. My brother has no plans to go to college, and for environmental-engineer Dad and retired-lawyer Mom, that's a little hard to swallow. Thane doesn't like to talk about his future at all. He's more a live-in-the-moment guy. I know Dad has the best intentions, but whenever he goes down this path, it never ends well.

“No thanks,” Thane says.

Even without looking, I can feel his tension. Dad should really let this go.

“I wish you would consider it,” Dad says. “It's an excellent opportunity to—”

Thane shoves back from the table and stands, sending his chair crashing to the floor. “I said I'm not interested.”

He's out the front door before anyone can say a word. I give Dad a sympathetic look, even though I wish he would leave Thane alone about the future planning. Thane will figure things out eventually. None of us can make that happen any faster.

Mom takes Dad's hand across the table. “It doesn't help to push him, Sam,” she says.

Dad shakes his head. “I know, but I wish . . .”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, letting our breakfast get cold. When I can't stand it anymore, I say, “He'll come around, Dad. You know he has stuff to figure out.”

“I know.” Dad gives me a sad smile. “But I'm his father. I feel responsible for helping him do that.”

I get up and give Dad a hug.

“You are helping him,” I say, squeezing extra tight. “He just isn't ready yet.”

“Thanks, Gracie.” Dad pats me on the back.

We go back to eating our breakfast in silence. Unfortunately, the lack of conversation gives my mind the freedom to dwell on everything that happened last night. I don't know why I do this to myself—go over and over stuff I can't do anything about—but it's like a compulsion. When Mom and Dad get up, I leap at the chance to busy myself with clearing the table.

I'm helping Mom with the dishes when Thane returns.

He nods at us and then goes to find Dad. Thane may have a temper, but he also has an acute sense of integrity. He'll apologize, and everything will be back to normal.

Everything except me, of course.

Nothing can fix that.

Thane and I ride the same city bus to school, even though I stay on for several stops after he gets off. It's packed in the morning, and I'm penned in by people on all sides. The bus takes the corner on the street that runs by Thane's school, and I swing hard toward the window, over the lap of a man in a business suit who is busy checking email on his phone.

The businessman scowls at me, and before he can say something nasty, I look away, glancing out at the sidewalk to see how many people will try to cram on at the next stop.

That's when I see the woman.

She could almost pass for fully human, except for the dark-red exoskeleton and the scorpion tail trailing behind her.

I squeeze my eyes shut. This is not happening. I mean, I
know
it's happening—after everything that happened Friday night, I'd have to be completely delusional to pretend that monsters don't exist, and Gretchen assured me I'm not insane—but it
shouldn't
be happening. It's against the rules or something. Gretchen said monsters don't come out during the day. They're supposed to be nocturnal, according to her and her missing mentor. So why is scorpion lady strolling down the street in the early-morning sun?

Well, you know what? Not my problem. Gretchen didn't want me involved—and I walked away willingly—so I won't be involved. It's not like I can fight the monster, anyway. I wouldn't even know how to try. I'm going to turn away from the window, open my eyes, and act as if the lady I saw was heading to an early-morning costume party.

Hey, it could happen.

The bus jostles down the street, slamming to a sudden stop and knocking me forward into a woman with a baby stroller, then back against Thane's shoulder. He stares blankly out the window at the row of pastel buildings.

What's wrong with him? I know he's still a little upset about my nightclub disappearing act, but he said he was over it.

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, not wanting to start the week with things weird between us. “I'll apologize again if—”

“It's nothing,” he snaps.

“Thane, seriously.” I lean around so I can look him in the eye. “I'm sorry I left without telling you. If I could go back and do it differently, I would.” Then, just in case humor will fix things faster, I add, “Hurry up and invent that time machine already.”

He cracks a grin and I release my breath. He says, “Working on it.”

We both laugh.

The bus jerks back into motion. I tighten my grip on the bar to keep from swinging into someone's lap.

“So,” I ask tentatively, “we're okay?”

“Yeah,” he says as bus pulls up in front of his school. “We're fine.”

I guess that's as good as I'm going to get from Thane this early in the morning. By the time we get home after school, things will be back to normal. Considering everything else going on right now, I need as much normal as I can get.

The bus stops in front of the main gate with a squeal of brakes, and everyone on board lurches forward a step. As the doors open, Thane nods at me and says, “See you later.”

I smile and give him a small wave as he heads toward the door.

Half the bus empties out and I drop into the nearest available seat. I'm glad it's one with a view of the school, because if Thane is arriving at school, then maybe Milo is too. There is a whole ocean of students funneling into the central courtyard. If Milo were there, though, I know I'd be able to find him. I'd see his head of dark curly hair above the crowd.

I haven't seen him since Friday night and I'm having Milo withdrawals. Okay, that's an exaggeration—I realize I've barely met the boy—but I am worried that he might be mad at me too. One minute we were dancing, the next I was gone. Even though I'm nothing but a new buddy's sister to him, he has every right to be annoyed about being abandoned.

I scan the mass, searching for a mop of dark messy curls.

Instead, I spot a long, dark-blond braid.

Gretchen?

She goes to Thane's school? Well that's one of my questions about her answered. As the bus pulls back into motion, I wonder what will happen if Thane sees her—or, considering my life lately,
when
Thane sees her. Instant mess. Great, another thing to worry about. Exactly what I need on a Monday morning.