“We’re not connected anymore,” I say, trying to weave the various threads together in my mind. “Does that worry you? I had already touched the pendant when we first met. Do you think it will change things? That I won’t care for you anymore?”
He looks up at me, his eyes full of emotion: fear, hope, uncertainty.
“Trust me when I say that a magical connection has nothing to do with what I feel for you.” I reach down and cup his cheek with my hand. He closes his eyes and leans into my palm. “Is that why you left?”
He shakes his head. Pulling back, out of my touch, he says, “I’m a coward. I had to reveal my secrets, but I couldn’t face your reaction. Or Grace’s.”
That’s the heart of it. He was afraid we would reject him. He was afraid to see anything other than attraction in my eyes or admiration in Grace’s. He should have trusted us more.
Gretchen has learned to trust, and, I am confident, so will Thane. And I’m just the girl to start his training.
I shrug. “We all have secrets.” I cross my arms. “I, for example, once bought a knock-off Dooney from a shop down by the wharf, because every department store in the city was out of stock.”
“Not really the same,” he argues with a disbelieving huff. “Not a betrayal.”
I lift my brows. “You don’t know my friends.”
Hanging his head low, he rubs his hands over his short hair.
“I am pissed at you, though,” I say. When he looks up, I explain, “If you don’t ask me to sit down, I might never speak to you again.”
He half rolls his eyes.
I drum my fingers against my arm.
“What about me makes you think I’m not serious?”
He shakes his head but scoots over to one side of the bench, making room for me. When I don’t immediately sit, he looks up. I just stare at him.
“Great gods,” he says, exasperated. “Greer, would you like to sit?”
Good. That nudged him a little further out of his funk.
I give him a sunny smile. “I’d love to.”
Settling in next to him on the bench, I give him a moment before I start in. He stares out at the water, at the pond and the ripples caused by wind or fish or paddling ducklings. He’s scared. He thinks he’s committed an unforgivable betrayal against the people he cares about most—his sister and his parents.
From one perspective, he’s right. He lied to them, or at least withheld the truth.
But, like I said, haven’t we all.
From another perspective, he’s a hero. He chose family over duty and training. He put himself at great risk by refusing to harm me and my sisters.
It’s time for him to stop acting like a traitor, but I know that coming right out and saying that will be absolutely the wrong approach. I have to come at this sideways.
“My parents have never loved me,” I say.
He looks up, startled. Clearly that was not what he expected me to say. To be honest, it’s not quite what I expected to say, either. It just spilled out of me when I opened my mouth.
“I mean, not the way some parents love their children,” I explain. “Not the way your parents love you and Grace.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If they found out about my lies,” I continue, “if they learned the truth about my heritage, they would view that as a betrayal. They would never forgive me.”
“Thanks,” he half groans. “That makes me feel better.”
“Did you think I came here to make you feel better?” I shake my head. “I’m here to tell you to pull your head out of your backside.”
He jerks back, shocked by my directness.
“Your parents love you,” I say, “unequivocally. So does Grace.”
“Which makes this so much worse.”
“No,” I insist. “That makes it so much easier.”
“How?” he asks, like he really wants to know, needs to know. “The stronger the love, the worse the betrayal, Greer. It’s not like I betrayed an acquaintance or even someone I hate. They love me, and I . . .”
“You love them,” I finish. I twist around to face him, tucking my ankle behind my knee, and place my palms on his cheeks. “Listen to me very closely, because I am only going to say this one time.” I wait for him to nod before continuing. “You have betrayed no one. If anything, you proved your love by getting these scars.”
I hold my breath as I lift the hem of his tee to reveal the three scratches—only half healed and still an angry red—inscribed across his torso. It is only a partial relief to know the painful part of my vision is already behind him.
It also means he is still in pain.
He grabs my hand and yanks his shirt back down. “How did you know about that?”
I purse my lips and tap my temple. “Second sight, remember?”
He studies me. “You saw it?”
I nod. “Have you taken the antidote?”
“No,” he says. “There isn’t any.”
“The woman with the flaming hair,” I argue. “She said she would give it to you if you succeeded.”
He looks up at me, his dark eyes shuttered. “She lied.”
I scowl. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Shaking his head, he says, “It’s— Only the juice of a golden apple can counter her poison. The apples are fiercely guarded, their juice more valuable than ambrosia.”
“We’ll find some,” I say with as much certainty as I can muster. “Whatever it takes.”
“It’s fine,” he says, taking my hand in his. “It’s not fatal. Just painful.”
I squeeze his hand. He is so strong, but he believes himself to be so inadequate. Even if I can’t heal his pain, maybe I can make his emotional hurt better.
“You have not betrayed your family. The only thing that could betray their love,” I say, “is abandoning them in their time of need. And right now, until this thing is finished, Grace needs you.”
He frowns and shakes his head, like he doesn’t quite believe me.
“I need you.”
