Sweet Venom

“Yeah, Grace,” I say, thinking she must have forgotten to tell me something.

“Sorry,” the male voice at the other end of the phone says. “Not Grace.”

If it’s not Grace, then who could have this number? “Who the hell is this?”

“It’s Nick,” he says with a laugh. “Glad to know your manners are just as endearing on the phone as they are in person.”

I want to scream. I do scream. “Aaargh!”

Why won’t he leave me alone? I’ve given him every possible stop sign I can without breaking any bones or major laws. So why does he keep trying?

I should hang up. I should block his number and change schools, but curiosity gets the best of me.

“How did you get this number?” I snap.

“I have my ways.”

I can hear his cocky grin through the phone. Trust me, if I could reach through the airwaves and strangle him, I’d do it. Twenty to life would be worth it right now.

I should have let the skorpios hybrid get him.

“How?” I repeat. “It’s unlisted.”

“Nothing is that unlisted.”

“My cell number is.” I clench my hand around the steering wheel as I cut over to Market. “No one has this number.”

“Someone must,” he argues. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have it.”

“Where did you get my number?” I shout.

Normally I have a lot better hold on my emotions, but it’s been a rough few days. Plus, this boy has an unparalleled knack for pushing all my buttons in the wrong order. For a moment, I consider flinging my phone out the window. The only thing that stops me is that if Grace is in trouble or if—scratch that—when Ursula gets free, they’d have no way to reach me. I consider throwing myself out the window. Or maybe driving into the Bay. An icy-cold dunk might be exactly what I need right now.

“Relax,” he says, in a tone that makes me do anything but. “Look, I just have a question about biology. You don’t need to jump down my throat.”

“Didn’t you promise me you’d back off?”

“I did.”

I grind my teeth in the brief silence.

“I lied,” he admits. “Sorry.”

Okay, enough. “Look. Haven’t I made it crystal sparkling clear from the start that I want less than nothing to do with you?”

“You’ve tried.”

“Don’t I keep saying, over and over and over again, that you should back the hell off?”

“And over again,” he echoes. “Yep, I remember something like that.”

“Then why,” I ask with a sigh of despair, taking a turn without signaling and ignoring the angry horn blast that follows, “do you keep trying?”

Seriously. What kind of psycho masochist keeps returning for more rejection? Is he trying to drive me insane? After all the craziness lately, it’s not a long trip.

“Guess I never learned to take no for an answer.”

I don’t know what else I can say or do to get him to back off. Seeing me throw down with beasties on two occasions—even if he couldn’t see their true form—didn’t scare him away. What kind of guy wants a girl who gets into fistfights on a regular basis?

Obviously, this kind.

I drive in silence, not knowing what else to say, but not wanting—for some unfathomable reason—to hang up yet. When I pull into the garage, I’m suddenly struck by how very empty the loft upstairs is going to feel. For the first time, I don’t have even the tiniest hope that Ursula will be waiting inside. Without her it’s like an empty shell of the place that used to feel like home.

What if Ursula never comes back? The question sneaks into my thoughts before I can block it. Bracing myself on the steering wheel, I take deep breaths. My hands are shaking as fear speeds through my bloodstream. I’ve never felt like this, not even when Phil was on a bender and his fists were swinging.

Until now, monster hunting was business. A duty, a responsibility I upheld as a part of my legacy, because it is my destiny. It was a straightforward job and I did it well. But I cared about as much as I cared about the color of my non-existent nail polish.

Ursula in danger makes it personal, and I feel the fear like a tight fist around my heart.

She’s the only real mother I’ve ever known. I don’t buy for a second her insistence that she’s safe. I can’t just sit around and do nothing while she’s in danger. I might feel helpless right now, but I’m not. I have to do something.

“Gretchen?” Nick prods.

“What?” I snap into the forgotten phone in my hand.

“I have a confession to make,” he says, ignoring my anger, as usual. “I didn’t call to ask about biology homework.”

“Really,” I say sarcastically. “Had me fooled.”

“I’m tricky like that,” he replies. “No, I’ve got tickets to a concert in Golden Gate Park tomorrow night. Actually, the concert is free, but I’ve got a blanket and picnic basket and I was wondering if you wanted to—”

I click the phone off before he can finish his question. I know exactly what he was going to ask, and there’s no way I can say yes.

Slipping the phone into my pocket, I get out of the car and climb the creaking staircase up to the loft.

Girls like me can’t date. Imagine, sitting down to a nice dinner and catching a whiff of rotten meat. It’s not like I could say, Excuse me. Have to go take care of the Nemean lion that’s prowling the streets. Be back in a jiff.