Always Bet on Medusa

“You’re going to love it,” Greer says. “Trust me.”

“The last time I trusted you, I ended up hanging from the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“That wasn’t her fault,” Grace insists.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead. “That’s debatable.”

When we got the report of a giant white worm splashing around in the Bellagio fountains, I thought a quick trip to Las Vegas would be a welcome reprieve from the cold and rainy weather we’ve been having in San Francisco. If I’d known it was going to be this hot I would have left my jacket behind.

Plus, it’s not like monster-hunting descendants of Medusa get to take many vacations. Or any. There’s always another beastie to fight.

“I just want to go home,” I say, “and wash off the putrid smell of Helmis Indikos.”

“You could always take a quick swim.” Greer gestures at the fountains below us.

As if on cue, music starts blaring and water shoots up into the air as the fountain comes to life. I saw the water show in a movie once. I always figured it was computer enhanced to look more impressive. But it’s pretty impressive in person, too.

I show Greer a gesture of my own.

“Come on,” Grace says, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “I want to see the Conservatory. I did some research when the report came in.”

Of course she did.

Grace gives me an expectant look. “They’re supposed to have a really cool Halloween display on right now.”

Greer shifts her weight to one hip and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s a posture meant to ask if I’m going to be the one to deny the sweetest of us triplets this little piece of joy. I might technically be the youngest, but Grace is definitely the baby. Greer knows too well that I find it hard to deny Grace anything.

“Fine,” I relent. “But just for a minute.”

Grace claps excitedly and starts up the sidewalk.

When Greer cocks an I-always-get-my-way eyebrow at me, I almost take back my consent. But Grace is already halfway to the entrance.

Greer turns and follows her. I reach toward her snobby little neck, venting some of my frustration by pretending to actually strangle her from behind.

But since she’s a black belt with psychic powers, she would probably thrust kick me into the fountain before I even laid a finger on her.

One of these days, she and I are going to face off. Just not today. Not when we’ve already fought off a deceptively innocent-looking worm creature. When I take on Greer, I want to do it on fresh legs.

I follow my sisters up to the fancy-looking main entrance. If not for the flashing lights, stretch limos, and women in barely-there dresses, I might think we were really at some fancy European resort. I half expect some valet or bellhop to stop me in my tracks to not-so-politely ask me and my stinky workout clothes to take ourselves elsewhere. But I make it through the doors without getting so much as a sideways glance.

Then again, this is Vegas. I guess they’ve probably already seen a one or two of everything.

“Wow!” Grace pulls to a stop so quickly that I almost crash into her.

I follow her gaze upward, to where dozens—maybe hundreds—of colorful glass blobs fill a giant, oblong section of the ceiling. It looks like some kind of rainbow jellyfish convention.

“Fiori di Como,” Greer says with an Italian accent. “It’s a Chihuly sculpture.”

Grace has an awestruck expression on her face. “There are so many colors.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, pretending not to be impressed by the beauty of the display. “Where is this conservatory we’re supposed to see?”

Greer throws me an annoyed look, but I throw one right back at her.

“Follow me,” she says, starting off through the lobby and not waiting to see if Grace and I are actually following.

I grab Grace by the hand as I walk by, dragging her with me as I try to keep up with Greer.

She gets a little ahead of us. Suddenly the crowd morphs, merges, and I can’t see her anymore. Forging ahead in the direction I last saw her, I weave a path through the crowd until suddenly we emerge in a clearing.

“Wow!” Grace exclaims again.

Wow is right. The ceiling above us gives way to an ornate glass skylight, like something out of a Victorian dollhouse.

The air around us changes. Suddenly it’s filled with a natural floral scent.

I take a step forward, forgetting that I still have Grace by the wrist. When she tugs away, I release her and stare, with awe at the display before us. It’s like a cross between the Rose Bowl Parade and an English garden. It’s hard to take it all in at once.

A pair of aisles lead into the conservatory, flanked on both sides by fields of pumpkins in sizes from teeny-tiny mini to bigger than a car. Only they’re not pumpkins. As I step closer I see that they’re actually flower-covered pumpkin sculptures. Marigolds, if my very limited flower knowledge is correct.

The more I look around, the more I see that everything is flower-covered. Giant maple tree with a friendly face in the trunk? Flowers. Big white ghosts and creepy black bats hanging from the glass ceiling? Flowers. Creepy-looking Victorian mansion at the far end of the space? Flowers, flowers, and more flowers.

It is, in a word, breathtaking.

“I told you it was worth seeing.”

Greer’s smug voice wipes the awe right off my face. I don’t care if the flowers sing and give out Halloween candy, there is no way I’m letting Greer see how impressed I am. The last thing that girl needs is a bigger ego.

With a forced sigh, I turn to face her. “Yeah, it’s great. Can we go now?”

“Look at this!” Grace exclaims.

She rushes down one of the aisles, spinning around to face us when an arc of water shoots over her head.

“How cool is this?” She lifts a hand, catching the stream and sending a spray of water all over herself and the aisle full of tourists.

“See,” Gree says with a smirk. “Another chance for you to bathe.”

I open my mouth, ready to toss her another snide comment, when a distinctly non-floral smell hits my nostrils.

From the look on Greer’s face, I know she smells it too.

