Authors: Tera Lynn Childs
“You didn’t,” she says.
I’m still walking a fine line of being in trouble for disappearing last week. Mom especially has been extraconcerned over my whereabouts. I wish I could go back to the freedom I had before, but I’m stuck with the consequences of my actions. The consequences of my secrets.
Living a shadow life comes with a cost.
“We’re going out for a family dinner,” she says. “To celebrate Thane being back home.”
“Mom, I—” I glance at Nick. I told Gretchen I’d watch him. She might not have beaten him to a pulp, but she still doesn’t trust him enough to set him free or leave him alone. “I can’t right now.”
There is a heavy pause. “Why not?”
I hold the phone against my chest. This is the part I hate the most, the lying. The secrecy. I wish there were another way.
“We’re right in the middle of a project.” Kind of true, right? “I can’t leave.”
Also true. That doesn’t make me feel any better, though. And when Mom sighs at the other end of the call, I feel like the worst daughter in history.
“I feel like you’re drifting away, Grace,” she says, her voice sad and soft. “You’re barely home anymore. I can’t remember the last time all four of us had dinner as a family.”
I can picture her perfectly, staring out the tiny kitchen window, tears glistening in her eyes. Tears I put there.
I
really
wish there were another way.
“You know we can talk about anything,” she says. It sounds like one last, desperate attempt to hold on to a daughter who’s floating out of reach.
I can’t tell her I’m not floating away by choice.
“I know, Mom,” I whisper. We can talk about anything but this. I stiffen my spine. “It’s just schoolwork. Everything at Alpha is much more challenging than back in Orangevale.”
Another half-truth. More challenging, yes. But I’m still keeping up with my work without much effort. And it’s not the schoolwork that’s keeping me away.
“Okay.” She sounds resigned. “When will you be home?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I’ll call when I’m on my way.”
“Don’t forget your curfew.”
“I won’t.”
We say our good-byes and then I collapse on the couch. I don’t mean to cry, but before I know it tears are running down my cheeks and I’m sobbing into my hands.
“Family is hard, isn’t it?” Nick asks.
I sniff and wipe at my silly tears. “It is.”
“It will get better,” he insists. “Once the seal is broken, and the battle is over. Things will get—”
“Easier?” I scoff. “I doubt that.”
“No,” he agrees. “Not easier. But … steadier. Once balance is restored, you will find a rhythm. A pattern.”
“But what about the rest of our lives?” I ask, because he seems willing to talk. And there’s no one else around to ask. “Will we ever be able to have anything like a normal life?”
“I can’t answer that,” he says. “Only time will tell. But I can tell you the Gorgon sisters guarded the door in harmony for millennia. With lives and loves outside the destiny. Otherwise you and your sisters wouldn’t even be here. They managed the balance until someone got it in their head to stir the pot.”
Thanks a lot, pot stirrer.
Actually, that’s something I’ve been wondering about. The truth about how all the lies began. I’ve found few clues about what really happened, other than that the story we learn in mythology is a lie. The book I saved from Gretchen’s library makes only vague references to Athena and another power. It seems Athena is the face of the lies, but another deity is pulling the strings.
“You don’t know who?”
“No one knows.” He shrugs. “Most suspect Athena, because she sent Perseus to kill Medusa, but that seems the obvious choice. She is too blatant in her efforts.”
“Who else could it be?” I ask. “Who else would have a vested interest in letting monsters loose in the human world?”
“Many. Hades, Hephaestus, Hera, Chaos, Nyx, Eris, Adikia, Epaphus. The list is long.” He sighs. “Those of the third faction—our faction—have been trying to unmask the instigator since Medusa’s death. Whoever is responsible is also clever.”
We fall into a silence. My mind spins at thoughts of my family, my adopted family, the original Gorgons, the mother I can’t find, the others I don’t know about yet. Athena, the conspiracy, the seal. Destiny. Fate. I suppose those are two different things, destiny and fate. Destiny is a gift, something to rise to. Fate is something to make for yourself.
“Will it really get easier?” I ask.
Nick smiles. “It can hardly get worse.”
I can see why Gretchen likes him. They have almost the same sense of humor.
I flop back against the couch. Maybe that shouldn’t make me feel better—maybe I should be waiting for fate to say,
Ha, that’s what you think!
—but it does. And besides, we’re going to make our own fates. I close my eyes, just for a second, and next thing I know Gretchen is shaking me awake and telling me to go home.
Home. Not quite the refuge it used to be, but always the place I belong.
T
he gym is transformed. As I stand in the doorway, I can no longer picture the space as it was only yesterday. A commercial cleaning crew sterilized it from top to bottom, erasing the horrid gymnasium smell. The committee and I arrived at dawn to work our magic, turning an athletic space into a corner of heaven.
Staying busy keeps my mind off the rescue I delayed. Off the promise I made. My mind can’t deal with those things right now.
I’m proud of our work. Round tables covered with white linens are set up in the center, evenly spaced to make the arrangement pleasing to the eye. Along one wall of bleachers, now disguised by drapes in a soft golden yellow covering from the floor to the clerestory windows at the top, is a buffet table with crystal punch bowls, real champagne flutes, and cocktail napkins in school colors.
Along the opposite, similarly disguised wall is a raised dais and the table where the principal, the heads of the alumnae association, and the tea committee will sit and speak during the tea.
Every place at every table is set to perfection. Beautiful gold-and-violet china, gilded flatware, crystal goblets.
It’s all beautiful, but the ceiling … The ceiling is my triumph.
