Sweet Venom
Page 62
“Now!” I shout.
Without hesitation, Greer dives onto the serpent tail. I give her a little silent cheer. The creature twists to see what has landed on her tail. I take advantage and launch myself onto her back.
I have no idea where the hot spot on this creature is—I’m not even sure what the creature is called—but since I’m not interested in my first taste of monster, I’m hoping a single bite in the torso will do the trick. Since it’s a human torso, I’m going for close to the neck.
She’s not thrilled to have me as a passenger, that’s obvious, and as soon as I wrap my arms and legs around her, she starts thrashing around, trying to dislodge me. I squeeze tight and ride it out, hoping for an opportunity to bite her without knocking my teeth out in the process.
The world around me spins, everything a blur. I hear a big splash.
Oh no, what if she takes us into the Bay? She might be able to breathe underwater, but Greer and I would drown. I have to take a chance and get my fangs into her flesh fast.
Without further hesitation, I pull myself up a few inches, close my eyes, and bite. Thankfully, I feel my fangs pop out as my lips brush her flesh. I can only hope my venom is making its way into her bloodstream.
After a few more moments of holding on for dear life—only now accompanied by the eardrum-bursting screams of a monster in agony—suddenly my arms are wrapped around thin air. I fall several feet to the weathered boards of the pier, landing with a thud. My breath whooshes out of me. It takes a few seconds of painful effort to get my lungs working again.
“Holy goalie,” I gasp, rolling onto my back and staring up at the overcast sky. “We did it.”
When Greer doesn’t respond, I call her name. Nothing. I sit up and look around, afraid something awful has happened to her. But then . . .
I stifle a giggle.
“Uh . . .”
Well, she’s not dead. That’s something.
“Guess I know what that splash was, huh?”
“Apparently.”
Greer is standing about ten feet away, right at the edge of the pier, completely drenched. Her beautiful hair is hanging down in limp, dripping clumps. The gorgeous sequined tank and gray skirt have a slightly brownish tint. One of her shoes is missing.
“Oh Greer,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “I’m so—”
“Don’t.” Her eyes squeeze shut. She looks like she’s doing deep-breathing meditation or something.
“Can I help?” I offer. Slinging my backpack to one shoulder, I unzip the main compartment. “I have my gym clothes in here. They’re not exactly clean, but they’re dry.”
“This is all your fault.”
I jerk back, confused. “What? How? How is this my fault?”
“You were following me,” she accuses.
“Well, um . . . . kinda.”
“Well, um,” she says mockingly. “Then that creature must have climbed out of the Bay to find you.”
“It didn’t,” I insist, even though I can’t really be sure of that. From everything Gretchen has said, I think that’s unlikely, but even she admits that things are changing right now.
“If you hadn’t shown up on my doorstep today,” she continues, “I would still be upstairs, enjoying exquisite shrimp scampi with Kyle and deciding whether he’s earned a goodnight kiss. I would still be blissfully ignorant, and monster sighting would just be an embarrassing childhood memory.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Instead, I’m drenched in stinky, fishy Bay water.” She looks like she wants to throw up but has too much class to do it. “I’m seeing mythological monsters again. I’ve lost a two-hundred-dollar shoe to the murky depths, and my favorite date outfit is completely ruined.”
I feel awful. Especially since my only side effects from the fight are a bad taste in my mouth and getting the wind knocked out of me for a few seconds.
“Maybe, if you take it to a dry cleaner . . .” I suggest.
She spears me with an annoyed look. A clump of seaweed drops off her head and onto her bare foot.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says with a finality in her tone that worries me, “I need to go figure out how to retrieve my purse without my boyfriend—or anyone more than absolutely necessary, for that matter—seeing me in this state.”
“But Greer—”
“Good.” She turns on her one shoe and stomps lopsidedly away. “Bye.”
With sloshy up-and-down steps, she disappears around the corner. Okay, so she’s not thrilled. And I feel bad for her getting dunked in the Bay, I really do.
But I can’t help but be excited. She saw the snake-lady and left her dinner to do something about it. She’s not completely immune to our responsibility.
Together, we defeated the monster. It’s my first battle victory, and although I know there are tons more where snake-lady came from, I feel like I can take them all on.
Gretchen is going to be so proud of me. Of both of us.
Pulling my phone out of my backpack, I’m about to punch the speed dial for Gretchen’s ultraprivate phone number when I sense a presence. I look up, don’t see anyone around, and am about to dismiss the weird feeling when a woman appears right in front of me.
I mean right in front of me.
“Gretchen?” she asks, a faint scowl on her sophisticated gray brow.
She’s tall and elegant, like a graceful ballerina. Her clothes—softly flowing pants and a long, draped top made of a kind of stretchy, purple-gray fabric—ripple around her in waves.
