Sweet Legacy Page 12

  I feel something wrap around my wrist, and then one of my arms lifts up.

  I try to pull it away, to guide it to my throbbing head, but it remains frozen as before.

  “Don’t try to move,” Gretchen says, her voice getting softer. “The healer says your brain needs time to restart.”

  “Restart?” I try to remember . . . something, anything. The last thing I can recall is a beautiful white hall, more glorious than anything I’d seen before. It feels like a long time has passed since then. “Why?”

  “That’s not important right now,” Gretchen says. “Just relax. Close your eyes, and everything will be back to normal when you wake up.”

  She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

  I don’t always choose to do what Gretchen tells me to do—I hate following orders—but just this once . . .

  The next time I wake up, my head still hurts like someone is crushing it in a vise, but my arms seem to work. I lift one to my forehead, expecting to find a bloody gash or pieces of skull sticking out. The way I hurt, I wouldn’t be surprised if half my brain was missing. I’m disappointed when I only feel my normal, unmarred skin.

  “Obviously we can’t kill her,” a hushed voice says. “What’s plan B?”

  My ears perk up.

  “There is no plan B,” another voice replies. “If she were stronger, had more training, perhaps she could withstand him for a time.”

  “We have to do something,” a third voice whispers. “Anyone with Apollonian blood or one of his amulets can track her wherever she goes.”

  Squinting against the blinding light, I force one eyelid open just a fraction. I’m in what looks like a spa room—I’ve been in enough to recognize one on sight. There is soothing sage green paint on the walls, a stack of fluffy white towels on a rack by the door, and a collection of massage oils and lotions on the counter. I’m also completely alone.

  “We need to get to the safe house,” the second voice says. “It is only a matter of time before they show up here.”

  “We stay here as long as we can,” the first voice insists. “She needs the recovery time.”

  “Huntress recover.”

  The voices are coming from the other side of the dark wood door.

  The conversation sounds important. I need to be out there with them.

  I push my palm against the surface I’m lying on, trying to get myself into a sitting position. Fierce pain sparks from my wrist, up my arm and down my spine.

  I cry out.

  Wave after wave of pain washes through my body, and I scrunch up my face as my stomach coils in knots. I can’t remember ever feeling this kind of pain. Of course, right now I can’t remember much of anything. I force my brain to work. I remember the loft exploding, the mythological armies showing up at my tea, going into the abyss and then Mount Olympus beyond that. The brilliant white hall.

  “Sthenno,” I whisper, my voice dry and cracked.

  Memory slides into focus, and I remember.

  I’d been searching for Sthenno, had just found her in some invisible cell and blown on the whistle to call Gretchen and Thane back to my side, when I blacked out—got pulled away. By Apollo.

  As the god of prophecy’s warning echoes in my mind, I can’t stop the shiver that chases down my spine. How can someone so beautiful be so malicious?

  A warm hand slips beneath my palm and gives me a squeeze.

  I smile. I hadn’t even heard the door open. “Thane?”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like someone threw me off the top of the Transamerica building.” His soft laugh is like a balm to my pain. “Where am I?”

  “At a healer’s,” he says. “Sthenno brought you and Euryale here.”

  “We did it?” I ask. “We got them both out?”

  “We did.”

  “And they’re all right?” I ask.

  “Yes. They’re outside with Gretchen,” he says. “Are you?”

  “Yeah, I—” I shake my head, not sure how to explain the vision with Apollo. “When I blacked out,” I say, “I saw Apollo.”

  Thane scowls. “Like in a vision?”

  “Yes,” I explain, “but not like any vision I’ve had before. We were . . . talking.”

  “About what?”

  This is the part I don’t want to think about. “About—”

  The door to the room flies open and Gretchen bursts in.

  “We need to go,” she says, rushing to my side and grabbing me by the ankles. “Now.”

  With one rough thrust, she spins me around, yanking my legs to the side, letting them dangle off the table. Pain shoots up my spine, but I ignore it.

  “Can you walk?” she demands.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Can you walk?” she repeats.

  She reaches for me. Before she can manhandle me off the table altogether, I slide down to the floor and test out the stability of my legs. There is some pain, but only a little wobble. I pronounce myself able to stand.

  “Yes,” I say, pushing away from the table to balance on my own two feet. “Now, care to tell me what’s going on?”

  “No time.” Gretchen grabs our backpacks from the chair next to the door. She shoves one at Thane, pulls one onto her back, and threads her arms through the third so it rests on her chest. “First we move, then we talk. Sillus and the gorgons are waiting at the back door.”

  She’s gone from the room before I can ask again.

  I look at Thane, but he’s stone-faced.

  “Walk,” he instructs. “If you need help, I’ll carry you.”

  “I can walk.” The first few steps from the table to the door are a little unsteady, but I make it. “When we get where we’re going, I want answers.”

  “You’ll get them,” he says, guiding me out into the hall in front of him. “Even if you don’t like them.”

  Gretchen leads us into a back alley strewn with garbage cans, loose trash, and abandoned furniture.

  “I shall delay them as long as I can,” the healer whispers as we exit into the daylight. “May the gods be with you.”

