Sweet Legacy (Sweet Venom)

by Tera Lynn Childs

  As soon as I’m down, I move out of the way so Gretchen can follow.

  “Jump, huntress, jump,” Sillus calls out.

  Gretchen leaps down, landing hard on her combat boots.

  “We need to move,” Gretchen barks. “Head around back in case there are more of them waiting out front.”

  “You cannot escape, huntress!”

  We glance up and see the fake landlord leaning out over the fire escape railing.

  “Go,” Gretchen shouts.

  I don’t wait to hear what else the man shouts. Taking Greer by the hand, I set out at a run, around the back of the building and into yet another alley. Gretchen passes me and takes the lead as she reaches the head of the alley. She stops just long enough to make sure the coast is clear and then takes off down the sidewalk.

  Cassandra takes Sillus’s hand, and they run after Gretchen. Greer and I struggle to keep up. I’m panting by the time we catch them, stopped at a red light two intersections later.

  The five of us huddle up next to the lamppost.

  “Where do we go?” Cassandra asks.

  I shake my head.

  “I don’t know,” Gretchen says. “They’re still finding us wherever we go.”

  “Who were they?” Cassandra asks.

  “Soldiers of the Arms of Olympus.” Gretchen’s expression turns dark. “I’m getting sick of those jerkwads.”

  I can’t help but giggle at her calling the army of the gods a bunch of jerkwads—then I immediately cover it with a cough when Gretchen gives me the look of death.

  “I thought things were supposed to be better,” I say, “now that Greer’s disconnected from Apollo.”

  Gretchen frowns. “They should. Between that and the magical protections, they should not have been able to trace us there.”

  “Clearly they have other means,” Cassandra says.

  “Well, we need to go somewhere,” Gretchen says.

  “Grace’s,” Greer whispers.

  “My place?” I ask. “Why?”

  Greer’s brow twists. “Because . . .”

  “Numbers,” Gretchen says.

  I ask, “What?”

  “Your apartment building is huge,” she explains. “If they track us there, it will at least take them a while to find your unit.”

  “They already did,” I insist. “They were there when Nick and I autoported in.”

  “The monster side knows,” Gretchen argues. “They’re probably not sharing their intel with Olympus.”

  I suck in a breath. “You’re right.”

  “Come on,” Gretchen urges. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 25

  GREER

  When I suggested we go to Grace’s apartment, I hadn’t actually been thinking it would be good cover to be in a multi-unit building. I hadn’t been thinking about the best or safest place to escape to. I had only been thinking about Thane.

  Despite the vision I had, I was secretly hoping he’d be here, that he’d have come home.

  But as Grace and Cassandra get drinks from the kitchen, I peer down the hallway to where the bedrooms are located. There isn’t a sound other than Cassandra humming and the drumming of Gretchen’s fingers on the dining table. It’s clear that Thane is nowhere around.

  He’s off somewhere feeling guilty.

  I take a seat next to Gretchen in the dining room, clasping my hands in front of me. For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—I feel like I can take a breath. I shouldn’t feel safer here than anywhere else, but for some reason being in this apartment, in this home, is calming. I can pause and reflect and think about everything that has happened.

  Then again, most of what’s happened recently isn’t worth dwelling on. It’s not like I want to look back on that time I died with great fondness. It’s not like I have some great life lesson to learn or divine wisdom to bring back and share with the human world.

  No, I got the brilliant advice from the Fates to fight not alone.

  What is that even supposed to mean?

  You shall see, the woman says.

  Who are you? I demand. I’m getting sick of having people in my head, real or not.

  That too, she says, you shall see. Soon. Until then . . .

  All right. If the voice in my head isn’t going to help, then I’ll figure it out on my own.

  Well, at face value, it means we shouldn’t do this by ourselves. It means we shouldn’t face the coming war without help. The three of us can’t do it alone—not facing all the enemies who are out to stop us, one way or another.

  We need as many friends on our side as we can get.

  The gorgons are gathering our allies, but what if they aren’t enough? If I stop too long to think about the odds against us, I’ll crumble.

  This is the absolute worst time for Thane to take off. I don’t care if he’s upset or pouting or beating himself up for everything he’s ever done. We need him, and he bailed.

  Unacceptable.

  I smack my palms on the table. “Enough.”

  I’m all for him taking a little while to pull himself together, especially after something big like seeing the girl he likes die or telling his sister he was sent to kill her. Thane gets a little leeway for that. But we’re in the middle of epic things right now, and we don’t have time to indulge in self-pity. We don’t have time to indulge in anything.

  None of us do.

  There are too many things—too many gods and monsters—working against us. We need to be gathering numbers, not letting them spread out.

  I turn my attention on Gretchen.

