Sweet Shadows

For several long moments we just watch each other across the desk. I imagine she’s trying to guess exactly how much I know, whether I’ve discovered my heritage, found my sisters, seen my first monster.

I’m trying to contain my excitement.

“So …,” she says.

I grin. “So.”

She nods and asks, “What do you know?”

“I know that you’re the immortal Gorgon Sthenno.” I hesitate, waiting for confirmation. She nods, and when I realize I’m not getting more than that—she’s as tight-lipped as Gretchen was at first—I continue. “I know that I’m a descendant of your sister, Medusa.”

Her reaction is almost unnoticeable. She sucks in a little extra breath at the mention of her lost sister. There is a sadness in her eyes that clearly says not even millennia can dim the pain of her loss. I feel immediate sympathy. I’ve only known my sisters a short time and they’re both here and healthy, but I can’t imagine the pain of losing one of them. I wonder if it’s the sort of pain you could ever get over.

From the sudden shine in Ms. West’s eyes, I think I know the answer.

“I know that I have two sisters, triplets,” I continue, trying to save us both from the painful thoughts. “And that we’re the Key Generation.”

“You know quite a lot,” she finally says.

“Not nearly enough,” I reply. “I also know that Euryale has been taken prisoner. And that last night there were co-ordinated, planned attacks on me and my sisters.”

“Planned attacks?” she echoes. Sitting up straighter in her chair, she leans forward across the desk. “What do you mean?”

I give her the brief recap about the simultaneous attacks at our homes and then the explosion at the loft. Her jaw gets tighter with every detail.

“I’ve been out of contact too long, so focused on getting you here to the city that I let myself get cut off,” she says. “I had no idea plans were already in motion.”

“It’s okay,” I say, wanting to reassure her. “Gretchen, Greer, and I are fine. You couldn’t have known.”

“I knew things were going to change quickly now that you three are sixteen, now that the predestined clock has begun ticking,” she says. “I should have known they would try to grab one or both of us.”

She shakes her head, her eyes glazing over like she’s getting lost in thought. Maybe thinking about her own sister, about how Euryale has been taken prisoner. I imagine she feels as responsible for protecting and taking care of Euryale as I do for protecting and taking care of Gretchen and Greer.

“They who?” I ask.

She looks at me, startled from her thoughts. “The factions,” she answers. “They are trying to manipulate the path of things to come.”

“Factions?”

“The two opposing sides in this brewing war,” she explains.

“War?” My stomach clenches.

For once, her face softens. And that only magnifies my unease.

“The time of the Key Generation has been anticipated for longer than most can remember,” she says. “It is the moment in which the mythological scales realign. For too long they have been weighted in one direction; even if that is the direction of supposed good, the scales are not meant to be unbalanced. The opportunity to maintain or reverse that imbalance makes for desperate action.”

“Like trying to kill us.”

“One side, yes, would see you fail,” she says. “Would see the door remain forever sealed.” She taps her fingernails on the desk. “The other wishes to see you open the door, only to have you overrun by monsters from the abyss who have long been plotting to take over this realm.”

She scowls, looking at the ceiling as if she’s trying to piece together what’s going on. That makes two of us.

“The side that wants us to fail,” I say. “What does that mean?”

She answers absently, “That means they want you dead before the seal can be broken. As they have killed so many of our line before you, trying to prevent your birth.”

This is just getting worse and worse. I take a deep breath. Okay, I knew there were people—or monsters—trying to kill us. This isn’t news. At least now I sort of know why. And I know we aren’t the first.

“How many?” I ask.

She looks at me. “How many what?”

“How many of our line have they killed?” I swallow before asking the question burning in my brain. “What about our mother? Is she …?”

I can’t finish the question. I don’t have to. The look on Ms. West’s face says everything.

“Oh, Grace,” she says. “Your mother has been lost to us for quite some time.”

My tears shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve just learned that the mother I’d always hoped to meet, to question, to learn more about, is gone.

“Lost,” I repeat, forcing my tears away. “You mean dead.”

“We honestly don’t know,” she says, and my heart starts beating faster. “We have had no contact with her since shortly after she gave you and your sisters up for adoption.”

No contact. That means out of touch, it doesn’t mean dead. Not necessarily.

She might be alive. She has to be. I have to believe that. I have to believe that when she gave us up for our protection, it also protected her. Somewhere out there, she’s waiting for us. Hoping we fulfill our destiny, hoping we find her. I promise to do everything within my power to do just that.