I can’t really process all of this right now. The idea that so many are counting on our success—not just the ignorant humans who know nothing of the monsters that threaten their safety every day, not just my sisters and their families and our ancestral aunts, but countless creatures in here who only want a chance at a life in the light. It’s a little overwhelming.

In the end, the best I can say is “I know.”

She smiles, and I get the feeling she knows exactly what I’m thinking. As she pats me on the knee, her metal hand strangely cold, she says, “But you wish to know about your friend, no?”

“Yes.” I nod, trying to bring my focus back to the task at hand. “He was brought in maybe a couple of days ago, I’m not really sure, since there’s no sun in here.”

“Time does not pass the same in this realm anyway,” she replies with a smile. “I did hear tale of a Panogian boy brought into our world. He would have been taken to the Den. I cannot promise that he is still—”

“How do I get there?” I ask, pushing to my feet. I’ve delayed too long already.

“You cannot go alone,” she says. “It is too dangerous. Even for one with your … weapons.”

“Weapons?” I echo. “I don’t have anything special. Just a pair of daggers.”

“Those are not the weapons of which I speak.” She taps a finger against her mouth, metal clinking on metal.

I trace my tongue over my teeth. My fangs—which are suddenly a deadly weapon—are safely retracted at the moment. Guilt over what those fangs are capable of, over what they have done, washes over me.

“I had no idea,” I insist. I still can’t believe I actually murdered a monster. “I never meant to kill—”

“Tsk, tsk. It is as it is meant to be.”

“Is it?”

I know what she is saying. If my venom weren’t meant to kill monsters here in the abyss, it wouldn’t. That doesn’t make the realization any easier to accept.

She stands, the glow of the fire shining off her side in rainbow streaks. “We shall escort you as close as the line. From there, your fate will be in your own hands.”

She leaves me alone with my thoughts.

As she walks away toward a group of curious creatures—both curious looking and looking curiously at me—I ball my hands into fists in preparation for whatever I have to do. My fate—and Nick’s—in my hands. Just how I like it.

CHAPTER 21

GREER

The solution comes to me in Contemporary Civilization. My final class of the week and we’re talking about Boccaccio’s Decameron—not exactly the most thrilling book ever written, but I usually enjoy a lively discussion about what makes a perfect form of government.

Today, however, I’m distracted. I’m doodling—something I never do—and the pattern of hypnotic swirls that appears on my sheet of notebook paper kind of draws me in. Calls to me. As I stare, the rest of the room gradually fades away, and the swirls start spinning. Around and around, until I think I might get nauseous from the motion.

Then, suddenly, the swirling stops. My vision blurs for a moment and, in a flash of light, an image appears. Crystal clear, like the object is right here in front of me where, moments ago, there were only doodles on paper.

The pendant.

Hanging before my eyes, turning gently in a counterclockwise direction, is the oracle’s pendant. The pendant of Apollo.

The one Nick said I shouldn’t touch.

But everything about this image in front of me begs me to touch the pendant. It’s like a craving. I need to touch the pendant more than I need chocolate, deep tissue massage, and another pair of Louboutins. That’s need.

Maybe Nick was wrong. Maybe I’m supposed to touch it. Or, even if I’m not, maybe it’s the clue the oracle left. The note is a false clue, or a clue to something else.

The pendant is the key.

When I reach for it, the image dissolves like fog in the afternoon sun.

My teacher is standing over me, concern creasing his brow.

“Miss Morgenthal,” he says, “are you unwell?”

“What?” I feel a little disoriented, like an alien ship has dropped me off in the classroom. Then I remember where I am, where I’m supposed to be. “Oh, sorry.” But right now I need to be somewhere else. I press a hand to my head. “I think I have a migraine coming on.”

He nods—he’s always been very caring and understanding (or maybe respectful of the family name)—and says, “Why don’t you go ahead and go? We’re only five minutes from the bell. You can beat the rush.”

I nod gratefully.

I quickly gather up my things and try to maintain a pained look as I rush out of the classroom. As soon as I hit the hallway, I break into a run. I know my heels echo down the long corridor, but I don’t care. I need to get to Grace immediately.

She has the pendant. She has the key to getting Gretchen back. She’s had it all along—we just didn’t know it yet. Now that we do, I feel a sense of urgency. We need to get Gretchen now. Today. Before something awful happens to her.

“Miss Greer?”

I’m almost out the front door when I hear my name being called. I turn and see Harold—the spider-monster custodian—walking toward me. I take a deep breath, focusing my vision on the wall behind him so I don’t have to watch his eight legs tap-tap-tap across the floor.

“Yes, Harold?” I say with a cheery smile.