Sweet Venom

by Tera Lynn Childs

  “Not even close,” I say, tossing the apple from hand to hand. “These babies don’t suck, they inject.”

  She looks concerned, like she doesn’t believe my insistence that we’re not bloodsuckers. I’m kind of surprised her fangs haven’t made an appearance already. Especially during her run-in with the basilisk hybrid tonight. Maybe if her subconscious didn’t know about the pair of weapons hiding in her mouth, they couldn’t engage. Self-preservation instinct sent her magically to my door instead.

  Obviously she needs training, to learn how to defend herself against the creatures that would love nothing more than to send their own nasty venom coursing through her veins. As much as I wish I could send her away, back to the world she’s always known, that’s not possible anymore. Monsters know about her and she knows about them. The floodgates are open, and there aren’t enough buckets on the planet to get the water back behind the dam. I’m going to have to train her, for her own protection, and this might as well be lesson number one.

  “Here, take this,” I say, handing her the apple. “And close your eyes.”

  I think back to Ursula’s earliest lessons. It’s been four years since she found me and we started training, but I remember every session as if it were only yesterday. When you’ve spent a lifetime feeling like a worthless burden, you tend to pay attention to the person who gives you a destiny.

  Grace closes her eyes.

  “Now,” I say, circling around her as I speak, “think about the monster that attacked you at the bus stop. Picture every slimy, snaky detail.”

  Her brow creases and her upper lip curls in disgust. Good girl.

  “Imagine it has you pinned down. You’re trapped.” I step close and whisper, “You’re scared and helpless and angry.”

  She starts shaking all over, and I have a feeling I’m getting it pretty close to what actually happened. I’m not trying to freak her out, but she has to learn to overcome the fear. I wouldn’t be good at my job if I went out hunting terrified of what might happen.

  To her credit, she doesn’t open her eyes or beg me to stop.

  “You think you’re about to die,” I say, making my voice as low and hypnotic as possible. “Now”—I stop in front of Grace—“picture yourself flipping it over, so you’re on top and it’s trapped beneath you. You’re in control.”

  Her lips spread into a small smile. Two perfectly white fangs slide into place so smoothly, she doesn’t notice.

  “Now, pretend the apple is the beast’s neck,” I command. “Bite!”

  Without hesitation, she lifts the apple to her mouth and sinks her teeth into the shiny red skin. She sighs, and my own fangs tingle with envy. When the venom flows, there’s a kind of sweet euphoria. I call it the huntress bliss, an amazing feeling that you want to experience again and again. It makes you want to hunt again and again. After four years, the novelty has kind of worn off, but sometimes it catches me by surprise. If I could bottle that feeling, I’d be a billionaire.

  I cup my hand around hers and pull it and the apple away from her mouth. Her fangs recede as she opens her dreamy eyes, clearly confused about what has just happened.

  “Did I—?”

  She doesn’t need to finish the question. I hold out the apple, showing her the twin fang holes oozing with the translucent purple liquid, the venom that holds the power to send monsters back to their realm, and the unequivocal proof that she’s a huntress too.

  She lifts her hand to her mouth, running fingertips over her back-to-normal teeth. “I did that?”

  “All you.”

  “Can I—?” She reaches out and gingerly touches the apple, collecting some of the venom on her fingertip.

  “It’s harmless to us,” I explain. “Taste it. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”

  I don’t mention that it’s probably sweet in order to cut the nasty taste of monster. She doesn’t need to know that yet.

  She dabs her finger to her lip and licks a tiny taste of the purple fluid. She looks up at me, amazed. “It is sweet.”

  I turn and toss the apple into the compost can on the counter. If there’d been any doubt before about Grace being my sister, it has just evaporated like a monster back into the abyss. My sister.

  For a second, with my back to Grace, I press my palms against the cool black granite and let all the changes of the last few days overwhelm me. For so long, it’s been me and Ursula. Two, alone. And before that, only me. I don’t know how to have a sister, how to be a sister. How to be a teacher. Who am I to give lessons to Grace? Just because I can hunt doesn’t mean I can teach someone else to do it.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  “So I’m supposed to . . . bite them?” she asks.

  I suck in a deep breath. Whether I think I’m up to the task or not, I’m the only one around who can train her. It’s either me or a painful death at the hands of some hideous creature. I’m definitely the better of the two options.

  I spin around and lean back against the counter. “Yes. Bite fast and hard. In a vein is best,” I explain. “Fastest. But anywhere will work. As long as you don’t get bitten or scratched in the meantime.”

  “What happens if I get bitten or scratched?”

  “Monsters have venom of their own. Each one is different. Most only cause unbearable pain if not treated quickly enough.”

  “Most?” she asks.

  Some part of me doesn’t want to tell her, wants to protect her from the harsh reality of the world she’s been forced into. Born into, I suppose. But shielding her from reality doesn’t make it any less true. “Some are deadly,” I have to admit. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at her face. “We have antidotes for a lot of them. Not all.”

  “Like the blue liquid you used on your neck the other night?”

  I nod. “Griffin antivenom.”

  I sense Grace leaning against the counter next to me.