  I hear Sthenno mutter, “Only the ones on our side.”

  Then Gretchen is running down the alley, keeping to the side and dodging behind whatever obstacles can provide us some protection. We follow as closely as possible—the gorgons first, then the furry little monkey, and finally me with Thane right at my back. When Gretchen gets to the end, she holds up a fist that I interpret to mean “stop here.” She waves us behind a Dumpster, and as much as I don’t relish the idea of hiding behind a container of garbage, I dislike the idea of being found by whoever is after us even more.

  She steps around the corner to investigate.

  Thane leans close from behind. “Are you okay?”

  My head is killing me, but that’s becoming a standard state of being.

  I nod, wishing we weren’t in this life-or-death situation so I could enjoy the sensation of his breath on my neck. I may not understand this connection between us, but I cannot deny that I like it, a lot.

  Gretchen runs back to join us.

  “There aren’t many,” she whispers. “Half a dozen soldiers, maybe. And they’re entering through the front.”

  Sthenno asks, “Arms of Olympus?”

  Gretchen nods.

  “We could fight them,” Thane suggests.

  “That would be unwise,” Euryale replies.

  Gretchen shakes her head. “They’re heavily armed.” She skims her gaze over me and Euryale. “And our forces are not full strength.”

  I want to argue, but I know she’s right. Just staying upright requires too much effort.

  “Getting to the safe house is our only chance,” Sthenno says. “It will buy us time to find a solution.”

  “Right. We’re going to walk out of the alley, single file,” Gretchen explains. “Head right and don’t look back.”

  “I’m not leaving Greer’s side,” Thane insists.

  Gretchen st
udies him for a second and then concedes. “Fine—in pairs. We’ll regroup at the bookstore four blocks south and then make for the safe house.”

  We all agree.

  “On my mark,” she says.

  She moves back to the head of the alley, leaning up against the wall and peering around onto the street beyond. She raises her arm and waves us forward.

  We’ll make quite the parade.

  Thane grabs me by the forearm and pulls me out from behind our hiding spot. “You’re going first.”

  We walk past Gretchen, stepping out onto the sidewalk and trying to look like normal people. Thane releases his grip on my arm, dropping his hand to clasp mine. He threads our fingers together, securing our hands palm to palm. To anyone else on the street, we must look like an ordinary couple out for a walk on a gray afternoon, happily enjoying each other—except for the tension in every muscle of our bodies.

  I start to look back over my shoulder, but Thane tugs at my arm.

  “Don’t,” he says. “Eyes forward.”

  I scowl at him. “What is your problem?”

  He flicks a glance at me. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

  “If you hadn’t noticed,” I argue, “I’m not incapable.”

  His mouth quirks into a half smile. “No, you’re not. But you are a beacon of Apollo. You are in the greatest danger of all.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “When you touched the oracle’s pendant,” he explains, “you created a direct connection between your mind and the god of prophecy.”

  I give him a blank look.

  “Apollo has unlimited access to your brain.” Thane scowls. “He can track you, communicate with you, and see your visions.”

  Sugar. Well, that explains the conversation with Apollo in my vision, and why Sthenno seemed so upset that I had touched the pendant. At the time I didn’t think we had another choice, otherwise I would be upset with myself as well.

  As it stands, I did what I had to do, and I will live with the consequences. I will figure out a way to fix the situation.

  Seconds later, the sound of footsteps smacking on the pavement clatters around me.

  “They’re coming!” Gretchen shouts, rushing past us with the monkey on her shoulders. “Let’s go!”

  Thane doesn’t wait for me to respond. He breaks into a sprint, dragging me along with him. My weakened legs struggle to keep up, but every time I start to lag behind, Thane pulls harder. He keeps me upright and moving. It feels like we run forever, even though it’s only a few blocks.

  Inside the bookstore, Gretchen is standing by the front door, watching, while Sillus hugs her calf. She waves us inside, gesturing us deeper into the shop. Thane and I move between the wooden shelves of local travel guides and books by Bay Area authors, heading for a side room with a big window facing the sidewalk.

  He leads me up the few steps and into a place behind a short bookshelf where we can watch the street. The gorgons hurry by, heading for the front door. Moments later, they all join us.

  “Get down,” Gretchen whispers urgently.

  I bend my knees but keep my eyes glued on the window. I see the half dozen men run by, sporting golden armor and carrying vicious-looking weapons. They must not have seen us duck inside, because they don’t stop or alter their course.

  No one says a word for several minutes.

  “They will return,” Sthenno warns, “as soon as they recalculate our position.”

  A sharp pain pierces the dull ache in my brain.

  The bookshop goes blurry around me as my mind drifts into a vision.

  Apollo stands before a full-length mirror in his all-white chamber. As I watch, his reflection in the glass fades, and instead the mirror reveals the interior of a bookshop—the interior of this bookshop, with all of us inside.

  “You cannot hide,” he says. “I thought I made that clear.”

  The vision ends, and I gasp.

  “They already have.” I look around at my companions, at the very image I just saw in the mirror. “Apollo knows we’re here.”

  Sthenno huffs out a tight breath.

  “It’s uncanny,” Euryale says, tears glistening in her soft gray eyes.

