Sweet Shadows (28 page)

Gretchen doesn’t respond, but the set of her jaw indicates the end of discussion. “How long was I in?”

“An entire week,” Greer answers.

“We were just about to come in after you,” I say. At Gretchen’s confused look, I explain, “Greer figured out how to open a portal.” I’m proud of her even if the prospect of stepping into the abyss nearly scared me to death.

“Where are we?” Gretchen asks.

“In Greer’s basement,” I answer.

“No one comes down here,” Greer adds. “Not anymore.”

“Good,” Gretchen says. “I need a chair. Something I can tie this traitor to while I interrogate him.”

I’m a little shocked at the venom in Gretchen’s tone. Then again, she doesn’t trust easily, but she was starting to trust Nick. She thought he was someone she could rely on, and Gretchen doesn’t rely on many people. I’m sure his betrayal cuts deep.

“How about a bar stool?” I suggest.

Gretchen shakes her head. “I want to be able to tower over him. I want the physical advantage.”

Greer says, “I’ll get one.”

While Greer goes to get the chair, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Gretchen says. Then, as if she remembers that we’re sisters, allies, she softens. “Hungry, actually. Haven’t had a thing to eat in days.”

“Of course.” I can’t begin to imagine what she’s been through. Hopefully one day she’ll tell us. Now isn’t the time. “I’ll get you something.”

I turn to head upstairs to the kitchen.

“Grace,” Gretchen calls as I reach the door. When I turn back, she says, “Thanks.”

I rush back across the room and fling my arms around her again. “I’m so glad you’re back,” I say against her shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

She pats me once on the back, and I know she feels the same way. Before I embarrass her by making her emotional, I head for the stairs. As I climb up to the kitchen, I hear her yell at Sillus, “Get off that, you little monkey freak!”

I smile. Now that Gretchen is back, I know everything is going to be fine. Whatever changed while she was inside, we’ll get through it. We’ll figure it out. Together.

T
here is a stack of extra chairs in the storage room off the garage. Mother does not allow even our storage space to have an ounce of dust or clutter, and every inch is perfectly organized, labeled, and accessible. The chairs are in the back, and I weave my way between precisely stacked boxes of cocktail party supplies and winter clothing and Dad’s grad school papers.

I’m almost near the chairs when a wave of dizziness hits me.

This isn’t a gentle fuzziness, like if I’ve forgotten to eat or haven’t had enough sleep. This is like a tsunami wave of numbness, and for a moment I think I’m going to faint.

I brace myself against a stack of boxes. When I close my eyes, I don’t see the darkness of my lids, I see Grace’s brother, Thane. He’s standing in front of a mirror, shirtless. Three jagged lines are carved into his chest, running from one shoulder to the opposite hip. After soaking a cotton ball in green liquid, he dabs it on the wounds. He winces and I reach out instinctively to ease the pain.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the dizziness is gone. The image of Thane is gone. I’m staring at my own eyelids, leaning against a box in our storage room.

It was such a strong, clear image. My stomach lurches back into place and my entire body is covered in goose bumps.

I take a deep breath and try to shake off the unsettling feeling. I struggle to bring myself back into the here and now. When I feel in full control of my brain and my body again, I continue to the chairs. Pulling one off the top of the stack, I carry it out of the storage room and back to the rec room.

Grace arrives moments later, a plate of leftovers in one hand and the bottle of mandarin orange soda in the other. I want to ask if her brother has those wounds on his chest, but … I can’t. Besides, she might not even know.

Gretchen takes the food and tucks in, devouring it like a starving animal. I quietly carry the chair to the center of the room and set it down next to Nick.

I have no idea what happened to me in the storage room, but clearly it was a vision of some kind. Could my second sight be improving? I can’t be certain what triggered it, but I’ve never had such a clear, realistic feeling before. Maybe it has something to do with the pendant. With its connection to Apollo. Touching it didn’t send me into a coma. Maybe it amplified my powers or brought them closer to the surface. I’m relieved that Grace has it back safely in her possession. Until we can learn more about it, it’s probably best if I don’t come into contact with the powerful object again.

When Gretchen has cleaned the plate of food and chugged half the bottle of soda, she walks over to the chair. With her superhuman strength, she easily lifts Nick up to the seat.

“Help me resecure his wrists,” she instructs.

Pulling a dagger from her boot, she slices through the zip ties. His arms fall limp at his sides. She grabs one and drags it around behind, pulling out a fresh zip tie and strapping his wrist to the back of the chair. She hands me another tie, and I do the same with his other arm.

Grace watches as we secure his ankles to the front chair legs and step back.

“How soundproof is this room?” Gretchen asks.

“Quite,” I say. “Mother had the entire room re-insulated after my first slumber party. The noise was too—”

“Good,” she says.

Taking a step forward, she swings her arm wide and slaps Nick square on the cheek. When that gets no response, she repeats the action. This time he groans but doesn’t regain consciousness.

The dizziness hits me again. I grab the back of the chair to keep from crashing to the ground. This time, the image is of an analog clock face. The hands spin, zooming past hours in mere seconds. When the big hand has made several complete circuits of the clock, the image dissolves, replaced by one of Nick sitting in the chair. He shakes his head and his eyes blink open.

Then the image and the dizziness disappear.

“I—” I shake my head. “I don’t think he’s going to wake up for a few hours.”

Gretchen nods. “Probably not. I hit him pretty hard.”

Grace gives me a curious look, and I ignore it.

“Can I crash here?” Gretchen asks. “I’m exhausted, but I want to be around when he comes to.”

“Of course,” I say automatically, shifting into hostess mode. “Let me get you some bedding.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’ll be fine with that blanket on the couch.”

