[Venom 01.0] Venom & Vanilla

by Shannon Mayer

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Good, he wasn’t going to do it again.

  He grinned at me and shook his head. “It was the best sex I’ve ever had. Even if I’m not really sure who it was with.” He winked, and I stood there with my jaw hanging.

  My mouth flapped open and closed, my teeth clicked, and I couldn’t get a word out.

  Tad went on as if we hadn’t just talked about . . . what we’d talked about.

  “Just because Damara is a satyr doesn’t mean she’s right about the heroes and old gods.”

  I pulled myself together, doing my best to block the last few minutes from my mind. Despite everything else he said, he had a point about Damara. She could be as fanatical about Zeus as Mom was about the Firstamentalists.

  We worked our way through the last of the bush and stepped out into a park that was cultivated and well groomed. Even in the dead of winter, it was green. All the rain we had kept things lush and growing despite the fact that we were on the forty-ninth parallel.

  At the edge of the park we stepped out onto the sidewalk, and I took a deep breath. The differences on the two sides of the Wall were startling.

  Grungy, dark, and untamed on one side with imminent death or confinement waiting on every corner.

  Clean, proper, and cultivated on the other with no sign of someone trying to kill us.

  I swallowed hard. I would never be a part of this again. Not really.

  We flagged a cabbie, and he took us to our parents’ house over in the Madison Park part of Seattle. Posh. Comfortable and very, very human. Funny I’d never noticed before, but as we drove across town there were parts of Seattle where I saw glimmers of Super Dupers.

  Almost as if reading my mind, Tad cleared his throat. “You know, Super Duper is not what most Supes want to be called.”

  “Dahlia coined it in the . . . hospital.” I was careful of what I said, rather aware that the cabbie was listening in.

  “You’re going to piss off the wrong person using it.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t care.” I did care, but I was tired of him telling me how to act. I’d forgotten about that part of our relationship, burying it under my grief. I’d put him on a pedestal when he died. There were parts of Tad that irritated me.

  Like his bossy-pants act.

  The cabbie slowed. “Here we go, you two. Have a nice visit with your parents. Good luck telling them you’re Supes.”

  My jaw dropped, and the cabbie smiled at me in the rearview mirror, his grin wide and white. A waft of musk flowed back to me. Another wolf. Damn, they were everywhere.

  “Um. Thanks.”

  Tad paid the cabbie and we slid out, silence holding us hostage.

  “Mom’s going to freak out.” Tad broke the quiet first.

  “Yeah.” There was no denying it. I hooked an arm through his. “She won’t recognize us at first.”

  “Dahlia recognized you, and you her. And you knew who I was.”

  “Maybe when you care for someone, the changes aren’t as big, like Merlin said.” I took a step, all but dragging Tad with me up the steps. The unspoken words were that maybe Mom wouldn’t recognize us at all.

  The house was the one we’d grown up in, and yet it looked foreign to me.

  “You think Mom doesn’t care about us?”

  “I think she may make herself not care so she doesn’t get dragged down to hell with her two wayward, soul-damning children.” The bitterness in my words was evident even to me, though I tried not to think about how much truth I spoke.

  The exterior of our parents’ house was painted a pale yellow with white trim. A two-story home, it had a great view of a soccer field from the back balcony where I’d spent more time than I liked to admit watching the boys’ soccer teams scrimmage.

  I knew the interior would be clean, spotless to be fair. Mom cleaned every day, the perfect housewife as the Firstamentalists taught her. She’d made no effort to hide the fact that she felt the church had been her place of sanctuary. That it had been the place she’d learned to be an adult.

  She always had gourmet meals on the table, hand-stitched the tears in our clothes, and folded fitted sheets like Martha Stewart. There was nothing she couldn’t do when it came to the home.

  “Jesus, just knock,” Tad whispered.

  “That is not my name.” I raised my hand and rapped my knuckles against the wood. Why we weren’t just walking in was beyond me. We never knocked. Surely that would be a tip-off that we were shysters there to try to pull the wool over their eyes.