I reach down and wrap both my hands around his. When he looks up, I can see the hope in his eyes. And I can see the emotions, the same feeling of belonging I experience when I look at him. Maybe it’s not love—not the real thing, not yet—but it’s not the mixed-up magic of some mythological connection. It’s a beginning, and it’s worth fighting for.
He squeezes my hand, and I know he feels the same way. We’re in this together. Both of us. All of us.
“I don’t deserve you,” he insists.
“No one does,” I reply with a confident smile. “You’ll get used to the feeling.”
He laughs—actually laughs—and I feel it all the way in my toes.
“Good,” I say, releasing a contented sigh. “Now that everything is settled, I vote we enjoy this peace and quiet for a few minutes before we return to the fray.”
He tugs me closer to his side.
“Sounds perfect.”
I lean my head on Thane’s shoulder, thread my fingers through his so our hands are palm to palm, and join him in staring out over the pond and the peaceful hillside below. It’s quiet and restful—exactly what I need after the craziness of the last couple of days.
Exactly what we both need.
The world might be falling apart around us, but in this place, for these few moments, there is calm.
I can’t believe I’ve never been here before. A lifetime in the city, and I thought the Presidio was nothing more than parkland and military buildings.
The new construction of the buildings, with shiny glass offices and airy coffee shops, is kind of inspiring. Imagine looking out from your office each day, down over this beautiful hillside, over the trees and streets below. Cherry and magnolia trees dance among tiny periwinkles and late fall crocuses. I can imagine it looks beautiful in every season, with wave after wave of blooms and blossoms.
Just over the treetops, I can make out the roof of the Palace of Fine Arts.
Now that I know. It’s one of my favorite places in the city. If I ever ran away to think for a while, I’d plant myself on a bench in front of the lagoon on the east side. Despite its beauty and fame, there never seem to be too many tourists crowding the green space. They all flock to the Exploratorium inside, if they’re not zooming by on a bus to the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s a place where I could let time stop for a while.
Where I could watch ducks and children play and enjoy the elegance of the classical architecture.
Where I could soak up some sun—beneath a shield of high-SPF sunscreen—and pretend the bustling city was miles away.
Where I could wonder once more why the Grecian women in flowing gowns who circle the top of the structure face inward, away from the world. I’ve always thought they look like they’re crying.
Weeping, even.
Weeping . . .
“Oh my gods.” I jerk upright.
“What?” Thane asks.
I stare at him. “Oh my gods.”
“What?”
“I think I just found the door.”
He looks at me like I’m either insane or a genius. “What? Here?”
“No.” I point at the pale concrete dome peeking above the treetops. “There.”
She whispers, Finally.
“Then Gretchen ran out with Nick over her shoulder,” Grace says, nearly breathless, “and we took off down the pier. She was amazing.”
I hold the phone away from my ear and glare at it.
She hasn’t let me get a word in since I dialed her number. “That’s great, but—”
“You should have seen the look on those charcoal guys’ faces—what?” Gretchen says something to her in the background. “Oh, right—they’re Cacuses.”
“Grace, I—”
“It was priceless.” She takes a breath. “Have you found Thane? Is he—”
“Grace!” I snap.
Her silence is deafening, and I immediately feel bad for shouting. But she’ll understand once she hears my news.
“Look, I have something to tell you guys.” I try to calm my tone. “Can you put me on speakerphone?”
“Sure,” she says, sounding a little hurt, “hold on a sec.” The sound from her end changes, and then she says, “Okay, you’re on.”
“What’s up?” Gretchen asks.
“I seem to have a knack for finding things,” I say, smiling, “because I’ve found something important we’d lost.”
“Yay, you found Thane,” Grace cheers.
“No,” I say, annoyed. “I mean, yes, I found Thane.”
“Is he there?” she asks. “Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s here,” I explain. “And yes, he’s fine.”
“Can you put him on?” Grace asks.
Fighting an eye roll, I punch the speaker button on my phone. “You guys are on speaker now too.” I glare at Thane. “Say hello.”
“Hey, Grace-face,” he says, his eyes on me. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, Thane,” she says, and I can hear the emotion in her voice. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
I give him a look that says, Yes, I know exactly how right I am.
“Is that all you found?” Gretchen’s voice makes it clear she’s not quite as forgiving as our sister.
“No, actually. I found one other thing,” I say, not trying to hide my pride. “Well, kind of.” I scan the area around the Palace lagoon. “I believe I’ve located the door.”
Grace gasps.
“Where are you?” Gretchen demands. When I tell her, she says, “Stay put. We’ll be right there.”
The phone goes dead. As I put mine away, I give Thane a sunny smile.
“That went well,” he says gruffly.
I smile bigger. “It did, didn’t it?”
He gives me that insane-genius look again. I take him by the hand.
“Come on, we can go watch the ducks while we wait for the girls.” As I tug him over to one of the benches, I ask, “Have you ever heard of a coot?”
CHAPTER 28
GRACE
I pull out my phone and find the note where I typed in the translation of the oracle’s riddle. It feels like a million years ago that Greer and I captured that monster and forced it to interpret the ancient Greek. We were so desperate to get Gretchen back, we risked everything.
