Sweet Legacy (Sweet Venom) (18 page)

Greer is still unconscious, though I’m sure that’s not surprising. I wonder how long she’ll be out. I wonder what death, even a brief one, will have cost her.

I glance up as Thane steps into the doorway. He looks at Greer, and then, reassured that she’s okay, he turns and leaves.

In that moment, I know everything is going to be okay. Whatever happened in the past, whatever secrets Thane kept from me my whole life, he is still my brother in every way that matters. He risked his own life to defy his mission. How can I hold him accountable for something he had no choice over in the first place? The important thing is that he’s made his choice now.

He chose me.

Leaving Greer’s side, I return to the other room to reassure my brother that everything is fine. “Hey, Thane, I—”

He’s gone.

CHAPTER 21
G
REER

T
he smell is terrible, revolting, like decaying flesh and skunk and vomit all combined into one. It’s worse than the abyss, even worse than the trash bins behind Fisherman’s Wharf—and that’s saying a lot.

At first my eyes won’t open, like they’re glued shut. Maybe I should be grateful for that. If the smell is this bad, I can only imagine what it looks like—and I’d rather not.

Instead, I try to move. My chest explodes with a white hot pain.

I collapse back down, struggling to keep my breathing even and to maintain consciousness. The last thing I want is to hyperventilate and pass out here, wherever here is.

“Is this really her?” a young female voice whispers.

An older woman says, “Couldn’t be.”

“Looks like her,” another says. This one sounds as old as great-grandmother Morgenthal. Something slimy pokes at my foot. “She has the mark.”

“And the fangs.”

I trace my tongue over my teeth and discover that, yes, my fangs are showing. Maybe they’re reacting to the stench.

“Sorry,” I say, my voice a harsh whisper.

Shrieks pierce my eardrums and I force my eyes open to see what terror is approaching. At the rate my week is going, it’s probably a giant flesh-eating tadpole or something.

No, just a trio of human-looking women, ranging in age from a teenager to an octogenarian. Their eyes are shut, but I get the distinct impression that they are shrieking at me. Like
I’m
the scary thing here.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea and pain that keep washing over me. When I open my eyes, the old woman has moved closer and is shoving her hand toward my face. Cupped in the palm of her hand is an eyeball.

I can’t stop the scream.

Three women and one eyeball. Oh my heavens, I know who they are. The Fates.

This can’t be good.

“What’s going on?” I demand, trying to control my panic. Looking around, I add, “Where am I?”

“She doesn’t know,” the young one on the left says to the other two.

“You tell her,” the middle one says.

The old one on the right says, “Yes, you.”

“I’m not telling her,” the first one argues.

“Tell me what?” I ask.

“That you’re in Hades,” the middle one admits. Then she slaps a hand over her mouth when she realizes she just told me the thing they didn’t want to tell me.

“Hades?” I frown. “That’s not possible.”

All three of them glance down at my chest. I’m about to feel insulted—there’s a sharp barb on the tip of my tongue about it being rude to stare—when I look down. They’re not looking at my breasts. They’re looking at the ragged gash in my chest, right next to my sternum.

“Oh,” I say.

It comes back to me in a flash. The vision. The alley. The knife.

“No. This can’t be happening.”

But it is. I’m dead because I dived in front of a blade heading for Grace. And it’s not like if I could go back in time I would do anything differently. If I hadn’t stepped between her and the dagger, she would be the one waking up in Hades. That is not a trade I’m willing to make. If I have to die, doing so in the process of saving Grace’s life is a pretty honorable way to go. I have to say I’m quite proud of myself.

I am not, however, thrilled to find out this is where I’m ending up. I would prefer somewhere warmer, with more sun and maybe a beach.

I sit up and look around, relieved that the white hot ache in my chest is fading. I would hate to think I’m spending the rest of eternity living with the stinging pain—well, not
living
with it, precisely.

“So this is Hades?” I ask, recalling my mythology lessons on the ancient Greek afterlife. “Where is the ferryman? Cerberus? The lord of the underworld himself?”

The trio shrugs nervously.

“What?” I ask.

“You aren’t going to meet them,” the middle one says.

“Not yet, anyway,” the young one adds.

“We were sent to give you a message,” the old one explains, “to take back.”

“To take back?” I repeat. “I thought there was no going back from Hades.”

The first woman shrugs. “There are always exceptions.”

“What’s the message?” I ask.

The old one steps closer, holding the eyeball close to my face. I try not to shudder in disgust. “Fight not alone.”

“Fight not a—what?” That makes no sense. “What does that mean?”

They shrug again and shake their heads.

“We weren’t told.”

“We’re just the messengers.”

“We give the message.”

“Well, who sent you?” I ask, hoping maybe that will be a clue.

“That is not part of her message.”

As if that’s an answer. “Her?”

“Hush, youngling,” the old one snaps at the first one. “You share more than we are meant to. We cannot interfere in these matters.”

The middle one explains, “We are only supposed to deliver the message.”

“Before,” the first one adds, nodding.

“Before what?” I ask.

The light around me suddenly brightens.

“Before this.”

“Befo—?”

As one, the three women snap their fingers. The air around me crackles with energy.

I glance down and see my skin glowing, brighter and brighter. My entire body has turned into a fluorescent bulb. I look radioactive.

“Wha—?”

Suddenly I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction at once. My body struggles to stay together in one piece. My legs go in one direction, my arms another. Everything starts swirling, like a funhouse mirror in the middle of a tornado.

Then the smelly world around me fades away and I’m hurtling through space.

When I wake for real, I’m relieved to inhale a breath of air that only smells like dust and greasy Chinese food. I never thought I’d appreciate the disgusting smells of the city, but in comparison they’re like designer perfume.

