He shakes his furry head.
I force myself to stand still until he’s inches away. He leans in as close as his wide stance will let him and says, “It’s okay, Miss Greer. I know you can see me. I know who you are.”
This is ridiculous. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Others say you work to help us,” he says. “You and your sisters will break the seal. Guard the door.”
I imagine a loud snap as mythology meets real life.
“Harold, I—” Oh, really. What’s the point? “Yes,” I reluctantly admit. “We are.”
His smile—at least I think it’s a smile—is … joyous.
For a moment I think he wants to hug me, but either he realizes he’s got spider legs or he notices how I stiffen and lean away, because he pulls back.
“Dangers are rising,” he says. “The armies are building, training. You must take care.”
This is perhaps the most surreal conversation I’ve ever had. “Um, thank you.” I think.
“If you need help”—he leans close again, his voice urgent—“ever, anytime, you tell me. I will get word out and help will come.”
I can’t believe I’m about to say this to a giant spider talking and mopping, but I find myself replying, “I appreciate that, Harold.”
Then, as if this isn’t odd enough, I lift one hand and pat him on his furry black body.
As I’m climbing into my car a few minutes later, I’m still shaking my head. Clearly, the two halves of my life are colliding. And I’m not sure how to stop the inevitable.
CHAPTER 22
GRACE
The apartment is way too empty when I get home. Dad is at work, as usual lately. Mom has left a note saying she’s going to the home improvement store and will be home around dinnertime. Thane is still gone.
I miss Gretchen. She is such a presence, being around her is like being in a full house.
I head to my room and plop into my desk chair.
With the Gorgons gone, Gretchen and her friend Nick—who apparently knows something about what’s going on—in the abyss, and Greer and me completely clueless since the oracle’s note was a bust, I feel helpless. How am I supposed to figure out how to get Gretchen back? Or break the seal on the door? Or take up the guardianship that is my destiny, that was prophesied when the door was sealed?
Is there any way for me to figure this out? I don’t even know where to start.
Well, I’m not giving up. I need to approach this the way I do any other problem. Research, analyze, evaluate.
Reaching into the bottom drawer of my desk, I pull out the one piece of reference material I have. The book about the Gorgons.
I’ve read it cover to cover a dozen times since the loft blew up. There is a lot of information about Medusa, about her sisters, about the generations to come after them. Some things, I can tell, have been covered only vaguely, for the protection of the line. For my protection and that of my sisters.
I wish for the billionth time that I’d had the chance to start digitizing the books in Gretchen’s library before it blew up. Sure, I got to most of the monster binders, and I’m sure that information will be helpful at some point. Especially when I have time to put the info into an app. But right now, I wish I had more than this lone book. More than a single source of information.
Gretchen has been gone a week and we’re no closer to getting her back. I’m desperate for any possible clues.
I flip it open to a familiar page, where it talks about the Key Generation.
Into every generation since have been born three children, three daughters to carry on the guardian legacy.
When the time to break the seal draws near, a time predestined by the fates upon the moment of closure, the Key Generation will arrive. It will be a generation born in the same moment of the same womb.
The Key Generation is safe from neither the forces of supposed good nor those of confirmed evil. The children must be protected at any cost, by any measure, separated to prevent their discovery by those who wish to render the scales unbalanced.
Only when the Key Generation has reached maturity will the three be able to join together to break the seal, thus restoring the natural order. There are those on both sides of this war who would prevent this occurrence by any means available.
I reread the passage several times, trying to brainstorm new ideas from old information.
Three girls. Every generation. Same womb. Separated at birth.
Same womb. Same mother.
Mother.
“Dummy,” I blurt. “Why didn’t I think of this earlier?”
Our biological mother. She must know something. She must. She knew enough to give us up, to separate us. She might know more. If she’s even still alive or still around. Ms. West said they haven’t been in contact for ages, but I might be able to find a digital trail. Even if she’s not findable, there are three girls in every generation. There might be aunts and cousins out there too. Maybe they know something. Maybe they can help.
At this point, I’m willing to try anything.
Flipping open my laptop, I power it up and get ready to do some master hacking. I’ve gotten into the adoption records before to find Greer. Surely I can get in again, and into other databases.
Breaking through the firewall is easy. I’ve been there before. But once I’m inside and looking at our adoption records, things become trickier. Birth mother records are under heavier protection. Her name doesn’t appear in any of our files, and when I try to search for our three names, I only come up with things I’ve already found.