Myths Mermaids and Monsters

  Contents

  Myths

  Stella’s HeArt

  Phoebe's Fair Valentine

  Nicole's Labyrinth

  Griffin's Surprise

  Xella's First Date

  More Myths

  Mermaids

  When Coral Dreams

  Princess Lessons

  First Swim

  A Shore Thing

  The Making of a Merman

  More Mermaids

  Monsters

  A Little Nemean Lion on the Side

  Always Bet on Medusa

  First Taste of Freedom

  The Garden of Golden Apples

  My Fair Monster Bait

  More Monsters

  A Note From TLC

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  More by TLC

  Myths

  Stella’s HeArt

  Stella looked around the room that had been her home for all eighteen years of her life and thought of everything she would miss when she went away to college next Fall. The white canopy bed with sheer pink drapes and orchid silk bedding. The full-length mirror surrounded by twinkling white fairy lights that made her feel like a princess every time she checked her reflection—like she did now. The mural she and her mom had started the winter before she turned ten. It was the one thing she could not take with her and the one thing she would miss the most.

  “You’re being silly,” Stella told her reflection. “Oxford is months away. Besides—” She smoothed an errant strand of honey-blonde hair.“—you can always autoport home whenever you want.”

  Her gaze shifted to the reflected view of the unfinished forest scene on her wall. A happy composition of deep green pine trees, rainbow-colored songbirds, smiling woodland creatures, and the glow of tree faeries among the branches. That winter, they had spent hour after hour painting, while Daddy worked tirelessly on his new curriculum for the Academy. Hours of laughing and sweating and painting each other on the nose. The memories were that much sweeter because they were the last she would ever have of her mother.

  After the funeral Stella had never picked up a paintbrush again.

  A knock at her door startled her out of her sad thoughts, and she quickly wiped at the tears stinging her eyes. How foolish she was being, crying over a past she could never change. The Christmas season must be making her nostalgic.

  “Um … Stella?” her new stepsister Phoebe called out.

  She sounded nervous. Never good.

  “I have an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny problem, and I could use your help.” She paused before adding, “You might want to bring an umbrella.”

  Stella took a deep breath. With Phoebe, the problems were never itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny. Shaking off her melancholy memories, she mentally formed a waterproof hydrokinesis shield around her body and pulled open the door.

  “Ow!”

  Stella winced as something small, round, and hard pelted her in the head. And then another. And another. Before a fourth could sting her scalp, she neofactured an umbrella and held it overhead.

  She would not admit that she should have heeded Phoebe’s warning.

  “Phoebe,” she snapped above the roar of thousands of brightly colored objects raining down on the living room, “what in the name of Hera is happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Phoebe shouted back. “I was just sitting on the couch, daydreaming when these started falling from the sky.”

  Phoebe was pressed against the near wall, holding Daddy’s oversized hardcover Atlas of the Ancient World above her head. The little colorful objects bounced off the book, springing into the center of the room. Stella held out her hand and captured a few. She studied her handful, noting that the red, yellow, and green balls each had a little white S printed on one side.

  “Are these—” Stella squinted at her hand. “—candy?”

  “Oh shoot!” Phoebe edged away from the wall to stand next to Stella. “They’re Skittles. I was daydreaming about my favorite candy store, and how they have these beautiful rainbow-colored displays, and how they always remind me of the rainbow of fruit flavors, and …” She gestured at the raining candy, as if that should explain it all.

  Stella had no idea what Phoebe was talking about. Of course, Stella frequently had no idea what Phoebe was talking about. She chalked it up to the cultural differences between girls raised in Greece and California.

  But, intrigued by the daydream and the idea of a rainbow-filled candy store, Stella lifted her hand to her mouth and popped the candy inside. Her tongue exploded in a burst of flavor. She didn’t think she had ever eaten anything quite as overpoweringly sweet.

  She loved it!

  “Stella?” Phoebe shouted.

  “Right,” she said, pulling herself out of the candy-induced reverie. With one wave of her hand, the downpour ceased, leaving them standing in three inches of Skittles.

  Stella stirred up the blueberries from the bottom of her yogurt while watching Phoebe shovel the Skittles into garbage bags by the bowlful. Maybe she should give Phoebe a hand, but she was having too much fun watching her stepsister labor over the results of her misfired powers.

  “I don’t see why you won’t just zap them all away,” Phoebe complained. “I know you can.”

  “Of course I can,” Stella replied between spoonfuls of blueberry yogurt. “But you would hardly learn your lesson if I make your problems disappear. You’re just lucky Daddy’s not here to see the mess.”

  She smiled with satisfaction at the look of horror on Phoebe’s face, even if it wasn’t really justified. Although Daddy could be a bit of a stern disciplinarian, he had a soft spot for Phoebe that made Stella’s ears itch. He never let her get away with half the stuff Phoebe did. If Stella had been the one who visiomutated all the water in the house into glitter, she would still be grounded. Just like they were still finding glitter in the bathroom.

