Sweet Shadows
Page 8

I back out of the parking spot and wind my way down off the mountain. Silence fills the car as I navigate my way across town, down Geary, heading for a nice, safe, deserted location. Somewhere humans won’t overhear us and monsters won’t find us.
Ocean Beach is the perfect spot.
I zoom past Cliff House and down the hill toward the public beaches. They’re closed at night and the parking lots are empty. Not even those willing to risk a citation for being on the beach after hours are out this late.
I pull Moira into a spot facing the ocean, cut the engine, and palm the keys. Just in case. I stare out over the waves, the moonlight glinting on the cresting peaks. So peaceful. So completely at odds with the fury and confusion warring inside me.
“Something happened tonight,” Nick finally says, his voice gentle. Tentative. “What?”
“What?” I laugh. I can’t help it. Is he seriously going to play dumb about this? “You know what.”
“I don’t,” he insists. “Look, I’m cooperating. I got into the car. I’m not even complaining that I can’t feel my fingertips anymore.”
I glance down at his hands, zipped together and resting on his thighs.
I flick a glance at him. “You won’t run?”
He shakes his head.
I reach down into my boot and pull out one of the backup daggers I keep there. My missing mentor, Ursula (who, I recently learned, is the immortal Gorgon Euryale—I’ll never get used to calling her that), preached the wisdom of being prepared for a worst-case scenario. I’ve always thought that keeping the extra set of clothes in the trunk, and the gear under the seat and in my locker, was a bit of overkill. Tonight I learned why they’re necessary.
With a quick flick of my wrist, hopefully fast enough to make Nick worry about getting sliced, I cut through the zip tie. As I slide the dagger back into my boot, he rubs his wrists.
I guess I underestimated how tight I tugged the tie.
He doesn’t run. But he doesn’t start talking, either. He’s not going to fight me, but he’s not going to spill his secrets unprompted. I’m going to have to take the offensive.
“What caused the explosion?” I ask flatly. “Was it a bomb or—”
“Explosion!” To his credit, he sounds truly shocked. “What explosion? Gretchen, what happened?”
“What happened?” I echo. “My home blew up! Everything I own, everything that wasn’t in this car”—I pound my wrist against the steering wheel—“is gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” he mutters, rubbing a hand through his short wavy hair. “They must have moved up the timetable. They weren’t supposed to—”
“They?” I demand, not missing his slip. “Who’re they?”
He looks at me, his dark eyes bleak and seemingly full of pain. It’s a good act. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s such a good liar. He’s been keeping secrets from me since the moment we met. He’s something more than human, and I should have seen it sooner.
“Who are you?” I ask. “What are you?”
If my hypno powers worked on him, I’d have had my answers ages ago.
He shakes his head, like he can’t process what’s going on. I can tell he’s thinking, can practically see the thoughts tearing through his mind.
Part of me—the smart part—thinks he’s trying to come up with a believable lie. But the rest of me believes he’s truly at a loss.
“Look,” I say, “you’re obviously not all bad. You called to warn me. You saved my life and my sisters’ lives.” I swallow hard. “I should be thanking you.”
“I didn’t make that call, Gretchen, I swear it.” His voice is steady and—I huff—convincing. “I would have if I’d known it was coming, but I had no idea.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
He takes a deep breath and drops his head back against the headrest.
Finally, after what seems like forever, especially for someone with as little patience as I’ve got, he says, “There is something I need to tell you.”
I’m torn between the urge to make a sarcastic reply—Really? You think?—and shoving my fist into his nose. In the end, I just stare at him.
“I was sent to protect you,” he says. “To watch over you when Euryale was taken. To guard you from those who don’t want you and your sisters to be reunited.”
My body reacts before my mind fully processes his words, and I give in to the urge to punch him. My knuckles hurt like hell, but the satisfaction that he’ll have a bloody—and possibly broken—nose and a pair of black eyes makes the pain bearable.
Unable to sit still, I jump out of the car and walk to the seawall. I press my palms against the rough concrete along the top and stare out over the moonlit ocean.
All this time I’ve known that there is something wrong with Nick, something different about him. Something … not human. Why didn’t I ask myself more questions? I should have interrogated him, pushed him for answers. If I had, maybe things wouldn’t be as screwed up as they are now.
Maybe I could have prevented the explosion. Maybes and what-ifs. Equally useless.
I hear the passenger door shut with a soft click and then Nick’s shoes scrunching across the pavement.
“Who sent you?” I demand before he can offer more lies.
“I—” He takes the spot next to me, leaning his forearms onto the wall. “I should have told you the truth sooner. I should have told you everything. I just thought …”