Sweet Shadows (18 page)

I wasn’t wrong when I said there was no one left to answer our questions. With the Gorgons and now Nick and Gretchen out of this realm and the oracle on the run, we have no one to turn to. We’re completely on our own, with no resources and only limited experience with the world of mythology.

My optimism was mostly a show for Grace. We’re two girls with minimal powers, alone in the city. I don’t hold out a lot of hope for our success.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

“Of course I want to find her,” I say, pressing the phone to my ear. Does Grace think I’m completely unfeeling? Gretchen is my sister too. But that doesn’t change my responsibilities. Normal life continues, even if the world of myth is spiraling out of control. “I can’t possibly get out of the alumnae tea planning meeting Monday afternoon, however.”

I dropped the Porsche off at the body shop this morning to get her dents removed, so I decided to walk home from my evening workout at the gym. Gives me a little extra exercise.

The climb up the hill alone would give me rock-star quads if I did it every night.

“That’s ridiculous,” she says. “It’s a
meeting
, Greer. What about your priorities? Our sister is in the abyss. She could be dead already.”

No. She can’t be dead. That’s not an option. I have to believe that I would
know
if she were gone.

As if I haven’t already processed that fear, over and over, in the twenty-four hours since we watched, helpless, as Gretchen dived into the monster realm. Hours that feel like years. Hours in which we’ve spent every spare daylight moment searching for her, for the oracle, or for any clue of how to get her back. Not that we found
anything
. Every person we know who is connected to the mythological world is missing. We don’t even know where to turn, but we keep looking. I can cancel every other appointment on my schedule for the next few days, but this one is unmissable.

We’re hunting blind, and I’m going to do this one thing that keeps my semblance of normalcy intact. If anything, taking a break will give me a clearer mind.

“It will only take a couple of hours,” I promise. “Besides, I’m committing all of tomorrow to our fruitless searching again.”

Sunday is usually my home spa day.

“Greer—”

Her voice cracks and I can guess what she’s thinking. We’d only just found Gretchen, and each other. We’d only been reunited a short while. What if we can’t get her back?

“We will find her,” I say with more certainty than I necessarily feel. This is one time when I wish my magical power of knowing things would produce more tangible results. I could use some second sight at this point. I feel optimistic, but I’m not sure if that’s because of my untapped ability or because I’ve been raised to believe in the power of positive thinking.

“But what if—”

“Grace,” I say, cutting her off before she can voice her fears. My fears. “We will find her.”

She sniffles for a minute and I can tell she’s pulling herself together.

“I know,” she says, her voice stronger than before. “I wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing everything you can,” I assure her. “We both are.”

“Are we?”

“Of course we are.”

“I feel like we’re missing something,” she says. “Like the answer is right in front of us and we keep looking the other way.”

I’ve had the same feeling. Not a fully realized thought, perhaps, but a sensation that the answer is near. “Me too. We just have to open our minds to the solution,” I say, hating how New Age-y I sound. “The answer will reveal itself.”

“I hope you’re right,” she says. “We’re still meeting at the bus stop first thing tomorrow morning?”

“The very first.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “I’m going to do some more research. See if I can track down anything that can help.”

If anyone can find clues to help us, it’s Grace. The girl is a bona fide computer genius and has done her fair share of hacking. But I don’t think there is anything out there for her to find. The mythological world has kept itself well off the grid.

“Let me know what you find,” I tell her.

“Definitely.”

I slide my phone back into my purse and quicken my steps.

I cross Franklin and turn left so I can walk past the Haas-Lilienthal House. A beautiful, towering gray Victorian that dates back to 1886, the architectural wonder is open a couple of days a week as a museum. I enjoy walking by. It makes me feel like I’m part of a bygone era, like I’ve stepped back into the nineteenth century.

At night, though, the house is positively spooky.

I’m walking past the driveway, glancing up at the cramped third-floor window where I always expect to see a ghost staring down at me, when I get the feeling. At first it’s just a tickle at the back of my neck, like someone with hot breath is blowing on my sensitive skin. It quickly spreads down my spine in a burning river of fear.

A small part of me wants to turn around, to see if this sensation of being watched, being followed, is legitimate. The rest of me screams to run.

Adrenaline pumps into my veins. It’s the same feeling as when the giant knocked on my front door. Only this time I force myself to stay.

I pause for a moment, like I want to take in the full facade of the house, eerily illuminated by the glow of streetlamps and light pollution. A small plastic smile in place, I focus my attention on my peripheral vision. From the corner of my eye I sense an out-of-place shadow.

Maintaining my blank face, I turn and continue up the sidewalk at my leisurely pace. I feel the shadow follow, keeping a safe distance.

I start making mental plans. I reach into my purse, casually looking for my compact. When I pull it out, I flip it open and raise it to eye level, pretending to check the state of my lipstick.

What I see in the reflection almost takes my breath away.

The creature following me is hideous. No larger than me, it is obviously part man and part sea … something. Great clumps of black seaweed hang off its torso like some comic-book villain who took a dip in a radioactive aquarium.

It’s standing beneath a streetlamp, and the downlight distorts its features into something out of a horror movie. My heart pounds faster.

Now that I’ve seen my opponent, I drop my compact back in my purse and speed up my steps. I turn the corner at the intersection and break into a run, hoping to give myself a little distance between me and my pursuer. I’m not running away this time, though, I’m getting into position.

