Sweet Shadows
Page 42
I dropped the Porsche off at the body shop this morning to get her dents removed, so I decided to walk home from my evening workout at the gym. Gives me a little extra exercise.
The climb up the hill alone would give me rock-star quads if I did it every night.
“That’s ridiculous,” she says. “It’s a meeting, Greer. What about your priorities? Our sister is in the abyss. She could be dead already.”
No. She can’t be dead. That’s not an option. I have to believe that I would know if she were gone.
As if I haven’t already processed that fear, over and over, in the twenty-four hours since we watched, helpless, as Gretchen dived into the monster realm. Hours that feel like years. Hours in which we’ve spent every spare daylight moment searching for her, for the oracle, or for any clue of how to get her back. Not that we found anything. Every person we know who is connected to the mythological world is missing. We don’t even know where to turn, but we keep looking. I can cancel every other appointment on my schedule for the next few days, but this one is unmissable.
We’re hunting blind, and I’m going to do this one thing that keeps my semblance of normalcy intact. If anything, taking a break will give me a clearer mind.
“It will only take a couple of hours,” I promise. “Besides, I’m committing all of tomorrow to our fruitless searching again.”
Sunday is usually my home spa day.
“Greer—”
Her voice cracks and I can guess what she’s thinking. We’d only just found Gretchen, and each other. We’d only been reunited a short while. What if we can’t get her back?
“We will find her,” I say with more certainty than I necessarily feel. This is one time when I wish my magical power of knowing things would produce more tangible results. I could use some second sight at this point. I feel optimistic, but I’m not sure if that’s because of my untapped ability or because I’ve been raised to believe in the power of positive thinking.
“But what if—”
“Grace,” I say, cutting her off before she can voice her fears. My fears. “We will find her.”
She sniffles for a minute and I can tell she’s pulling herself together.
“I know,” she says, her voice stronger than before. “I wish I could do more.”
“You’re doing everything you can,” I assure her. “We both are.”
“Are we?”
“Of course we are.”
“I feel like we’re missing something,” she says. “Like the answer is right in front of us and we keep looking the other way.”
I’ve had the same feeling. Not a fully realized thought, perhaps, but a sensation that the answer is near. “Me too. We just have to open our minds to the solution,” I say, hating how New Age-y I sound. “The answer will reveal itself.”
“I hope you’re right,” she says. “We’re still meeting at the bus stop first thing tomorrow morning?”
“The very first.”
“Okay.” She sighs. “I’m going to do some more research. See if I can track down anything that can help.”
If anyone can find clues to help us, it’s Grace. The girl is a bona fide computer genius and has done her fair share of hacking. But I don’t think there is anything out there for her to find. The mythological world has kept itself well off the grid.
“Let me know what you find,” I tell her.
“Definitely.”
I slide my phone back into my purse and quicken my steps.
I cross Franklin and turn left so I can walk past the Haas-Lilienthal House. A beautiful, towering gray Victorian that dates back to 1886, the architectural wonder is open a couple of days a week as a museum. I enjoy walking by. It makes me feel like I’m part of a bygone era, like I’ve stepped back into the nineteenth century.
At night, though, the house is positively spooky.
I’m walking past the driveway, glancing up at the cramped third-floor window where I always expect to see a ghost staring down at me, when I get the feeling. At first it’s just a tickle at the back of my neck, like someone with hot breath is blowing on my sensitive skin. It quickly spreads down my spine in a burning river of fear.
A small part of me wants to turn around, to see if this sensation of being watched, being followed, is legitimate. The rest of me screams to run.
Adrenaline pumps into my veins. It’s the same feeling as when the giant knocked on my front door. Only this time I force myself to stay.
I pause for a moment, like I want to take in the full facade of the house, eerily illuminated by the glow of streetlamps and light pollution. A small plastic smile in place, I focus my attention on my peripheral vision. From the corner of my eye I sense an out-of-place shadow.
Maintaining my blank face, I turn and continue up the sidewalk at my leisurely pace. I feel the shadow follow, keeping a safe distance.
I start making mental plans. I reach into my purse, casually looking for my compact. When I pull it out, I flip it open and raise it to eye level, pretending to check the state of my lipstick.
What I see in the reflection almost takes my breath away.
The creature following me is hideous. No larger than me, it is obviously part man and part sea … something. Great clumps of black seaweed hang off its torso like some comic-book villain who took a dip in a radioactive aquarium.