  “It’s not a bad dream, is it?” she asks quietly.

  “No,” I say just as quietly. “It’s not.”

  We stand there in silence for a few minutes. I can imagine what’s racing through her mind—a swirl of thoughts about monsters and fangs and venom and attacks and maybe getting killed in the process—but mine is calm. For the first time in days, I know what I have to do; I don’t have much of a choice. Either I teach her to defend herself, or she’s a sitting duck for any monster that pops into our world.

  “You need training,” I say, turning my stare across the dining area and out over the dark bay. Now that I know what needs to be done, I’m ready to attack it with the same confidence I attack everything.

  “You think?” she replies with unexpected sarcasm.

  I smile at the spunk I haven’t been giving her credit for. She’s my sister in more ways than one, I guess.

  “Can you be here?” I ask. “Every day after school, and on weekends.”

  “I—” She hesitates—maybe worrying what her parents will think, since she has parents to worry about her whereabouts—but then says, “Yes. I’ll be here.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to put myself into the mode of teacher. “We’ll start with basic defense strategies,” I explain. “Ways to protect yourself from an attack.”

  She looks down at her ointment-covered fingertips. They’ve stopped bleeding, but they’re still pretty raw. “I could have definitely used that tonight.”

  I try not to think about what might have happened if she hadn’t managed to autoport. I’d be back to being an only child in a venom-filled heartbeat. I push the thought aside. No point worrying about that now. Time to focus on the future and not dwell on the past.

  “Once you’ve mastered some basic defense techniques,” I say, “we’ll move on to offensive strategies.”

  “Biting?” she asks.

  “Biting,” I agree. “And other things. It’s not always easy to get a bite in, especially on the multiheaded creatures. You’ll need backup techniques. Punches and kicks and weapons.”

  “Lik
e the knife in your boot?”

  I turn a surprised look on her. “How do you know about my knife?”

  She shrugs. “I caught a glimpse the other night when your pant leg was rolled up. And when you carried me out of the nightclub.”

  “Oh,” I mumble, suddenly feeling guilty about my actions that night. “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries.” She’s surprisingly chipper for someone who has, in the last week, been kidnapped, discovered a long-lost sister, started seeing monsters, and been attacked by one.

  “I’m—” She dips her head, like she’s embarrassed. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad we . . . found each other. No matter how it happened.”

  As much as it shocks me to admit it, I say, “Me too.”

  We stand there, side by side, leaning against the counter, and I’m surprised at how comfortable it feels. I’m not usually at ease around other people, especially not people I’ve just met. I don’t know if it’s that I prefer being alone or that I’m used to being on my own. Or at least that used to be true.

  That’s another part of the strange events of late, because it’s not only Grace who makes me feel this way. It’s Nick too. Even though I know he has to be nothing but trouble, I let my guard down when he’s around. I let myself be a little more . . . me than I am with other people.

  I shake my head to get those thoughts out. There’s no place for Nick or any other boy in my life. I have a mission and a destiny and a world of responsibility that no one else can possibly understand.

  Well, no one but Grace, now.

  “What are we going to do about Milo?” she asks, pulling me thankfully from my thoughts.

  “Who?”

  “Milo,” she repeats. “The boy who thought you were me at school today. You didn’t even know who he was?”

  “Oh, him,” I reply. I forgot that part of my day and Grace’s rushed recap of the situation. “Nope, never saw him before. Or at least never noticed him.”

  “Never noticed him?” she asks in disbelief. “How could you not notice Milo?”

  I shrug. “Guess I wasn’t looking.”

  I do my best to stay off other people’s radar and to keep anything that’s not from the beastie realm off mine.

  Grace lets out a snort. I glance sideways at her and find a daydreamy look on her face. Three guesses what—scratch that, who—put it there.

  I almost ask her about him, almost cross the fine line into girl talk and into the beginning stages of friendship. But that world is as foreign to me as monster hunting is to her. I need to take baby steps in that direction.

  Instead of probing for details, I say, “I’ll keep a low profile. He’ll never see me again.”

  “It’s not really Milo I’m worried about,” she says, turning to face me. “He barely knows me. But Thane is another story.”

  “Thane?”

  “My brother.”

  I must get a confused look on my face, because she quickly adds, “My adopted brother.”

  “Oh.” My breath whooshes out in relief. Not that the idea of another sibling horrifies me or anything, but it would be kind of a lot to take in all at once. One sister is enough.

  “I won’t be able to convince Thane he saw someone who only looked like me,” she explains. “He’ll know.”

  “Thane Whitfield?” I ask, committing the unfamiliar name to memory. “I don’t think we have any classes in common.”

  “He’s a senior,” she says, “but if you pass him in the halls or—”

  “I’ll make sure he never sees me, either,” I say. For some reason it’s important for me to reassure Grace, to keep her life as close to normal as possible. My life has never been normal, I wouldn’t even know what that feels like, but I can do my best to make sure hers stays that way.

  At first I’m not sure she hears me. She just stares down at her hot-pink sneakers, lost in thought. Finally, she says, “Well, we’ll have to deal with whatever comes up.” She looks up at me and smiles. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  She pushes away from the counter. “I’d better get going. Mom will worry if I’m out too late.”