  The door opened and Yaya peeked out. Her eyebrows shot to her curly gray hairline. She called over her shoulder. “Sweet baby Cupid. Beatrice. Clark. You’d better get your hungover asses out of bed.”

  She opened the door and we stepped in. Formal. “Yaya. Do you recognize us?” I asked.

  “’Course I do. I know my grandbabies. Even when they do stupid things like get turned into supernaturals. Hera be damned, you’re going to get us all killed.” She swatted the back of Tad’s head first, then aimed for mine. I ducked out of the way while Tad rubbed his head.

  “Yaya, we didn’t do anything stupid.”

  She pointed a finger at me. “I told you to be careful of magic. And what did you do? Jump in with both feet like it was a contest to see who could make life the most dangerous. Pah. Stupid kids.” She pointed at the couch. “Sit.”

  Tad and I sat, our hands clasped in our laps. Yaya paced in front of us. “Maybe we can still fix this.”

  “Fix it? We’re both alive, Yaya. Unless you’re planning on killing us both and burying the bodies in the backyard,” Tad said.

  She pointed a bony finger at him. “Don’t sass me, boy, or I’ll go get my shovel and start digging.”

  “Yaya.” I held a hand out to her, and she took it. “You told me to make the right choice; what did you mean by that?”

  She bowed her head. “It’s a long story. And I wasn’t at liberty to tell you. Though now there is no choice.”

  Her words were cryptic and strange, and they made me nervous.

  From the hallway a soft groan rolled through the air along with the sound of bare feet slapping the tile floor.

  “Mom, stop letting the Mormon missionaries in. They’re very nice, but we aren’t changing religions no matter how many times you pinch their bottoms.”

  I stood up, unable to stop myself. My mom, Beatrice to her friends, stepped into the room, yawning. Her pink fluffy robe she’d had for years was tied around her waist. She had the same dark-brown hair and brown eyes that I’d had before I’d been turned, and though she’d always been shorter than me, the difference was marked now.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said.

  Her eyes popped wide, and she clutched at the throat of her robe. “Alena?”

  Tad stood up. “Hi, Mom.”

  She wobbled where she stood, tears welling up in her eyes. “My babies.”

  I didn’t care what the Firsts thought about me. I was me, and she was my mom, and she recognized me and that was all that mattered. I ran to her, wanting nothing more than to grab her in a hug. Tad was right behind me and snagged my arm before I could reach her, snapping me to a stop.

  “Don’t. Look at her eyes, Lena. She’s afraid of us. The church will punish her for being near us, for even touching us and acknowledging we’re still alive. You know that as well as anyone.”

  We were maybe three feet away from her, close enough that I could see the horror in her eyes, the tears on her cheeks. I froze where I was. “Mom. We aren’t sick.”

  Tad tugged me back. “It’s not that, Lena.” I knew he was right. It wasn’t the possibility of the virus that scared her.

  It was what we were.

  Super Dupers. Supernaturals.

  Monsters.

  Yaya came up beside me and slipped an arm around my waist. The warmth of her arm centered me, and I felt a tiny pulse of strength flow from her to me. Knowing she stood by us was enough to keep me there, facing my mother even when I knew what
was coming.

  “Beatrice. You hug your daughter right now.” Yaya shook a finger at her daughter. “I raised you better than this.”

  That was just it. Mom had turned to the church for guidance even over her own mother’s teaching. The church had become the place where her every question was answered.

  Mom didn’t move; she stood as still as if she’d been turned into a statue. “I can’t. She isn’t . . . Tad isn’t . . . They aren’t themselves. They’re monsters, not my beautiful babies. My children are dead. They brought it on themselves, sinning. This is their punishment.” Her mouth moved with two words I didn’t think we were supposed to hear. “And mine.”

  How was this her punishment? That made no sense.

  I stepped back, a final cold wash of understanding flowing over me like ice water poured on top of my head. This was what she believed: that we were some sort of demons now. I’d known it; it was what I’d believed most of my life. What I’d believed when I’d looked Merlin in the eye and told him to turn me in order to live.

