Sweet Venom
Page 55
That means we’re it. We’re the only ones who can carry on the legacy.
There’s a whole mess of pressure that comes along with that realization. The three of us are the only ones standing between this world and the monsters. There is no way I can leave one of us unprotected and in danger.
As I settle in for however long this security stakeout is going to take, I reach into my backpack for my phone to text home about the delay.
Instead, my fingers brush over the rough cloth surface of a book.
In the craziness of discovering our triplet and the rush to meet her, I must have tossed the Medusa book into my bag. I’d stopped reading at the sentence about three girls in a generation. Maybe there are clues about our other relatives or more specifics about the legacy.
And it looks like I’m going to have plenty of time.
I turn back to the page I was on and continue reading.
When the time to break the seal draws near, a time predestined by the fates at the moment of closure, the Key Generation will arrive. It will be a generation born in the same moment of the same womb.
The same moment? The same womb? That must mean triplets.
The Key Generation is safe from neither the forces of supposed good nor those of confirmed evil. It must be protected at any cost, by any measure, separated to prevent their discovery by those who wish to render the scales unbalanced.
Separated? Is that why Gretchen, Greer, and I were sep-arated at birth and adopted out into different families? Our mother must have known we were special—the Key Generation—and that we would be in danger. She gave us up, leaving us with no knowledge of our true heritage in order to protect us. I’ve always wondered why my mother gave me up. Now I guess I know.
Only when the Key Generation has reached maturity will it be able to join together to break the seal, thus restoring the natural order. There are those on both sides of this war who would prevent this occurrence by any means available.
What on earth does that mean? The only seal Gretchen has mentioned is the one that keeps monsters locked in their realm. If we are the Key Generation, then we’re supposed to break the seal? But why? It’s supposed to be our job to keep monsters away. Breaking the seal would have the opposite effect.
I skim the rest of the chapter, looking for anything more about the seal and why anyone would want to break it, but it’s just more about the danger to all descendants of Medusa. Especially the Key Generation.
Maybe that explains the bounty. But who is it that wants us gone?
There are two sides that don’t want us to break the seal, which I’m pretty sure we don’t want to do anyway. But I have a feeling they won’t pause to ask before going to “any means available” to stop us.
While I sit, the cold of the ground seeping through my jeans, I keep cycling the thoughts through my mind. Triplets. Danger. Key Generation. Two sides. Break the seal.
It doesn’t make any sense, but I know one thing for sure. Protecting Greer and keeping her safe is my top priority. Whatever the Key Generation is supposed to do, I doubt we can do it as two out of three. Gretchen and I need Greer, as a member of the Key Generation and as a sister.
Chapter 17
Greer
I can’t stop myself from watching as the two girls—my sisters, apparently—stand arguing on the sidewalk. Most of their words are lost to the soundproof windows and heavy velvet drapes, but I manage to catch a few. “Duty. . . .” “Sister. . . .” “Snob. . . .”
As Gretchen, the military-looking one, stomps away, I can imagine which of the words were hers. Her disgust was apparent.
Which is fine with me. I’m not a fan of her personal style, either.
She’s obviously one of those girls who look down on those who have more opportunity in their lives. That giant chip on her shoulder is only going to keep her in her disadvantaged place.
Grace looks up at the house, her face a mixture of helplessness and determination. She seems nice enough, despite her insanity, and more the type to envy someone who has advantages than to despise them for it. The type to work hard to gain opportunities of her own. Why she’s let herself get sucked into this crazy delusion is beyond me, but at least there’s hope for her.
Finally, after what feels like forever, Grace leaves too, heading around the side of the house. I resist the urge to sprint to the living room, to spy out the side window and see if she is actually leaving.
Greer Morgenthal does not spy.
Frozen to my spot, staring out the window—at the drapes, actually, since I’ve let them fall back into place—my mind plays over everything they said. I would like to reject the idea that they are my sisters. I’m not adopted, as far as I know, but it also seems unlikely that Mother and Dad would have adopted out my two sisters if we were actually triplets. Not that Mother has ever been the most maternal sort. Quite the opposite. Still, I’ve always had the feeling that Dad wanted more children. I’ve spent my life trying to be enough for both of them. To be mature and classy and successful enough for Mother. To be loving and childlike and daughterly enough for Dad. If they were around more, I might have a schizophrenic break from the opposing efforts.
In any case, the idea that they would have given away my siblings doesn’t make sense.
Assuming I believe that Grace and Gretchen are my sisters—and I would have to be delusional myself to deny that physically obvious fact—that leaves me with only one logical conclusion: I am adopted.
I am surprisingly unaffected by the realization. Maybe Mother has trained all the emotion out of me. Maybe I truly am the ice queen my social enemies and ex-boyfriends so often claim. Perhaps I should cry or scream or feel betrayed in some essential way. A normal person would. Instead, I feel . . . relieved.
