Sweet Venom

I slide the minotaur binder back into place. After a quick estimate, I conservatively calculate that there must be over two hundred binders. Two hundred different kinds of monsters, with valuable hunting information trapped inside the pages. The whole collection should really be digitized. Maybe even made into a smartphone app so Gretchen can get the info she needs anywhere, anytime. That could be a lifesaver sometime.

“Where is Ursula?” Gretchen snaps. “It’s not like her to disappear for days at a time without letting me know.”

She sounds really worried, and she doesn’t seem like the worrying sort.

“How long has she been gone?” I ask.

Gretchen spears me with a look, and I’m pretty sure she forgot I was here. Or maybe thinks I’m to blame for the weirdness going around and her missing mentor. I hope it’s the first, because I spotted what I thought was a knife handle sticking out of her boot when she carried me out of the club. I confirmed it when her pant leg was rolled up earlier. I bet she knows how to use it too.

Finally, reluctantly, she says, “A few days. Maybe a week.”

“Does she leave often?”

“Yes,” Gretchen answers. “But she usually sends me an email or a text so I know she’s okay.”

“She could be somewhere with no signal,” I suggest.

“Yeah, maybe,” Gretchen agrees.

I think she’s humoring me.

For what feels like an hour Gretchen stares blankly at the table and I stare blankly at Gretchen. Like I’m staring in the mirror. I mean, it’s a little freaky. Our faces are identical. And even without an adoption record or a DNA test, I know without a doubt she’s my sister. My twin. I can feel it in the same way I feel Thane when he sneaks up behind me. I just know.

“So . . . ,” I finally say to break the silence. “What do we do now?”

“How should I know?” Gretchen barks.

I jump back a little at her harsh tone.

“Everything’s going sideways at the moment. Ursula’s missing, monsters are breaking the rules”—she spears me with a glance—“you show up in the middle of it all.”

Even though I didn’t do anything but move to a new town, I feel a little guilty. Gretchen obviously thinks these changes might have something to do with me, and how do I know that they don’t?

“I’m sorry, okay?” she says before I can apologize, still sounding agitated but a little more calm.

I give her a little slack. “No problem,” I say. “You’re worried about your mentor. I understand.”

It’s a lot to take in all at once. Multiple monsters, missing mentor, long-lost twin. No wonder she’s a little snappish.

She runs a hand over her hair, swiping her bangs back across her braid.

“Look, I think the best thing you can do,” she says, her tone final and far more mature than our sixteen years should have made her, “is to go back to your world. Forget about this one. Go back to your life. You’ll be safer there.”

What? “I—”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“No, Gretchen,” I argue. “I don’t want to—”

She stomps out of the room without another word. I don’t want to follow her. I want to stay here, to talk and get to know her and ask more questions. Does she sneeze in threes too? Does she hate cherries and love avocados? What’s her worst subject in school? I can’t just walk away from all of this. I can’t just walk away from her.

If we’re twins, like I have to believe we are, then her heritage is also mine. Her duty to hunt monsters is also mine. Is it fair to let her continue to carry that responsibility all on her own?

But as much as I want to embrace this new part of myself, I’m a little scared. I can see that her lifestyle is dangerous. I mean, she took down three mythological monsters by herself tonight. They probably don’t go down without a serious fight. She got injured on her ankle and her neck, and I bet that’s nothing compared to other injuries she’s had. It’s dangerous and probably potentially deadly.

Maybe Gretchen is right. Maybe I should go back to my safe world, with parents and a brother who love me very much and would be devastated if I got eaten by a chimera. If I stay and try to help, I might even get Gretchen hurt in the process.

My heart sinks at the thought of going back to my ordinary life and pretending this night never happened, but it might be for the best. For both of us.

Quietly, I follow Gretchen down to the car. As I drop into the passenger seat and she revs the engine, I can’t help feeling like a total coward. That somewhere, wherever she is, our birth mother is ashamed. Buildings blur by my window as I wipe a tear from my eye. But I don’t say a word.

Coward it is.

Chapter 8

Grace

After a night of horrible and heartbreaking dreams, I finally drag myself out of bed Saturday morning with only an hour to spare before it turns into afternoon. As I face the mirror in the bathroom Thane and I share, I’m amazed I still look like myself. So many things changed last night, it seems impossible that I haven’t.

I squeeze a dollop of toothpaste onto my brush. While I scrub back and forth across my teeth, memories flash through my mind. The minotaur. The griffin. The feathered snake and the fire-breathing lizard. Gretchen. Her Mustang. Her loft. Her library. The tight feeling in my chest when she told me to get lost. The look I imagine was on my face when I surrendered to my fear.

I spit into the sink.

“It’s not like she wanted me around anyway,” I say, trying to convince myself. “She wanted me gone.”

As much as I might want to know my sister, she obviously doesn’t want to know me. And I’m perfectly happy to pretend that monsters and Medusa are figments of myth.

“Minotaurs don’t exist,” I tell my reflection.

Maybe if I pretend hard enough, I’ll actually believe it.

I stare into my silver-eyed reflection, willing myself to embrace the lie. To forget about Gretchen and minotaurs and my mythological heritage. To never see a monster again.

I sigh. “No such luck.”

“Trying to will yourself bigger boobs?”

“Thane!” I gasp, spinning and throwing a hairbrush at his privacy-invading head. “Get out of here.”

He ducks, avoiding death by hairbrush, and grins. I should be angry, but it’s hard to be mad when he’s in such a good mood. Especially after he was so angry at me for ditching the club.

“About last night,” I say, knowing I need to apologize. “I should have told you before I left.” Although it’s hard to say your good-byes when you’re hanging over someone’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He bends down to grab my brush, and when he stands back up, his entire demeanor has changed. “You should be.”

“I—” How can I explain this without explaining this? “I was just so . . . excited to see my friend. She’s really the only person I’ve connected with in San Francisco.” True. “I didn’t stop to think.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I can read the silent Obviously as clearly as if he’d shouted.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “It won’t happen again.”

He nods, accepting my apology, and I’m relieved. As much as I hate lying to my family, I hate being in fights with them more.

“Family breakfast,” he says, handing me my brush. “Mom made pancakes.”

Mmmm. “I’ll be right there.”

He vanishes as silently as he appeared.