Sweet Shadows

by Tera Lynn Childs

  I guess that’s a yes.

  I follow her down the sidewalk and into a store with a bright pink-and-orange sign that reads JUST GELATO.

  “Better than coffee,” she mumbles as she walks up to the counter. “A double scoop of hazelnut and espresso, please.”

  The girl behind the counter nods and starts scooping two big balls of gelato from the freezer display. I’ve never had gelato, but it looks kind of like ice cream. And I do love ice cream.

  “I’m buying,” Greer says. “What do you want?”

  I study the case for a minute, trying to decide if I want something sweet and yummy, like strawberry or cotton candy, or rich and sophisticated, like Greer’s choice. In the end I can’t resist the allure of cotton candy anything.

  The gelato girl hands me my cup, and while Greer pays, I take a seat at a table in the front window. It’s a tiny table, small and round with delicate black scrolls for legs. There’s barely enough room for two. It reminds me of something from a European café. Well, what I imagine a European café would look like. I bet Greer has firsthand experience.

  When she sits down across from me, though, I don’t ask her about Europe or cafés or even gelatos. She’s a little—a lot—intimidating. Especially with that stormy scowl in place. Even though she’s my sister, I still feel like she’s far above my reach. I can’t think of anything to say that won’t make me look stupid, so I remain silent.

  “This is precisely what I needed,” she exclaims as she swallows her first bite of gelato. “Sugar, cream, and caffeine. Perfect.”

  I smile and take another bite of my cotton candy. No caffeine, of course, but it’s beyond amazingly good. I could eat an entire tub.

  As we sit there, silently eating our frozen treats, my mind wanders. I wonder what it would be like to be Greer, to be raised with so many extra advantages. I’ve never wanted for anything—nothing truly necessary, anyway—but the kind of money she comes from boggles my mind.

  There is a cost, I’m sure. From what I’ve gathered, she doesn’t have a very close relationship with her parents. Or much of a relationship at all. As much as she acts as if the topic is off-limits, I’m curious.

  “What are your parents like?”

  She looks startled for a moment, pausing to lick her spoon before answering. “They’re …” She sounds like she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “Very successful.”

  “I know that. But what are they like as people? As parents.”

  She shrugs and I think she’s about to shut down. To pull the shutters and keep me out of her personal life. We might be sisters, but that doesn’t mean we’re family.

  Then, to my surprise, she says, “Absent.”

  She takes a big bite of gelato. I don’t try to force the conversation by saying or asking anything more. I leave her the option of continuing.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she says, as if I’m passing judgment. “They’re great people. Truly great. Smart, dedicated, and they give back a lot.”

  “But …,” I prod.

  She takes a deep breath and sighs. “Sometimes I wish they were a little less driven and a little more … around.”

  “It must have been hard,” I say, “growing up with parents who were rarely home.”

  “I shouldn’t complain,” she says with a small smile. “I’ve had every advantage. The best nannies, the best schools, the best everything. I could have been far worse off.”

  We fall silent and I think we’re both imagining Gretchen’s childhood. She doesn’t talk about her adoptive parents. Ever. But from the few hints she’s let slip, I gather they are pretty rotten excuses for human beings. Abusive addicts. I gaze out the window. It breaks my heart to think of her growing up in that environment. I may not have had all the economic advantages that Greer has, but I have parents who love me, who care for and provide for me. Gretchen definitely got the short end of the stick.

  “Does it frighten you?”

  I look up, startled by Greer’s question. “What?”

  “Our destiny,” she says. “This guardianship we’re supposed to take up. Does it ever scare you?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Of course it does.”

  She looks at me, studying me. Her elegantly waxed eyebrows pinch into a scowl.

  “Any time I let myself stop to think about it for too long,” I say, “I’m terrified.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t show it.”

  “Maybe I’m like you in that way,” I say with a smile. But I don’t think she wants a flip answer. “Every time I start to get scared, I think about our ancestors. About Medusa and how she gave her life for this destiny. About all the generations of ancestors after her who worked and sacrificed to keep our line alive.”

  “And that helps?” she asks with disbelief.

  “A little,” I say. “When I think of everything that’s been done to make sure the three of us would be right here, right now … Well, it makes the thought of walking away unthinkable.”

  Greer nods, as if my answer helps, and goes back to her gelato.

  I think we just bonded. To keep from beaming at her—that might undo our progress—I turn and study the world outside.

  Across the street, I notice a familiar-looking boy standing outside a Mexican restaurant. He’s of average height with brown hair that’s golden at the ends, like he spends a lot of time in the sun.

  “Oh, hey, isn’t that your—” I catch myself when I see who he’s standing with, and how they’re standing together. A girl. Close together.

  But it’s too late. Greer turns and looks.

  Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it’s not the boy I saw her with at Fisherman’s Wharf. Maybe it’s not her—

  She slams her bowl down on the table. “That scumbag.”

  Nope, not wrong.

  She’s out the door before her spoon, bounced free from the bowl, slaps to the floor. I start to follow after her, to be her support. But then the thought of her boyfriend seeing me, her identical triplet, stops me short. That could only make the situation worse. I watch, helpless through the glass, as she crosses the street to confront him.

