Sweet Shadows (3 page)

If I’m being honest, I was too caught up in spending time with my sisters.

Even though I didn’t have my phone with me, since I’d only been taking out the garbage, I could have found a way. I
should
have found a way.

“I’m sorry,” I say lamely. “I didn’t even think—”

“You’re sorry?” Dad echoes. “You should be sorry.”

Mom lays a hand on his arm. “This is so unlike you, Grace. To just disappear without telling us. What’s going on?”

“And look at you,” Dad says, his gaze sweeping over me. “Your jeans are drenched. And your hair. Everything but that tee.”

“Weren’t you wearing a blue shirt when you left?” Mom asks. She shakes her head. “
What
happened?”

“I—” What can I say? That I found my sisters, that we’re triplets and we’re destined to hunt monsters who, apparently, want us dead? Who tried to kill us twice in one night? No, that’s not fair to Mom and Dad. I can’t share that burden with anyone but Gretchen and Greer. It is ours alone.

It’s not like it would reassure them anyway. Either they’d think I’d lost my mind or, on the off chance that they believed me, they’d be scared to death about me being in danger. If I stop to think about it for too long,
I’d
be scared to death.

No, I can’t tell them any of it. I have to protect them however I can.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I had some things to think about and I just kind of ended up walking around.”

On the scale of cover stories, I’m sure that’s pretty low. But it’s the best I’ve got. I glance down at myself, wishing I had some believable explanation for the state of my clothes and appearance.

Mom frowns, as if now she’s more worried about whatever it was I needed to think about. Before meeting Gretchen—before she tossed me over her shoulder and carried me out of that nightclub—I had no secrets from my mom. Oh how I wish I could tell her everything now.

Dad shakes his head. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

I bite my lip to keep from crying as he turns and walks away. I know I’ve screwed up, but there’s no way to fix this. I’m going to have to face the consequences. Another one of my new responsibilities.

“He’s just worried,” Mom says, trying to make me feel better, even when she probably shouldn’t but should be just as angry as Dad. “Let him sleep on it and you two can talk in the morning.”

I nod and let her hug me. Then she turns and follows Dad to bed.

I lean against the counter and try to process this situation. There’s no win here, really. Either I tell my parents the truth and they forgive me for turning into a flake but worry that I’ll be eaten by a mythological monster. Or I lie to them—I keep my secret and let them think I’m turning into a problem child, but the worst thing they imagine is falling grades and boy troubles.

As much as I want my parents to think well of me, to respect and trust me, I want to protect them more. And that means keeping them in the dark as much and for as long as possible.

Decisions like this stink. But I guess it comes with the destiny.

Pushing away from the counter, I head for the shower to wash off the bay water stink and then I’ll collapse in bed. Maybe things will look better in the morning.

And maybe flying monkeys will bring me a magic broom.

Even through my closed door and theirs I can hear Mom and Dad arguing about me. It’s the middle of the night and I’m so tired I just want to cry, but sleep isn’t coming. The guilt over what I’m doing to my parents is eating at my stomach, so I lie there staring at the shadowed ceiling.

It’s such a change for them to be arguing over me. Sure, there were lots of long nights and late discussions when we were talking about moving to San Francisco, when I got the scholarship offer from Alpha—thanks, I know now, to my immortal ancestor, the Gorgon Sthenno, in an effort to bring me and my sisters together. To reunite the Key Generation.

That was the most discord I’d ever caused in our house.

My brother, Thane, is usually the troublemaker.

I smile at that thought. If he were home, he’d find it hilarious that I’m finally at the center of the turmoil. And by hilarious I mean he might crack a small smile. He’s not much for showing emotion.

It’s quite a coincidence that the time he decides to disappear in his quest to “figure things out” is right when all Hades breaks loose in my world. He’s only been gone since this afternoon, but it feels like weeks. So much has happened and I already miss him. I hope he comes home soon.

I’m finally starting to drift off to sleep and the world around me is going soft and fuzzy when I hear the ding-dong chime of a text message. I roll over and grab my phone off the charger. It’s from Thane.

Are you okay?

I blink, trying to bring my brain back to full consciousness. Am I okay? He’s the one who’s run off to places unknown. I should be asking
him
that question. He doesn’t know what happened tonight though. He’s just checking in, letting me know he’s thinking about me.

Yes. You?

I expect an immediate response, but as I sit there, staring at my phone, I realize that the ding-dong wasn’t a first alert. It was a second chime to let me know about a message I hadn’t read yet. I scroll through his texts and see that he’s sent me five tonight, the last one almost half an hour ago. I must have been in the shower.

I’m about to fall back into bed, thinking he must have given up waiting for me and has gone to sleep, when I get a new message alert.

Good. Night.

This is cryptic, even for Thane. Does he mean that he’s good? Or that it’s good that I’m okay? He doesn’t say a word about where he is, when he’s coming back. He vanished this afternoon with nothing more than a phone call to tell me the cover story he fed Mom. That he’s staying at his soccer teammate Milo’s house. I have no idea where he really is or what he’s doing. And all I get is
Good. Night.
? My irritation pushes my exhaustion to the side. I sit up and text back.

Where are you? When are you coming home?

I stare at my screen for ten minutes. Nothing. I text again.

Worried about you.

This time, I only have five minutes worth of patience. No response. Instead of texting again, I pull up my contacts and call his number.

My irritation grows as I listen to it ring. And ring. And ring-ring-ring. I tap my feet on the floor in an anxious gesture that drives Mom so crazy, I’ve almost managed to rid myself of it. Except in extreme circumstances.

The call goes to his voicemail, which is nothing more than the generic message that comes with the service. Now I’m starting to really worry. I hang up, ready to call again—and again and again until he finally picks up—when a message chime ding-dongs in my ear.

