Sweet Legacy (Sweet Venom) (14 page)

Euryale beams. “You are exactly like her.”

“Exactly like who?”

“Our sister,” Sthenno says. “The late gorgon queen Medusa.”

Now that I did not expect. They have just compared me to a legendary woman, a woman whose legacy has been distorted by myth and history, a maiden turned monster by those who would end our line. What am I supposed to say?

That I carry her power, her gift, is an honor and a burden. I am no stranger to pressure—it’s almost as if Mother was grooming me for this all these years. I have to believe I can live up to the responsibility.

“It should not be surprising,” Euryale says. “You have her power, her gift. And it manifests itself in but one way.”

They both stare at me for a long time. I can imagine what they’re feeling—pain over the long-ago loss of their sister, pride to see her power within me, and probably a slew of other emotions that I couldn’t even begin to put into words.

It’s touching, and I hate to interrupt the moment we’re having, but—

“We need to go,” Gretchen says, doing the interrupting for me.

“Yes,” Euryale says. “Let us get to the safe house before Apollo has time to redirect his soldiers.”

I am a bit overwhelmed by the situation—by the knowledge that a Greek god is reading my mind and tracking me through our mental connection, that this connection might be having an adverse effect on my brain, that I have visions in the same way as my ancient ancestor. If I thought therapy would help, I might sign myself up for a few sessions.

But what therapist would ever believe a word of this?

Gretchen is at my side as we walk out of the bookshop.

Thane walks silently on my other side.

Both of them are strong and silent, determined to protect me. Between them, I feel completely safe. Neither of them will let anything happen to me. If only their protection didn’t put
them
in danger.

CHAPTER 16
G
RACE

Y
ou should go home,” I tell Milo after the twelfth Cassandra Gregory in the city turns out to be a young stay-at-home mom with twin two-year-olds.

“Why?” Milo asks, opening the passenger door to his car. “It’s just getting fun.”

He’s being generous. After I printed out the directory results for every woman in the city with our mother’s name, Milo and I spent hours canvassing last night and more this morning. Since I couldn’t just go home, I spent half the night online in a twenty-four-hour internet cafe, trying to narrow down our list of targets, with no success. None of these women have online social profiles. After catching a couple hours of sleep in the safe house, I met Milo at a coffee shop, and we started again. He doesn’t need to be here. He’s wasting his time.

I stand in the open space between the door, the car, and Milo. “This is pointless. There are three dozen Cassandra Gregorys in the city. She might not even be here anymore.”

She might not even be alive anymore.

Maybe our friends in the abyss got the message wrong. Maybe they aren’t trying to kill our mother—maybe she’s already gone.

I don’t say that last part out loud, but I’ve been thinking it, a lot. Sthenno said they’d lost contact with our mother a long time ago, and the last mention of her in our adoption file was when she tried to make contact four years ago. A lot can happen in four years.

Heck, a lot can happen in four
days
.

“It doesn’t hurt to keep looking,” Milo says.

“You’ve already spent all of last night and this morning.” I stare at my shoes. This isn’t fair to him. “I can keep searching on my own.”

“You need my car.”

“I have a bus pass.”

“Grace.” His tone is so serious that I look up. “Did you ever think I might like having an excuse to spend more time with you?”

My cheeks burn, and I can’t keep the smile off my face.

His gaze drops to my lips. I don’t wait for him to lean in. Heart racing, I curve my hands around his neck and lift my face to his.

When I drop back onto my heels, I’m in a daze.

“Now,” he says with a lazy smile, “if you’re done trying to get rid of me?”

“For now,” I tease.

“Then where’s the next Cassandra Gregory on the list?”

I pull out the printout of search results and scan past all the ones we’ve already crossed off. I draw a line through number twelve before reading the next entry to Milo.

“That’s in the Richmond,” he says as he walks around the front of the car. “We’ll be there in five.”

I sink into the passenger seat and pull the door shut. As I click my seat belt into place, Milo puts the car in gear and takes off for the next mom-hopeful.

My hand shakes as I press the doorbell.

This isn’t new; it’s been shaking ever since Nick and I autoported into the middle of a bad-guy meet-up. It was shaking as I knocked on the doors of the previous twenty-two Cassandra Gregorys, so it’s no shock that it’s shaking now.

Though after going through this so many times, I really should be past that.

Footsteps echo inside, followed by the sound of a deadbolt retracting.

The woman who opens the door has freckled alabaster skin and flame-red hair, but she’s the right age, and that’s an improvement over two-thirds of the other contenders.

“Cassandra Gregory?” I ask.

She scowls. “I am.”

“Did you by chance give your triplet daughters up for adoption sixteen years ago?”

My heart thuds in anticipation.

“Honey,” she says, placing her hand dramatically at her waist as she scans me from head to toe, “take a look at these hips. No child has ever passed their way.”

Another strike. “I’m very sorry,” I say. “Thank you for your time.”

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.”