  CHAPTER 14

  GREER

  Kyle has his back to the street corner, so he isn’t aware of my approach. The girl he’s wrapping his arms around, however, has a full-on view.

  She must sense my fury, because she says something quietly to Kyle and pulls out of his embrace. I’m already not having the best day ever. If she’s smart, she’ll back far, far away.

  As I close the distance between us, Kyle turns around. I catch just the hint of shock before he recovers. His mouth spreads into a vast surfer-dude grin and he says, “Babe!”

  My palm connects with his cheek before the drawled-out word is done. He lifts a hand to his stinging cheek.

  “Babe, I can explain.”

  “Don’t. Call. Me. Babe.” How many times in the last year have I asked—ordered, begged—him not to call me that? Countless. But has he listened or learned or even cared that it bothers me? No.

  “Look, Greer,” he says, dropping the surfer-dude affect, “this isn’t what it—”

  “Looks like?” I interrupt. “Then what exactly is it? Is she some long-lost cousin? Or a helpless girl you met on the street who can’t stand without help?”

  “Greer—”

  “Or maybe this is exactly what it looks like.” I spear the girl, who is cowering behind Kyle like a frightened kitten, with a fierce glare. My voice honey sweet, I ask her, “Is this a date?”

  Her eyes widen, like she’s been hoping to be left out of this confrontation. No such luck. She nudges Kyle from behind.

  “Listen, Greer,” he says, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about this?”

  “Is this a date?” I repeat, trying to sound more reasonable myself.

  My entire life as I know it might be spiraling out of control, but I can still keep my emotions in check. I can control them, if nothing
else.

  Kyle glances over his shoulder as if he’s hoping the girl has disappeared—nope, his hoochie chick is still there—and then back at me with sad eyes. As if I might sympathize. He doesn’t have to say anything. I know the answer—and not because of my special mental powers, either. A girl just knows.

  “I cannot believe I wasted my time on you,” I say. “I’m so much more than you deserve.”

  A look crosses his face, a combination of shame and anger. I’ve wounded his pride and now he wants to win it back. Not by apologizing, I’m sure. There is something hateful on his tongue and I don’t need to stick around to listen. I’m not sure I could handle it at the moment.

  I spin on my heels and storm away, ruining my perfect exit by stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. Kyle calls after me and I have to fight the urge to lift my hand and show him a crude gesture. But no, I won’t let him make me stoop to his low-class level. I stalk to the end of the block and around the corner with my head held high. My dignity intact.

  But the moment I’m out of sight, my facade shatters. I duck into the nearest alcove and lean my back against the brick wall, not caring what the rough surface will do to my silk top. I cover my face with my hands and it all just comes out.

  The emotion surprises me. I thought I had kept my feelings for Kyle superficial. I knew I liked him, but I never really let it go deeper than that. Ours was more of a business relationship—popular girl with bright future plus popular boy with (potentially) equally bright future. A perfect match.

  Or so I thought.

  Clearly my attachment ran deeper than I let myself believe. I never thought Kyle could make me cry.

  When I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders, I jerk back, afraid it’s Kyle coming after me and seeing me in this state. My head knocks against the brick.

  “Ow,” I exclaim.

  The sympathetic look on Grace’s face only makes me sob harder.

  “He’s a jerk,” she says.

  Her arms wrap around me and I let her hug me tight. I don’t usually break down—as in never—but it’s like all the stresses and new pressures of the past couple of weeks have built up and Kyle’s betrayal is just the final straw. Everything burst, and now it’s leaking out onto Grace’s tee.

  For some reason, her support calms me. I let myself be comforted in a way I never have before. My parents don’t hug. Kyle’s hugs always seemed to have ulterior motives. Grace only wants me to feel better, only wants to ease my pain. And it works.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, sniffing. “I’m not usually such a mess.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she insists. “Some boys are a waste of breath and bone.”

  “It’s not just Kyle,” I whisper against her shoulder. Though that is more of it than I’d like to admit. “It’s everything. It’s school and my parents and our destiny. I’m trying so hard to be the perfect daughter, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect monster huntress. I’m not sure I can do it all.”

  Grace leans back and lifts my chin up. With her silver eyes staring straight into mine, she says, “No one is asking you to be perfect.”

  I wish that were true. I wish I didn’t know my parents and teachers expect just that. I wish I didn’t expect perfection myself. But it does make me feel a little better to hear Grace say it.

  I think about what she said earlier, about living up to the sacrifice our ancestors made for us. That makes me feel better too. More focused, more driven.

  “Thank you,” I say, recovering some semblance of control over my emotions. I wipe the tears from beneath my eyes. “I feel all right now.”

  “Good.” She gives me an enthusiastic grin. “Now what do you say we text Gretchen and schedule a rendezvous? We’re having no luck. There must be another way to find a missing oracle than to grid search the entire city.”

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  As Grace and I walk to my car, I straighten my spine. I have a lot of expectations to live up to, most of all my own. My mother may not be perfect, but she has taught me to hold my head high.

