Sweet Shadows (9 page)

I shake my head. His place. That sounds too intimate. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”

“Okay.” He climbs the rest of the way out of the car, turns back to close the door, and then leans in the open window. “I won’t let you down, Gretchen. I promise.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. I want to believe him, want to give him the trust he’s asking for. But I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure I ever will.

I’m the girl who’s meant to walk alone. Now with sisters at my back. Trusting Nick doesn’t fit the game plan. Does it?

But I can’t stop the longing.

So instead of replying or even acknowledging his words, I release the clutch and drive away.

W
hen I turn on my phone after school, it immediately pings with a dozen new text messages. Most of them are from Kyle, apologizing for how last night ended. I delete them without responding.

One is from the housekeepers, confirming that their work is done and the house is back to normal except for the door. I have a contractor coming this afternoon to give an estimate for replacing it. I plan on taking my car to a body shop this weekend, which will complete the restoration to pre-attack appearances.

The other three messages are from Grace.

Coffee with Sthenno at the Grindery in Union Square.

Then, when I didn’t respond, she sent another.

Did you get my text? Meeting after school. Call me.

Finally, a text from just a few minutes ago.

At the coffee shop. Coming?

I close my eyes and count to ten. Last night, when I agreed to join up with the three mythketeers, it was with the understanding that the monster-hunting side of my life would have to balance with the responsibilities of the normal side.

Less than twenty-four hours later and already my two halves are in conflict. I have a Mock Government meeting right now and then the contractor appointment.

Last night was terrible, and I know I have responsibilities in that world. But I have to compartmentalize. I have to keep the two halves separate or I’m liable to go insane. It’s a careful balance.

My phone beeps again.

Greer?

I sigh. I realize I don’t have much of a choice. As much as I want to ignore the world of monsters and mythology, to bury my head in the sand and pretend my sisters never found me, I can’t. I’m too principled for that. Mock Government pales in comparison to saving the world from mythological monsters, obviously. And I can reschedule with the contractor.

Sometimes being responsible is a challenge.

I shoot Grace a quick message.

Just got your texts. On my way now.

I scroll through my contacts, searching for Fog City Builders as I start toward the front entrance instead of the Mock Government classroom. I should tell Mrs. Franklin I can’t make it, but there’s no time.

“Are you on your way to MG?” Rory asks as she steps into my path.

Annalise says, “Cute shoes. Are they new?”

I try not to roll my eyes. This is the third time she’s asked me the same question about the same shoes. I choose to ignore it.

“I have to miss the meeting,” I say, finally finding the phone number I’m looking for. “I forgot about a preexisting appointment.”

The looks on their faces say it all. In the years they have known me, I have never had to miss a meeting. I have never forgotten about an appointment or even scheduled a conflict by accident. I just don’t.

“Are you okay?” Rory asks.

“Yeah,” Annalise says. “You’re not sick, are you?”

She actually takes half a step back.

I don’t have time for their dramatics. I’m already late for the meeting with my sisters that I didn’t even know about until moments ago. If I don’t hit traffic, I can be there in ten minutes. Less if I ignore the speed limit—which I will, because I hate being late.

“I’m fine,” I say, punching the number for the contractors as I walk around my friends. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I can practically feel their open-jawed stares as I disappear down the hall. Great, I spend one day as a part of a greater destiny, and already the rest of my life is suffering the consequences. I refuse to completely sacrifice normalcy for this guardian legacy. I will just have to fight harder for balance in the future.

“My name is Greer Morgenthal,” I say when a receptionist answers the phone at Fog City Builders, “and I need to reschedule my afternoon consultation.”

At this time of day it’s virtually impossible to find a parking spot around Union Square. Unless, of course, your father is CEO of a company on the upper floors of the Gold Rush Building. I emerge from the parking garage less than a block away from the coffee shop where I’m supposed to meet my sisters and our immortal ancestor Sthenno.

Okay, I have to admit, the idea is a little thrilling. As my irritation settled during the drive over, my curiosity grew. It’s one thing to imagine I’m a descendant of a mythological being. That’s a very distant and abstract kind of connection, like the one people who are descended from a
Mayflower
passenger or a Civil War general feel with their ancestors. But I’m about to meet an actual immortal, a being who can’t die, who’s been alive for thousands of years. Kind of makes my short life feel rather insignificant.

I can only imagine the things Sthenno must have seen—so many events both great and tragic. I wonder what she thinks of our current world, whether it measures up to or surpasses previous generations. I like to think we have a lot of great things going for us—medicine, technology, globalization—but maybe every era thinks most highly of itself.

I cross the street, careful to avoid cracks and potholes in my high-heeled peep toes.

Grace is sitting at one of the three tables set out on the sidewalk that give the cramped coffee shop some extra seating space. She waves at me, an enthusiastic smile on her face. I realize that I have a similar grin on my face and quickly school my features into a calm facade. Mother always says an external display of emotion is the sign of a weak mind. Which is probably why I’ve gotten so good at hiding mine over the years.

“You’re the first one here,” Grace cheers as I get close enough to hear her.

That’s remarkable, considering I was the last one to know about the meeting. Perhaps not all that surprising though. Gretchen doesn’t strike me as the most time-conscious person, and after countless millennia I suppose you could hardly expect Sthenno to take the matter of a few minutes too seriously.

“Here,” Grace says, waving me into the other chair. “We can pull two more over when Gretchen and Ms. West get here.”

“Ms. West?” I ask.

