Sweet Venom

by Tera Lynn Childs

  Beside me, Grace does the same.

  “I don’t smell anything but salt water,” she complains.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Me neither.”

  “So the streets of San Francisco are safe from monsters at the moment?”

  “From the kind that reek. There are some that smell pretty much normal—”

  “Like the cobra lady,” Grace says. “I didn’t smell anything weird, and she was right next to me. How do you find that kind?”

  I turn and lean back against the railing, looking at our reflections in the glass windows of the library. “Good old-fashioned footwork,” I explain. “Most nights I take a drive, patrolling the streets in Moira, eyes out for anything nonhuman.”

  In the reflection, I see Grace nod. She stares out over the Bay as I stare at us. A few days ago, I would never have imagined discussing my life with anyone but Ursula. It feels kind of good to share it with someone else.

  “There’s another thing you should know about,” I find myself saying before I can think better of it. “Our eyes.”

  Grace turns, mirroring my stance against the railing. “Yeah, they’re the same silver gray.”

  “No,” I say. “I mean, yes, they’re the same, but they are special. You remember how I said Medusa didn’t turn people to stone, she hypnotized them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well.” I take a deep breath. “So can we.”

  “What?” She scuffs at the concrete floor of the balcony. “Hypnotize people.”

  I nod. “If you look someone directly in the eye, you can make them do whatever you want.”

  Unless you’re the new and mysterious Nick, of course. But that’s a puzzle for another day.

  “That’s—” She shakes her head, like it’s too much to accept. “How do you— How often have you—”

  “I try not to use it unless absolutely necessary,” I explain, so she doesn’t think I’m out hypnotizing people left and right. “Usually only during a fight, if a human is in danger or getting in the way.”

  She’s silent for a few long moments before saying, “That must be a very powerful feeling. To have people do what you want. To control someone that way.”

  “I’ll admit, at first it was a little thrilling.” I don’t need to tell her about the time I convinced the owner of a flower shop I had already paid for the bouquet I wanted to give Ursula for Mother’s Day. Ursula made me earn the money and pay the man back threefold.

  “It’s not a power to be used lightly,” I explain. Grace doesn’t seem like the type to abuse power, but you never know. “And the effects don’t last long. Just enough to get out of a bad situation.”

  “Oh,” she says quietly. “Good.”

  For some reason, I get the feeling she’s thinking about that boy, Milo. I could give her a lecture or well-meaning advice, but I’m not her conscience. That’s a moral decision she’ll have to make on her own.

  “You know,” I say, “I think that we’ve done enough for the first day of training.”

  “Yeah,” she says, shaking off her thoughts. “I’ve definitely got standing down pat now.”

  I push away from the balcony and head inside. “You need a ride home?”

  “No thanks,” she says. “I know which buses to take now.”

  She grabs her backpack off the conference table and pulls out the monster binders she took home last night. After returning them to the shelf, she grabs a few more.

  When she has them zipped in, she slings the pack over her shoulder and turns to face me. “So, same time tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good.” I glance down at her feet. “Might want your shoes, though.”

  She laughs, but her cheeks flame bright pink. “Probably a good idea.”

  She’s on her way out the door, shoes in place, when she turns back and says, “Thanks, Gretchen.”

  “For what?”

  “For training me, for finding me, for being my sister.” She gives me a small smile. “For everything.”

  I nod and she disappears out the door.

  Gretchen the teacher had a good first day. Now it’s time for Gretchen the huntress to go out on patrol. Just because I didn’t scent any beasties from the balcony doesn’t mean they’re not out there. Yesterday’s missing hybrids are my first priority. I snatch Moira’s keys off the counter, grab my leather jacket as I walk out the door, and head back into familiar territory.

  Chapter 12

  Grace

  My body is so sore and achy, I feel like I’ve been beat up by a sledgehammer. Which, I suppose, is pretty equivalent to two days of training with Gretchen. She’s mentioned, several times, that I need to get into shape. My strength and stamina are lacking, she says, and that translates into lots of push-ups and jumping rope.

  After dragging myself home, I collapse onto the couch, wondering how on earth I’m supposed to fight a monster if I can’t lift my arms. Seems counterproductive to turn me into a pile of muscle mush.

  Maybe, if I close my eyes for just a few minutes, I’ll . . .

  “Hey Grace,” Milo says.

  My eyes flash open and my heart spasms. In a heartbeat, my mind is completely awake.

  “Milo,” I stammer. “Hi, I didn’t know you were here.”

  “We weren’t,” he says, jerking his head at Thane, who is stuffing a lemon bar into his mouth as he emerges from the kitchen. “Just got back from practice.”

  Did they just walk in? Maybe I actually dozed for a minute. Or longer. My sluggish brain is fully refreshed, and some of the painful ache in my muscles is gone. Either I snuck a bit of a nap or those quick-healing powers Gretchen told me about have made fast work of my training pains.

  “I’m getting a shower,” Thane announces.

  As he heads down the hall, Milo drops his duffel on the floor by the front door and walks into the living room. Besides the couch I’m crashed out on, there are a couple of armchairs and an ottoman. All of which are perfectly comfortable. All of which Milo ignores, instead circling the coffee table and taking the other end of the couch.

