Sweet Venom
Page 42

Grace lets out a snort. I glance sideways at her and find a daydreamy look on her face. Three guesses what—scratch that, who—put it there.
I almost ask her about him, almost cross the fine line into girl talk and into the beginning stages of friendship. But that world is as foreign to me as monster hunting is to her. I need to take baby steps in that direction.
Instead of probing for details, I say, “I’ll keep a low profile. He’ll never see me again.”
“It’s not really Milo I’m worried about,” she says, turning to face me. “He barely knows me. But Thane is another story.”
“Thane?”
“My brother.”
I must get a confused look on my face, because she quickly adds, “My adopted brother.”
“Oh.” My breath whooshes out in relief. Not that the idea of another sibling horrifies me or anything, but it would be kind of a lot to take in all at once. One sister is enough.
“I won’t be able to convince Thane he saw someone who only looked like me,” she explains. “He’ll know.”
“Thane Whitfield?” I ask, committing the unfamiliar name to memory. “I don’t think we have any classes in common.”
“He’s a senior,” she says, “but if you pass him in the halls or—”
“I’ll make sure he never sees me, either,” I say. For some reason it’s important for me to reassure Grace, to keep her life as close to normal as possible. My life has never been normal, I wouldn’t even know what that feels like, but I can do my best to make sure hers stays that way.
At first I’m not sure she hears me. She just stares down at her hot-pink sneakers, lost in thought. Finally, she says, “Well, we’ll have to deal with whatever comes up.” She looks up at me and smiles. “Right?”
“Right.”
She pushes away from the counter. “I’d better get going. Mom will worry if I’m out too late.”
I follow her out of the kitchen, to the living room where she tossed her jacket on one of the leather armchairs.
“Are these real leather?” she asks, nodding at the couches and chairs.
“As far as I know. Why?”
She makes a disgusted face but just shakes her head. “Never mind.” As she shrugs into her jacket, she says, “I’ll be here tomorrow after school for my first lesson.”
I nod, grabbing her backpack off the floor and handing it to her.
“Do I need to bring anything?” she asks. “Or wear anything special?”
I shake my head. “Only if you want to. Monsters don’t care whether you’re in sweats or a party dress. You can train in whatever you wear every day.”
“Makes sense,” she says, taking the backpack but not putting it on. Her gaze flicks to the library. “Um, do you think I could take one of those monster file binders?” she asks. “To study.”
I shrug. “Don’t see why not. Help yourself.”
I’ve read them all already. And Grace needs to learn what’s inside them too.
She hurries to the library and returns a minute later, her backpack on her back and a big smile on her face.
I’m about to give her a smile in return when I catch the faint scent of skunk wafting in off the balcony. Here we go again.
I grab my keys off the table by the door.
“Come on,” I say. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
And after I make sure she’s home safe, I’ve got a hippalectryon to hunt. I should hunt down Grace’s basilisk hybrid too. It must be running wild on the streets by now. Not to mention my missing skorpios hybrid from this afternoon. What is it with all the monster escapes today? Can’t they give it a break for a night? I’ve still got hours of homework.
But, I think as Grace follows me down the spiral staircase, I guess a huntress’s work is never done.
Lucky us.
While Grace takes off her shoes at the training room door, I mentally prepare myself for the role of trainer. Teacher.
For so long, I’ve been the student; it’s a big adjustment to be on the other side. But, I think as I watch Grace nearly fall over while trying to step out of her left sneaker, there isn’t another option. I spent all night trying to come up with a game plan, a strategy for giving Grace the ability to defend herself.
As I punched the hippalectryon in its horsey face, I decided to start with basic martial arts training. Learning a stable stance and defensive techniques will help Grace stand strong against whatever comes after her.
Never did find the runaway hybrids.
“Ready,” she says, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
If she’s ready, then so am I.
“Okay,” I say, taking a calming breath, “the first thing you need to learn is how to stand properly.”
Her brow pinches together. “Standing?” She glances down at her feet and then back at me. “I think I’ve got that down pretty well.”
I’m tempted to roll my eyes. Instead, I step forward and give her shoulder a quick shove. The push throws her off-balance and she stumbles to the floor. Her fall is padded by the mat, but it still stings. Especially her pride.
“I said properly,” I say, trying not to gloat as I reach down to give her a hand up. “A defensive stance can help keep you on your feet.”
“Oh,” she says when she’s upright. She releases my hand and self-consciously dusts at her backside. “Okay. How should I stand?”