As I turn to walk back to Milo and the car, she calls out, “I hope you find her.”
Me, too.
I look back over my shoulder. “Thanks.”
When I get back to the car, Milo guesses, “Not her?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe the next one,” he suggests cheerfully.
“You say that every time.”
He shrugs. “It’s always true.”
“Number twenty-four,” I say, scanning the list, “is in Chinatown.”
I settle in for the drive, listening to Milo’s crackling radio and hoping—desperately—that the next Cassandra will be the right one. At this point, the chances are getting pretty slim.
I try to imagine what I think she’ll be like. Do we get all of our features from her, or do we look more like our dad, whoever he is? Does she have powers and fangs? Is she tough or elegant or good with computers? Is she like all three of us or none of us?
Milo pulls to a stop in front of the address I gave him, jarring me out of my wondering.
“Be right back,” I say as I climb out of the car.
We have this down to a science now.
“Maybe not,” Milo calls out.
I smile. I hope that eventually he’s right.
This building has a set of buzzers with the residents’ names written in thick black marker next to the corresponding apartment numbers. I locate the one that says Gregory—4B—and push the small black button.
I wait patiently but get nothing but silence.
I buzz two more times, with no response.
Oh, come on.
I really don’t want to leave this Cassandra Gregory as a question mark on the list. Maybe her buzzer’s broken, I reason. She might be up there waiting for friends or pizza or long-lost daughters to show up and not even know they’re ringing her bell.
She might be grateful.
So, with my delusion in place, I start pushing every buzzer on the panel. Normally I would never do something like this. My only excuse is that my patience is in short supply and this is a desperate situation.
Someone finally buzzes me in.
I hurry inside and head for the stairs. Elevators aren’t exactly my favorite method of transportation after the situation at my apartment. I pound the steps two at a time until I’m on the fourth floor.
I’m so winded and tired that my hand doesn’t shake at all as I knock on the door to 4B. I’m too worn out to be nervous, I guess.
I listen carefully.
Maybe she’s really not home. Maybe I was making up that story about her buzzer not working—okay, I definitely made up that story. But maybe she’s just out.
Then I hear it: the soft shuffle of feet on a hardwood floor.
I get goose bumps.
I duck down, out of sight of the peephole. If she wants to know who’s at her door, she’ll have to open it.
I realize what a dumb thought that is—who in the city is just going to open their door to any old knock?—half a second before I see the handle turn. I bite my lips together, waiting, hoping . . . fearing.
As the door swings open, I bring myself back to my full height. I’m straightening my legs at the same moment when Cassandra Gregory’s face appears in the opening.
It’s like looking in a mirror.
Well, a fast-forward mirror in which I’m looking at my future self, but a mirror nonetheless. I’m frozen, gaping at this woman who is so obviously my biological mother.
And she, too, is frozen and staring at me.
This is her, the woman who brought me and my sisters into the world, who gave us up for adoption to protect us from those who want to kill or control us because of the blood that runs through our veins. Ancient, powerful blood. Her blood.
It’s a surreal moment.
A phone rings somewhere else in the building. The spell is broken.
“Cassandra Gregory?” I say, not able to keep the question out of my voice. “I’m Grace, your—”
The door slams in my face before I can finish.
“—daughter.”
Well, this is not a good start to our reunion.
My knuckles are going to go raw from knocking.
“Please, Cassandra,” I say—I can’t call her Mom. I already have a mom. “Just let me in. We need to talk. I have something to tell you.”
I turn my back to the door and sink to the ground. Why won’t she even talk to me? She must realize who I am and what’s going on.
Well, if she won’t let me in, then I’ll wait for her to come out. She’ll have to leave eventually.
“Please,” I whisper.
My phone dings in my pocket.
I pull it out and silence it so it can’t ding again. Maybe if Cassandra thinks I’m gone, she’ll come out sooner.
It’s a text from Milo.
“Success?”
I text back, “Yes and no.”
I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply.
“Be right up.”
I start to smile, wondering how long it will take for someone to let him in, but when I hear the lock above my head moving, I scramble to the side and press myself against the wall. I keep silent and out of direct view. The door starts to open.
Today I’m doing a lot of things I would normally never do: tell Milo the truth about me, push every buzzer in an apartment building, and—apparently—force my way into a stranger’s apartment. But she’s not really a stranger, is she? She’s my mother. Before Cassandra has time to react, I jump in front of her and block the door with my foot.
She doesn’t even scream.
“I’m sorry if this is a shock,” I say when I see her wide-eyed stare, “but this is important. Life or death, even.”
She watches me, her pale gray eyes unblinking. I can’t guess what’s running through her head, but, honestly, today I don’t care. Today, I put my hand in the doorjamb and take a step forward.
She’s in danger, and she’s as much a key part of this war as my sisters and I are. She needs to let me in. She needs to listen to me.
“You can’t be here,” she says. “Please, you have to go.”
When she backs up, I advance again.
“Leave the city.” Tears fill her eyes. “Before it’s too late.”