Just like Gretchen risked everything tonight to rescue Nick.
He’s still a bit groggy from whatever the boss used to knock him out—judging from the giant knot at the base of his skull, I’d say a baseball bat. Gretchen hasn’t left his side since she got him out of the trunk of her car.
Gretchen also called Euryale to let her know we might have located the door. She and Sthenno are on their way here to meet us. From what she said, it’s going to take them a while to get here. Who knows where they ended up on their missions. Guess we didn’t need the oracle to find the door after all. She left us the riddle instead. I have a feeling that’s not all we’ll need from her before this is over—she’s too important to the whole thing.
I can’t help grinning at Thane, who is practically glued to Greer’s side. He’s never been a particularly happy person—the burden of that dark secret he’s been carrying his whole life, I guess—but standing with Greer, he looks as close to content as I’ve ever seen. And now that his secret is in the open, maybe things will start to get better for him.
Sillus looks exhausted, leaning up against Gretchen’s legs with his eyes drifting shut. I can’t believe we’re friends with a monkey monster. Who would have imagined?
All in all, the whole world around me feels completely different from the one I inhabited just a few weeks ago. And I feel like an entirely different person.
“Were you going to read that?” Gretchen demands, nodding at my phone.
Oops. Caught daydreaming. My cheeks burn as I start to read the riddle out loud again. “In the space beneath the sky—”
“That must mean it’s outdoors,” Greer says, clearly excited by her find.
“Right,” Gretchen agrees. “That makes sense.”
Greer gestures at the park space around us. “And this is most definitely outdoors.”
“Definitely.” I smile at her before continuing. “Between harbor and haunted ground . . .”
That line is a little more specific.
“There is a giant cemetery in the Presidio,” Greer says. “The Palace is between the Presidio and the water—the harbor at the marina.”
“Between harbor and haunted ground,” Nick says. “Check.”
“Where graces and muses weep at gentle water’s shore,” I read.
Greer points up at the statues surrounding the roof of the building. “See how the women—the Graces and Muses—look like they’re weeping?”
“I see the weeping muses,” Gretchen concedes.
Thane nods.
“And the pond is definitely gentle water,” Greer says smugly. “It fits all the criteria.”
“What about the rest of it?” Gretchen asks.
If the first half of the riddle is meant to help us locate the door, I think the second half tells us what to do when we find it.
“Be three within three, join life with death in thee,” I finish. “To find the lost and take up destiny.”
My heart races a little faster. We are so close to the end- game, to opening the door and beginning our guardianship. It’s terrifying, but also thrilling.
“Last line seems obvious,” Nick says. “‘Find the lost’ means find the door.”
“And ‘take up destiny,’” Greer adds, “must mean embracing our legacy. Guarding the door.”
I put my phone away and look around the grounds of the Palace of Fine Arts. I haven’t visited here yet. I’ve been too busy chasing and being chased by monsters to do much sightseeing at all since we moved to the city a few weeks ago. But this looks like a nice place to spend an afternoon. Plus Greer says the science museum inside is amazing. I wish we had time to go explore.
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Probably should take care of saving the world first, though.
“The part about joining life with death,” I say, glancing at Greer. “What if that means joining our blood? Like when we open a portal.”
“That makes sense,” Greer says. “Merging the healing blood of one side with the deadly blood of the other.”
“That leaves one part to figure out,” I say.
Gretchen kicks a rock out of the path. “Three within three.”
“That part is tougher,” I say, surveying the area.
Nick adds, “There are a lot of threes around here.”
“It’s neoclassical,” Greer says. “It’s practically all threes.”
Thane squints into the sun as he looks around at all the threes.
Gretchen frowns, like she’s still not one hundred percent convinced this is the right spot. I am.
“You have to admit,” I say, “a lot of the criteria make sense. There can’t be many places in the city that fit all of those things.”
“Especially the weeping muses.” Greer points to the carved women on the structures across the pond. “That feature is quite unique.”
Gretchen clenches and unclenches her jaw.
“They’re right,” Nick says. “This has to be the spot.”
“If that’s even what the riddle is talking about.” She considers it for a moment and then shrugs. “It can’t hurt to look. Let’s split up.”
We agree to separate, to split up so we can search the area more thoroughly and quickly. Hopefully by the time the gorgons arrive from wherever they are, we’ll be ready to open the door. Greer stops us.
“One thing,” she says, leaning in close to whisper. “If you find it—or think you have—don’t draw attention to the location. Let’s meet back here when we’re done searching.”
Her voice is strained, like she’s worried about something.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing, I—” Greer looks over her shoulder, like she’s expecting someone to be eavesdropping on us. Considering how many people are trying to control the outcome of this war, it wouldn’t be a surprise. “I got a couple of weird texts earlier, and I think maybe . . .”
“We’re being watched?” Gretchen suggests.
Sweet Legacy (Sweet Venom) Page 21