  “You should go find Nick.”

  “What?” she asks, twisting her head and gaping at me like I’m a talking dog.

  “We might need him,” I explain, “and you obviously care about him.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t deny it. We can all see it.” Now that I’ve started, I’m gathering steam. I resist the urge to pat her hand. “I saw the look on your face as he got dragged into the abyss. I saw you dive in after him without a moment’s hesitation.”

  “We needed him.”

  “You needed him,” I correct. “You still do.”

  She stares at her hands. I wonder what she sees there—the hands of a girl who’s hunted more monsters than she can count? Or the hands of a girl who cares about a boy more than she’d like to admit, even to herself?

  “If it were me or Grace,” I say, “you wouldn’t stop until you’d found us.”

  “It’s not you,” she argues.

  “He’s just as much a part of this,” I continue. “Only he’s in it by choice, which makes him all the more valuable.”

  She finally lifts her head, and the look in her eyes is a tumultuous mix of hope and fear, doubt and certainty. For someone like Gretchen, with her history, the kind of emotion she feels for Nick is dangerous, a liability. But she’s tempted.

  One little push could send her over the edge.

  I think a little subtle manipulation is called for here.

  If she thinks I had a vision about Nick, implying that I’ve already seen how important he will be, then maybe she’ll stop fighting her feelings and go after him. Besides, how do I know that we don’t need him? He could be the crucial piece to the final puzzle.

  “We still need him,” I say, choosing my words carefully. I casually rub my finger across my temple. “He’s important.”

  She scowls at me, and at first I think I’ve gone too far. She looks angry, like she might shove back from the table and storm away.

  Then she shocks the sugar out of me by saying, “I know.”

  “You do?” I flinch, then regroup and say, “Good.”

  “But I don’t even know where to start.” She tilts back in her chair. “He could be anywhere. He could be—”

  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 se
rved.”

  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—“smell him?”

  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, why are we tracking the boss?” Grace asks.

  “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.”

  “I’ll go after Nick,” Gretchen says. “He is my mission. Grace can go with you.”

  “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 ex. I delete them without even reading them.

  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 disconnected—number.

  Good luck with your search.

  I freeze, not wanting to draw attention to myself by freaking out. I take a slow breath, paste a neutral smile on my face, and force my shoulders to relax. I need to get out of here.

  At the next stop, I walk casually off the bus. As I step onto the concrete, I have that feeling again. I’m being watched. Kneeling down, I pretend to retie the laces on my Keds while watching to see if anyone else gets off with me.

  The bus pulls away, and I’m alone on the sidewalk.

  I stand, sucking in a deep breath. Whoever is sending the texts must be toying with me.

  Luckily, I’m not far from the Lombard Gate entrance to the Presidio. As I walk toward the l
ush, wooded park, I decide that as soon as I find Thane—and convince him not to be a self-punishing moron—I will call my sisters and tell them about the texts.

  Suddenly, being all alone in the city is a very scary thing.

  CHAPTER 26

  GRETCHEN

  From the peak of Buena Vista Park, I can see and smell the entire Bay Area. If I want to get in a good sniff test to pinpoint the boss’s location in the city, I need the high elevation and the clear view. If he’s still in the area, I’ll be able to smell him from up here.

  I only hope he is and that Nick is still with him.

  I stand on my perch on the hill, close my eyes, and draw a deep breath in through my nostrils. I can smell Grace next to me. I never really noticed, but we have a bit of a distinctive smell, too. It’s not disgusting like the monsters—she doesn’t smell like burning flesh or sulfur or moldy bread—but something sweet, sugary, like the venom that runs through our fangs.

  That fact might be useful in the future, in case I need to find my sisters. It’s like a built-in compass.

  I can smell Sillus, too. He doesn’t smell nearly as sweet; more like sawdust and stale buttered popcorn.

  Inhaling again, I smell beyond the immediate area. I seek out the boss’s unique scent. Drawing on olfactory memory, I can remember his odor perfectly—maybe too well: a repulsive mix of wet dog and decaying fish. I’ve never smelled anything like it before, so it shouldn’t be too hard to pick it out of the spectrum of smells that San Francisco has to offer.

  Turning in a circle, I do a counterclockwise three-sixty sniff, covering every sector of the city. Not in Fisherman’s Wharf. Not in the Marina or the Presidio. Not in Golden Gate Park, Potrero Hill, or the Mission. I’m closing up the circle, sniffing over SoMa, heading for the financial district, when I catch the scent.

  I open my eyes and find myself staring at the old harbor, a string of abandoned and abandoned-looking warehouse piers that used to manage most of the Bay Area imports before Oakland became the primary port.

  “There,” I say, pointing across the city. “The boss is in there.”