To hide the ugly light fixtures and the drab gray tiles, long swathes of dark-lavender silk hang in swooping swags. Behind the swags, bright white fairy lights twinkle through, giving the impression of the sky at dusk. The glow of sun streaming in the windows only enhances the effect. With the scent of peonies in the air, from the white-and-pink centerpieces on each table and the flickering candles adding to the aroma, I can almost imagine I’m standing outside. The fading sun casting a violet hue on the world, the persistent stars twinkling through the haze.
The only thing that ruins the image is the clanking sounds of the caterers setting up in the hallway off the other end of the gym.
“Oh well,” I say out loud to the empty space. “Perfection never lasts forever.”
I set my bag down at my seat, on the end of the dais. I could claim the center as my due, at the left hand of the principal. But knowing that an emergency is inevitable at any event, I want to be in a position to act quickly.
I go about my duties, surveying each place setting, confirming the number of flutes on the buffet, checking on the caterers. Everything is in place by the time the rest of the committee returns, changed into their tea attire. I brought mine in a garment bag. Mostly—I’m not proud to admit—to avoid having to go home and face Gretchen.
We go over the schedule one more time, confirming who’s speaking when. Who’s responsible for seating which prestigious alumnae. When we instruct the string quartet to start playing.
We are minutes from the first guests arriving when the dizziness hits me. Harder than before—my knees literally buckle beneath me. Luckily, I’m next to the dais. If I’d come down on the buffet as hard as I just landed against the platform, there would be fruit punch and shattered glass everywhere.
“Greer,” Annalise asks, “are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m—”
The vision slams into me, hard and fast. My brain explodes with the image, with a high-definition movie playing in my head.
The gym, decorated as it is now, and full of women of various ages wearing mostly pastels and pretty hats. A dark cloud forms on the other side of the windows, blocking out the unusually sunny day. Then, with an explosion of glass and sound, the windows blow in and shards rain down over the crowd.
The movie goes into fast forward, so I only catch glimpses. Just beyond my reach. But I see enough. I know what’s coming.
As the vision fades, leaving a pounding headache and weak muscles, I lurch for my purse. I pull out my phone, call up the messaging app, and send a desperate text to my sisters:
9-1-1
I
n my standard black tank, cargos, and combat boots, I have never felt as out of place as I do walking into Greer’s pastel nightmare. I want to turn and run. But I’ve been trying to call her since her cryptic message came through. The calls keep going to voicemail.
She needs me, and I’m here. Even if I’m not sure she’d do the same for me.
“What is this place?” Nick asks.
Deciding he might be useful, I sliced through his zip ties and brought him along. This might be a good chance for him to prove which side he’s really on. If this actually is an emergency situation—I swear, if she asks me to wait tables or make an ice run, I’ll deck her—we might need his help.
I scan the room, full of girly decorations and extremely fragile-looking dishes, intent on finding Greer. I see her and Grace standing by the door at the other end of the room. Winding my way through the space, trying not to damage anything in the process, I make it to their location with a runny nose.
“Bless you,” Grace says as I sneeze. “Hi, Nick.”
“For the love of Medusa,” I mutter. “I’ve never smelled so much perfume in one place.”
That’s when I first notice the signs on Greer’s face. Her smooth brow is slightly wrinkled. Her jaw is set and she is biting her lip with her teeth. Her hands are fidgeting with the edge of her pale-purple dress.
Any of those things would have made me worry about Greer—she doesn’t fidget—but it’s the eyes that say it all. They’re wide with fear.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
At first she doesn’t speak. Then Grace gently nudges her and she says, “I had a vision.”
“A vision?” I repeat.
“Yes. I’ve been having them since—” She and Grace share a look. “For a while now.”
“And?” I prod. “What was this vision about?”
She looks up at the ceiling. “Monsters,” she says. “Here. Lots of them. I sent everyone else away. Hypnotized them.”
If nothing else clued me in, the fact that Greer is disrupting her precious tea means her fear is real. But I can’t see anything to justify it.
I shake my head. “Maybe you’re just worried?” I suggest. “The past couple of weeks have been tough. Maybe it’s—”
In the space of a breath, the sunlight streaming in from the row of windows high above us disappears. It’s like a cloud suddenly surrounds the gym. The lights inside flicker and then go out.
There is a terrible sound, a pressure, and then the windows above are shattering. Wind whips inside, pulling down the fabric covering the ceiling and blowing out the dozens of candles glowing on every surface.
“Move,” I shout above the wind, pointing at the empty space in the middle of the gym, away from the raining glass. “Get to the center of the floor.”
I don’t know what’s going on, but I have a feeling it’s bad. Really bad.
“Keep our backs together,” I say. “No one gets surprised.”
Grace screams. Into the end of the room, through the doors I just used, marches a line of men. They are dressed in gleaming white-and-gold armor, carrying long spears and heavy swords. If the Nychtian Army from the abyss was terrifying in the dark evil radiating off it, this group is just as dreadful. They look trained and well armed, and if the hard looks on their faces are any indication, they aren’t here to defend us.
“What the hell?” I ask.
“The Arms of Olympus,” Nick whispers in my ear. “They are notorious for pursuing an order until it is fulfilled.” His voice drops even lower. “They march for the side that wants you dead before you unseal the door.”
“Great.”
The line shifts, moving as one as they widen their stances and wield their weapons.
Together, we four back away, toward the other door.
Greer gasps. I look up. Streaming in through the now nonexistent windows is a flock of flying beasts. Black as night and with the scent of evil on their wings. The scent of blood.
The Nychtian Army.
I feel Grace and Greer squeeze tighter against my back.