Without hesitation, Greer dives onto the serpent tail. I give her a little silent cheer. The creature twists to see what has landed on her tail. I take advantage and launch myself onto her back.
I have no idea where the hot spot on this creature is—I’m not even sure what the creature is called—but since I’m not interested in my first taste of monster, I’m hoping a single bite in the torso will do the trick. Since it’s a human torso, I’m going for close to the neck.
She’s not thrilled to have me as a passenger, that’s obvious, and as soon as I wrap my arms and legs around her, she starts thrashing around, trying to dislodge me. I squeeze tight and ride it out, hoping for an opportunity to bite her without knocking my teeth out in the process.
The world around me spins, everything a blur. I hear a big splash.
Oh no, what if she takes us into the Bay? She might be able to breathe underwater, but Greer and I would drown. I have to take a chance and get my fangs into her flesh fast.
Without further hesitation, I pull myself up a few inches, close my eyes, and bite. Thankfully, I feel my fangs pop out as my lips brush her flesh. I can only hope my venom is making its way into her bloodstream.
After a few more moments of holding on for dear life—only now accompanied by the eardrum-bursting screams of a monster in agony—suddenly my arms are wrapped around thin air. I fall several feet to the weathered boards of the pier, landing with a thud. My breath whooshes out of me. It takes a few seconds of painful effort to get my lungs working again.
“Holy goalie,” I gasp, rolling onto my back and staring up at the overcast sky. “We did it.”
When Greer doesn’t respond, I call her name. Nothing. I sit up and look around, afraid something awful has happened to her. But then . . .
I stifle a giggle.
“Uh . . .”
Well, she’s not dead. That’s something.
“Guess I know what that splash was, huh?”
“Apparently.”
Greer is standing about ten feet away, right at the edge of the pier, completely drenched. Her beautiful hair is hanging down in limp, dripping clumps. The gorgeous sequined tank and gray skirt have a slightly brownish tint. One of her shoes is missing.
“Oh Greer,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “I’m so—”
“Don’t.” Her eyes squeeze shut. She looks like she’s doing deep-breathing meditation or something.
“Can I help?” I offer. Slinging my backpack to one shoulder, I unzip the main compartment. “I have my gym clothes in here. They’re not exactly clean, but they’re dry.”
“This is all your fault.”
I jerk back, confused. “What? How? How is this my fault?”
“You were following me,” she accuses.
“Well, um . . . . kinda.”
“Well, um,” she says mockingly. “Then that creature must have climbed out of the Bay to find you.”
“It didn’t,” I insist, even though I can’t really be sure of that. From everything Gretchen has said, I think that’s unlikely, but even she admits that things are changing right now.
“If you hadn’t shown up on my doorstep today,” she continues, “I would still be upstairs, enjoying exquisite shrimp scampi with Kyle and deciding whether he’s earned a goodnight kiss. I would still be blissfully ignorant, and monster sighting would just be an embarrassing childhood memory.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Instead, I’m drenched in stinky, fishy Bay water.” She looks like she wants to throw up but has too much class to do it. “I’m seeing mythological monsters again. I’ve lost a two-hundred-dollar shoe to the murky depths, and my favorite date outfit is completely ruined.”
I feel awful. Especially since my only side effects from the fight are a bad taste in my mouth and getting the wind knocked out of me for a few seconds.
“Maybe, if you take it to a dry cleaner . . .” I suggest.
She spears me with an annoyed look. A clump of seaweed drops off her head and onto her bare foot.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says with a finality in her tone that worries me, “I need to go figure out how to retrieve my purse without my boyfriend—or anyone more than absolutely necessary, for that matter—seeing me in this state.”
“But Greer—”
“Good.” She turns on her one shoe and stomps lopsidedly away. “Bye.”
With sloshy up-and-down steps, she disappears around the corner. Okay, so she’s not thrilled. And I feel bad for her getting dunked in the Bay, I really do.
But I can’t help but be excited. She saw the snake-lady and left her dinner to do something about it. She’s not completely immune to our responsibility.
Together, we defeated the monster. It’s my first battle victory, and although I know there are tons more where snake-lady came from, I feel like I can take them all on.
Gretchen is going to be so proud of me. Of both of us.
Pulling my phone out of my backpack, I’m about to punch the speed dial for Gretchen’s ultraprivate phone number when I sense a presence. I look up, don’t see anyone around, and am about to dismiss the weird feeling when a woman appears right in front of me.
I mean right in front of me.
“Gretchen?” she asks, a faint scowl on her sophisticated gray brow.
She’s tall and elegant, like a graceful ballerina. Her clothes—softly flowing pants and a long, draped top made of a kind of stretchy, purple-gray fabric—ripple around her in waves.
