Sweet Shadows (7 page)

No contact. That means out of touch, it doesn’t mean dead. Not necessarily.

She might be alive. She has to be. I have to believe that. I have to believe that when she gave us up for our protection, it also protected her. Somewhere out there, she’s waiting for us. Hoping we fulfill our destiny, hoping we find her. I promise to do everything within my power to do just that.

But for now I have myself and my sisters to look out for. There are bigger things at stake. We need to figure out this situation before things get worse, before this—I shudder—war comes.

“Why?” I ask, swallowing my emotion. “Why does everyone want us dead?”

“Not everyone,” she says with a sympathetic smile. Then she answers my question. “Each side has its own motives. Those who wish to see you fail
before
the seal is broken—they believe they are acting for the greater good.”

“The greater good?” I echo. “I don’t see how killing us does anyone any good.”

Ms. West laughs. “Good and bad, right and wrong, are not so easily defined in our world.” She sighs. “Those who believe they act with righteous intent, who believe they act to protect both humankind and residents of Olympus, are all the more dangerous for their conviction.”

Just because they think they’re doing the right thing doesn’t make them right.

“What about the other side?” I ask. “The one that wants us dead
after
?”

“That side acts with a more selfish goal,” she explains, “though they believe themselves just as righteous as their opponents. They seek the freedom of monsterkind, a population that has been imprisoned and marginalized for millennia. It is a very complicated and emotion-driven dispute, on both sides.”

I let all of this news sink in: the war and the factions and the players on each side who I used to believe existed only in myth. And all of them ultimately wanting me and my sisters dead. It’s pretty overwhelming.

“Doesn’t anyone want us to live?” I blurt. “Isn’t there anyone who wants us to succeed and live long, happy lives?”

Not that I expect her to say,
Nope. Sorry. You’re out of luck.
But the last thing I expect is for Ms. West to get up, walk around her desk, and pull me up into a tight hug.

“Yes,” she says against my hair. “Yes, of course we do.”

“Who?” I demand, pulling back. “So far it sounds like everyone wants us dead either before or after the seal is broken.”

“Euryale and I are determined to see you succeed,” she says adamantly. “I believe she was trying to discover more about who is on each side when she was taken. And there are others. They work in secret and at great personal risk to pave the way for your triumph. If the gods on either side caught wind of anyone working against them, the consequences would be severe....”

Her voice kind of trails off, like the sum total of everything that’s happened in the last two weeks has just added up in her brain. Join the club.

At least I feel a little more reassured. My sisters and I may be caught in the middle of a brewing war, but at least we aren’t working alone.

Suddenly she steps back.

“I need to go.”

“What?” I gasp. “No, we need to talk.”

She looks at me and gives me a true smile. “Yes, we do. All of us.” She grabs her purse off the floor. “But first, I need to seek some answers. Can you meet after school?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“And your sisters?” she asks. “Gretchen and Greer, those are their names?”

“Yes,” I say. “I think they can be there too. I’ll text them.”

We agree on a place and time, a coffee shop in Union Square where the sheer volume of tourists and shoppers will give us some much-needed anonymity.

I stand and yank my backpack onto my shoulder. I give Ms. West—Sthenno—a shaky smile. She lifts her palms to my cheeks and cups my face.

“I am relieved to have the whole truth out in the open between us, Grace.” She leans forward and kisses first one cheek, then the other. “Trust that we will get through this. And know that my sister Euryale and I and others are working to ensure your success.”

I want to believe her, but all this talk of war and factions and people I’ve never even met wanting me and my sisters and the rest of my family dead is a little unnerving. My fear must show, because she drops her hands to my shoulders and gives me a reassuring squeeze.

“This is your destiny,” she says. “Fate has a way of working out in the end.”

As I walk out of her office, I try to think positively. I focus on her steadfast assurance that we’ll survive and succeed in this upcoming battle.

But there’s a little niggle of doubt at the back of my mind that says fate also has a way of playing tricks on the players. Sometimes there are unanticipated twists and turns. I just have to tell myself that Gretchen, Greer, and I will be able to hold on tight for the ride. Three times the strength. Three times the chance of success.

And, my doubts can’t help adding, three times the chance of failure.

As I blend into the stream of before-school students, I try to focus on the day ahead. Answers will have to wait until our afternoon meeting.

I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Gretchen and Greer on my way to homeroom.

Coffee with Sthenno at four at the Grindery in Union Square.

“Texting home to mommy?” my archenemy Miranda taunts as we walk into class at the same time.

I’m so over being intimidated by her.

“Suck a lemon, Sanders,” I say, repeating my friend Vail’s favorite shutdown.

I fall into my seat, drop my bag on the floor, and realize that all the stress and exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours have just caught up with me. I feel like passing out.

“Lulu told me you grew a pair,” Vail says from across the aisle.

I glance over to see her grinning at me, proud of me for putting Miranda in her place. The colorful tips at the ends of her otherwise black hair are now a flaming shade of red.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess I did.”

The tardy bell rings and I relax back in my seat. Taking a lesson from my ordinary life, I mentally tell my doubts to take a hike. If I can stand up to Miranda, no monster stands a chance.

Ms. West—Sthenno—is right. We’re going to succeed. I just have to trust in fate.

I
time my arrival in biology so I’m walking through the door just as the bell rings. The last thing I want to face this early in the morning is Nick, so I figure that by arriving with the bell, I can avoid that window of time when we would still be free to talk. Well, he’d be free to talk and I’d be free to ignore him.

