white Formica table with chipped edges. I take the seat opposite Thane, which means that—deep breath—Milo is sitting next to me. My blood is pounding in my ears, and I have to make the hostess repeat her request three times before I finally hear her ask, “Hot tea?”
“Yes, please,” I say, ducking to hide my blush.
“No menus?” Thane asks.
“Not with dim sum,” Milo explains. “The waiters will bring around trays of dishes, and if we see any we like, we get them.” He spins a small piece of paper beneath his finger. “They stamp this order sheet to keep track of what we eat.”
“Sounds complicated,” I manage.
“It’s great,” Milo promises with a wink.
I’m not so sure. But when the first trayful of goodies comes by, my mouth waters at the wonderful smells. It’s like I never even ate dinner.
“Barbecue pork buns are the best,” Milo says, pointing to a metal tin containing three puffy white balls of dough. “Just don’t eat the paper stuck to the bottom.”
The waiter sets the tin on our table, pulls a stamp from his apron, and marks a symbol onto our order ticket.
“Oh,” I say, eyeing the pork buns. “I, um—”
“Grace is vegetarian,” Thane explains, so I don’t have to.
Milo gives me a serious look. Great, now he thinks I’m some kind of hippie-granola weirdo. No, I’m just eco- conscious and doing my part to lighten my footprint. I wave a mental good-bye to my very slim chance with him.
But then he says, “Why didn’t you say something?”
He calls the waiter back over, and soon there is a tin of doughy buns—these filled with barbecued veggies— sitting next to the pork.
“Thanks,” I say, and then drop my gaze to the food. Cute and considerate. As if Milo weren’t already my dream guy.
It takes only a quick tutorial from Milo for me to manage the chopsticks well enough to pick up my bun and lift it to my mouth.
“Uh-oh,” he says, as I’m about to take a bite. He reaches toward me and, for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to touch my cheek. Instead, he peels a thin piece of waxed paper off the bottom of my veggie bun. “Trust me, this does not add to the experience.”
I laugh at his teasing comment, but inside, my heart is doing cartwheels.
As if I’m totally together, I lift the bun the rest of the way to my mouth and am about to bite in when a repulsive smell washes over me.
Instant nausea.
I clap my free hand over my mouth as the bun drops and rolls, forgotten, to the floor.
Milo asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Grace?” Thane’s jaw clenches into a block of stone. “What is it?”
If I weren’t on the verge of heaving the remains of Mom’s veggie stew, I’d appreciate Thane’s protectiveness. He’s always been that way, ready to throw himself into anything if he thinks I’m in danger. But then I guess that’s what big brothers are for.
At this moment, though, it’s all I can do to keep my stomach contents where they belong. I close my eyes and shake my head.
“We should go,” Thane says.
Milo nods. “You get her outside and I’ll pay the bill.”
“No,” I whisper, swallowing down the nausea as best I can. I don’t want to ruin this night. “I’m—I’ll be fine. Just give me a—”
The front door to the restaurant opens with a whine and the stench hits me tenfold. I feel my eyes roll back as my body tries to reject the smell. Or to protect me from whatever’s causing it. I’ve never had such a violent reaction to an odor before.
“Maybe we should—” I force my eyes open, but instead of Milo’s adorable face or my brother’s strong one, my gaze focuses on the
The body looks like a normal man, with arms and legs and everything in between. The head, though. . . . It’s the head of a bull.
I’m not joking. A man with the head of a bull has just walked into an all-night dim sum restaurant as if it were normal.
I look at Thane for reassurance, hoping the panic I’m feeling shows in my eyes, telling him everything he needs to know. He turns to look at the door then back at me, jaw clenched and eyes wide. “Let’s go.”
I nod.
“What’s going on?” Milo turns and looks too. “Do you two know that guy?”
“Guy?” I choke. Is he blind? Can’t he see?
For that matter, can’t everyone see? Why isn’t anyone screaming or running away? Slowly, I scan the rest of the tables. No one else seems to have taken notice of the man-bull, who is now crossing the main floor and heading for the back room.
I look at Thane, certain he must have seen it.
But no, the look in his eyes now is simply concern for me. Did I just imagine the look of recognition I saw a moment ago? Milo doesn’t see it, and neither does Thane. No one does. I’m the only person who saw a slobbering beast instead of a man.
Which can only mean one thing.
“I’m just—” I shake my head. “I don’t feel great.”
Both boys nod, as if it’s totally normal and logical and not at all out of the ordinary, when it’s anything but. There’s only one possible explanation for this hallucination. I must be going crazy.
Chapter 4
Even twenty minutes in a scalding shower can’t completely wash the stink of minotaur off my body. I lather- rinse-repeat five times, hoping to purge the lingering residue from my hair. Getting up close and personal with a monster is never pretty, but sometimes it’s worse than others.
By the time this one popped back to wherever he came from, my pores were plugged with his toxic odor. Dis. Gust. Ing. I might have nightmares.
With one white fluffy towel wrapped around my chest and another cocooning my hair, I cross to the library and drop down into the task chair in front of the computer. I glide the mouse over the sleek black surface and click open my e-mail.
“Nothing from Ursula,” I think out loud.
This is getting weird. She usually sends me some kind of message if she’s going to be gone overnight. I’ve been living with the woman for four years, and I still have no idea where she goes or what she does when she disappears for days at a time. At first I was too nervous to ask. The woman saved me from the streets and gave me a purpose. I wasn’t about to piss her off by questioning her movements. Now I accept her random hours as normal and keep up my half of the don’t ask, don’t tell policy.
How many other sixteen-year-olds have free range of an awesome loft and a Mustang and no curfew? I know how lucky I am. Fighting beasties and keeping my questions about her whereabouts to myself are prices I’m more than willing to pay.
But when I last saw her a few days ago—has it been a week already?—she promised it was finally time to answer some of the lingering questions about my Medusa heritage and my huntress legacy. I would finally find out the full deal about being the latest descendant of the mortal Gorgon, instead of just knowing the piecemeal story