I want to argue—every etiquette-ingrained bone in my body screams, telling me to make her a comfortable bed—but frankly I don’t have the energy. I feel drained. I don’t know if it’s that I’m still exhausted from holding the pendant or the act of opening the portal or the weird dizziness I’ve been having ever since, but I feel like I’ve been awake for a week.

“Actually,” I say, “I think I could use a nap as well.”

“Can I stick around? I don’t feel like going home right now,” Grace says.

She doesn’t say as much, but I think she wants to give Thane some time to process her news.

“Of course,” I say. “Make yourself at home.”

“Can I use your computer?” she asks. “I have some research I want to do.”

“Research?”

She gives me a meaningful look.

“Oh, research.” As in tracking down our biological mother. “You can use the laptop in my room. I’ll show you on my way to a long, steaming-hot bath.”

“Great,” Gretchen says as she drops onto the couch. Balling the blanket up like a pillow, she stretches out and closes her eyes. “Catch you later.”

The little monkey creature curls up at her feet and follows her into slumber land. Long-lost triplet asleep on the couch, mythological monkey monster right there with her, and descendant of a goddess unconscious and tied to a chair. Clearly, the amount of normalcy in my life is severely limited at the moment.

I lead Grace up the basement stairs, through the house, and up the two flights to my room. She remains unusually quiet the entire way.

“There’s my laptop,” I say, pointing to the open computer sitting on my desk. “The password is greerthegreat, all one word, lowercase.”

“Thanks,” she replies quietly.

I can tell she has something on her mind, so I take my time gathering my clothes for after my bath. I’m just folding my cashmere lounge pants onto the pile with my silk camisole when she says, “I’m so glad she’s home.”

“Me too.”

“I’m glad we didn’t have to go into that place,” she continues. “Does that make me a coward?”

“No,” I say, setting my clothes on the bed and crossing to her side. “That makes you brave. Because you were scared and willing to go in there anyway.”

She smiles. “I guess so.”

“And you’re not alone.” When she looks up I smile. “I was terrified too.”

Her shoulders relax and I feel like I’ve done a good deed. I made her feel better, and that—I’m surprised to admit—makes me feel better. Maybe I’m getting the hang of this sister thing after all.

As Grace takes a seat at my desk, I grab my clothes and retreat to the bathroom. Steam billows through the room as hot water fills the pristine claw-foot tub. Moments later, I’m sinking into heaven, surrounded by the scent of jasmine bubble bath.

My eyes are already closed when the dizziness hits. I smile when an image of the Immaculate Heart gym, transformed into a dreamy paradise for the alumnae tea, drifts through my mind. I’ll take a vision like that any day. And tomorrow I will make it a reality.

M
oaning. I wake to the sound of moaning, and for a few groggy moments, I think I’m back in the abyss. That entire place moaned.

But the surface beneath me is soft, padded, not rock-hard stone. The air is cool but not cold. The smell is tolerable. Nothing like the abyss. And my stomach isn’t trying to gnaw its way out of my body.

Dragging my eyes open, I see the smooth white expanse of a ceiling, not green glow against shiny black rock.

Definitely not the abyss.

I roll upright and remember where I am—Greer’s basement—and why.

Halfway through the portal, Nick started trying to explain what happened. Spewing garbage. How I was misinterpreting the situation and he was really on my side and if I would just listen to him—

I turned around and punched him above the left ear. He slumped forward against me, and by the time we emerged in this realm, I had his hands zip tied.

In the chair at the center of the room, Nick’s head is lolling back and forth, like he’s struggling to regain consciousness. I need to establish my advantage quickly. Scanning the room to memorize the objects and their locations, I reach up and flick off the table lamp next to the couch. The room plunges into blackness. Darker, even, than the abyss, because my eyes are light blind.

“What happen?” Sillus asks.

“Ssssh.” I forgot about the silly monkey. How had I missed him in the scan? He must be curled up in hiding somewhere. “Stay where you are. And stay quiet.” He doesn’t respond, so I assume he’s taking my order seriously.

The couch squeaks as I push to my feet. Nick’s moaning stops. I stealth-walk across the carpet, careful not to let my heels thud against the floor.

“Gretchen?” Nick’s voice sounds rough and raspy.

I should have gagged him.

By now I’m standing over him, looming above him from behind. My eyes are adjusting to the faint glow of light seeping in beneath the door and I can see him try to twist in his chair.

The zip ties keep him in place.

“Gretchen, come on,” he says, yanking at his binds. “I know you’re here.”

He struggles a little more and then must realize the futility of his attempts. He stills and, I think, sniffs the air. He turns his head to the side and I can almost feel his dark eyes rake over me.

“I can smell you,” he says.

I lift my foot and kick the back of his chair, sending him thudding face-first into the floor. Unfortunately Greer’s parents splurged on extraplush carpet. That probably hardly hurt him at all. The weight of the chair holds him down, but I rest my foot against the seat anyway.

“Let me explain,” he says, his voice muffled against the carpet.

“Explain what? How you tricked me?” I shove my weight into the chair. “How you lied to me? Made me trust you? When, all the while, you were getting ready to betray me? To kill me and my sisters?” I shove the chair again, harder, and am satisfied when he grunts in pain. “Yes, please, explain that to me.”

As if he could say anything—
anything
—to justify what he did.

“I’m a mole.”

I jerk back. My foot falls to the floor.

“What?”

“A mole,” he says. “Gretchen, I’m a double agent.”

I reach down, wrap a hand over the back of the chair, and pull it—and Nick—upright. The chair is still rocking to a standstill when I walk over to the door and throw the light switch, flooding the room with bright light.