  “You would choose the church over us. I get it. We’re lost to you. I just thought you should know we aren’t dead. That we’re still here.” I turned, surprised I wasn’t sobbing my heart out.

  Because I think maybe I’d known all along this was a futile trip. That Mom would turn from us, and even with that, I’d needed to be sure we were outcast. I’d needed to see it for myself in order to put the past, and what was left of my family, behind me. “Come on, Tad. Let’s go.”

  “What about Dad?”

  A bitter, harsh laugh I didn’t recognize escaped me. “You think he’ll be any different? You think she’ll let him?”

  As if speaking about him had summoned him, our father, Clark, strolled down the hall in nothing but his pajama bottoms. Lean like Tad, he had green eyes and darker hair. Tad and I resembled him more than our mother now.

  He lurched to a stop behind Mom, his jaw dropping open. “Alena. Tad.” He made a move to step around Mom and she put an arm out, stopping him despite the size difference between them. He looked at her, then us.

  “Bea. You can’t be serious.”

  “The church doesn’t allow interaction with supernaturals. You know that. They could kick us out.”

  His green eyes met mine and he smiled. “Unless you’ve put cameras in the house, they won’t know.” He pushed her arm down gently and walked toward us.

  He caught Tad in a hug first, thumping him on his back while I stood there in shock. “Good job. I didn’t think you’d be able to convince her.”

  “Almost didn’t.” Tad grinned at him, and then Dad came to me. He pulled me into his arms and held me without the back thumping. “I’m glad you came home, Lena Bean. We . . . I hoped you would take the cure.”

  I jerked back. “The money was from you?”

  Mom gasped.

  Dad half shrugged. “Life is life. Even if I couldn’t see you, I wanted to know you’d had a choice. That I’d done what I could to make things better and given you the freedom to live a life outside of what—”

  “Clark, when the priests find out they’re going to kick not only you, but me out too! We’ll go to hell!” Mom grabbed his arm, seeming to forget that it brought her closer to both Tad and me.

  I held still, not sure how I felt about what she was saying. A part of me understood she wanted to be obedient to what she believed, but another part of me would never grasp turning away from her family. Not even for my soul.

  Dad grabbed her arms and gave her a shake. “Bea. This is not the world they tell us it is. Our children are alive. They’re here. We are a family. You think you’ll go to hell because you love your babies? Babies we fought to have? You’d let them go so easily?” His words seemed to hit her like slaps, and she flinched with each thing he said.

  Babies they’d fought to have. I looked at Tad, and he shook his head. There had been no stories of difficulties getting pregnant. What else didn’t we know about our family’s past?

  A knock on the front door stopped all the words, and the five of us slowly turned. “Do you have company coming today, Yaya?” Dad asked.

  “Nope. You two kids go hide.” She shoved at Tad and me, and I stumbled down the hallway to our parents’ bedroom, Tad right behind me.

  Voices rose in the other room as we closed the door. I looked at Tad and he shook his head, finger to his lips. Yaya could be heard over everyone else.

  “You are not welcome here, you, don’t make me hurt you. Bunch of pointy hat–wearing monkey balls.”

  I looked at Tad. His eyes were wide. “I don’t know. SDMP doesn’t come this far off the Wall. Ever.”

  “We can’t leave them out there.”

  “What if it’s Firsts?”

  “They don’t wear hats, it’s forbidden. You know that. God might not see them if they cover their heads from him.”

  His lips twitched. “I’d forgotten about that one.”

  That it wasn’t Firsts made the decision easy for me. I shoved the door open and strode down the hall, focusing on the anger that kindled in my belly. Foreign and invigorating, the emotion was so unexpected I rode it all the way to the main room.

  I skidded to a stop at the scene in front of me. Six men stood positioned around the room. Each held a gladiator sword in one hand and a shield in the other. They wore helmets with bright-red crests running down the center, along with a band of metal running down the middle of their noses. Armor wrapped around their chest, and leather kilt things hung to their knees.