Two more steps and I’ll be inside the apartment.
“I can’t do that,” I explain. “You’re in danger. How much do you know about the legacy?”
She sucks in a breath. “The legacy?”
“Medusa and monsters and—”
“No,” she says, her voice cracking at the end. “It’s already begun.”
Then she’s lunging toward me. I brace myself for the attack, and my fangs descend on instinct.
When her arms wrap around me, I don’t know how to react.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she says. There is so much tightness in her voice that she can only be crying. “I separated you to protect you, to prevent the prophecy from coming true.” She leans back to look at me. “But I am a selfish creature, and I’m glad you’re here. I never thought I’d see you again.”
There are so many thoughts and emotions bombarding me, I can barely think. I can only hug her back.
“So I guess this one is your mother?”
I twist to look over my shoulder and give Milo what can only be a very confused look.
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess so.”
CHAPTER 17
GRETCHEN
The safe house hasn’t been home for long—just enough time for it to feel weird having other people sit on the ratty couch and rickety chairs.
“A priestess of Apollo might be able to break the bond,” Ursula suggests.
“Might,” Sthenno echoes, “if she didn’t want to exploit the connection for herself. And just where would we find one? There hasn’t been a priestess of Apollo in North America for more than a century.”
Ursula shakes her head. “I know.” She frowns. “Even if there were, Apollo could track her e
ven more immediately than he is tracking Greer. We would have no chance.”
Sthenno gives her a look that says, Precisely.
I stand in the kitchen, my back against the peeling white countertop.
Ursula—after four years it’s hard to call her anything else—sits on the shabby couch, looking much more like herself with clean hair and fresh clothes. I can’t stop staring at her. It feels like a century since I last saw her. She’s back, safe and sound.
It’s like a missing piece of my life has fallen back into place. As much as I hate to rely on anyone but myself, I never realized how much I had come to depend on her. She’s been my mother, my trainer, my boss, and my friend since I was twelve.
Even the new sisters in my life couldn’t quite fill all those voids the way having Ursula back does.
Her sister, Sthenno, stands in front of the small yellow-lace-curtained window. She, too, has bathed and changed clothes, although she chose a pair of my backup cargoes and a tank over Ursula’s flowing top and pants.
The two immortal gorgons are busy debating how to break Greer’s open connection with Apollo.
Greer and Thane are each sitting on one of the chairs from the dining table. I didn’t miss how Thane scooted his chair closer to hers after they sat down, or how Greer leaned toward him when he did.
Sillus sits on the counter next to me, his furry feet swinging back and forth.
This is finally the moment of opportunity I’ve been waiting for. Pushing away from the kitchen, I walk over to the dining table, spin one of the chairs around backward, and drop into the seat with my arms draped over the back.
“So, Thane,” I say with a falsely sweet smile. “Want to tell exactly how you’re involved in this big mythological mess?”
Thane lifts his dark eyes to study me.
Next to him, Greer scowls. I’m not sure if it’s an I-was-wondering-the-same-thing scowl or a why-are-you-accusing-my-boy scowl. I don’t care either way.
“Grace is my sister,” Thane says slowly.
“She’s my sister, too,” I reply, “and my first job is to protect her. Now”—I level my fiercest huntress glare at him, pulling my hypno powers to the front of the class—“tell me who you are.”
I watch his eyes carefully, looking for signs that he’s as immune to my Medusa eyes as Nick. But, to my shock, his eyes grow unfocused.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He replies, “Thane Whitfield.”
“Why are you fighting in this war?”
“For Grace,” he says, his voice hollow and distant. “For Greer.”
Greer looks from me to Thane and back again. “Satisfied?”
I shrug. Not entirely, but at least that’s one thing off the list. Thane has no mythological blood. He’s just a truly amazing human fighter.
Well, I can’t be right all the time.
I pull out my phone and try texting Grace again.
That’s two unanswered phone calls and twice as many text messages since we reached the safe house. Nick isn’t responding, either. They were supposed to find our mother and meet back here. I hope it’s only a matter of a bad signal or taking longer to locate Cassandra than Grace guessed, and not that they’ve run into trouble looking for her. Much longer and I’m going to go looking for them.
“Huntress no answer huntress?” Sillus asks.
I give him a sideways glance. “Not yet.”
“Huntress will,” he says. “Huntress always okay.”
I pat him on the shoulder. I hope he’s right.
“What about the Bacchanalia?” Ursula glances at her sister. “Perhaps an out-of-body experience is enough to disconnect her.”
“And just where do you think we’ll find a dozen Dionysian goats?” Sthenno replies. “Or a trio of innocent maidens, for that matter?”
“Enough!” I blurt.
I am so sick of this back-and-forth of bad ideas and ridiculous suggestions. Dionysian goats? Seriously? It’s time we come up with a practical solution. The protective mojo on the safe house won’t last forever, and I want Greer safe before it runs out.
“We think Apollo is on the side with Zeus, right? The side that wants us dead before we can open the door, right?” I ask.
