Tera Childs - Sweet Venom

Dedication

For Shane, mentor . . . inspiration . . . friend

Gretchen

Hydras have a distinctive odor. Its somewhere between the acid tang of burning hair and a boat full of rotting fish. You can smell them from miles away.

Well, you cant. But I can.

Some beasties smell mildly unpleasant; others could peel paint. Hydras definitely fall into the latter category.

As I steer my carMoira, named for the fickle fates as a constant reminder to take charge of mineinto a spot across from a dilapidated seafood shack, the stench is practically overwhelming. Moiras upholstery is going to stink for a week. I pencil in taking her to the car wash on my mental to-do list, right after replacing my favorite cargo pants, which got shredded in my last fight, but before polishing the bladed weapons in the armory.

I twist the key out of the ignition and do a quick gear check: Kevlar wrist cuffs in place, smoke bombs in left cargo pocket, zip ties in the right, and my handy-dandy, military-grade, metal detectordefying, twin APS daggers snug in their sheaths and hidden inside my steel-toe Doc Martens. Nothing like a well-stocked pair of black cargoes to make me feel girly.

The hydra shouldnt be much troublebalancing nine heads on a massive serpent body throws off their center of gravity so theyre not exactly gracefulbut it never hurts to be prepared.

Even if I ever get caught off guard, Ive got a backup monster-fighting kit stowed under Moiras drivers seat and another in my backpack.

Though the gear makes things easier, all I really need to take a beastie out is the pair of retracted canines that will fang down at the first sign of trouble. Theyre my built-in secret weapon. A defense legacy passed down from my ancient ancestor.

Seriously, I mutter as I climb out onto the sidewalk. Cant they give it a rest for a while? Maybe take an extended vacation somewhere cold and icy.

This is the fourth time in the last week that the aroma of dark and nasty has pulled me out for the hunt.

One more visitor from the abyss this week and Ill leave the gear at home and work out my annoyance with my fists. Hand-to-hand combat wont send a monster back to its prison-realm home, but itll make me feel a hell of a lot better. Who says keeping the human world monster-free cant be good therapy at the same time?

I palm the remote for Moiras keyless entry and am about to lock her sleek, black doors when I realize Ive forgotten one element of my monster-fighting gear that is critical, at least when Im hunting in human-heavy territory.

Slick, Gretchen, I tell myself. Real slick.

Youd think after four yearsa quarter of my lifethis would be second nature.

Moments later, Im crossing the street, my sporty mirrored sunglasses shielding my eyes. Not from the sun, of course. Its not like hydras yearn for daylight. No, theyd rather drag me out in the middle of the night, when dives like this are the only thing open.

Darn inconsiderate when school starts tomorrow.

I walk up to the weathered wooden shack, peer through the dirt- and grime-crusted window, and scan the late-night diners. All distinctly human.

If my eyes werent practically tearing at the stench, Id think the hydra wasnt here.

Then I catch sight of the narrow staircase off to the right of the bar, leading to an upstairs dining room. Well, at least that will make cornering it easier.

As I push open the door, the combination of putrid eau de hydra and decades of fried-fish-filet residue is enough to make me nearly lose my heat-and-eat lasagna all over the sandy floor.

But I dont have time for nausea. Theres a bloodthirsty monster prowling for a meal, and if I dont stop it, no one will. Im the only one who can see it.

Anyone see a slithering nine-headed serpent pass this way?

I snicker. I would love to see the reaction if I actually asked the question loud enough for anyone to hear.

Then again, this is San Francisco. They might not react at all.

Bypassing the drowsy bartender, I head for the staircase. Monsters generally prefer dark corners and back alleysand, apparently, second-floor dining areaswhich makes them occasionally harder to find but easier to attack. Theyll take any less-populated area thats available, though, which is fine by me. The fewer witnesses to our fights, the better. The safer. The human world doesnt need to know monsters walk among them. As long as I do my job right, they never will.

Im up the stairs, three at a time, in five seconds flat. The instant I step out onto the second floor, I see it, cozying up to a trampy redhead doing her best impersonation of a low-class prostitute. Monsters have the worst taste in women.

I scan the room, checking for potential threats and exits. Besides the stairs behind me, theres an emergency exit at the back. If I position myself behind the redhead, Ill be able to intercept on either path.

As for threats, theres a pair of mounted swordfish displayed on the wall and some framed pictures of deep-sea fishing boats that might hurt if used as projectiles. Nothing really to worry about.

Thankfully, the dining area is sparsely populated. Other than the hydra and its prey there is only a trio of drunken businessmen at the far end. Judging from their raucous volume and the disheveled state of their ties, odds are theyre probably pretty much oblivious to anything but the next round. If I do this right, they wont notice a thing.

Straightening my back, I march over to the unlucky couple and tap the girl on the shoulder, making sure Im centered between the stairs and the door.

Can I help you? Red snaps in a very nonsolicitous tone.

Yes, I reply. You can leave.

Excuse me? She crosses her arms defiantly under her chest, like Im going to be frightened away by her aggressive boobage. I dont know who you think you are, but

With a quick flick of my wrist, I pop my sunglasses up and lean down to look her directly in the eye.

You were just leaving, I say, keeping my tone even.

Her eyes widen as her brain disengages. I was just leaving, she repeats.

Then, as if pulled by some unseen rope, she stands and crosses to the stairs, disappearing out of view. When the hypno wears off, shell wonder how she got wherever shes going. But serpent-beastie will be long gone by then.

With the girl safely out of the way, I evaluate the now standing hydra. From the necks down it looks like an overgrown lizard whos been hitting the gym. Too muscular for my tasteI dont go for the bulging reptilian typebut I can see how some girls might want to hit that. From the necks up . . . well, whoever said two heads are better than one never met a hydra.

Too bad humans cant see its real form.

All monsters can affect a sort of false appearancein faerie circles known as a glamourso their hideous, grotesque features are hidden from unsuspecting human eyes. Unfortunately for the monsters, Im not an unsuspecting human. Im a descendant of Medusa, and I suspect a whole heck of a lot. My eyes see their true nature, and this beasties true nature is a slimy, scaly, nine-headed snake. Not exactly the perfect specimen Red thought she was getting.

The hydras eyes lock on mine before I drop my sunglasses back into place. Too bad my freaky hypnosis power only works on humans. Then again, that would make my job way too easy. Wheres the fun in that?

Huntress, it snarls.

I prefer Gretchen. But, you know. I flash it a bored look. Whatever.

The freak show moves awkwardly, its undulating tail taking out a couple of chairs.

I check over my shoulder to make sure the drunken trio hasnt noticedthey haventthen turn back to face my foe. It might look big and scary, but this isnt my first hydra rodeo. I know just how to take it down.