  “So,” he says, leaning back into the corner of the couch and stretching out his legs so they’re only inches from mine, “how are you liking San Francisco?”

  My skin tingles at the thought of him sitting only a few feet away. I try to deepen my shallow breathing. It won’t do me any good to pass out right now. I want to absorb every moment.

  “I, um, it’s—” I take a deep breath and force myself to look up. Not quite into his eyes, but at his temple, at the dark curls just above his ear. “Great.”

  “It’s a big change, huh?” he asks.

  “You have no idea,” I say.

  And I’d like to keep it that way. The last thing I want is Milo finding out I’m a freak with fangs, a secret sister, and a monster-hunting destiny. My best chance with him is to be a normal, average girl.

  “It’s different,” I say, “but I like it.”

  My gaze shifts to his eyes, and I find him studying at me. I’m caught in his eyes. Hypnotized by his—

  Shoot. I can’t look into his eyes. I don’t want to accidentally hypnotize him or make him think or feel something he really doesn’t. If Milo likes me, I want him to like me for real.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I—”

  He pushes away from the end of the couch, moving to the cushion directly next to mine. Startled, I start to lean back, until I see him slowly lift his hand. I watch, frozen, as he reaches out and brushes his fingertips against my forehead, right at the hairline.

  The contact sends shivers over my skin.

  “What happened?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper, just inches away. “You have a nasty-looking bruise right here.”

  I jerk back and slap my hand to my forehead, connecting with the bruise and sending a throb of pain through my head. Ouch.

  “Oh, that.” Like I can explain that my long-lost twin accidentally—or so she said—karate chopped me in the head during a monster-h
unting training session. “I hit my head on a cabinet,” I explain. “I have klutz tendencies.”

  He laughs softly, and my heart melts.

  “It’s gonna look worse before it gets better.”

  “Great,” I whisper.

  “I like it.” His mouth quirks into a dimpled smile. “Makes you look tough.”

  His pale eyes are so close, I can see the fringe of light brown around the pupil. I’m surrounded by the faint, after-practice remains of his cologne—

  A door slams down the hall and I jump back. The movement jars my muscles, and a dull ache radiates through my body.

  Thane appears in the living room, a scowl on his face. One brow lifts. He asks Milo, “Homework?”

  “Right,” Milo says cheerfully.

  As they settle in at the dining table to do their assignments, I sink back into the soft couch. I could use a long soak in a hot bath—the tub in the master bath is humongous and has been calling to me ever since we moved in. But for right now, I’m content to sit here, with two of my favorite boys just a few feet away, and daydream about what might have happened if Thane took longer showers.

  “Come on,” Gretchen shouts, standing over me like a hovering drill sergeant while I struggle with sit-up number forty-seven out of the fifty she has ordered me to do.

  I manage to touch my elbows to my knees just before my stomach muscles give out completely. I slam back to the floor, my arms flopping out to the sides.

  “Three more.” She leans down over me and grabs my hands, stuffing them back behind my head. “You can do it.”

  “I can’t,” I pant. “I’m done.”

  “You’re not done.” She moves around to my feet, kneels down, and braces my ankles. “You can’t give up if a Teumessian fox is chasing you down Market Street, and you can’t give up now.”

  “Fine,” I huff.

  Focusing all my energy on getting my elbows to my knees, I manage two more. My muscles are shaking and I can already imagine the cramps I’ll have later. The thought of doing one more is just inconceivable.

  “Last one,” Gretchen cheers.

  I flop my head back and forth, incapable of arguing out loud.

  “If you make it,” she says, “I’ll tell you what I learned about Milo today.”

  What? With a surge of hidden strength, I force my torso up, barely reach my knees, and then fall back with a thud.

  “What?” I gasp. “What about Milo?”

  “Nothing.” Gretchen jumps to her feet. “I just thought that might motivate you.”

  Oh, unfair. “If my body wasn’t all wet-noodly right now, I’d throw something at you.”

  Gretchen laughs, a big, full laugh that I don’t think she lets out very often. I smile and am relieved to discover that my cheek muscles don’t ache. That’s something.

  “Here,” Gretchen says, extending a hand to help me up. “Let’s go refuel.”

  I let her haul me to my feet, barely contributing anything to the effort. Just as I’m fully upright, I catch a foul smell. Like the stink of melting tires.

  “Ugh,” Gretchen says.

  “You smell it too, huh?”

  “The burned rubber?” When I nod, she says, “It’s a satyr.”

  “A satyr?” I repeat.

  “Basically a man with a horse’s tail and donkey ears.” She rolls her head, like she’s working kinks out of her neck. “They’re not usually the mean and nasty type, but sometimes they’re tricky.”

  I follow her as she stomps out of the training room and shrugs into her leather jacket. Monster-hunting time.

  “Oh.” I’m a little relieved that my grueling physical training is over for the day, but sad that I’m going to lose out on some time with Gretchen. We’re still getting to know each other, and I like hanging out with her.

  I grab my backpack off the floor. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Why?” She spins back to face me. “You’re coming with.”

