At this time of day it’s virtually impossible to find a parking spot around Union Square. Unless, of course, your father is CEO of a company on the upper floors of the Gold Rush Building. I emerge from the parking garage less than a block away from the coffee shop where I’m supposed to meet my sisters and our immortal ancestor Sthenno.
Okay, I have to admit, the idea is a little thrilling. As my irritation settled during the drive over, my curiosity grew. It’s one thing to imagine I’m a descendant of a mythological being. That’s a very distant and abstract kind of connection, like the one people who are descended from a Mayflower passenger or a Civil War general feel with their ancestors. But I’m about to meet an actual immortal, a being who can’t die, who’s been alive for thousands of years. Kind of makes my short life feel rather insignificant.
I can only imagine the things Sthenno must have seen—so many events both great and tragic. I wonder what she thinks of our current world, whether it measures up to or surpasses previous generations. I like to think we have a lot of great things going for us—medicine, technology, globalization—but maybe every era thinks most highly of itself.
I cross the street, careful to avoid cracks and potholes in my high-heeled peep toes.
Grace is sitting at one of the three tables set out on the sidewalk that give the cramped coffee shop some extra seating space. She waves at me, an enthusiastic smile on her face. I realize that I have a similar grin on my face and quickly school my features into a calm facade. Mother always says an external display of emotion is the sign of a weak mind. Which is probably why I’ve gotten so good at hiding mine over the years.
“You’re the first one here,” Grace cheers as I get close enough to hear her.
That’s remarkable, considering I was the last one to know about the meeting. Perhaps not all that surprising though. Gretchen doesn’t strike me as the most time-conscious person, and after countless millennia I suppose you could hardly expect Sthenno to take the matter of a few minutes too seriously.
“Here,” Grace says, waving me into the other chair. “We can pull two more over when Gretchen and Ms. West get here.”
“Ms. West?” I ask.
“My counselor,” she explains. “I mean, Sthenno. She is also my school counselor.”
I stare blankly at her.
“I guess that’s how she could keep tabs on me.” She shrugs. “And how she got me to San Francisco too.”
I smile and nod. I think Grace often has thoughts that make sense in her head but come out incomplete when she tries to convey them. I understand her general meaning, however, and it’s easier to agree than to ask for clarification.
Relaxing into the wrought-iron-and-wicker chair, I scan the street for signs of either Gretchen or Sthenno. Union Square is not my favorite part of town—it’s dirty and crowded and always gives me an unsettled vibe. Tourists love it, though, and the shopping is first-rate.
“Oh look!” Grace shouts. “There’s Gretchen.” She jumps to her feet and starts waving her arms. “Gretchen! Over here!”
Her face blossoms into an even bigger smile, and I assume that Gretchen has seen us and is heading this way. I continue my relaxed survey of the street while Grace pulls over a chair for Gretchen.
I notice a woman walking up the sidewalk on the other side, about two blocks away. She is tall and poised and elegant, and although I can’t seem to place her anywhere, she feels intimately familiar. I can’t look away as she weaves through the crowds effortlessly, almost as if they part before her.
Gretchen drops into the chair next to me. “What are you gawking at?”
I shake my head, unable to lose the sensation that I know this woman from somewhere. I usually trust my brain over my instinct, but the feeling is so overwhelming I can’t simply dismiss it.
Grace twists in her seat to get a look.
“Oh,” she exclaims. “That’s Ms. West. I mean Sthenno.”
Our ancient immortal ancestor?
At that moment, the woman—Ms. West—Sthenno—crosses the street, and a memory flashes into my thoughts. It’s been years. More than a decade. The moment plays in my mind with perfect clarity.
When I was a child, I saw a centaur in my bedroom. It was the only time before my sisterly reunion that I saw a mythological monster, and I eventually came to believe that the vision was a nightmare. A hallucination. Mother started taking me to regular hypnotherapy sessions immediately. The therapist was a middle-aged woman with dark hair that was fading into gray. Then, at one session—the very last—there was a different therapist. She was younger, blonder, and far more effective. One session with her and Mother declared me cured.
I recognize the woman stepping on the sidewalk at the end of the block because she was that final therapist.
A million confused questions flood my brain.
“I—”
Before I can say that I’ve met Sthenno before, a black spot appears next to her in the middle of the air. The spot grows quickly, expanding into a giant hole about the size of a double door.
“What the heck?” Grace blurts.
Gretchen bursts to her feet.
Grace and I sit there, stunned, but Gretchen takes off running. On instinct, I follow. Gretchen is still several feet away from Sthenno when a creature steps out of the hole. It almost looks human—well, it’s human shaped anyway, like a gnarled old woman. She has pale green skin, stark white hair, and blood dripping down her cheeks.
“Achlys!” Gretchen shouts.
The green hag glances our way, startled, as if she didn’t expect anyone to see her.
Then, without hesitation, she wraps both arms around Sthenno and throws her into the hole. Gretchen lunges, barely missing the hag, who follows Sthenno into the blackness. The hole snaps shut just as Gretchen reaches the spot.
She shouts into the empty air. “No!”