The gorgons exchange a look.
“We are certain,” Ursula says. “He was among those who held us captive on Olympus.”
“Along with Zeus, Hera, and more than half of the Olympians,” Sthenno adds.
“Why didn’t one of the others set you free?” Greer asks. “We have Olympians on our side, too, right?”
“We do,” Ursula answers, “though not many.”
Sthenno says, “They could not have aided us without the risk of exposing themselves. For many, secrecy is their only protection.”
“We need them in place,” Ursula explains. “When the time comes, you will need their help more than we ever did.”
That seems to appease Greer’s curiosity, because she sinks back against the chair and crosses her arms over her chest.
“So,” I say, getting back to my point, “I’m going to state the obvious here.”
Everyone turns to look at me.
Apollo and Zeus and who knows how many other gods and godly players are on the side that wants to stop us. They believe the best thing for both gods and man is for the door to be sealed permanently, and the only way they can ensure that happening is to kill us so we can’t open it. Which means there’s an easy way to get that side off our backs.
“Let’s open the door.”
Five pairs of eyes blink blankly at me.
“If the only reason he’s connecting with Greer and tracking her is to prevent us from opening the door,” I explain, “then he’ll stop once we do—or at least stop trying to kill us.”
That still leaves the monster side eager to kill us after so they can have free reign in this realm, but that’s a whole other issue. One enemy at a time.
No one answers.
I clench my jaw. It may not be a spectacular idea, but it’s certainly the most useful one offered up yet. “It’s better than covering Greer in head-to-toe Hephaestian gold.”
Including over her eyes, nose, and mouth. What good is getting her off the gods’ radar if she suffocates in the process?
“You are correct,” Ursula says. “Opening the door would eliminate Apollo’s desire to see the three of you dead.”
Thank you. At least I’m not the only one who can see reason.
“I know there are other options,” I say. “I know we can seal the door, killing every creature inside. But I’m not okay with that.”
I already know Grace feels the same way. I glance at Greer, and she shakes her head. We don’t always agree—meaning never—but we’re on the same page about that.
I lift my brows and give Ursula a then-what’s-the-problem look.
For a moment, I feel like it’s four years ago. When Ursula first started training me, I questioned everything. I argued all the time and butted heads with her about the smallest things. The only difference now is this time I’m not doing it because I have something to prove. I’m doing it because I’m right.
“I am glad you have chosen to take up your destiny,” Ursula says, smiling. “Not all believed you would welcome the responsibility.”
As if there were another option, at least not after meeting some of the non-monstrous creatures in the abyss.
“And what is the responsibility, exactly?” Greer asks. We turn to look at her. “What does guardianship entail?”
Actually, I’ve wondered about that, too.
The gorgons exchange a look. At first, I’m worried they’re afraid we won’t like what we hear. Ursula should know me well enough to realize I don’t get frightened off. Greer’s not exactly one to back down, either. Then I see the looks in the gorgons’ eyes: pain and memory.
They’re thinking back to their time as guardians, when Medusa was still alive.
“With three standing guard,” Ursula says in a sad v
oice, “it is a pleasure.”
“The door must be opened daily,” Sthenno explains, “or the seal will lock and all inside will die.”
I tense at the thought of my friends, of the innocent monsters in the abyss, dying by default. There are plenty of not-so-innocent ones in there, but taking them out in one fell swoop isn’t worth the cost. I will never let that happen, even if I have to take on the job all by myself.
“Continue to patrol as you already do,” Ursula continues, “to keep order amongst the monsters in this realm.”
“Send the transgressors home,” Sthenno says, “and keep the bad sort from coming through.”
They make it sound almost easy—too easy. I’m sure something more is involved—that there are complications and difficulties—but we don’t have time to go into the nitty-gritty. We’ll deal with those details when they come up.
We need to act fast. Who knows how long the protection of Ursula’s magical safeguards will keep Apollo out of my sister’s head?
“Then let’s do it,” I say, exchanging a look with Greer. “Let’s open the door. We’re ready.”
“There is a flaw in your plan,” Sthenno says.
I scowl. We already agreed to open the door and accept whatever responsibility follows. This is no time for negativity.
“What’s that?” I reply, with more attitude than Ursula would approve of.
Sthenno’s voice is flat as she replies, “No one knows the door’s location.”
“Explain it to me again,” I say, still not understanding.
How can the door be lost? How could all of mythology forget where it put one of the most important things it has? I’ve lost my keys plenty of times, but I never lost the door to my place—well, except for when it blew up. But I still knew where it was, technically.
“Few knew its location in the first place,” Ursula says with the serenity of the most patient being ever on planet Earth. She doesn’t let on that this is, like, the tenth time she’s gone over the same facts. “For the obvious reasons, the fewer who knew how to reach the abyss, the better.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “That makes sense.”
“Then those of us who knew—those who eagerly awaited the prophesied days of the Key Generation—tried to maintain our distance, so as not to draw attention.”
Sweet Legacy (Sweet Venom) Page 13