“Thanks,” I say. “But I’ll be fine.”
She studies me for a minute, probably weighing whether or not she should send me to the principal anyway for good measure. I feel a connection, something drawing me toward her. Like maybe I could tell her all the crazy things that are going on in my life.
Then she blinks and the connection is broken. I fall back a step, as if an actual rope has been cut.
“Consider this your final warning,” she says, her attention returning to the notes on her desk. She picks up her pen and starts writing. “Next time will earn you a trip to the office.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then, as quickly as possible without looking like I’m fleeing, I rush into the hall, into the between-classes crowd.
I can’t afford the trouble of a trip to the principal’s office. I never could—not with Ursula being a completely unofficial guardian and me having run away from my supposed parents when I was twelve—but right now it’s especially crucial I stay below the administrative radar. I’m living on my own in a safe house in a dodgy part of town, without a suitable guardian in sight. It would be a trip to the principal, followed by a trip to Child Welfare or, worse, juvie.
No thanks. I have too many responsibilities, too many people relying on me to do my job, keep them safe, and bring them home. I can’t afford any red flags with the authorities. I’ll just have to work extra hard to keep my nose clean and uninteresting to the powers that be.
The rest of the school day goes smoothly. After the close call in first period I get my game face on and manage to impersonate a perfect student in the rest of my classes. My history teacher even comments on my attentiveness.
By the time I’m pushing through the front doors, heading to Moira’s parking spot, I’m happy with my success. I just have to keep this up until all the current crazy gets settled.
“You look pretty proud of yourself,” a familiar voice says. “Did somebody get a gold star?”
I spin around and see Nick leaning against the outer wall of the school, right outside the entrance. Casual as ever. As if I hadn’t punched him in the nose and abandoned him at the beach in the middle of the night. Fine. Two can play the nothing happened game.
I ignore him and his statement and keep walking. My body may be excited to see him, if my racing heart and shaking hands are any indication, but my brain knows better.
He obviously doesn’t take offense, because he falls into step beside me.
“We need to talk,” he says.
I cut him a sharp glare.
“I’m serious, Gretchen.” His long strides keep up easily with my fast ones. “Can we go somewhere and—”
“Can’t,” I interrupt. “I have an appointment.”
At first I said it to give myself an out, but then I remember the coffee meeting with Sthenno. I really do have an appointment.
“I’ll come with you,” he insists.
I laugh. “Yeah right.”
“Look.” He grabs my elbow, yanking me to a stop only because I let him, and stepping around to face me. “Let me ride along. I’ll say my piece and then, when you get wherever you’re going, you can kick me out.”
I’m skeptical. With Nick, nothing is ever that easy. The idea of kicking him out does hold some appeal, though.
“Or you can just kick me,” he adds with a wicked smile, as if he has just read my thoughts. “I know how much you love that.”
I glare harder.
Can I trust him? He’s not exactly been forthright for the duration of our acquaintance. In fact, our whole history has been pretty much a lie. But what’s the harm? It’s not like he’s ever tried to hurt me, and if he ever does, I can defend myself. Besides, maybe I can get some more answers out of him.
Finally I shrug.
This will be on my terms, though.
He must understand, because he falls back into step next to me as I continue toward Moira. When we get within range, I pop her trunk. I fling my backpack inside and slam it shut.
Nick hurries to the passenger door, as if he’s afraid I’ll change my mind and take off without him. Maybe he’s right. But getting into the car doesn’t guarantee him the chance to say what he has to say. If I want him out I could have him rolling across the street in less than two seconds. One, if the car is moving fast enough.
My curiosity wins out, and I wait for him to buckle in before putting Moira in gear and pulling into traffic. The seatbelt gives him at least another two seconds in the car.
I have more than half an hour before I’m supposed to meet Sthenno and my sisters at the coffee shop, so I decide to take the scenic route. In general, I try to avoid the touristy parts of town. I get drawn to them often enough on monster hunts. The sightseeing crowds make easy pickings for beastiekind. What’s one missing tourist in a sea of hundreds? But there is one popular spot that I return to again and again.
Nick is silent as I make my way down Columbus and turn left onto Lombard, well below the crookedest-street-in-the-world section—talk about a tactical nightmare. I follow the road around a sharp curve and wind my way up Telegraph Hill. In the summer it’s pure madness, full of visitors from across the country and around the world. But on this chilly fall day, the road is practically empty. I pull into a parking spot at the top, facing out over the bay.
I’m not sure why this is my Zen spot. Maybe it’s the sweeping views of the water and the city. Maybe it’s the feeling of being so far above it all. Maybe it’s Pioneer Park, a pretty little green space that rarely sees visitors. For whatever reason, when I need to get away, to think about things, this is where I come.
Which in no way explains why I’ve brought Nick here.
“For someone who has something to say,” I snap, “you’re being awfully silent.”
I feel him watching me. “I’m waiting until you’re ready to listen.”