  Hrmph. Stella would let Phoebe struggle a little longer with the manual Skittles removal before reversing the results of her misfire.

  “Hey, what’s this?” Phoebe asked from where she was digging rainbow candy from beneath the sofa. “They feel like paintings.”

  Stella froze.

  She had forgotten about the paintings she’d hidden away so she wouldn’t have to face the reminders of bittersweet memories. Paintings she hadn’t laid eyes on in years. And now Phoebe was pulling them out into the light.

  “Wow,” Phoebe said as she set the paintings onto the sofa and studied them. “They’re beautiful. Who painted them?”

  Stella set her half-eaten yogurt on the kitchen counter and went to stand next to Phoebe. There were four canvases. The first three were goddess portraits, commissioned by Hera, Athena, and Artemis. The fourth was a portrait of a hematheos woman with loose-flowing blonde hair, soft gray eyes, and a joyful smile.

  “My mom painted those,” Stella answered, pointing at the goddess portraits. Then, facing the painting she could never bring herself to destroy, she said, “And I painted that one.”

  “Stella …”

  Phoebe’s voice had taken on such a strange tone of awe and surprise that Stella couldn’t help turning to meet her steady brown gaze.

  “That’s amazing.” Phoebe shook her head, like she couldn’t quite fathom the situation. “I didn’t know you painted.”

  Stella looked back at the portrait she’d done, the portrait of her mother.

  “I don’t.”

  As Stella flicked her hand at the room, sending the sea of Skittles back into oblivion—except for the jarful she zapped onto her desk … for later—she wished she’d just cleaned up the mess in the first place. Then she wouldn’t be facing Phoebe’s questioning look about the paintings.

  But it wasn’t like she had to stay and answer those questions.

  “I’m going out for a while,” Stella said as she snatched the portraits off the sofa and headed for her room. “Try not to bring any more plagues to the house before I get back.”

  She could practically hear Phoebe’s teeth grinding behind her. That almost made up for her discovering the paintings.

  Stella quickly slid the canvases under her bed. They should be safe from Phoebe’s curiosity—and her powers—until Stella could decide what she wanted to do with them. Now that they’d come out of hiding, she couldn’t just put them back and forget.

  When she heard Phoebe’s door slam—not an unusual occurrence—Stella stepped into her silver ballet flats. Seconds later she was walking the path to the village, heading for her favorite refuge: the pantheon temple. Perched on a cliff overlooking the gorgeous Aegean below, the pantheon temple was built as a tribute to all the gods and goddesses of Olympic descent in an attempt to diffuse any arguments about preferred patron deities and the like. Not that anything could prevent the gods from arguing.

  The temple was rarely used anymore. The gods didn’t visit the island with any regularity, and the residents didn’t feel compelled to pay formal tribute. Which meant that Stella usually found the temple deserted—the perfect environment for clear thinking.

  As she climbed the shallow steps and passed through the colonnade to enter the temple proper, she felt a growing sense of calm and clarity. There was something about the brightly colored mural the covered every square inch of the interior walls that just … made her smile. It portrayed all the gods and goddesses in their most resplendent glory. Like a massive and ancient family portrait.

  Stella went, as she always did, to stand before the
goddess on the far wall. The one wearing a beautiful golden crown, holding a plump pomegranate in her elegant hand, and with a proud peacock lying across her feet. Hera.

  It had been years since Stella met with her immortal ancestor. The great deities rarely left Olympus anymore, and Stella hadn’t had time—or an invitation—to attend their court. If she couldn’t speak to Hera face-to-face, then this was the next best thing.

  She lifted a hand to run her fingertips over the gilded sandals on Hera’s feet, but stopped when she heard footsteps echoing into the temple.

  Startled, she turned to see who else still visited the temple, and was even more shocked to see Phoebe’s friend, Troy, hurrying inside. He was carrying a cloth bag in his outstretched hands, eyeing it nervously as if it might bite at any second.

  “Travatas?” Stella asked, trying to determine what might be in the bag. “What are you—”

  “Aaaack!” he screamed, dropping the bag and then quickly retrieving it when it started to wriggle away. The bag grasped firmly in one hand, he glared at Stella. “You scared the crap out of me! I didn’t think anyone visited the temple anymore.”

  Stella arched a brow. “Neither did I.”

  “Oh.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry. I guess you were here first.” Reversing course, he backed toward the door. “I’ll go. Let you finish your, uh—”

  “No!” Stella blurted, then readjusted her composure. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay. It’s a public place.”

  Troy glanced at the bag. “Um, I think I should come back later.” The bag wriggled again. He muttered, “Or maybe not at all.”

  Now she was more curious than anything. What was in that bag?

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she insisted, crossing the temple until she stood in front of him at the entrance. “You’re obviously here to—” She gestured at the wriggling bag. “—make an offering of some sort. You should present it.”