There’s a whole mess of pressure that comes along with that realization. The three of us are the only ones standing between this world and the monsters. There is no way I can leave one of us unprotected and in danger.
As I settle in for however long this security stakeout is going to take, I reach into my backpack for my phone to text home about the delay.
Instead, my fingers brush over the rough cloth surface of a book.
In the craziness of discovering our triplet and the rush to meet her, I must have tossed the Medusa book into my bag. I’d stopped reading at the sentence about three girls in a generation. Maybe there are clues about our other relatives or more specifics about the legacy.
And it looks like I’m going to have plenty of time.
I turn back to the page I was on and continue reading.
When the time to break the seal draws near, a time predestined by the fates at the moment of closure, the Key Generation will arrive. It will be a generation born in the same moment of the same womb.
The same moment? The same womb? That must mean triplets.
The Key Generation is safe from neither the forces of supposed good nor those of confirmed evil. It must be protected at any cost, by any measure, separated to prevent their discovery by those who wish to render the scales unbalanced.
Separated? Is that why Gretchen, Greer, and I were sep-arated at birth and adopted out into different families? Our mother must have known we were special—the Key Generation—and that we would be in danger. She gave us up, leaving us with no knowledge of our true heritage in order to protect us. I’ve always wondered why my mother gave me up. Now I guess I know.
Only when the Key Generation has reached maturity will it be able to join together to break the seal, thus restoring the natural order. There are those on both sides of this war who would prevent this occurrence by any means available.
What on earth does that mean? The only seal Gretchen has mentioned is the one that keeps monsters locked in their realm. If we are the Key Generation, then we’re supposed to break the seal? But why? It’s supposed to be our job to keep monsters away. Breaking the seal would have the opposite effect.
I skim the rest of the chapter, looking for anything more about the seal and why anyone would want to break it, but it’s just more about the danger to all descendants of Medusa. Especially the Key Generation.
Maybe that explains the bounty. But who is it that wants us gone?
There are two sides that don’t want us to break the seal, which I’m pretty sure we don’t want to do anyway. But I have a feeling they won’t pause to ask before going to “any means available” to stop us.
While I sit, the cold of the ground seeping through my jeans, I keep cycling the thoughts through my mind. Triplets. Danger. Key Generation. Two sides. Break the seal.
It doesn’t make any sense, but I know one thing for sure. Protecting Greer and keeping her safe is my top priority. Whatever the Key Generation is supposed to do, I doubt we can do it as two out of three. Gretchen and I need Greer, as a member of the Key Generation and as a sister.
Chapter 17
Greer
I can’t stop myself from watching as the two girls—my sisters, apparently—stand arguing on the sidewalk. Most of their words are lost to the soundproof windows and heavy velvet drapes, but I manage to catch a few. “Duty. . . .” “Sister. . . .” “Snob. . . .”
As Gretchen, the military-looking one, stomps away, I can imagine which of the words were hers. Her disgust was apparent.
Which is fine with me. I’m not a fan of her personal style, either.
She’s obviously one of those girls who look down on those who have more opportunity in their lives. That giant chip on her shoulder is only going to keep her in her disadvantaged place.
Grace looks up at the house, her face a mixture of helplessness and determination. She seems nice enough, despite her insanity, and more the type to envy someone who has advantages than to despise them for it. The type to work hard to gain opportunities of her own. Why she’s let herself get sucked into this crazy delusion is beyond me, but at least there’s hope for her.
Finally, after what feels like forever, Grace leaves too, heading around the side of the house. I resist the urge to sprint to the living room, to spy out the side window and see if she is actually leaving.
Greer Morgenthal does not spy.
Frozen to my spot, staring out the window—at the drapes, actually, since I’ve let them fall back into place—my mind plays over everything they said. I would like to reject the idea that they are my sisters. I’m not adopted, as far as I know, but it also seems unlikely that Mother and Dad would have adopted out my two sisters if we were actually triplets. Not that Mother has ever been the most maternal sort. Quite the opposite. Still, I’ve always had the feeling that Dad wanted more children. I’ve spent my life trying to be enough for both of them. To be mature and classy and successful enough for Mother. To be loving and childlike and daughterly enough for Dad. If they were around more, I might have a schizophrenic break from the opposing efforts.
In any case, the idea that they would have given away my siblings doesn’t make sense.
Assuming I believe that Grace and Gretchen are my sisters—and I would have to be delusional myself to deny that physically obvious fact—that leaves me with only one logical conclusion: I am adopted.
I am surprisingly unaffected by the realization. Maybe Mother has trained all the emotion out of me. Maybe I truly am the ice queen my social enemies and ex-boyfriends so often claim. Perhaps I should cry or scream or feel betrayed in some essential way. A normal person would. Instead, I feel . . . relieved.