Turns out my precision timing is wasted because the seat behind mine is empty.

“Nice of you to join us, Miss Sharpe,” Mrs. Knightly warns as I stride past the front of the class. “Next time, be in your seat
before
the bell or it’ll be a tardy.”

Some of the sheep—I mean, other students—watch in eager anticipation, hoping I’ll do something gossipworthy. I ignore them.

“Yes ma’am,” I say, mostly to appease her, so I can sink into my chair and let the adrenaline in my bloodstream fade away.

Guess I was more worried than I thought.

Mrs. Knightly starts her lecture, but I can’t concentrate on anything she says. Instead I’m going over everything that happened last night. I was hard on Nick, I know. But he has to know he deserved it. He kept his true identity, his reason for showing up in my life, a secret, and it nearly cost my sisters and me our lives.

I should be furious at him—I am, really—but part of me wants to believe him when he says he’s watching over us, protecting us. Protecting me.

I snort at the thought—and then have to cover up the sound with a brief coughing fit when Mrs. Knightly skewers me with an angry glare. What has he done to protect me? Most of the time I was protecting him.

He must realize by now that I’m the last person on earth who needs protecting. I can take care of myself and my sisters.

Part of me
does
believe him, though. Believes that he’s on our side—whatever that means. I can’t help wondering where he is and if he’s not here today because of the things I said last night.

My phone vibrates in my cargo pocket.

Mrs. Knightly is focused on writing something about chromosomes and reproduction on the board. Without moving my upper body, I lift my knee, reach down, unbutton the pocket holding my phone, and slide it quietly out into my palm. I pull it up into my lap and look down.

It’s a text from Grace.

My heart thumps and I realize that I’d been hoping it was Nick.
Get over it
, I tell myself. If he’s scared away, he’s scared away. So what if he’s the only boy who’s ever known my secret? He isn’t interested in me, anyway. He’s just … I don’t know what. Trying to get close to me? Win my trust?

Whatever. He lied to me. I shouldn’t want to talk to him. I shouldn’t want him to call or to be in class to pass notes over my shoulder. I shouldn’t want him at all.

Shaking off these frivolous thoughts, I look down again and read Grace’s message.

Coffee with Sthenno at four at the Grindery in Union Square.

I know the place. It’s too crowded and overpriced for me, but it’s kind of a landmark. I text back a quick
Okay
and am slipping my phone back into its pocket when I hear my name.

“Miss Sharpe,” Mrs. Knightly says. She sounds annoyed, like she’s been trying to get my attention.

“Yes?” I sit up straight, trying to look like a good, attentive student.

“What is the difference between mitosis and meiosis?”

“Um …” Around me, the sheep snicker. I swing a glare around the room. As if they’re any better. I can see four phones hidden behind textbooks, two girls passing notes, another two with earbuds concealed beneath their hair, and one boy with his head down, pretending to read the textbook with his eyes closed. None of them would be able to answer either.

“Sorry,” I say, giving Mrs. Knightly my best apologetic smile. I’m not much for apologies, so I doubt even my best attempt is very successful. “I’m a little lost.”

Flipping through my textbook, as if I’m looking for the answer, I hope she lets my humiliation end there. The room is silent for several long, tense moments. Then she finally says, “Please see me after class.”

As she moves on, putting one of the sheep on the spot for the answer, I slump in my chair. Obviously my warnings are over. I’ll be lucky to get out of this one without detention or a date with the principal.

I do my best to focus during the rest of class, forcing thoughts of Nick from my mind. I copy down everything from the board and even raise my hand once to answer a question. Mrs. Knightly ignores me, and I know I’m in big trouble.

When the bell rings, I put my notes away and walk up to her desk. She is busy writing and doesn’t acknowledge my presence until the last of the sheep shuffles out of the room.

I sneak a peek at the writing and release a relieved sigh when I realize it’s not about me.

She sets her pen down and finally looks up.

“Miss Sharpe,” she says, her voice hard. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again she smiles tightly. “Gretchen. I think we need to talk about what’s going on.”

Her eyes, the darkest I’ve ever seen—darker even than Nick’s midnight blue—find mine. There’s something almost hypnotic about their cavernous dark. Which is a silly thought, really, because I’m the one with the hypnotic eyes.

I could use that power to get out of this situation in the blink of an eye, but I might as well let it play out first. Right now I’m only assuming I’m in trouble.

“We are only in the third week of school and already you have accrued several absences and tardies and you’re missing three homework assignments.”

“I know,” I say, trying to catch her off guard by agreeing. “I’ve had some”—I lean forward and whisper—“
family
issues to deal with.”

This is an excuse I’ve used many times in the last four years. Most teachers are sympathetic to complicated home lives—okay, maybe not
most
teachers, but
some
. This is the first time that the excuse is actually true. Back-to-back assassination attempts on me and my sisters and having my mentor/great-dozens-of-times-over-aunt taken prisoner definitely qualify as family issues, right?

Mrs. Knightly isn’t going to let it slide that easy. “Do you want to talk about it? Perhaps I can help.”

I have to bite my lip not to laugh. Yeah, right. I can just imagine the look on her face when I tell her that I’m a little out of sorts because someone blew up my loft last night, but not before a manticore tried to kill me. And that the boy I thought was just into me was actually sent by someone on one branch in the forest of family trees that make up Greek mythology to protect me because I’m a leaf on one of those branches myself, and in my spare time I hunt mythological monsters who want to kill or control the human population. Oh yeah, that would go over real well.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I’ll be fine.”