Hades is not a marketable scent.

“She’s waking up,” a woman’s voice says.

“Greer!”

Grace’s cheer brings me back into the world—into the real world. I hold my hand up before my face and am relieved to see the glow is gone. My skin is back to normal.
I’m
back to normal. Back to
life
. Is that what the Fates meant?

The group standing over me here looks a lot better than the trio in Hades.

“How do you feel?” Grace asks, dropping down next to me on the bed.

I scan the room and find I’m back in the safe house. I suppress a shudder at the knowledge that I’m lying on that ratty, stained coverlet in the bedroom. After dying and going to Hades, the thought of dirt and bedbugs should be the least of my worries.

“I feel . . .” I try to sit up, bracing myself for the pain—I took a knife to the chest, after all—but I’m surprised to find none. “Great, actually.”

The bed bounces as Sillus jumps up by my feet.

“Welcome,” he says with a toothy grin. “Huntress come back.”

How I got to Hades isn’t much of a mystery. I took that blade that was meant for Grace, and I went to the underworld. That shouldn’t be any more surprising than the idea that I’m a descendant of Medusa who fights monsters and is trying to defeat the Olympians who want her dead. Mythology is now something entirely normal in my life.

How I got back to the realm of the living is less clear.

“What happened?” I ask. “How am I still alive?”

“Gretchen saved you,” Grace says. “She brought you back from the dead.”

“With Cassandra’s help,” Gretchen adds.

I shift my attention to the third woman at my bedside.

She gives me a little wave.

Cassandra is our mother—our biological mother, anyway. Grace found her, apparently. There is no question that we are genetically related. We have the same natural hair color, the same silver-gray eyes, and the same high cheekbones. It’s funny how I never before realized how little I resemble my adopted parents. I should have discovered my adoption much sooner.

“Where did you go?” Grace asks, her voice whisper soft. “Were you . . . aware of anything?”

I look into her eyes, so full of hope and wonder. So curious. I would be, too.

As much as I want to hold this inside, to keep this very private thing to myself, something makes me want to tell them. I think the trip to Hades was not as accidental as it seemed at the time. I was supposed to die; I was supposed to get that advice from the Fates. And now I’m supposed to share that with my sisters.

“I went to Hades,” I say bluntly.

“Really?” Grace gasps.

Gretchen asks, “What was it like?”

“It was . . .” I close my eyes, remembering, but the memory is too raw, too real, and I have to open them again. “Awful. It smelled like a garbage dump.”

“Oh.” Grace sounds disappointed. Like I was going to say it was full of puppies and smelled like cotton candy. Not quite.

“I was in more of an antechamber,” I explain, hoping to make her feel better. “I didn’t see Hades proper or anything.”

She visibly relaxes.

“Were you alone?” Cassandra asks.

I flick my gray gaze to hers. “No, I wasn’t.”

I take a deep breath. Despite all the crazy, unbelievable things we’ve all seen, this is one step beyond. My visit to the underworld and advice from the human-looking personifications of destiny is another level of mythology.

“I saw the Fates.”

“The Fates?” Gretchen echoes.

Grace’s eyes get as wide as saucers.

“They were sent to give me advice.”

“Sent?” Gretchen scowls. “By who?”

I shake my head. “They didn’t say.”

“What was the advice?” Grace asks.

“They said, ‘Fight not alone.’ ”

Grace’s mouth falls open, her brows furrowed like she’s completely confused. Gretchen, just as puzzled, twists her head to the side.

“Fight not alone?” Cassandra repeats.

“That’s it.” I shrug. I don’t have a better explanation for it than anyone else. “Kind of disappointing, right? I expect more from a trip to the underworld.”

We sit in silence for a minute. As simple and anticlimactic as it seems, I have a feeling that their advice will become really important before this war is over. It just seems kind of silly now.

I hope it’s more valuable than that. I would hate to have died for no reason.

A very important reason
, the woman’s voice in my mind says.

Well, good to know
that
hasn’t changed. Still losing my mind. I mentally roll my eyes.

Finally, Cassandra breaks the silence. “I’ll bet you could use some water.”

She stands and walks out of the room, heading for the kitchen.

“I suppose I should thank you,” I say to Gretchen.

She scowls. “I suppose you should.”

Grace smacks her on the shoulder. “No,” she says to me, “I should thank
you
. If you hadn’t shown up just in time to jump in front of that knife, it would have been me bleeding out in the alley.”

“And it would have been you being brought back from the dead,” I reply.

“Why did you come, anyway?” Grace asks. “You were supposed to stay at the safe house.”

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Gretchen asks, though it’s more of a statement. “You had a vision of, what, Grace dying?”

I look at her. She’s too perceptive by half.

I love my sisters—apparently more than I love myself—but I can’t bring myself to tell them that. I don’t want Grace burdened by any guilt over the situation. I saw something about to happen, and I reacted; end of story. No regrets.

“No,” I say, feigning boredom. “I couldn’t stand to stare at these hideous beige walls a minute longer.”

Grace laughs at me, but Gretchen glares. She studies me, probably looking for some sign that I’m lying. If she looks too closely, she’ll find one. I meet her glare head on.

Cassandra returns with a glass of water, and Gretchen finally breaks eye contact. I’m not sure if she got her answers or if she’s decided to give me a little breathing room. Either way, I’ll take it.

As the group around me falls silent, my mind quiets. For the first time in days, my head feels normal and there is no pain—no ache or throbbing. In that instant, I realize one very important thing.

“Well, at least there’s one good thing about my demise.”

Gretchen frowns. As if any good can come from my death—other than saving my sister’s life, of course. But I feel the truth.

“What’s that?” Grace asks.