Sweet Venom

you tend to pay attention to the person who gives you a destiny.

Grace closes her eyes.

“Now,” I say, circling around her as I speak, “think about the monster that attacked you at the bus stop. Picture every slimy, snaky detail.”

Her brow creases and her upper lip curls in disgust. Good girl.

“Imagine it has you pinned down. You’re trapped.” I step close and whisper, “You’re scared and helpless and angry.”

She starts shaking all over, and I have a feeling I’m getting it pretty close to what actually happened. I’m not trying to freak her out, but she has to learn to overcome the fear. I wouldn’t be good at my job if I went out hunting terrified of what might happen.

To her credit, she doesn’t open her eyes or beg me to stop.

“You think you’re about to die,” I say, making my voice as low and hypnotic as possible. “Now”—I stop in front of Grace—“picture yourself flipping it over, so you’re on top and it’s trapped beneath you. You’re in control.”

Her lips spread into a small smile. Two perfectly white fangs slide into place so smoothly, she doesn’t notice.

“Now, pretend the apple is the beast’s neck,” I command. “Bite!”

Without hesitation, she lifts the apple to her mouth and sinks her teeth into the shiny red skin. She sighs, and my own fangs tingle with envy. When the venom flows, there’s a kind of sweet euphoria. I call it the huntress bliss, an amazing feeling that you want to experience again and again. It makes you want to hunt again and again. After four years, the novelty has kind of worn off, but sometimes it catches me by surprise. If I could bottle that feeling, I’d be a billionaire.

I cup my hand around hers and pull it and the apple away from her mouth. Her fangs recede as she opens her dreamy eyes, clearly confused about what has just happened.

“Did I—?”

She doesn’t need to finish the question. I hold out the apple, showing her the twin fang holes oozing with the translucent purple liquid, the venom that holds the power to send monsters back to their realm, and the unequivocal proof that she’s a huntress too.

She lifts her hand to her mouth, running fingertips over her back-to-normal teeth. “I did that?”

“All you.”

“Can I—?” She reaches out and gingerly touches the apple, collecting some of the venom on her fingertip.

“It’s harmless to us,” I explain. “Taste it. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”

I don’t mention that it’s probably sweet in order to cut the nasty taste of monster. She doesn’t need to know that yet.

She dabs her finger to her lip and licks a tiny taste of the purple fluid. She looks up at me, amazed. “It is sweet.”

I turn and toss the apple into the compost can on the counter. If there’d been any doubt before about Grace being my sister, it has just evaporated like a monster back into the abyss. My sister.

For a second, with my back to Grace, I press my palms against the cool black granite and let all the changes of the last few days overwhelm me. For so long, it’s been me and Ursula. Two, alone. And before that, only me. I don’t know how to have a sister, how to be a sister. How to be a teacher. Who am I to give lessons to Grace? Just because I can hunt doesn’t mean I can teach someone else to do it.

I don’t know if I can do this.

“So I’m supposed to . . . bite them?” she asks.

I suck in a deep breath. Whether I think I’m up to the task or not, I’m the only one around who can train her. It’s either me or a painful death at the hands of some hideous creature. I’m definitely the better of the two options.

I spin around and lean back against the counter. “Yes. Bite fast and hard. In a vein is best,” I explain. “Fastest. But anywhere will work. As long as you don’t get bitten or scratched in the meantime.”

“What happens if I get bitten or scratched?”

“Monsters have venom of their own. Each one is different. Most only cause unbearable pain if not treated quickly enough.”

“Most?” she asks.

Some part of me doesn’t want to tell her, wants to protect her from the harsh reality of the world she’s been forced into. Born into, I suppose. But shielding her from reality doesn’t make it any less true. “Some are deadly,” I have to admit. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at her face. “We have antidotes for a lot of them. Not all.”

“Like the blue liquid you used on your neck the other night?”

I nod. “Griffin antivenom.”

I sense Grace leaning against the counter next to me.

“It’s not a bad dream, is it?” she asks quietly.

“No,” I say just as quietly. “It’s not.”

We stand there in silence for a few minutes. I can imagine what’s racing through her mind—a swirl of thoughts about monsters and fangs and venom and attacks and maybe getting killed in the process—but mine is calm. For the first time in days, I know what I have to do; I don’t have much of a choice. Either I teach her to defend herself, or she’s a sitting duck for any monster that pops into our world.

“You need training,” I say, turning my stare across the dining area and out over the dark bay. Now that I know what needs to be done, I’m ready to attack it with the same confidence I attack everything.

“You think?” she replies with unexpected sarcasm.

I smile at the spunk I haven’t been giving her credit for. She’s my sister in more ways than one, I guess.

“Can you be here?” I ask. “Every day after school, and on weekends.”

“I—” She hesitates—maybe worrying what her parents will think, since she has parents to worry about her whereabouts—but then says, “Yes. I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to put myself into the mode of teacher. “We’ll start with basic defense strategies,” I explain. “Ways to protect yourself from an attack.”

She looks down at her ointment-covered fingertips. They’ve stopped bleeding, but they’re still pretty raw. “I could have definitely used that tonight.”

I try not to think about what might have happened if she hadn’t managed to autoport. I’d be back to being an only child in a venom-filled heartbeat. I push the thought aside. No point worrying about that now. Time to focus on the future and not dwell on the past.

“Once you’ve mastered some basic defense techniques,” I say, “we’ll move on to offensive strategies.”

“Biting?” she asks.

“Biting,” I agree. “And other things. It’s not always easy to get a bite in, especially on the multiheaded creatures. You’ll need backup techniques. Punches and kicks and weapons.”

“Like the knife in your boot?”

I turn a surprised look on her. “How do you know about my knife?”

She shrugs. “I caught a glimpse the other night when your pant leg was rolled up. And when you carried me out of the nightclub.”

“Oh,” I mumble, suddenly feeling guilty about my actions that night. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries.” She’s surprisingly chipper for someone who has, in the last week, been kidnapped, discovered a long-lost sister, started seeing monsters, and been attacked by one.

“I’m—” She dips her head, like she’s embarrassed. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad we . . . found each other. No matter how it happened.”

As much as it shocks me to admit it, I say, “Me too.”

We stand there, side by side, leaning against the counter, and I’m surprised at how comfortable it feels. I’m not usually at ease around other people, especially not people I’ve just met. I don’t know if it’s that I prefer being alone or that I’m used to being on my own. Or at least that used to be true.