“I never promised to listen. Only that you could come along for the ride.”
He shifts in the seat—awkwardly because of the restricting seatbelt—and tries to face me. I look away. I don’t want to see him, to be influenced by his pretty face, his expression, or any outward appearances of sincerity. I learned a long time ago it’s easier for people to put on a false facade than to fake it in their voice.
Our view of the bay below is filtered by a light fog. Not so thick that I can’t see the other side, but enough to make everything unclear. Which is exactly how I feel right now. Unclear.
“I know you’re upset with me,” he finally begins.
That’s a ridiculously massive understatement. I snort derisively in response.
“I totally deserve that,” he continues anyway. “I can’t change what’s already happened, but you have to know one thing.”
When he doesn’t explain, curiosity draws my gaze away from the hazy view of Alcatraz. His dark eyes are steady and earnest. Darn it.
“I am on your side,” he says, deadly serious, like this is the most important thing he has ever said. “Whatever happens, I want to help you fulfill your destiny.”
“Destiny?” I snap back. “What destiny? I didn’t even know I was on a side other than the monster-hunting one.”
“Things are more complicated than that,” he says. “When the door was sealed, it was intended that one day—when the Key Generation came of age”—he nods at me, indicating he knows that means me and my sisters—“the seal would be broken so man and monster could once more share the world, as it was meant to be.”
“Oh yeah, monsters freely roaming the streets. That’s a total utopia.”
“Of course it’s not,” he replies. “Not without regulation. Not without guardians in place.”
I shake my head. I don’t understand any of this. All this time my sole mission has been to send monsters home. Away. And now my destiny’s supposed to be letting them out? That can’t be right.
“Gretchen, I want you to know that, no matter what—” He reaches out, like he wants to rest his hand on mine, but then drop
s it onto the gearshift between us. “You can trust me.”
It’s practically a whisper, but I hear it like he used a megaphone. The effect echoes through me and I find myself wanting to trust him. Wanting to believe in him more than anyone else.
What has he done to earn my trust? He’s been lying to me since the beginning—well, if not lying, exactly, then at least keeping the truth buried. He’s an unknown quantity, a new addition in my life with no proof of who he is or where he came from. And the one person whose answer I trust is being held prisoner beyond my reach.
Yet something in me wants to believe him. I can’t explain it, but it’s like a craving. Unfounded and unrelenting.
Maybe if he answers some questions, I’ll know whether to listen to the part of me that is softening.
I’ll start with an easy one. “Where are you from?” I ask.
His eyes shutter before he answers. “I was born in Greece.”
I lift my brows at the incomplete answer. If he’s going to ask me to trust him, then he has to trust me too. He has to tell me everything.
He sighs, as if accepting that he has to tell me the whole truth. “I was raised on Mount Olympus.”
“Mount Olympus?” I sputter. “As in the home of the gods?”
He nods. Just that. No explanation or insistence or defense of his claim. Just a nod. And that is more convincing than any words.
“Are you—” I begin to ask, but I’m not sure how to phrase the question. “Who are you—? I mean, where do you—?”
“I am a descendant of Themis,” he says simply. “The goddess of law and justice.”
“Themis,” I echo.
I suppose that shouldn’t be any more surprising than the fact that I’m a descendant of Medusa. But Medusa was only a Gorgon, a mortal guardian. Themis is a full-on goddess.
“Is that who sent you to protect me?”
“No. And I can’t tell you who did,” he says before I can ask. “I won’t because it isn’t safe. There are those on both sides of this war who can steal your thoughts, who can enter your mind and uncover your secrets. I cannot risk the lives and immortality of those who dare to help us.”
Us. There is something both reassuring and terrifying about that word. Reassuring, because it means I’m not alone. I know I’m not really alone; I have my sisters and Ursula and Sthenno. But this is something different. Nick is on my side because he believes it’s the right thing to do, not because we’re connected by blood legacy.
Terrifying, because it means there are a lot more people counting on me than I thought.
“Fine,” I say, accepting—for now—that he won’t answer that particular question. I’ve got more. I cautiously ask the next one, hiding my concern. “What do you know about Ursula?”
The sadness in his eyes gives me the answer. “Euryale.” This time he does put his hand on mine. “I know she’s been taken.”
“Where?”
“We don’t know for sure,” he says, still not bothering to explain who we are. “Some believe she is being held in the abyss. Others think she is in the dungeon of Olympus.”
The abyss? I shudder at the thought of her in that dark, dismal place. I’ve never seen it firsthand, but Ursula told me about it. Dark, cold, and permeated by the stench of countless monsters. I can’t stop the mental image of her there. Alone. Surrounded by the monsters she’s spent a very long lifetime fighting to keep contained. I can only imagine—
Nick reaches for my face and I feel his fingertips glide smoothly across the skin beneath my eye. It’s damp with tears.