  The man who stood next to Yaya pointed his sword at Tad and me. “Serpents.”

  I pointed a finger back at him. “Donkey butthole.”

  He pulled his helmet off and threw it on the floor. Dirty-blond hair that looked like it had been crammed in the helmet for more than a few hours stuck out everywhere on his head. His eyes were dark, like the color of unsweetened chocolate. “You would insult me, monster?”

  “You started it. And do I look like a monster to you?” I cocked a hip and put a hand on it, feeling for the first time the power that came with a body and face that could stop traffic.

  His eyes traveled down my body, then back up to my face. “You hide behind beauty. It’s the way of your kind, to seduce and destroy. But I will not fall for your evil.”

  Yaya moved to the center of the room. “This home is under my protection; would you forfeit your right to Zeus’s guidance?”

  The men shifted, leather skirts creaking and sandaled feet shuffling on the floor.

  “This is not a shrine of Zeus. Besides, we do not answer to him.” Blond Boy turned his back to Tad and me in order to face Yaya.

  She drew herself up to her full five-foot-nothing height. “I am a priestess of the god of thunder and one of his favored women. So what are you going to do about that . . . Achilles?”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Achilles?” I spit the name out, my tongue flicking along the s a little too long. He spun, his sword raised to my face.

  “Do not speak my name, serpent.”

  I mock-frowned at him while a distant part of me freaked out. A man was pointing a sword at me, and I wasn’t afraid. Shouldn’t I be terrified? Quivering with fear? Achilles was the one who took down Troy, the one who defeated Hector. Achilles was the greatest hero of Homer’s Iliad. And he was standing in front of me, threatening to kill me. He was a hero of heroes. Yet I felt nothing but a slight irritation.

  Maybe my mom was right, maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe I had no soul and therefore could no longer feel true fear—

  He pulled his arm back and whipped it forward, the sword catching the light. I leapt sideways into the coffee table, stumbled, tripped, and fell to my hands and knees while my heart did triple time. So much for not being afraid.

  The soldiers laughed and Achilles grinned down at me. “I will be merciful, for your beauty softens my hand. Be still, and I will take your head, ending your suffering.”

  “What? Why?”

  �
��You are the serpent I am to face. You are the first of the five monsters reborn to the earth. The first of five who must be destroyed so our queen can rise again.”

  “Oh, well, that clears up nothing.” I pushed to my feet. “Sorry, it’s been a long day, and I don’t know why you want to hurt me, because I don’t even know what I am. My mother won’t hug me, and you’re standing here with your sword sticking at my face.”

  Yaya snickered. “His other sword would be better, I think. He’s quite good in bed from what I hear.”

  “Yaya!” Tad choked on her name, and I struggled to keep a straight face. Achilles, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have a sense of humor.

  “It matters not to me which sword I stick you with”—he moved around the side table—“or what you think you are, only that you are the first to die.”

  He raised his sword again and I stood there, staring at him. Because surely this wasn’t happening.

  My dad shoved Achilles from behind, throwing him toward me but also forcing him to deal with the coffee table between us, which he fell flat on, cracking the glass top, falling with the shards to the floor.

  “Lena Bean, run!”

  The other soldiers had a different idea. I took a step to the right and one grabbed my arm, yanking me toward him. I dug my heels into the carpet and jerked backward, fear making me pull with all I had.

  He flew through the air, over my head, his eyes as wide as Mom’s fine china dinner plates.

  Tad pushed one of the other soldiers down, creating a tiny pocket for me to slip through. He grabbed my hand and we ran through the house, through the kitchen, and out the sliding glass door. The yard was soggy with rainwater and we were in bare feet. The mud and grass squished through my toes, but it wasn’t cold. Not like it should have been.

  All thoughts of cold feet flew from my head as the glass doors behind us shattered, and Achilles and his men poured out into the backyard. I backed up, already knowing we were screwed.

  The fence completely circled the yard, was eight feet high, and had no gate, which was a long-standing argument between my parents. Dad wanted a gate; Mom said it would only encourage thieves to sneak in through the back.