“My counselor,” she explains. “I mean, Sthenno. She is also my school counselor.”

I stare blankly at her.

“I guess that’s how she could keep tabs on me.” She shrugs. “And how she got me to San Francisco too.”

I smile and nod. I think Grace often has thoughts that make sense in her head but come out incomplete when she tries to convey them. I understand her general meaning, however, and it’s easier to agree than to ask for clarification.

Relaxing into the wrought-iron-and-wicker chair, I scan the street for signs of either Gretchen or Sthenno. Union Square is not my favorite part of town—it’s dirty and crowded and always gives me an unsettled vibe. Tourists love it, though, and the shopping is first-rate.

“Oh look!” Grace shouts. “There’s Gretchen.” She jumps to her feet and starts waving her arms. “Gretchen! Over here!”

Her face blossoms into an even bigger smile, and I assume that Gretchen has seen us and is heading this way. I continue my relaxed survey of the street while Grace pulls over a chair for Gretchen.

I notice a woman walking up the sidewalk on the other side, about two blocks away. She is tall and poised and elegant, and although I can’t seem to place her anywhere, she feels intimately familiar. I can’t look away as she weaves through the crowds effortlessly, almost as if they part before her.

Gretchen drops into the chair next to me. “What are you gawking at?”

I shake my head, unable to lose the sensation that I know this woman from somewhere. I usually trust my brain over my instinct, but the feeling is so overwhelming I can’t simply dismiss it.

Grace twists in her seat to get a look.

“Oh,” she exclaims. “That’s Ms. West. I mean Sthenno.”

Our ancient immortal ancestor?

At that moment, the woman—Ms. West—Sthenno—crosses the street, and a memory flashes into my thoughts. It’s been years. More than a decade. The moment plays in my mind with perfect clarity.

When I was a child, I saw a centaur in my bedroom. It was the only time before my sisterly reunion that I saw a mythological monster, and I eventually came to believe that the vision was a nightmare. A hallucination. Mother started taking me to regular hypnotherapy sessions immediately. The therapist was a middle-aged woman with dark hair that was fading into gray. Then, at one session—the very last—there was a different therapist. She was younger, blonder, and far more effective. One session with her and Mother declared me cured.

I recognize the woman stepping on the sidewalk at the end of the block because she was that final therapist.

A million confused questions flood my brain.

“I—”

Before I can say that I’ve met Sthenno before, a black spot appears next to her in the middle of the air. The spot grows quickly, expanding into a giant hole about the size of a double door.

“What the heck?” Grace blurts.

Gretchen bursts to her feet.

Grace and I sit there, stunned, but Gretchen takes off running. On instinct, I follow. Gretchen is still several feet away from Sthenno when a creature steps out of the hole. It almost looks human—well, it’s human shaped anyway, like a gnarled old woman. She has pale green skin, stark white hair, and blood dripping down her cheeks.

“Achlys!” Gretchen shouts.

The green hag glances our way, startled, as if she didn’t expect anyone to see her.

Then, without hesitation, she wraps both arms around Sthenno and throws her into the hole. Gretchen lunges, barely missing the hag, who follows Sthenno into the blackness. The hole snaps shut just as Gretchen reaches the spot.

She shouts into the empty air. “No!”

“What just happened?” I ask, skidding to a stop next to Gretchen.

Grace catches up, eyes wide. “Where did she go?”

Gretchen glares at the empty spot where the black hole was, then turns and levels a silver glare at each of us. “That was a window into the abyss,” she says. “Sthenno is now their prisoner.”

She looks like she wants to punch something. Anything.

I step back.

“What was that thing?” I ask. “It wasn’t human.”

“No,” Gretchen replies, jamming her hands onto her hips. “Definitely not human. She’s a dark spirit. The demon of misery. I tangled with her once.” Gretchen holds up her forearm, revealing a set of four long, parallel scars. “Her nasty fingernails are tipped with an antihealing poison. Took forever for my wounds to heal.”

“We have to go get her,” Grace says.

My heart trips a little at the idea. Willingly walking into that … blackness? It’s a crazy idea. But as crazy and scary as it is, we don’t have many options. We need answers and Sthenno has them. We need her.

“We do,” I agree. “How?”

Gretchen’s eyes narrow.

“Sure,” she snaps. “It’s just that easy. We’ll go in after her.”

I can do without the sarcasm. “And why not?”

“Is that even possible?” Grace asks.

“It must be,” I insist. “Right?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Gretchen says, “the portal is gone.”

She waves her hands in the air, in the space that moments ago was a big black void that led into the abyss. Like we need a lesson in visual reality.

I did not get to be junior class president, alumnae tea cochair, and Women in Business liaison by allowing fears and negative thinking to dictate my actions. I am a firm believer in the adage that where there’s a will, there’s a way.

As annoyed as I was to get called to this emergency meeting without prior notice, now that I’ve seen who Sthenno is, now that I recognize her, I want to know more. It is no coincidence that she is the one who banished monsters from my life, which means that not only has she known about me for years, but she also has the ability to make the monsters disappear. At least from my mind.

If it worked once, perhaps it can again. Perhaps I can wake up one day and think this nightmare is a distant dream.

I’m not about to let her just vanish into the abyss and say,
Oops. Guess we’ll catch her next time.

“Then we should open another one,” I say. “There must be a way.”

Gretchen glares harder at me, and I can tell she wants to direct me to the nearest bridge so I can jump off. Then her expression changes into something more thoughtful. She’s considering my suggestion.
Good.