I pull a hard breath in through my nose and force myself to strengthen up. I need to be strong and clearheaded if I want to help Ursula. She needs me. She’s been there for me from the beginning, without hesitation. I need to be here for her now.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
It’s after four. I know what it’s going to say before I pull it out. Shrugging off my unexpected emotion—and Nick’s warm fingers—I say, “I’m late.”
“Gretchen, I—”
“Where can I drop you?”
I back out of the parking spot and steer Moira back down the hill. Nick retreats to his side of the car, and I’m glad for the distance. I need the breathing room.
“Are you meeting your sisters?” he asks.
I freeze for an instant, protective instinct taking over. I don’t want him or anyone else involved in this mess to know about Grace and Greer. It’s one thing for me to place my trust in him—if I’ve even decided I can do that—but I won’t put them at risk. Not ever.
“Where can I drop you?” I repeat.
He takes the hint—for once. “Anywhere is fine.”
I pull over in front of a bus stop on Stockton. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, like I can’t wait for him to get out of the car. I’m anxious to see my sisters, to reassure myself that they’re okay. To meet Sthenno and find out what she has to say. And to get away from Nick.
Which in no way explains why, when he opens the door and starts to climb out, I blurt, “We can get together after.”
Why did I say that?
He turns back to face me. From the corner of my eye I can see the barest hint of a smile on his face.
“Want to meet at my place?” he asks, cleverly hiding the smugness I can tell he’s feeling.
I shake my head. His place. That sounds too intimate. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”
“Okay.” He climbs the rest of the way out of the car, turns back to close the door, and then leans in the open window. “I won’t let you down, Gretchen. I promise.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. I want to believe him, want to give him the trust he’s asking for. But I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure I ever will.
I’m the girl who’s meant to walk alone. Now with sisters at my back. Trusting Nick doesn’t fit the game plan. Does it?
But I can’t stop the longing.
So instead of replying or even acknowledging his words, I release the clutch and drive away.
CHAPTER 7
GREER
When I turn on my phone after school, it immediately pings with a dozen new text messages. Most of them are from Kyle, apologizing for how last night ended. I delete them without responding.
One is from the housekeepers, confirming that their work is done and the house is back to normal except for the door. I have a contractor coming this afternoon to give an estimate for replacing it. I plan on taking my car to a body shop this weekend, which will complete the restoration to pre-attack appearances.
The other three messages are from Grace.
Coffee with Sthenno at the Grindery in Union Square.
Then, when I didn’t respond, she sent another.
Did you get my text? Meeting after school. Call me.
Finally, a text from just a few minutes ago.
At the coffee shop. Coming?
I close my eyes and count to ten. Last night, when I agreed to join up with the three mythketeers, it was with the understanding that the monster-hunting side of my life would have to balance with the responsibilities of the normal side.
Less than twenty-four hours later and already my two halves are in conflict. I have a Mock Government meeting right now and then the contractor appointment.
Last night was terrible, and I know I have responsibilities in that world. But I have to compartmentalize. I have to keep the two halves separate or I’m liable to go insane. It’s a careful balance.
My phone beeps again.
Greer?
I sigh. I realize I don’t have much of a choice. As much as I want to ignore the world of monsters and mythology, to bury my head in the sand and pretend my sisters never found me, I can’t. I’m too principled for that. Mock Government pales in comparison to saving the world from mythological monsters, obviously. And I can reschedule with the contractor.
Sometimes being responsible is a challenge.
I shoot Grace a quick message.<
br />
Just got your texts. On my way now.
I scroll through my contacts, searching for Fog City Builders as I start toward the front entrance instead of the Mock Government classroom. I should tell Mrs. Franklin I can’t make it, but there’s no time.
“Are you on your way to MG?” Rory asks as she steps into my path.
Annalise says, “Cute shoes. Are they new?”
I try not to roll my eyes. This is the third time she’s asked me the same question about the same shoes. I choose to ignore it.
“I have to miss the meeting,” I say, finally finding the phone number I’m looking for. “I forgot about a preexisting appointment.”
The looks on their faces say it all. In the years they have known me, I have never had to miss a meeting. I have never forgotten about an appointment or even scheduled a conflict by accident. I just don’t.
“Are you okay?” Rory asks.
“Yeah,” Annalise says. “You’re not sick, are you?”
She actually takes half a step back.
I don’t have time for their dramatics. I’m already late for the meeting with my sisters that I didn’t even know about until moments ago. If I don’t hit traffic, I can be there in ten minutes. Less if I ignore the speed limit—which I will, because I hate being late.
“I’m fine,” I say, punching the number for the contractors as I walk around my friends. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I can practically feel their open-jawed stares as I disappear down the hall. Great, I spend one day as a part of a greater destiny, and already the rest of my life is suffering the consequences. I refuse to completely sacrifice normalcy for this guardian legacy. I will just have to fight harder for balance in the future.
“My name is Greer Morgenthal,” I say when a receptionist answers the phone at Fog City Builders, “and I need to reschedule my afternoon consultation.”
Sweet Shadows Page 6