Sweet Venom
Page 73“Greer, wait!”
I ignore whatever Kelly Anne is trying to say. She has more important things to worry about, like finding the perfect shoes for the bird-woman. Probably something in a black patent pump.
Sweet mercy, not even Kelly Anne’s boutique is safe anymore.
As I hurry down the sidewalk, I hear her call out, “You forgot your espadrilles.”
A small price to pay to escape the presence of yet another monster. Why? Why is this happening to me? I’ve been a good girl, for the most part, all my life. I try to meet and exceed everyone’s expectations. I don’t lie unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m loyal to my friends, I get stellar grades, I make my bed every day. I don’t drink, do drugs, sneak out, or break any laws. What did I do to deserve this kind of fate? I’m going insane as I’m surrounded by ever-increasing numbers of freaky monsters.
Seriously, a woman with a raven’s head?
I jerk to a stop in the middle of a crosswalk. There is only one person—well, two people, actually—who can answer my questions. Who can tell me why this is happening and how to make it stop. Because it has to stop. The same two people whose presence in my life seems to have been the harbinger of my descent into madness.
My—I swallow tightly—sisters.
A blaring horn bursts my thoughts and reminds me I’m standing in the middle of the street. But now I know where I need to go. Only I don’t know where to go. It’s not like I collected business cards when they showed up on my doorstep. Or when Grace and I were fighting the crazy sea snake.
I don’t even have a phone number for them.
Something in my gut compels me to head downhill to the marina. It’s such a strong feeling, I don’t stop to think. I jog across the street—Kelly Anne was right about these heels, they are ultracomfortable—just in time to catch the bus. Seven minutes later I jump off at Marina Boulevard.
Before I know it, I’m banging on a big metal door. An echo thunders around me and through the building beyond the door. It sounds empty.
After a couple of minutes I’m starting to think my insanity must be expanding to new and different levels. Why would I come here, of all places?
But when I’m about to turn and walk way, the door swings open with a painful screech.
“What do you want?” Gretchen asks, her seemingly ever-present scowl in place.
Oh, thank goodness.
“I’m seeing monsters,” I explain. “Everywhere.”
She shrugs, as if to say, What should I do about it?
“They’re in the park and at my school and just . . . everywhere! I need to know what exactly is going on,” I explain. “I need to make it stop.” Because clearly my force of will isn’t going to be enough.
“Greer!”
I turn and see Grace hurrying across the driveway. When she gets to the door, panting, she says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I look from Grace to Gretchen and answer honestly, “I don’t know.”
Grace gasps. “Did you autoport?”
“Did I what?”
“Autoport,” she repeats. “You know, did you just zap here?”
“No.” I am so confused. “I took a bus.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. Then, after a beat, she beams. “Oh! You must have Medusa’s gift. Second sight.”
“Look, can we—” I struggle to retain my trademark calm. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
Gretchen doesn’t speak, but she steps out and pulls the door shut behind her. As she walks past us, I share a look with Grace. She shrugs and heads off after our sister. Not having anywhere else to turn, I do the same.
Chapter 22
Grace
Gretchen and Greer don’t seem to share my excitement.
To my left, Gretchen’s arms are crossed and leaning on the table, a stormy look on her face. There’s a line between her eyebrows where she’s squeezed them together. Her eyes are a darker shade of gray than I’ve ever seen in my mirror. I wonder if that’s what I look like when I’m angry.
Or am I more like Greer, sitting stiff spined in her chair, exuding haughty annoyance and looking like she might fracture into a million pieces at any second?
Either way, the tension at the table is practically killing me. I’m not just going to let things go and pretend like everything is okay, though, because big things are going on and we need to talk about them. Sitting up straight in my chair, I look at Gretchen.
“I know who Sthenno is.”
Immediately her demeanor changes. “Who?”
“My counselor, Ms. West,” I say, so proud to have figured it out. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to her about it because, well, she disappeared.”
“Not like you?” Gretchen clarifies. “Not autoporting?”
“No, she just walked out of the building—”
“I’m sorry,” Greer interrupts. “But, Sthenno? As in the immortal Gorgon Sthenno?”