I have only seconds to decide on the best concealed location. There are raised stoops and clusters of garbage cans to the right, cars and trees and a mailbox to the left.

I decide on the big, boxy SUV with tires massive enough to hide a small hybrid hatchback. I’m just crouching behind the front bumper when I sense the creature shuffling around the corner. I slow my breathing and try to reach out with my mind, to see where the creature is and what it’s planning. I have to learn how to harness my power eventually, and now seems like as good a time as any.

I sense … nothing.
Sugar.

I peer out around the tire and see the creature looking around, its soggy shoulders slumped. It looks disappointed.

It thinks it’s lost me. Clearly it’s too stupid to realize I might be hiding. Which might be a good reaction if I were trying to get away, but I have a duty to send it home. I’m ready to fight.

Against all my instincts and better judgment, I step out of my hiding place and say, “Looking for something?”

I can tell I’ve startled it.
Good.

It tilts its head to the side, confused by my actions I suppose, and grunts. Lurching forward, it holds its arms out straight like Frankenstein’s monster. Wow, this is going to be easier than I thought.

I stash my gym bag in front of the tire. I’m braced, ready to deliver a strong kick to send it flying, followed by a hand chop to bring it to the ground. Then I get the weirdest sensation. It’s like slivers of ice all down my back.

The creature freezes, staring blankly at a spot just over my right shoulder. I know I probably shouldn’t—turning away from the vile creature in front of me is perhaps not the smartest idea ever—but I can’t ignore the icicles on my spine.

Walking down the sidewalk, about half a block away, is a woman. A very ordinary, nothing-monsterlike-about-her woman. She’s maybe middle-aged, forty-something, with her black hair swirled into a loose bun. Despite her diminutive size, she’s covering the sidewalk between us quickly.

The creature grunts. I turn back, not sure why the woman’s presence gave me such shivers, and find the thing lurching away.

Now I’m not sure what to do. Go after the creature, in front of the woman, and risk having to answer questions about a fight and a disappearing opponent? Or maintain the appearance of normalcy and let it get away?

With a sigh, I lower my hands and watch as the monster waddles down the street. Err on the side of normalcy, I always say.

“You’re not going to let it get away, are you?” the woman asks.

What did she say? No, I must have misunderstood.

“Don’t play coy with me, Greer Morgenthal,” she says. “I know exactly who and what you are.”

“I—What?”

“You’re a huntress.” The woman points at the retreating creature. “Hunt.”

I regain my ability to speak.

“Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?”

Honestly, I have no clue. But I make the only guess I can. “Are you one of the Gorgons? Are you Euryale?”

The woman’s laughter turns my stomach. It’s dark and nasty and curls around my neck like tentacles. I back away.

“No,” she barks, her voice echoing over me, “I am not a Gorgon.”

A crash sounds behind me and I turn away from the woman. The escaping creature ran headfirst into a group of trashcans and is now trying to climb over and out of the piles of garbage.

“Oh for the love of darkness,” the woman says.

I watch, transfixed, as she storms past me, walks up to the creature, grabs it by the neck, and hauls it to its feet. Hurrying after her—because I feel that I have to do
something
—I’m not sure if I should stop her or help her.

The woman speaks to the monster in a language I don’t understand.

“Tolmáte apsi foún tis parangelíes mou?”

Her tone, though, tells me everything I need to know. She is not happy with this sad creature. At all.

The seaweed beast lets out a nauseating scream.

I don’t know why, but instinct tells me to protect the creature from the woman.

“Stop it,” I cry. “You’re scaring him.”

The woman twists to face me, to glare at me, and snarls. “Scaring him? Of course I’m—” She stops in midsentence, turns her head slightly, and smiles. “Ah. You have the dead queen’s power.”

I shake my head, not understanding her confusing statement.

“The queen Medusa, with her second sight,” she says. “You are the seer.”

“Who are you?” I repeat. “How do you know this?”

She smiles, still holding the creature by the throat. “I know more than you can possibly imagine. I know more than anyone else in this game.”

“This isn’t a game,” I assert, stepping forward. I don’t know where I find the sudden courage, but I refuse to let her bully me. “There are lives at stake. Now tell me who you are.”

In an instant, she flings the creature toward me, and while I’m reeling backward—trying to keep from collapsing under its weight—there is a bright flash of light. When I regain my footing, keeping the creature at arm’s length, I start to give her a piece of my mind.

“That was—”

The woman is gone. Whoever she is—
what
ever she is—she has disappeared.

“What in the world was that?”

The creature grunts.

I glare at it, like this is all its fault. I’m not sure that it isn’t, but I have a feeling the woman was here for me. She wanted to see me, to test me maybe.

Seriously, after everything that’s been going on, I’m at the end of my rope.

Without another word, I turn and sink my fangs into the creature. When it’s gone back to the abyss, I retrieve my discarded gym bag and continue on my way home. What else could go sideways in my world? I only hope that’s it for tonight.

T
he worst thing about the abyss is the dark. The smell is a close second, what with it being the home of all monsterkind, but the suffocating darkness is worse. It’s like a massive, endless cavern carved from black rock. What little light there is gets sucked into the nearest surface. If not for the eerie green glow of the lights—for lack of a better word—hanging from above, the entire place would be in pitch darkness.

This is exactly how I would picture Hades, only I imagine the underworld with more fire and sulfur.

The rocky surfaces are shiny—smooth like glass—and they look wet to the touch. They’re bone dry.