“Sugar,” I whisper when nothing comes to mind. But then, as I open my eyes, I see a faint glowing light in one of the hallways—one not chosen by the others. It’s just a faint blue glow, but I figure it’s as good a sign as any.

Ignoring the dull throb in my skull—I rarely get headaches, but lately I have had almost constant pain—I start forward, keeping to the side, near the wall. If anything shows up, maybe I will see it in the dim light before it sees me in the shadows.

My hallway turns a corner, and what light there is all but disappears. It’s blacker than the abyss. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.

I tighten my grip on the flashlight Gretchen gave me. Dare I risk the glow?

Then I remember a lesson from my self-defense seminar. If I’m shining the light, I’ll blind my opponents. I will be able to see them, but they won’t see me through the beam.

I have to take that chance. Sthenno might be captive in here.

Turning the flashlight over in my palm, I take a deep breath and hold it as I push the button.

Light fills the space, which is just another hallway—another gray stretch of corridor with doors lining either side, like something from a psychiatric hospital.

I shake my head. What had I been expecting? Monsters hanging from the ceiling?

Doors are a good sign. That means prisoners might actually be held here.

I walk over to the nearest door. It’s large and metal, a battleship gray devoid of anything resembling real color. At face level there is a window.

There is no glass in the opening, just a grid of steel bars.

I hear growling from within.

“This can’t be good,” I mutter.

Then I catch myself. I never mutter. I never back down. That is how I’ve succeeded at everything in my life, and it’s how I will succeed in this world of mythology.

Being a good Morgenthal, I suck in a sharp breath, straighten my spine, and point the flashlight into the window.

The flashlight clatters to the floor as I leap back in shock. The creature inside is almost as large as the small cell—a big mass of clumping fur, sharp teeth, and drool, something like a werewolf in a horror movie.

“Definitely not Sthenno.”

My headache builds and I take a moment to rub my temples, hoping to keep the symptoms in check. I seriously wish I’d thought to bring some painkillers.

I retrieve the flashlight, quiet my shaking hand, and move on to the next cell, and the next, and every last one until the very end. Then I start back down the hall on the other side.

Each room on the hall is occupied, filled with some creature or another. Most are more animal than human and only snarl and snap when the see my light. Some are almost half human, either on the bottom or the top. They don’t look any happier to see me.

I’ve peered into every window, making sure Sthenno isn’t within, and am about to concede defeat and return to the meeting place when my light flashes over a small reflective surface back at the far end of the hall.

I sigh.

“This is the place in the movie,” I whisper, “when the audience yells for the heroine to run.”

I don’t have the luxury of choice.

Tracing my tongue over my teeth, I let my fangs drop as I make my way back down the hall. My headache grows into a persistent pulse, a throbbing pressure against my skull.

The reflecting surface, it turns out, is a tiny metal door sunk into the stone at knee height. About a foot wide and a few inches high, it’s hinged along the top so an object can be slipped inside without risk of losing fingers or an inhabitant escaping, like an in-the-door mail slot.

“Can’t turn back now,” I tell myself.

Then, my hands shaking with fear of the unknown, I squat down on the balls of my feet and reach for the metal door.

It squeaks on its hinges, like it hasn’t been used in a long time. Either the cell beyond is empty or the thing inside hasn’t been fed in ages.

I carefully push the door up and shine my light inside.

The opening is so small that at first I can’t see anything but the glow of the beam on the opposite wall. I move the flashlight to one side of the slot and maneuver myself into position to get a better view.

I swing the beam around until I see her.

Sitting in the corner, back to the wall, wrists draped over her knees, her dove gray suit marred by what looks like dirt and blood, is Sthenno. Our immortal aunt. Grace’s school counselor. The therapist who at one time banished visions of monsters from my mind.

For an instant, I let myself indulge in the fantasy of having her do it again. I don’t even know if she could, but there’s a chance. The question is . . . would I want her to? After everything that’s happened in the past few weeks—monsters and sisters and ancient prophecies—do I want to make it all go away?

The idea is tempting.

But, as any one of my friends or my smooth-talking ex can attest, I never succumb to temptation. And I never shirk a responsibility.

My light hits her eyes and she winces, holding a hand up to shield her eyes.

“Sthenno?” I ask.

“Who’s there?” She squints, trying to see through the light.

“It’s Greer,” I say. “I’m Grace’s sister. One of the triplets.”

She’s across the room and at the metal slot in a flash. And I thought Euryale was supposed to be the supernaturally fast one.

“Are you all here?” she asks. “All three of you?”

“No, Grace had to go back.” I kneel down, glad I decided to wear my least attractive jeans. I’ll be lucky if they survive all the wear and tear I’m putting them through on this expedition.