“What just happened?” I ask, skidding to a stop next to Gretchen.
Grace catches up, eyes wide. “Where did she go?”
Gretchen glares at the empty spot where the black hole was, then turns and levels a silver glare at each of us. “That was a window into the abyss,” she says. “Sthenno is now their prisoner.”
She looks like she wants to punch something. Anything.
I step back.
“What was that thing?” I ask. “It wasn’t human.”
“No,” Gretchen replies, jamming her hands onto her hips. “Definitely not human. She’s a dark spirit. The demon of misery. I tangled with her once.” Gretchen holds up her forearm, revealing a set of four long, parallel scars. “Her nasty fingernails are tipped with an antihealing poison. Took forever for my wounds to heal.”
“We have to go get her,” Grace says.
My heart trips a little at the idea. Willingly walking into that … blackness? It’s a crazy idea. But as crazy and scary as it is, we don’t have many options. We need answers and Sthenno has them. We need her.
“We do,” I agree. “How?”
Gretchen’s eyes narrow.
“Sure,” she snaps. “It’s just that easy. We’ll go in after her.”
I can do without the sarcasm. “And why not?”
“Is that even possible?” Grace asks.
“It must be,” I insist. “Right?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Gretchen says, “the portal is gone.”
She waves her hands in the air, in the space that moments ago was a big black void that led into the abyss. Like we need a lesson in visual reality.
I did not get to be junior class president, alumnae tea cochair, and Women in Business liaison by allowing fears and negative thinking to dictate my actions. I am a firm believer in the adage that where there’s a will, there’s a way.
As annoyed as I was to get called to this emergency meeting without prior notice, now that I’ve seen who Sthenno is, now that I recognize her, I want to know more. It is no coincidence that she is the one who banished monsters from my life, which means that not
only has she known about me for years, but she also has the ability to make the monsters disappear. At least from my mind.
If it worked once, perhaps it can again. Perhaps I can wake up one day and think this nightmare is a distant dream.
I’m not about to let her just vanish into the abyss and say, Oops. Guess we’ll catch her next time.
“Then we should open another one,” I say. “There must be a way.”
Gretchen glares harder at me, and I can tell she wants to direct me to the nearest bridge so I can jump off. Then her expression changes into something more thoughtful. She’s considering my suggestion. Good.
“Is that even possible?” Grace asks, echoing her last unanswered question.
“I don’t—” Gretchen shakes her head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never wondered that. I never asked.”
Her focus shifts, her eyes shadow like she’s lost in thought. Lost in doubt. She’s beating herself up for all those questions she never asked Euryale before the Gorgon was taken. Four years of squandered opportunities. I’m not sure how I know that’s what she’s thinking, but I know if I were in her shoes those thoughts would be playing through my mind.
“Did you get a chance to talk to Sthenno this morning?” I ask Grace. “Did you ask her any questions?”
“A few,” Grace says, looking dismayed. “She told me there are factions, two sides in a looming war. One that wants us dead now, another that wants us dead later.”
War? Factions? Dead now and dead later? Oh this nightmare just keeps getting better and better.
“That’s pretty much what Nick said,” Gretchen agrees.
“Nick?” Grace asks suggestively.
Gretchen cuts her a scowl. “It’s not like that.”
I can see the conflicted emotions playing on her face. Positive and negative. Anger and attraction. Maybe it’s not like that, but maybe she wants it to be. Maybe Gretchen has a crush. I hide a smile.
“So, is no one else at all freaked out about this war?” I ask. “That apparently everyone on every side wants us dead? No one’s annoyed by that?”
“Yeah,” Grace says. “I’m a little freaked out. But Ms. West said there are others on our side, working to help us.”
“That’s good to know,” Gretchen says sarcastically.
“Ms. West thinks Euryale was trying to find out who was on each side,” Grace continues, “when she was taken.”
Gretchen winces at the mention of her missing mentor. She’s hurting, I can tell, but she’s trying valiantly not to show it. “I need to question Nick again.”
Partly to save her from facing her emotions right now, and partly for myself because I’m not used to dealing with this kind of pain, I steer the conversation into safe territory.
“Should we meet again after school tomorrow?” I ask. “My schedule is clear after four thirty.”
“Mine too,” Grace says. “Well, mine’s always clear. Should we meet at the safe house?”
“Bad idea.” Gretchen shoves her hands into her back pockets, looking relieved by the change of topic. “I don’t think we should meet at our homes anymore. It increases the chances of a monster or three following us there.”
“They already know where we live,” I argue. “Last night proves that.”
“They knew where I lived, obviously,” Gretchen says, “or they wouldn’t have blown up the place. But I’m hoping the two beasties who showed up at your places just trailed you two home from the sushi place. We need to be hyperaware of being followed from now on.”
She hopes they just followed us? I cross my arms over my chest. Well, I hope she’s right.
“So where should we meet?” Grace asks. “In public?”
“That’s good for talking,” Gretchen replies, shaking her head. “But we need to train too.”