  “What?” I ask. I glance at Gretchen and Thane. “What?”

  Euryale beams. “You are exactly like her.”

  “Exactly like who?”

  “Our sister,” Sthenno says. “The late gorgon queen Medusa.”

  Now that I did not expect. They have just compared me to a legendary woman, a woman whose legacy has been distorted by myth and history, a maiden turned monster by those who would end our line. What am I supposed to say?

  That I carry her power, her gift, is an honor and a burden. I am no stranger to pressure—it’s almost as if Mother was grooming me for this all these years. I have to believe I can live up to the responsibility.

  “It should not be surprising,” Euryale says. “You have her power, her gift. And it manifests itself in but one way.”

  They both stare at me for a long time. I can imagine what they’re feeling—pain over the long-ago loss of their sister, pride to see her power within me, and probably a slew of other emotions that I couldn’t even begin to put into words.

  It’s touching, and I hate to interrupt the moment we’re having, but—

  “We need to go,” Gretchen says, doing the interrupting for me.

  “Yes,” Euryale says. “Let us get to the safe house before Apollo has time to redirect his soldiers.”

  I am a bit overwhelmed by the situation—by the knowledge that a Greek god is reading my mind and tracking me through our mental connection, that this connection might be having an adverse effect on my brain, that I have visions in the same way as my ancient ancestor. If I thought therapy would help, I might sign myself up for a few sessions.

  But what therapist would ever believe a word of this?

  Gretchen is at my side as we walk out of the bookshop.

  Thane walks silently on my other side.

  Both of them are strong and silent, determined to protect me. Between them, I feel completely safe. Neither of them will let anything happen to me. If only their protection didn’t put them in danger.

  CHAPTER 16

  GRACE

  You should go home,” I tell Milo after the twelfth Cassandra Gregory in the city turns out to be a young stay-at-home mom with twin two-year-olds.

  “Why?” Milo asks, opening the passenger door to his car. “It’s just getting fun.”

  He’s being generous. After I printed out the directory results for every woman in the city with our mother’s name, Milo and I spent hours canvassing last night and more this morning. Since I couldn’t just go home, I spent half the night online in a twenty-four-hour internet cafe, trying to narrow down our list of targets, with no success. None of these women have online social profiles. After catching a couple hours of sleep in the safe house, I met Milo at a coffee shop, and we started again. He doesn’t need to be here. He’s wasting his time.

  I stand in the open space between the door, the car, and Milo. “This is pointless. There are three dozen Cassandra Gregorys in the city. She might not even be here anymore.”

  She might not even be alive anymore.

  Maybe our friends in the abyss got the message wrong. Maybe they aren’t trying to kill our mother—maybe she’s already gone.

  I don’t say that last part out loud, but I’ve been thinking it, a lot. Sthenno said they’d lost contact with our mother a long time ago, and the last mention of her in our adoption file was when she tried to make contact four years ago. A lot can happen in four years.

  Heck, a lot can happen in four days.

  “It doesn’t hurt to keep looking,” Milo says.

  “You’ve already spent all of last night and this morning.” I stare at my shoes. This isn’t fair to him. “I can keep searching on my own.”

  “You need my car.”

  “I have a bus pass.”

  “
Grace.” His tone is so serious that I look up. “Did you ever think I might like having an excuse to spend more time with you?”

  My cheeks burn, and I can’t keep the smile off my face.

  His gaze drops to my lips. I don’t wait for him to lean in. Heart racing, I curve my hands around his neck and lift my face to his.

  When I drop back onto my heels, I’m in a daze.

  “Now,” he says with a lazy smile, “if you’re done trying to get rid of me?”

  “For now,” I tease.

  “Then where’s the next Cassandra Gregory on the list?”

  I pull out the printout of search results and scan past all the ones we’ve already crossed off. I draw a line through number twelve before reading the next entry to Milo.

  “That’s in the Richmond,” he says as he walks around the front of the car. “We’ll be there in five.”

  I sink into the passenger seat and pull the door shut. As I click my seat belt into place, Milo puts the car in gear and takes off for the next mom-hopeful.

  My hand shakes as I press the doorbell.

  This isn’t new; it’s been shaking ever since Nick and I autoported into the middle of a bad-guy meet-up. It was shaking as I knocked on the doors of the previous twenty-two Cassandra Gregorys, so it’s no shock that it’s shaking now.

  Though after going through this so many times, I really should be past that.

  Footsteps echo inside, followed by the sound of a deadbolt retracting.

  The woman who opens the door has freckled alabaster skin and flame-red hair, but she’s the right age, and that’s an improvement over two-thirds of the other contenders.

  “Cassandra Gregory?” I ask.

  She scowls. “I am.”

  “Did you by chance give your triplet daughters up for adoption sixteen years ago?”

  My heart thuds in anticipation.

  “Honey,” she says, placing her hand dramatically at her waist as she scans me from head to toe, “take a look at these hips. No child has ever passed their way.”

  Another strike. “I’m very sorry,” I say. “Thank you for your time.”

  As I turn to walk back to Milo and the car, she calls out, “I hope you find her.”

  Me, too.