Don’t. I’m fine. Home soon.

That’s not really the answer I want. I want to know where he is, I want to know that he’s coming home tomorrow, not just vaguely soon. I miss him. I worry about him. And—maybe most of all—I want my big brother’s shoulder to lean on.

But it’s better than no answer at all.

I send one more text.

XOXO

I set my phone back on the nightstand, knowing I won’t hear from him again tonight.

W
hen I get to Greer’s neighborhood, the Gegenees giant is lumbering through the park across the street from her house, batting at low-hanging tree limbs. Even after everything I’ve been through tonight, I’m still itching for a fight. The extra adrenaline is still throbbing through my bloodstream. Some days, fighting is the only thing that makes me feel sane. In control.

Since that day four years ago when the oracle read my prophecy, told me I was destined for more than life as the worthless adopted daughter of abusive addict parents, I’ve spent my days and nights honing my skills in hand-to-hand combat. Most of my monster fights are routine. Hunt, fight, send them home. But sometimes, the fight itself is what I need. The challenge of taking down a beast gets my brain working straight again.

Maybe that will help tonight.

The ursa hybrid behind Grace’s building wasn’t any trouble—it was too focused on cornering a fat rat behind the garbage bins. Never saw me coming. Talk about anticlimactic. I hope the giant proves more of a challenge.

I drive Moira up onto the sidewalk, jerking the parking brake into place as I unbuckle. The replacement cargos from my emergency kit in the trunk aren’t outfitted—the pockets are empty of my usual gear. But I don’t want the gear tonight. I don’t need it. I only need my fists.

“Lose something?” I tease as I climb out of the car. “Kitty cat stuck up a tree?”

The Gegenees giant whirls around, its hideous face contorting into a look of shock and then rage. Good. The angrier it gets, the better the fight will be.

Then its gaze rakes over me, taking in my sports bra and cargos as I round Moira’s hood. When it gets to my Doc Martens, it scowls.

“Expecting bare feet?” I ask as I approach. “Or maybe strappy stilettos?”

It looks up, its eyes widening in fear.

“Big tough guy like you?” I crack my knuckles. “Volunteered to take on one of the weaker sisters? I’m so disappointed.”

It starts backing up.

“But here’s a lesson to share with all your beastie buds.” I roll my shoulders. I can almost feel the first punch. “You come after one of us, you get all of us.”

It backs up faster, knocking its head into one of the branches and wincing.

“Now,” I say with a sick smile, “you have to deal with me.”

It turns to run.

“Don’t you want to play?” I call, but it keeps running. “Darn it.”

I chase after it, up over the hill and down the grassy slope on the other side. When it tries to run through the playground, two of its arms get caught in the hanging rings of the jungle gym. It screams, howling into the night like a bear caught in a steel trap.

As I leap through the air, landing on its back with my legs around its waist, I sigh. “Not even putting up a fight. Where’s the fun in that?”

The beast struggles more, trying to wrench its arms from the rings and dislodge me from its back. Pathetic.

My fangs drop, I lean forward over its bulging shoulder and sink a bite into a meaty forearm. I barely even have a moment to enjoy the huntress high, as the venom flows from my fangs into its bloodstream, before it vanishes beneath me.

I crash to the soft, wood chip–covered ground on my hands and knees. Why do they always have to be so easy when I’m eager for a throwdown? I need to get this angry energy out of me before I explode. Normally I would go take it out on the punching dummy at the loft, but it’s ashes by now.

Well, if the monsters want to go down easy,
I think as I stand and dust off my knees,
maybe Nick will be a challenge. And he’s next on my list.

Back in my car, I yank open the glove box and pull out the spare phone. Mine got fried when I jumped into the bay with my sisters, but hopefully the SIM card survived the dunk. I dig the card out of my old phone, dry it off on my pants, and then place it in the backup phone. I’m relieved when the phone powers up, but my recent calls list is blank.

Fine. Even if my SIM card didn’t record the call, I have his number saved from when he called before.

I labeled it
ANNOYING JERKWAD
.

At least the annoying jerkwad called to warn us.

My brain drifts for a second, imagining what might have happened if he hadn’t made that call. Only a few seconds later—I quickly shake the thought out of my mind. It’s too unthinkable. He did make the call, my sisters and I are safe, and now he’s going to tell me what he knows.

Whether he wants to or not.

When Nick first appeared in my life two weeks ago, I thought he was a puzzle. A guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, who wouldn’t back down from me, and who was somehow immune to my hypnotic eye power. Now I know he must be something more, someone involved in this as more than just an innocent bystander.

No one else knows my phone number. No one else could have made that call, warning me to get out of the loft. It must have been Nick.

I dial the number.

He picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?” He sounds sleepy.

I grit my teeth. Seriously? He went back to sleep after that?

“Where are you?” I demand.

“What?”

“Where. Are. You?”

There’s silence, some shuffling, and then, “Gretchen?”

“Of course it’s Gretchen,” I snap. “Didn’t you think I’d be calling back?”

“Calling back?” he echoes.

“Or did you think I’d be dead?”

“Dead?” His voice clears in an instant. “What’s going on?”

“Tell me where you are,” I demand for the last time. “Right now.”

To my surprise, he actually gives me the address. I floor the accelerator, reaching for my spare gear under the passenger seat as I go. Within five minutes, I’ve restocked my pockets and I’m speeding into a parking spot behind the wooden apartment building on Twin Peaks. The slope is killer, but he must have a great view of the city. If I weren’t about to pound his face into the dirt, I’d be jealous. It’s a great spot to do a monster sniff test.