  I can’t help grinning. “Really?”

  Then it hits me. I’m going on my first real monster hunt. My stomach turns. And doesn’t stop turning. The whole way from Gretchen’s loft to the strip of beachfront condos where the smell is originating, I feel like I’m going to be sick. Gretchen’s driving doesn’t help, either.

  “Here,” she says, pulling up onto the sidewalk in front of a narrow walkway between two of the buildings. “Put these on.”

  She hands me what looks like a pair of wide leather bracelets, only they don’t feel like leather. “What are they?”

  “Kevlar wrist cuffs,” she answers without explanation. She nods at the walkway. “The satyr’s just at the other side of this building.”

  Getting attacked by cobra lady—a basilisk hybrid, Gretchen calls her—was bad enough, but at least it came as a surprise. I didn’t know what was coming, so I didn’t worry myself into a state of freak-out beforehand.

  Now I’ve had the whole drive to play out scenarios in my head. None of them end well.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” I tell Gretchen. “I’m—I haven’t had enough training.”

  “You’ve had more than I did when I took down my first beast.”

  “But you’re you,” I exclaim. “You’re strong and brave and I’m . . . not.”

  Gretchen lifts her sunglasses and looks me in the eye. “I know you’re scared,” she says, “but there’s nothing to worry about.”

  I bite my lips and shake my head. She can’t possibly know what it’s like to be this terrified.

  “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I know,” I say. That’s not my main concern, though. I’m more worried about letting Gretchen down, about discovering that I can’t do this and that I’m not fit for my destiny.

  “Besides,” she says, patting me on the knee as she slides her glasses back into place, “satyrs are cowards. They run more than they fight.”

  She climbs out of the car before I can argue more. Obviously she has confidence in me; otherwise she would have sent me home instead of bringing me to the fight. And her confidence gives me some too.

  I follow her out onto the sidewalk, snapping the Kevlar cuffs onto my wrists as I go. “Tell me what to do.”

  “It’s at the other end of this path,” she explains, nodding down the walkway. “You stand at this end, blocking its escape, and I’ll come at it from the other side.”

  “Okay.” I nod, trying to give myself courage. “I can do that.”

  Gretchen gives me an encouraging smack on the shoulder before taking off around the building at a run. I stand at the end of the walkway, feet spread and knees bent. I’m not sure what I expect to happen, but I want to be prepared.

  It all happens so quickly.

  A figure moves to the end of the path, silhouetted against the late-afternoon sun. At first I think it’s Gretchen. Until I see the tail.

  He turns, looks my direction, and starts running. Right at me. I tense my muscles, ready to block his escape route.

  But instead of trying to escape past me, he launches into the air, knocking me off my feet and pinning me to the ground. The breath whooshes out of me and I can’t even scream for help.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, giving me an apologetic look. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

  Like what? I shake my head vigorously. I don’t understand.

  Then I see it—a dagger clutched in his fist.

  “No,” I gasp.

  “I—”

  His weight is jerked off me as Gretchen tackles him. I suck in deeper and deeper breaths, trying to get my wind back.

  “What the Hades are you doing?” she demands, practically snarling in the satyr’s face. “You guys usually run.”

  “I know, I know,” he says, his face crumpling like he might actually cry. “I didn’t want to do it, but—”

  “But what?” Gretchen shouts, shoving against his shoulders.

  “The bounty,” he wails. “I couldn’t resist
the bounty.”

  She leans very close to his face. “What. Bounty?”

  “Word is going around,” he explains, “that any creature who brings back a huntress will earn freedom from the abyss.”

  Gretchen jerks back.

  A bounty on our heads? I suddenly remember basilisk lady saying something about me earning her freedom. At the time I was too freaked out to process it, but this must be what she meant.

  “Who ordered it?” Gretchen asks.

  “I don’t know,” the satyr whines. “I swear. It might just be a rumor for all I know.”

  “Rumor or not,” she says, smiling as her fangs descend, “you’re not going to be the one to find out.”

  One second she’s biting him in the big furry ear, the next he’s gone.

  “This is not good,” she says.

  “Maybe it is just a rumor,” I suggest hopefully.

  She pushes to her feet and brushes the gravel dust off the knees of her cargo pants. “Considering all the craziness hitting the fan right now,” she says, reaching down to pull me up without waiting for me to ask for help, “I’m going to have to go with not a rumor.”

  “Yeah,” I say as I follow her to the car. “Probably not.”

  She guns her engine and takes off before I can buckle my seatbelt. Definitely not good.

  Chapter 13

  Gretchen

  I’m sorry, Miss Sharpe,” the assistant principal says, “but all the other first-period science classes are full.”

  “There has to be something else,” I say, verging on desperate. “Like an art class or maybe choir.”

  I can’t sing, but anything would be better than being stuck in first period with Nick every day. I’ve skipped two more classes, forging Ursula’s signature on notes to clear things with the front office. But any more misses and the administration is going to start poking its nose into our business.

  They probably won’t like the idea that I’ve been living alone for almost two weeks, or that before that my only guardian was a woman who found me on the street. Authorities tend to frown on things they can’t file into a neat little box.