It’s standing beneath a streetlamp, and the downlight distorts its features into something out of a horror movie. My heart pounds faster.
The climb up the hill alone would give me rock-star quads if I did it every night.
“That’s ridiculous,” she says. “It’s a meeting, Greer. What about your priorities? Our sister is in the abyss. She could be dead already.”
No. She can’t be dead. That’s not an option. I have to believe that I would know if she were gone.
As if I haven’t already processed that fear, over and over, in the twenty-four hours since we watched, helpless, as Gretchen dived into the monster realm. Hours that feel like years. Hours in which we’ve spent every spare daylight moment searching for her, for the oracle, or for any clue of how to get her back. Not that we found anything. Every person we know who is connected to the mythological world is missing. We don’t even know where to turn, but we keep looking. I can cancel every other appointment on my schedule for the next few days, but this one is unmissable.
We’re hunting blind, and I’m going to do this one thing that keeps my semblance of normalcy intact. If anything, taking a break will give me a clearer mind.
“It will only take a couple of hours,” I promise. “Besides, I’m committing all of tomorrow to our fruitless searching again.”
Sunday is usually my home spa day.
“Greer—”
Her voice cracks and I can guess what she’s thinking. We’d only just found Gretchen, and each other. We’d only been reunited a short while. What if we can’t get her back?
“We will find her,” I say with more certainty than I necessarily feel. This is one time when I wish my magical power of knowing things would produce more tangible results. I could use some second sight at this point. I feel optimistic, but I’m not sure if that’s because of my untapped ability or because I’ve been raised to believe in the power of positive thinking.
“But what if—”
“Grace,” I say, cutting her off before she can voice her fears. My fears. “We will find her.”
She sniffles for a minute and I can tell she’s pulling herself together.
“I know,” she says, her voice stronger than before. “I wish I could do more.”
“You’re doing everything you can,” I assure her. “We both are.”
“Are we?”
“Of course we are.”
“I feel like we’re missing something,” she says. “Like the answer is right in front of us and we keep looking the other way.”
I’ve had the same feeling. Not a fully realized thought, perhaps, but a sensation that the answer is near. “Me too. We just have to open our minds to the solution,” I say, hating how New Age-y I sound. “The answer will reveal itself.”
“I hope you’re right,” she says. “We’re still meeting at the bus stop first thing tomorrow morning?”
“The very first.”
“Okay.” She sighs. “I’m going to do some more research. See if I can track down anything that can help.”
If anyone can find clues to help us, it’s Grace. The girl is a bona fide computer genius and has done her fair share of hacking. But I don’t think there is anything out there for her to find. The mythological world has kept itself well off the grid.
“Let me know what you find,” I tell her.
“Definitely.”
I slide my phone back into my purse and quicken my steps.
I cross Franklin and turn left so I can walk past the Haas-Lilienthal House. A beautiful, towering gray Victorian that dates back to 1886, the architectural wonder is open a couple of days a week as a museum. I enjoy walking by. It makes me feel like I’m part of a bygone era, like I’ve stepped back into the nineteenth century.
At night, though, the house is positively spooky.
I’m walking past the driveway, glancing up at the cramped third-floor window where I always expect to see a ghost staring down at me, when I get the feeling. At first it’s just a tickle at the back of my neck, like someone with hot breath is blowing on my sensitive skin. It quickly spreads down my spine in a burning river of fear.
A small part of me wants to turn around, to see if this sensation of being watched, being followed, is legitimate. The rest of me screams to run.
Adrenaline pumps into my veins. It’s the same feeling as when the giant knocked on my front door. Only this time I force myself to stay.
I pause for a moment, like I want to take in the full facade of the house, eerily illuminated by the glow of streetlamps and light pollution. A small plastic smile in place, I focus my attention on my peripheral vision. From the corner of my eye I sense an out-of-place shadow.
Maintaining my blank face, I turn and continue up the sidewalk at my leisurely pace. I feel the shadow follow, keeping a safe distance.
I start making mental plans. I reach into my purse, casually looking for my compact. When I pull it out, I flip it open and raise it to eye level, pretending to check the state of my lipstick.
What I see in the reflection almost takes my breath away.
The creature following me is hideous. No larger than me, it is obviously part man and part sea … something. Great clumps of black seaweed hang off its torso like some comic-book villain who took a dip in a radioactive aquarium.
It’s standing beneath a streetlamp, and the downlight distorts its features into something out of a horror movie. My heart pounds faster.
