She shakes her head, not willing to say her worst fear out loud.
“Hey, girls,” Grace says, returning to the dining room. She and Cassandra are carrying trays of drinks and sandwiches. “Lunch is served.”
While Grace hands out the drinks, Cassandra sets a plate before each of us. Sillus grabs a sandwich and takes a giant bite.
“You said you met the boss guy before, right?” I ask Gretchen.
Grace freezes, her glass halfway to her lips.
“Well, did you”—I’m not sure how to say this without sounding disgusting, so I just say it —“
Gretchen frowns for a second, like she’s not sure why I would ask such an odd question. “Yeah. I did.”
“What are you talking about?” Grace sets her glass back on the table.
“Who’s the boss?” Cassandra asks.
Grace turns to her. “A bad guy. A really bad guy.”
Cassandra makes a pained face.
“Can’t you track him, then?” I ask Gretchen. “Sniff him out like a monster?”
She drops her chair back down on four legs. “Never had to pick out a specific scent before. I’ve always just followed whatever beastie stink was in the air at the moment. It’s worth a shot.”
“Um,
“Gretchen’s going to save Nick,” I say.
“Really?” Grace cheers, sitting up straighter in her chair.
Gretchen mutters, “I’m going to try.”
“Who’s Nick?” Cassandra asks, and Grace leans over and whispers in her ear. A proud smile spreads across her lips. “You should definitely rescue him, then.”
“Right,” Grace says. “Let’s get started.”
“Actually,” I say, staring at my sandwich, “I’m going after Thane.”
“Thane?” Grace echoes.
“My vision,” I explain. “It was about him. I need to go find him and bring him back. You guys go find Nick.”
“
“That’s not practical,” I argue. “Thane isn’t being held prisoner. You’ll need backup. I won’t.”
“Greer’s right,” Grace says, dropping her fangs and pulling back her lip to display them. “You’re not going without me.”
Gretchen nods. “Fine. Grace comes with me. Greer looks for Thane.”
“Where Sillus go?”
“With me.” Gretchen rubs the little monkey’s head. “Of course.”
“And me,” Cassandra says. “I want to help.”
“You can.” Gretchen pushes back from the table. “But not with this. If the boss has kept Nick alive, he’s hoping I’ll come after him. It might be dangerous.”
“But—”
“You’ll get in the way,” Gretchen snaps, cutting off our mother.
The words were harsh, but I can see the worry in Gretchen’s silver-gray eyes. It’s not so much that Cassandra would get in the way; it’s that her presence would distract Gretchen from the mission. And that would be dangerous for everyone.
“You should go home,” Grace tells Cassandra. “We’ll all feel better knowing you’re safe.”
“I’m not ignorant of this world,” she says, her silver-gray eyes steady and serious.
“We know.” Grace throws Gretchen a look. “And I’m sure we’ll need you before this is over.”
“Yeah,” Gretchen grumbles. “This is a simple smash-and-grab job. No mythology required.”
Cassandra looks at each of us in turn. “If you’re sure?”
We all nod.
“You know where to find me,” she says to Grace. “And I’m always at the other end of the cell number I gave you.”
Grace smiles and squeezes her hand. “We’ll call.”
“You girls be careful,” Cassandra says as she heads out the door.
“I’ll walk you out,” Grace offers.
I turn to Gretchen. Her fingers fidget with a quarter, spinning it on the table surface and revealing uncharacteristic nerves. Gretchen doesn’t show doubts or weakness. I reach my hand out and lay it on hers. “You will find him.”
Grace returns a moment later. “Okay,” she says. “I’m ready. Let’s go find those boys.”
As soon as my sisters and Sillus pull away in Gretchen’s Mustang, I pull out my phone—ignoring the forty- seven unread text messages—and open the browser. I start searching for the details from my vision: the pond, the brick and glass buildings, the baby ducks.
One of the results directs me to part of the Presidio, in a corner that’s become the campus for a division of Lucasfilm. I switch over to an image search, and the first picture is of the exact spot from my vision. Victory!
I switch over to my Muni app and find the bus route I’ll need to take. I wish I had time to go get my car, but the next bus is only two minutes away. My Porsche is halfway across town. This will be faster.
I’m glad my sisters didn’t fight me about going after Thane alone. He feels guilty—for something he didn’t even do—and thinks he’s not worthy of us. I want the chance to talk with him, to make him see the reality of the situation, without anyone else involved.
I owe him that.
Hurrying down the sidewalk, I hope the first part of my vision is right—the part where he’s sitting on that bench at the Presidio, not when he’s being beaten by the woman with flaming hair.
While I’m waiting for the bus, I pull out my phone to read through those texts. There really are forty-seven of them. I guess I have been kind of out of touch.
Quickly scrolling through the list, I don’t see any from Mother or Dad. They must really be enjoying the tropical vacation I used my hypno powers to send them on.
Most of the rest are from my friends, wondering where I am, what happened at the tea, why I wasn’t in school. They start off friendly and curious but quickly turn ugly. My friends got irritated because I wasn’t texting back. I wouldn’t even know where to begin an explanation. I could make up some fabulous holiday claim—pretend I went on that vacation with my parents—but, honestly, why bother? If my friends are more angry than concerned about my disappearance, they’re not very good friends, are they?
There are a couple of texts from Kyle—decidedly my
While I am checking, just as the bus pulls up to the stop, a new message pops up. This one is from an unknown number.
Did you enjoy your trip to the underworld? You might have severed the connection to Apollo, but you and your sisters are always within my sights. See you on the battlefield.
Scowling, I climb on the bus, scan my pass, and take a seat near the rear door. That message is unnervingly bizarre. I try calling the number back, but I get a recording that says, “The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.”
There is something extra creepy about the text message. Glancing around the half-full bus, I have the eerie feeling that whoever sent it is here, watching me.
No one on the bus seems to be paying me much attention.
“Really, Greer,” I tell myself.
I’m overreacting. Whoever sent that text couldn’t possibly know that I’m here, right now, on this bus, going to look for Thane. My supernatural tracking device has been decommissioned.
I lean back in my seat as the bus rolls down the street.
My phone dings with another text.
It’s from the same unknown—and
Good luck with your search.