  CHAPTER 15

  GRETCHEN

  We’ve searched half the city, Gretchen,” Nick says as we walk back toward my car. “You’re going to have to face the fact that either the oracle is gone or—”

  “She doesn’t want to be found,” I finish. “I can’t believe she’d vanish willingly and leave me without a source for answers. She must know the Gorgons have been taken. She’s our only chance. My only connection to the mythological world.”

  Nick grins at me over Moira’s roof. “Not your only connection.”

  I scowl at him. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know,” he says as we climb into the car. “I wish I could help more with this. Maybe it’s part of her plan. Maybe she wants you to figure the next step out on your own.”

  “Then maybe she should have left better clues.”

  I shift Moira into gear and head toward the bakery where Grace suggested we meet. It’s far enough from their homes that I feel comfortable getting together.

  There is a double danger each time we meet. Not only might the monsters track us home again, but the girls’ friends and families might see us. That’s not a worry for me. The guy in the passenger seat is the closest thing to a friend I’ve got, and I’m not even sure I’d call him that. He’s been nothing but helpful since that night I forced him into my car. Maybe it’s time to cut him some slack. But for Grace and Greer, being spotted together by their nearest and dearest is a real danger. Their lives could be turned upside down—well, more upside down—if people found out the truth.

  Nick points out a parking spot about two blocks from the bakery. In this neighborhood I’ll be lucky to find another spot, period. I take it.

  As we start up the hill toward the bakery, side by side, I’m amazed at how comfortable I am with Nick. In just a few short days, he’s gone from a boy who confused and irritated me to one I thought had betrayed me and my sisters in the worst way to one whom I trust with the most precious of my secrets. With my sister’s lives—and mine.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “You’ve got a look.”

  I laugh. “A look?”

  “Yeah.” He stops, and I stop to face him.

  “What kind of look?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, his grin growing. “But I think it might be … a smile.”

  I smack him on the shoulder. Hard.

  “I can’t be sure,” he continues, “because I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one on your face before, but it definitely looks like—Hey!”

  I start smacking him with greater frequency, my good mood growing with every hit. He’s laughing, I’m laughing. I feel completely … free. When he grabs each of my wrists in a fist, my laughter slowly dies. The look in his dark eyes says he feels the same comfortable connection as I do.

  His gaze drops to my mouth and I suck in a breath.

  “Gretchen …”

  His head starts moving closer with aching slowness. My eyes drift shut. I can feel his breath on my lips, hot and damp.

  As his mouth approaches mine, I feel a jolt of magic arc between our lips, like the spark of static electricity when you reach for a metal doorknob in winter. I shiver as the sensation skitters down my spine.

  Then our lips meet, barely a touch. Lighter than a butterfly on a flower. But I feel it … everywhere.

  Then Nick is pulling back and my eyes open. He has the same dazed look on his face that I feel. I clamp my lips together, marveling at the feeling. His smile takes over his face.

  “Gretchen!” Grace’s voice echoes around me. “Here we are!”

  I look up the sidewalk to where Grace and Greer are standing outside the bakery. Grace is waving like wild, trying to get my attention.

  I sigh. “We’d better go.”

  Nick doesn’t release my wrists. “This isn’t finished.”


  No, it’s not. I shake my head, and he lets me go. I turn away from his serious expression and start up the street.

  “Oh no,” Nick says.

  I turn back. A black spot has appeared in the street a few feet from where I’m standing. Right next to Nick.

  Not now. Can’t the beastie realm hold off for a little while? Taking down a monster isn’t exactly convenient at the moment, but it’s still part of the job description.

  I face the portal, ready for whatever steps through. The creature that appears in the middle of the street is the stuff of bogeymen legends. A geryon—a hideous thing with three giant bodies joined at the shoulders, three ugly heads, and three sets of beady eyes. It’s backed by two pairs of diseased-looking wings with feathers falling off, leaving raw, gaping wounds. Technically, the thing is my cousin. A descendant of Medusa’s other offspring, the giant Chrysaor. But the gene pool definitely got corrupted along the way.

  The geryon looks at me and grunts. I don’t think it can even speak.

  Nick moves to my side, like he wants to protect me. He of all people should know I can take care of this myself. He’ll only get in the way.

  I’m about to tell him that when the creature shifts its attention. Its three gazes focus on my companion. Looking directly at Nick, one of its faces contorts into a look of pure fury.

  Everything happens in an instant.

  The creature steps forward, shoves me to the side with one pair of beefy paws, and wraps its four other arms around Nick’s body. One tightens around his neck.

  “No!” I shout.

  With faster reflexes than I gave it credit for, the creature drags Nick back over to the portal. I run forward, reaching for Nick or the creature or both. But it’s too late. I’m not fast enough.

  With one backward step, the creature disappears into the void. Nick disappears with him.

  “No!” I shout again.

  I turn and see my sisters running down the street toward me. They saw what just happened and are coming to help. But they’re too far away.

  I have only seconds to make my decision. Let Nick go, and with him our only connection to the mythological world. Or …