Sweet Venom

shiny head of a cobra. A pair of yellow beady eyes peer at me from opposite sides of the triangle-shaped head, and wide, scaly flaps spread out beneath each ear. Maybe if I’d played it cool she wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have realized that I saw her true form. But I’m not cool and I can’t stop the scream that bursts from my throat.

A sickly sly smile spreads across her dark-green lips. “Must be my lucky night.”

Before her forked tongue can slither out between her lips, I turn and run. I make it only a few steps before I feel her human hands clamp over my shoulders. Our momentum thrusts me face-first into the pavement, and her weight crushes against my back, knocking the wind out of me.

As soon as I recover my breath, I struggle to pull myself away, out from under her, my fingertips scraping raw on the rough concrete. There is nothing for me to grab, no traction to drag myself out of her grasp. Still, I reach, desperate to find purchase.

Her weight lifts, but before I can scramble away, she flips me onto my back and pins my arms and legs with her own.

A thin line of serpent drool dangles from her scale-covered chin.

“Ew!” I struggle to shake off her grip, but she’s too strong for me.

The ridiculous thought floats through my mind that, if I survive the night, I should totally change one of my electives to Tae Kwon Do. Ms. West will be so happy. If I’m not dead.

Her snake head slowly lowers toward my face. “I’ve never tasted a huntress before.” The tongue darts out, flicking my nose. “You don’t need to be whole to earn me my freedom.”

What?

As her fangs descend toward my neck, I squeeze my eyes shut against the sight of her yellow eyes. Bleak, empty eyes. Hungry eyes. I can’t believe I’m going to die like this. Move to the big city and the fears are rapists and murderers and even doomsday cults, but death by giant-snake bite?

Mom is going to be very upset.

The weight suddenly lifts away.

“Ugh,” I grunt as I lift my free arms to my head.

“Grace?”

I blink my eyes open to find Gretchen standing over me, looking like I’m the burning bag of dog poo left on her porch Halloween night. Why would she look at me like that when she obviously just saved my butt from snake- head lady?

“Thank you, I—” But as I sit up and look around, I see that I’m not on the sidewalk around the corner from the bus stop. I’m on the metal steps above Gretchen’s garage. Halfway across town, without a snake-headed lady in sight. “How did I—?”

Did I . . . teleport here?

That’s ridiculous. It’s not only physically impossible, it’s also . . . well . . . I don’t know, impossible! I must have hit my head too hard against the concrete. And then maybe a bus driver found me and—

Oh, who am I kidding? The only reasonable no-matter-how-crazy-it-sounds explanation is that I somehow beamed across town to Gretchen’s loft.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, clearly unhappy to see me. “I thought I made it clear that you needed to stay in your safe little life.”

Now that makes me angry. Who is she to tell me what to do? She has no right to give me orders. And she doesn’t know anything about my life.

My emotions are running a little high from my snake attack. I need to get this under control before I make Gretchen even angrier. We need to talk about this—about my popping to her doorstep and her seeing Milo at school—and we need to do it calmly and rationally so we can figure out what to do.

Deep breath, Grace.

Besides, my “little life” isn’t exactly safe, is it?

“Tell me something, Gretchen,” I say climbing to my feet and holding out my hands so she can see my raw fingertips. “Have you ever teleported out of a fight?”

Chapter 11

Gretchen

One second I was about to become snake food,” Grace says, barely pausing for breath in her recounting of the day’s events as she follows me back into the loft. “The next I was at your door, staring up at you and you scowling down at me. Has anything like that ever happened to you?”

“No.”

“Well, have you heard of anything like that?” she asks.

“No.”

“Think hard,” she says. “Maybe your mentor mentioned some—”

“No!” I close my eyes and take a breath. Taking my frustration out on Grace isn’t fair. This isn’t her fault. She didn’t ask to be part of this world. I turn to face her. “At least, not that I can remember.”

“There must be something.” Her voice tightens like she might be on the verge of panic—or tears. “I mean, people don’t just teleport across town. It defies the laws of physics.”

“I know, but—” Wait a minute. Teleporting . . . no, autoporting. “I do remember Ursula saying something about my powers. That they are gifts from Medusa and her sisters.”

Ursula showed me a book in the library once. I don’t remember the exact title, but I know it was small and purple.

Grace follows me, saying, “Maybe that’s it.” She hesitates before adding, “Guess this eliminates any doubts, huh? We’re sisters.”

I can’t tell if she’s thrilled or bummed—or which I want her to be—so I focus on searching the shelves. I scan the books, looking for that familiar spine.

“Aha!” I grab the small purple book off the shelf.

Legends of the Gorgons.

Flipping open the book, I scan the table of contents as Grace reads over my shoulder.

“There,” she exclaims, pointing to the chapter titled “Powers of the Gorgons.”

I shoot her a sideways glare—I am literate, you know—but she’s too focused on the book to notice. After turning to the chapter, I step away to read out loud. The first few pages talk about the shared powers, those that all the Gorgon sisters possessed. Keen sense of smell, hypno-eyes, monster-biting fangs, and our deadly/healing blood. Grace’s autoporting ability must be one of the unique powers, one that belonged to just one of the Gorgons.

“‘Each of the Gorgon sisters was gifted with an extraordinary power that aided in their defense against the monster realm. Medusa was the wisest and had the gift of second sight, the knowledge of things unknown and those to come, known as omnicognition.’”

“That’s definitely not me,” Grace says with a laugh. “If I could see the future, I’d have helped my parents win the lottery a long time ago.”

I ignore the little stab of envy when she mentions her parents with such warm feeling. Phil and Barb never did anything to deserve even being called parents.

“Yeah, me neither,” I say, then continue reading. “‘Sthenno was possessed of corposuperiority, a great and unnatural strength, both physical and mental.’”

“You’ve got that one for sure,” Grace says with a grin. “I knew you were superstrong when you threw me over your shoulder like a bag of cotton candy.”

I feel a tiny burn of blush on my cheeks—partly because I feel bad for hauling her out of the club like that, and partly because I’m not used to compliments. She’s probably right, though. I’ve never thought much about my strength, and I always figured it was training or mind over matter or something. But maybe it’s a little more special than that.

I can’t believe Ursula has never told me about this. Maybe I should have read the book when she showed it