Sweet Legacy
Page 2

“Thane, no.” I tug at his shoulder. “We’re not helpless.”
When he glances back at me, I bare my teeth to display my fangs.
His eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s deciding whether my venom-spewing fangs are up to the task, and then he nods. It’s crazy how proud that makes me feel. For once, I’m the one who can protect him.
“Grace is right,” Gretchen says. “We’ve got the deadly weapons. Girls in front, boys as backup. Everyone, arm yourselves.”
As Greer and I step into position, Gretchen hands each of us one of her daggers before reaching behind her back and pulling another pair from the waistband of her cargo pants. She’s like a walking armory. I wonder what she has hidden away in her pockets.
Beside her, Nick holds what looks like a razor-sharp Frisbee in one hand, his fingers curled through a set of holes in the center. The object is part bowling ball, part discus, with a deadly blade-like edge. And from the way Nick is maneuvering it with simple wrist movements, it looks like he knows how to use it.
In a flash, Thane reaches behind his head and pulls out a sword I didn’t even realize he had. It must have been hidden behind his backpack. He grips the hilt in both hands, slashing it in front of him and looking more like a medieval warrior than my big brother. The blade makes a whoosh-whoosh as it cuts through the air.
I’m suddenly very glad he came with us.
Gretchen catches my eye. “Get ready.”
She nods, and that tiny bit of reassurance centers me. I shove my heart back down where it belongs and turn to the monsters, focusing my full attention on the enemy.
When I do, one of the monsters—a horrible-looking man with blue-black skin and glistening stains around his mouth—raises one arm and shouts.
“Epitithentai!”
As one, the monster horde roars and charges forward.
Everything happens in a blur. The monsters descend on us, and before I can blink, we’re fighting for our lives—or our freedom. It’s not like they’re clarifying which side of the war they’re on as they’re trying to bite and claw at us.
A golden sheep runs at me, maybe sensing that I’m the weakest opponent here. I’m not so proud that I won’t agree with that assessment—I’m much better with a keyboard and mouse than a dagger.
The sheep seems harmless. I grab a handful of fleece and hold it away from my body, hesitant to hurt the little thing.
With my opponent under control, I try to keep track of everyone else.
Gretchen is taking on two of the biggest monsters, ripping a dagger through the chest of one and giving the other a side kick straight to the . . . groin, I think. It’s hard to tell under all that fur.
Greer does one of her crazy Tae Kwon Do jump-kicks at the head of a creature that looks like the opposite of a griffin—the head of a lion and the body of bird. She knocks it to the ground and pins one wing down with a dagger. I’m in awe. She acts so elegant and proper, but she can kick monster butt.
Nick sends his metal disc flying through the air—it slices through the arm of one creature and the shoulder of another, lodging itself in the chest of a third.
Thane is amazing. Like music in motion, he swings his blade in a rhythmic movement of figure eights. Infinity. He looks lethal and completely comfortable, like he was born to wield this weapon. Clearly my brother is keeping more secrets than I ever imagined. The monsters around him keep their distance, as if they can sense his deadly skill with the sword. My brother, the warrior.
“Grace!” Gretchen shouts. “Those sheep are poisonous.”
“Oh.” I turn back to the creature before me to find it trying to reach around and bite my wrist. “Shoot.”
Still reluctant to hurt the fuzzball—poisonous or not—I’m deciding what to do when Nick appears at my side. He grabs the fleece with both hands and flings the beast into the black.
“Thanks,” I say.
He gives me a quick smile before turning back to the fight.
Then I’m under attack.
A beast tackles me from behind, knocking the dagger out of my grip as I hit the ground. Stupid, Grace. I should have stayed focused on my own fight, instead of worrying about watching everyone else. I feel hot breath on my neck, saliva dripping onto the back of my tee—at least I think it’s saliva. If it were poison, it would probably be burning my skin already—I hope. I try to push up to my hands and knees, but the monster is too heavy. I spot my dagger glinting in the faint green glow about six feet away, out of reach.
Desperate, I scramble. My fingertips slip against the black stone of the ground. The beast’s weight is slowly squeezing the air out of my lungs. I’m trapped.
The monster makes noises against my ear.
He’s not speaking any language I’ve ever heard, but I don’t need an interpreter to know what it boils down to. He’s hungry, and I’m tasty.
With a roar of my own, desperate to not be a monster meal or a disappointment to my sisters, I shove up against the weight bearing down on me. My effort dislodges the creature just enough to give me some wiggle room. I quickly flip over.
It jerks back, like it’s stunned to meet me face to face.
That makes two of us.
Hovering just above me is a giant rooster head. Its body, the heavy part holding me down and keeping me in the cage of its legs, is that of a horse. An image from Gretchen’s monster binders flashes through my memory—a hippalectryon.
The thing outweighs and outpowers me by at least a factor of ten. I’m assuming its tiny bird brain isn’t terribly clever, though, so outwitting the beast is my only chance. I just need to keep my head long enough to make that happen.