something about it. She’s not completely immune to our responsibility.
Together, we defeated the monster. It’s my first battle victory, and although I know there are tons more where snake-lady came from, I feel like I can take them all on.
Gretchen is going to be so proud of me. Of both of us.
Pulling my phone out of my backpack, I’m about to punch the speed dial for Gretchen’s ultraprivate phone number when I sense a presence. I look up, don’t see anyone around, and am about to dismiss the weird feeling when a woman appears right in front of me.
I mean
“Gretchen?” she asks, a faint scowl on her sophisticated gray brow.
She’s tall and elegant, like a graceful ballerina. Her clothes—softly flowing pants and a long, draped top made of a kind of stretchy, purple-gray fabric—ripple around her in waves.
I shake my head, uncertain what to say or what is going on.
“Silly me,” she says with a gentle laugh. “You must be Grace. My sister told me about you. The resemblance is remarkable.”
She reaches out her hand, like she wants to touch my cheek, but pulls back at the last moment.
“There isn’t time for that.” She kind of flickers, like a holographic image. “Do you know who I am?”
I didn’t. But as soon as she asks the question, the pieces fall into place.
“You’re Ursula, aren’t you?” I ask, even though I already feel the truth of the guess. “Gretchen’s mentor.”
“I am.” She grins. “Good, that means you and Gretchen have found each other.”
“We’ve found Greer too.”
Her elegant brows arch up, surprised. “That is an un-expected delight.”
“She doesn’t want anything to do with us,” I feel compelled to confess.
“Give it time,” she says.
As if startled by some noise behind her, she looks over her shoulder. Now she seems frightened.
“Listen carefully.” She fixes her gaze on me. “You must take a message to Gretchen for me. Tell her I have been taken prisoner. I—”
“Oh no,” I gasp. “Are you all right?”
“Yes dear, I’m fine.” She smiles sadly. “Well, fine enough.”
“But—” None of this makes sense. “If you’re being held prisoner, then . . .”
“How am I here?”
I nod, but the answer is already forming in my mind.
“I think you can guess,” she says. “We are connected by power.”
“You’re—” Is this even possible? “You’re . . . Euryale.”
“Smart girl.”
This can’t be. Euryale was a Gorgon who lived thousands of years ago. How can I be standing here talking to her? Of course, I know the answer to this too. She is immortal.
“I wish we had time to discuss this,” she says. “But I’m afraid things are quite urgent.”
Right. Focus on the immediate problem, Grace. “Where are you being held?” I ask, wanting to help in any way I can. “We can come get you or—”
“I’m afraid that is impossible.” She looks over her shoulder again. When she turns back this time, there is more urgency in her voice. “This is a very dangerous time. Now that you girls are reunited, things are only going to get worse.”
“Because we’re the Key Generation?”
Her eyes widen, but she recovers quickly. “Yes, in part. Your reunion with your sisters is no accident. It is pre-destined. My sister and I have been waiting for this time. It saddens me that I cannot be there to guide you through it.”
There is such longing in her eyes and her tone that I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.
“Do not fret, Grace. I am unharmed.” She gives me a forced smile. “But you must find my sister. I do not know what name she uses—we have kept our communication at a minimum out of necessity. I do know that she is here, in San Francisco.”
“How are we supposed to find her?” I ask desperately. “There are so many people—”
Ursula jerks back, as if pulled by an invisible hand.
“Tell Gretchen I miss her terribly.”
“No,” I shout at her retreating form.
“You must find Sthenno!”
In a flash, she’s gone.
I’m alone on the deserted end of the pier, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can’t fully process what has just happened. Gretchen’s mentor is really the immortal Gorgon Euryale, and she’s been captured. She knows about me and Greer. She knows we’re in danger and that we’re the Key Generation. She wants us to find her sister, the other immortal Gorgon, Sthenno, but doesn’t know who or where she is.
I can’t make it add up in my brain.
I do the only thing that makes sense. I call Gretchen.
Chapter 19
After spending the last four years risking my life to hunt down freaky monsters and their hybrid offspring, I don’t have much tolerance for elitist snobs who care more about the state of their closet than the state of the world around them. Gee, I’m proud to have a sister who’s one of them.
I shift Moira into the next gear and floor the accelerator.
If anything, I feel bad for Grace. She’s so much more optimistic than I am, so much more hopeful and willing to believe the best in people. She’s going to get burned by that eventually. Too bad I can’t help her learn that lesson without making her heart break in the process.
And I hope Greer isn’t the one who does it.
“Frigid, snooty heifer.”
Cutting the wheel sharp to the right, I squeal onto the Embarcadero, heading south.
As if her freakin’ tea is more important than her sisters. More important than her legacy.
I could cut her some slack, give her a little leniency for the giant, out-of-the blue whammy we plopped on her front stoop today. But I can’t get the image of her out of my head, in diamonds and cashmere, looking down her upturned nose at the pair of urchins who dared to ring her doorbell. As if she’s untouchable royalty who can’t afford to waste a single second on anyone below her on the social ladder.
No thank you. I’m better off without her. So is Grace—not that she realizes that.
Still, I can’t suppress a very reluctant grin at the thought that Grace and I are triplets. It makes so much sense, what with there originally being three Gorgon sisters. Our ancient ancestors liked cycles and repetition. If I’d thought about it for more than a second, I might have guessed. Grace figured it out in less than a week.
She’s a smart girl. I just hope she smartens up about Greer.
I’m just about to make the turn onto Bryant, heading for the loop onto the Bay Bridge, when I catch a glimpse of something small and furry in the shadows of the bridge above.
With lightning-fast reflexes, I slam on the brakes and pull a sharp U-turn. The beastie looks up, its orange eyes widen, and it starts to run. Unfortunately—for it—it heads in the wrong direction. I maneuver Moira to pen the cercopis, a small monkey-shaped monster, against the dirty brick wall fencing in one side of the empty lot.
When it starts to run back the other way, I swing open my door to block its path.
“Going somewhere?” I ask as I jump out and grab the creature by the shoulders and haul it out into the open.
“No, no, no,” it cries, shaking its furry head violently. “Going nowhere.”
Not anymore.
