Sweet Venom

How ridiculously depressing to look forward to that never-ending future. I really feel sorry for them.

Opening my closet, I slide the new strappy sandals into the spot vacated by my Bay-sunk Jimmy Choos.

I smile wryly at the memory of my unexpected swim in the Bay. If I’m being truly honest with myself—and I try very hard to be—I have to admit it was a bit of a thrill. Holding on to that serpent tail for dear life, I felt . . . invincible. Like I could take on any mythological creature that gets thrown my way.

Most of my life is barely a challenge. Having to actually fight for something felt, well, it made me feel like I’d actually accomplished something. I’d never felt that way before.

I’ve replayed the battle in my head a hundred times, and every time I change the course of events a little bit. Sometimes Grace is the one getting splashed into the Bay. Sometimes I’m the one who bites the creature in the neck. Every time we’re victorious.

And every time I’m energized by our success.

This time, in the mental replay, the fight concludes with a group hug shared by me and my sisters.

“My sisters,” I whisper.

I picture Gretchen, looking all gruff and tough in her leather and cargos. She’s had a tough life, I can tell, and I don’t even know anything about her. Maybe I misjudged her at first. When they first showed up here, I had no idea what kind of craziness she has to face on a daily basis. She’s basically giving up a chance at a normal life to keep the unsuspecting populace safe from monsters they can’t even see.

I can’t help but admire that kind of sacrifice.

And then there’s Grace. Cute, sweet, good-girl Grace. She’s the girl-next-door type, the kind who gets to be friends with cute boys and is always a teacher’s favorite. She might not be the most bold or confident or aggressive type, but she’s just as willing as Gretchen to dive headlong into this world of monster hunting. I’m sure she’s scared, but she doesn’t show it. Much.

And they’re my sisters. My identical flesh and blood. I’ve never had anyone but Mother and Dad, and, to be honest, they are barely around enough to feel like family. What would it be like to have Gretchen and Grace in my life? To feel like I truly belong, without having to be the best or the prettiest or the smartest girl in the room to win their approval? We share a genetic code and a mythological legacy. I belong just . . . because.

A tight feeling fills my chest, and my stomach sinks. As much as I try to keep emotion out of my life, I’m not completely immune. I know what this feeling means.

“Sugar,” I mutter.

I thought I could just walk away, but my heart has other ideas. My heart knows that I belong side by side with my sisters. I have a duty, a responsibility I can’t deny. Although I’d like to think my walking away from that table, following Gretchen out the door and leaving Grace sitting alone, is the end of the story, I know my conscience won’t let that happen.

I’ve always planned to become a successful professional, blaze a trail into government office, and have the kind of life everyone dreams of. But this other thing, with my sisters and my legacy, it’s bigger than a plan.

Clearly the pair of them could use a leader, someone to keep them from doing imprudent things, like showing up on someone’s doorstep and blurting out that they’re mythological monster hunters.

And my second sight, that power to just . . . know things, well I must have that for a reason. Maybe it has something to do with the Key Generation thing Grace mentioned. Maybe they need me and my power to make it work.

Helping them is the right thing to do. And I always do the right thing.

I repeat, “Sugar.”

I hate groveling.

The doorbell rings. I take a deep breath.

That’ll be Kyle. Time to make up for bailing on him at the Wharf the other night. I’ll figure out how to apologize to my sisters tomorrow. Just because I’m choosing to embrace my destiny doesn’t mean I’m abandoning the rest of my life. The two will just have to coexist.

I bound down the stairs, thankful that it’s Natasha’s night off. My parents are at a cancer research fundraiser. The house is empty, and I want to greet Kyle with a welcome that shows him precisely how sorry I am about the other night. He’ll definitely be getting more than a good-night kiss this time.

As I reach the door, I pause to catch my breath and check myself in the foyer mirror. Perfect, if a little flushed. All that walking did wonders for my complexion. I’m practically glowing.

With a huge grin, I pull open the door, ready to throw myself at Kyle.

“Hey baby, I’m—”

My scream pierces the night.

The hulking, six-armed giant standing on my stoop steps toward me and laughs. At least I think it’s a laugh. “Hello, huntress.”

I slam the door as hard as I can in its face and turn to race through the house. Self-preservation instinct takes over. My only thought is escape. If I can just make it down the back steps to the garage.

As I dash down the stairs three at a time, I hear the monster pounding across the kitchen floor above. It must have smashed down the door. I snatch my keys from the rack, fly to my car, yank open the door, stab the key into the ignition, and punch the garage-door-opener button. My honey purrs to life, and I’m waiting for the door to clear my roof height when the monster bursts into the garage. It slams all six meaty paws on my hood, leaving three matching pairs of dents.

Screw the garage door.

I pound the clutch, shift into reverse, and release the clutch as I floor the accelerator. I only hope there are no cars coming as I squeal out onto the street.

Chapter 25

Gretchen

“The book.” Punch. “Is.” Punch. “Wrong.” Punch, punch, punch.

The training dummy shudders at my assault. It hasn’t done anything to deserve my fury, but I have to let it go somewhere. Otherwise, next time I see Nick, I might punch him in the face for no particular reason. Not that that’s such a horrible idea.

I swipe a hand over my head, slicking my bangs back with sweat. Too bad I can’t wipe my thoughts away that easily.

I don’t even know why I’m so upset. I’m happy with how things have worked out. I don’t need anyone new in my life anyway, so it should be a relief that my sisters are out of the picture now. That I pushed them out of the picture. I’m just annoyed that everything got so mixed up in the meantime. That’s all.

“Then why.” Punch. “Am I.” Punch, roundhouse, side kick. “So freakin’ mad?” Uppercut, jab, swing punch, back kick, flying roundhouse.

I throw so much of myself and my anger into the flying roundhouse that I knock the training dummy back two feet and my momentum carries me the rest of the way around, spinning me off-balance and sending me crashing to the floor. “Son of a centaur.”

For a few seconds I allow myself the embarrassment of lying facedown on the floor. I’ve got to pull myself together. My focus is all over the place. If a beastie hit the streets right now, I’d probably end up in the hospital. An evil beastie, I guess I should say, since apparently there are other kinds.

Pushing to my hands and feet, I force myself to stand and walk to the door, where my water bottle is sitting on the floor.

Why am I so distracted? It’s not like me to be so scatter-brained.

I spin the cap off and throw back a long gulp. Cool, crisp water pours into my stomach. As I wipe the extra drops from my lips, the answer clicks into place.

“They’re my sisters,” I say, knowing that means everything. “It’s my duty to train them. It’s my duty to protect them.”

And, by walking away, by pushing them away, I let them down. I let myself down. I let the whole lineage of