  I follow her out of the kitchen, to the living room where she tossed her jacket on one of the leather armchairs.

  “Are these real leather?” she asks, nodding at the couches and chairs.

  “As far as I know. Why?”

  She makes a disgusted face but just shakes her head. “Never mind.” As she shrugs into her jacket, she says, “I’ll be here tomorrow after school for my first lesson.”

  I nod, grabbing her backpack off the floor and handing it to her.

  “Do I need to bring anything?” she asks. “Or wear anything special?”

  I shake my head. “Only if you want to. Monsters don’t care whether you’re in sweats or a party dress. You can train in whatever you wear every day.”

  “Makes sense,” she says, taking the backpack but not putting it on. Her gaze flicks to the library. “Um, do you think I could take one of those monster file binders?” she asks. “To study.”

  I shrug. “Don’t see why not. Help yourself.”

  I’ve read them all already. And Grace needs to learn what’s inside them too.

  She hurries to the library and returns a minute later, her backpack on her back and a big smile on her face.

  I’m about to give her a smile in return when I catch the faint scent of skunk wafting in off the balcony. Here we go again.

  I grab my keys off the table by the door.

  “Come on,” I say. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  And after I make sure she’s home safe, I’ve got a hippalectryon to hunt. I should hunt down Grace’s basilisk hybrid too. It must be running wild on the streets by now. Not to mention my missing skorpios hybrid from this afternoon. What is it with all the monster escapes today? Can’t they give it a break for a night? I’ve still got hours of homework.

  But, I think as Grace follows me down the spiral staircase, I guess a huntress’s work is never done.

  Lucky us.

  While Grace takes off her shoes at the training room door, I mentally prepare myself for the role of trainer. Teacher.

  For so long, I’ve been the student; it’s a big adjustment to be on the other side. But, I think as I watch Grace nearly fall over while trying to step out of her left sneaker, there isn’t another option. I spent all night trying to come up with a game plan, a strategy for giving Grace the ability to defend herself.

  As I punched the hippalectryon in its horsey face, I decided to start with basic martial arts training. Learning a stable stance and defensive techniques will help Grace stand strong against whatever comes after her.

  Never did find the runaway hybrids.

  “Ready,” she says, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.

  If she’s ready, then so am I.

  “Okay,” I say, taking a calming breath, “the first thing you need to learn is how to stand properly.”

  Her brow pinches together. “Standing?” She glances down at her feet and then back at me. “I think I’ve got that down pretty well.”

  I’m tempted to roll my eyes. Instead, I step forward and give her shoulder a quick shove. The push throws her off-balance and she stumbles to the floor. Her fall is padded by the mat, but it still stings. Especially her pride.

  “I said properly,” I say, trying not to gloat as I reach down to give her a hand up. “A defensive stance can help keep you on your feet.”

  “Oh,” she says when she’s upright. She releases my hand and self-consciously dusts at her backside. “Okay. How should I stand?”

  “Feet shoulder-width apart.” I demonstrate, opening my stance and bending slightly at the knees. “And drop your butt a little. It will give you a lower center of gravity and the ability to absorb more force through your legs.”

  She mimics my stance, spreading her feet a little too wide and dropping a little too low. I circle her, nudging her feet inward and urging her back up a couple o
f inches.

  “Good.” I move around to face her and, without warning, give her shoulder another shove. She wobbles back but doesn’t fall.

  “Wow.” She grins as she maintains her footing. “That’s amazing.”

  I shrug. “It’s simple physics.”

  “But you have superstrength,” she argues. “If I can stand up when you—”

  I give her another, harder shove that sends her back to the floor.

  This time she pops back up before I can offer help. “Okay, point taken.”

  We spend the next half hour working on her stance, giving her the best solid base before working on movement. I’m pushing against both her shoulders, leaning into the effort, while she resists by squatting deeper and leaning forward into me, when she asks, “Can I ask you something?”

  Since I haven’t managed to knock her to the floor in ten minutes, I decide her stance is in place.

  “Sure,” I say, releasing the pressure and proud to see her adjust her balance to stay in place, rather than falling forward. “What?”

  “How do you find the monsters?” She starts to put her hands on her hips but must remember that it’s better to leave her arms hanging at her sides. “How did you know the minotaur was in that restaurant?”

  “For the minotaur, I just followed my nose.”

  “Oh, the smell!” Her nose wrinkles up in disgust. “It was awful. So you were in the neighborhood, so to speak, and caught the scent.”

  “No, I was home.”

  Her head jerks back. “You smelled it all the way over here? Chinatown is, what, two miles away?”

  “I guess.”

  “How is that possible?” she asks.

  “Like a hunting dog,” I answer. “My sense of smell is highly tuned to eau de monster.”

  Grace sniffs the air. “Do you think I can do that too?”

  “Maybe.” I inhale but can’t sense anything over the stink of the sweaty gym. “Let’s go to the balcony and try it out.”

  I feel her practically bouncing behind me as I head through the living room, to the library, and out onto the balcony beyond. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath through my nose, searching out anything that sounds warning bells.