  Arms crossed over her chest, Stella stifled a laugh at the miserable look on Troy’s face. He looked like she’d asked him to kiss a frog. But she wanted to know what was wriggling inside that bag, so she adopted her most intimidating look—she had many—and waited. She could sense him weighing his choices. Although she could read his thoughts if she tried—a power she had inherited from her ancestor goddess—she preferred watching and guessing. Made her feel … more human.

  Finally, his shoulders slumped.

  “Okay,” he said. “If you’d wait outside, this’ll just take a second.”

  Stella shook her head slowly. “No thank you. I won’t be in your way.” She stepped aside and gestured into the temple. “Go ahead.”

  To his credit, Troy didn’t waver. He clenched his jaw, gripped the bag tighter, and stalked across the limestone floor. When he reached the section of the mural that represented Asklepios, the god of medicine, he knelt down and pulled at the opening of the bag.

  Stella couldn’t contain her gasp when a small green snake slithered out.

  Stella prided herself on her ability to remain calm in every situation. Seeing that little green stripe of reptilian slime appear out of the bag tested her control to the limit. Ballet flats, she felt sure, were not a significant barrier against snake bites.

  “Is that thing dangerous?” she asked, pleased that her voice remained steady.

  “No way,” Troy replied. But he backed away quickly. “He’s a grass snake.” The snake hissed and Troy jumped back. “Completely—” He swallowed hard. “—harmless.”

  The snake, perhaps finding the stone floor too cold, slithered back into the bag.

  “What are you doing with it?” she asked. “Just leaving it here?”

  “No, I’m sending him to Olympus.” Troy took a step toward the bag. “To Asklepios.”

  Even though Troy couldn’t see her behind him, Stella nodded. The god of medicine was quite fond of snakes, just as Hera was fond of peacocks. Sending a god or goddess a favorite gift was a definite way to gain their favor. Since humans stopped worshipping the gods as deities, they didn’t receive nearly enough offerings to sustain their egos.

  Stella watched as Troy held out his hands toward the snake-filled bag, a look of intense concentration on his face. His hands glowed. Then the bag disappeared, leaving the snake on the cold floor. Troy twisted his wrists, and the snake floated gently into the air, toward the painting of Asklepios. For a moment, the snake hovered before the serpent-wrapped staff of the medicine god. Then the snake merged into the mural and was gone.

  Troy’s entire body sagged with relief.

  “Why?” Stella asked.

  He turned to face her, his cheeks flushed a deep pink she could see even in the faint light of the temple. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts before answering. “I’m … asking a favor.”

  A favor from the god of medicine?

  “Is someone sick?” Stella didn’t know Troy well, but her stomach still turned at her next thought. “Are you sick?”

  Troy’s eyes widened. “No, no. Nothing like that.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “It’s stupid,” he explained. “I shouldn’t have even wasted my time.” He nodded at the mural. “Or his.”

  “I don’t think you would have gone to the effort of getting the snake if it was stupid.” Stella didn’t know why she was wasting her time reassuring him, but it distracted her from her own thoughts, so she kept going. “What was the favor?”

  Troy groaned and ran a hand over his hair.

  “I come from a long line of doctors, you know. Since forever.” He rocked back on his heels. “But I want to be a musician. I asked for permission to pursue my passion.”

  “What if you don’t get it?”

  “I’ll pursue it anyway.” He gave Stella a helpless smile. “You can’t just ignore a passion.”

  Stella considered Troy’s statement. You can’t just ignore a passion. He was willing to face his family’s—and his ancestor god’s—disapproval to pursue the thing he loved the most.

  Her mom had felt that way about painting.

  Stella wasn’t sure she had that kind of passion. For anything.

  “Or who knows,” Troy said with a laugh, interrupting her thoughts. “I’ll probably chicken out and go to med school anyway.”

  “No.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think you will.”

  Not when he cared enough to bring a live snake to the pantheon temple.

  He studied her for a moment, and she could practically feel his confusion. What was he thinking? For a brief instant she was tempted to let herself into his thoughts, but she steeled her resolve.

  “I guess we’ll see,” he finally said.

  They fell into a silence. Troy gazed up at the painting of his ancestor god, with a miserable look on his face. Stella stared blankly at nothing in particular. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to know what her passion was. She would be going off to college in a few months, starting her adult life, and she had no idea what she wanted to do.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  Troy looked at her. “Know what?”

  “That you wanted to be a musician,” she explained. She tugged nervously at the hem of her shirt, then caught herself and pressed her hands against her thighs. “How did you know you didn’t want to be a doctor?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered unhelpfully. “I guess I’ve just always known. I’ve always turned to music as my escape when everything else seems impossible.”

  Great. She couldn’t think of anything she viewed as an escape. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have a passion. If she was, wouldn’t she have found it by now? Shouldn’t she at least have some clue by now?

  “You heading home?” he asked, clearly oblivious to her deflating mood. “I’ll walk with you and pop in on Phoebe.”