I don’t miss the subtext. Gretchen is already at the peak of her game, she’s got monster butt kicking down to a science. It’s Grace and I who need to train. I suppose I can’t argue with that. And if one of those creatures shows up at my home again, I want to be able to do something about it.
“I know the perfect place,” I say. “My school.”
Since I have such extensive responsibilities at Immaculate Heart—and perhaps because my parents donated the money so the board could buy the lot next door for future expansion—I have keys to the building. Freedom and access to every room in the place. Yet another benefit of being a responsible student at a small private school.
I give both sisters the address, and they agree to come by after my student council meeting. The halls will be empty and we will have exclusive use of the gymnasium. It’s not as well equipped as the training room in Gretchen’s loft—and the closest thing to an arsenal is the collection of sports gear—but it will do as a temporary space.
As we walk our separate ways—Grace to the nearest bus stop, Gretchen to the public parking garage three blocks away, and me to Dad’s building—I can’t help feeling that the two halves of my life, my two worlds, are about to collide in an irreversible way.
CHAPTER 8
GRACE
Dinner at home is tense. I don’t really expect it to be any other way, not with Mom and Dad still upset about my disappearance last night and Thane still … elsewhere. I can’t remember ever feeling this awkward around my parents. Ever.
When dinner is over, I clear the table and take care of the dishes. Alone and in silence. It’s like their disappointment is my punishment.
I hang the damp dish towel on the oven door handle when I’m done. I can’t just let it be like this—the distance and tension are too much. I walk quietly to their bedroom and knock on the door.
“Come in,” Dad says.
He’s sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room—the closest thing to an office this apartment has space for—and Mom’s in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. In all my years, I’ve never felt like such an outsider in my own home.
Dad doesn’t look up, and my heart breaks a little more.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say with as much feeling as I can shove into three small words. “I’m really, really sorry.”
His attention stays focused on the computer screen and I feel tears start to well in my eyes. He’s not even going to respond.
Then I see his shoulders rise and fall in a small sigh.
“I know,” he says. When he turns to look at me, his eyes are shining too. “I know you are, Gracie.”
I rush over to him, practically throwing him off the chair with my hug. Then I feel Mom’s arms wrap around us.
“We were so scared,” she says. “Terrified that something awful might have—”
She can’t finish. She doesn’t have to.
As much as I want to reassure her, to tell her that nothing terrible happened, that nothing terrible will happen, I can’t lie again. Last night was awful and dangerous and seconds away from becoming their worst nightmare. Mine too. Tonight might be just as bad. Or the next night, or the night after that. My life is suddenly more dangerous than their worst fears. I can’t make a promise that everything will be fine, because I can’t control the outcome.
A war that’s been brewing for millennia is about to break out in San Francisco, and I’m right in the middle of it all.
If I think about it too much, the fear might overwhelm me. I need to focus on the positive, on the right now.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I promise you, I’m fine.”
For now.
“Make us one more promise,” Dad says, leaning out of the hug. “Never go anywhere without your phone again.”
Mom nods. “It would have saved a lot of worry.”
“I promise,” I say. Even though I know that if I’d had my phone last night, it would have either gotten blown up in the loft or drenched in the bay.
But I’ll never leave home without it again.
I tell them I love them—and they tell me they love me right back—before retreating to my room. Speaking of my phone, it’s ring
ing when I walk through my door.
My heart pounds when I read the screen: Milo.
“Hi,” I say, trying to disguise how breathless I feel. “What’s up?”
There’s a brief pause before he says, “I thought we were.”
“We—” I slap a hand over my mouth. “Omigosh, Milo, I totally forgot.”
I can’t believe I’m such a moron. Milo is Thane’s friend, his soccer teammate at Euclid, and about the cutest boy I’ve ever met. He’s sweet too, which is a major bonus. And he likes me.
When I was all high on confronting Miranda yesterday, I called him and asked him out. I was terrified, but I did it. And he said yes.
We were supposed to meet this afternoon, but after everything that happened last night and then with Sthenno at school and again at Union Square, I blanked. I totally blew my chance.
“Something, um, critical came up and—I’m so sorry.”
“No worries,” he says, though he sounds a little off. “I get it.”
Oh no. He thinks I blew him off on purpose. No, no, no.
“Really,” I insist. “It was something last-minute with my—” I have to stop myself from saying sisters. “A friend,” I say. “She had an emergency and …” I stink at lying. I need to stop trying. “I swear, I really really really want to go out with you.”
Great. Way to sound totally desperate, Grace. I roll my eyes at my idiocy and can picture Milo doing the same. I take a deep breath to compose myself and sink back onto my bed, ready for the rejection.
I expect him to say, No thanks, crazy girl, and hang up, never to be heard from again.
Instead, he says, “How about tomorrow?”
I sit back up.
“Tomorrow?” I echo. A second chance! Relief floods through me. I’m not meeting Gretchen and Greer until four thirty. “I can meet right after school. I have something later in the afternoon.”
“Soccer practice,” he says. “Until five.”
“Shoot.” I have no idea when the girls and I will be done, so I can’t make after-sister plans. “I would invite you over for dinner, but …”
“Thane,” he finishes. “Have you heard from him?”
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