A beastie. Right here in the conservatory.

Great. A huntress’s work is never done.

“What is it?” Greer asks.

“More importantly,” I counter, “where is it?”

“Um, guys…” Grace points above our heads.

With a growing sense of dread, I look up.

There, sitting on the head of a creepy bat made of flowers, is a massive black bird. Like a car-sized raven, but with glossy green eyes and talons as long and sharp as kitchen knives.

“Is that—”

“Yes,” I answer before Grace has finished her question. “It’s a stymphalian bird.”

That girl has a near photographic memory, which is clearly not genetic because despite us being identical triplets it’s a miracle I can even remember the name of the thing.

“Let me guess?” Greer asks with disgust. “Man-eating?”

“The stinky ones always are,” I reply.

Its expansive wings stretch out far beyond the bat, blocking out much of the sun coming in from the skylight. To the ordinary humans enjoying the floral display it must seem like a random cloud has drifted into the sky. Only my sisters and I know the truth. A bloodthirsty mythological bird is on the hunt. And if we don’t send it back to Abyssos, it’s prison realm home, one of these tourists is going to become lunch.

“How do we get up there?” Greer asks.

Grace shakes her head. “Or get it come down here?”

I don’t like either option. I’m not a huge fan of heights, but I’m not exactly eager to bring the man-eating bird down amongst the men.

The beast chooses that exact moment to let out an eardrum-shattering screech. Some of the tourists wince and press their hands to their ears, even though they have no idea why.

There’s no time to waste.

“Grace,” I bark, shifting into leader mode, “get the humans out of here.

“How?

“I don’t care.” I scan the area, looking for some kind of projectile. “Just use your hypno eyes. Tell them there’s a gas leak.”

“No,” Greer says. “Tell them there are free buffet tickets at the concierge desk. There will be a stampede.”

Grace nods and then starts going through the crowd one by one, making eye contact and convincing them to leave the area. That has to be one of the most useful powers inherited from our ancient ancestor. Though the myths described it as turning people to stone, the real power is more like hypnosis. And in situations like this, it definitely saves lives.

“We need to work fast,” Greer says, moving to my side. “It won’t take long for security to notice something strange is happening.”

“First, we need to get it down here.”

We both search the area, looking for something we can use. As Greer walks down the aisle, the arc of water sprays over her head.

“Wait,” Grace calls out from across the conservatory. “I remember reading something about stymphalian birds being hydrophobic.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I shout back.

She smiles at my ignorance. “It means they’re afraid of water!”

Of course. A lot of the airborne beasties steer clear of the wet.

Thirty seconds later, Greer and I have yanked a shield from one of the floodlights and positioned it in front of the nozzle. The beastie is still sitting up there on the bat, a confused expression on its face as all the possible snacks walk out of the conservatory under Grace’s power.

“Ready?” I ask Greer.

She stands up, activating the motion sensor and setting the water in motion. The stream hits the light shield and reflects up higher into the air. Right into the face of the stymphalian bird.

The reaction is immediate.

It takes off, sending the floral bat swinging.

“Go!” I shout to Greer. “Get behind it. I’ll distract it from the front.”

Which sounded great in theory. But as the giant bird soars down toward me, I realize too late that it doesn’t have the control to change course. I dive out the way a split-second before it would have speared me with its razor-sharp beak, instead sending myself headfirst into the marigold-covered pumpkins.

I don’t have time to stop and smell the anything, though, because the instant the stymphalian bird hit the ground, it decides that if no humans are available, one teenage descendant of Medusa would make a mighty fine replacement meal. As Grace comes at the bird from one side and Greer from the other, I jump to my feet and take off through the pumpkins.

“I’ll circle around!” I shout as I emerge onto the other aisle. “We can trap it in the back, behind the house.”

I sprint to keep ahead of the creature,  barely making it behind the makeshift maple tree before it lunges at me. In my spur-of-the-moment plan, I hadn’t counted on the possibility that maybe I couldn’t actually get behind the creepy Victorian house. But as I race around the back, I find myself at a dead end.

Spinning around, I know I’m trapped. The bird is in front of me, the house behind me, the back wall of the conservatory on one side, and an ornate topiary in the other.

I can see the girls approaching the bird from behind. Luckily—if anything about my current situation could be called lucky—the bird’s attention is all on me.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” I shout to Greer as I wave my arms to keep the bird focused on me.

They’re moving into position and I want to give them the best possible chance to catch it unaware. Which means making sure the beastie keeps eyes on me. I knew my hobby of taunted the monsters before sending them back would come in handy.

“I wanted to go home, take a long hot shower,” I continue, louder than necessary, “and then curl up with a good book.”

That last one almost blows the whole plan. Grace snorts at the idea that I would ever spend an evening reading. That’s more her style.

Luckily, the bird brain is too intent on me to notice the noise.

“But noooo,” I taunt as Greer moves in. “We just had to come inside to smell the flowers.”

Grace tenses for the attack.

“Maybe you’ll listen to me next time.”

It all happens in a blur. The bird lunges for me. I sidekick the thing right in the beak. Grace grabs it by the leg as Greer launches herself onto the shiny feathered back.

I dive for the other leg, thinking I’ll help Grace hold the bird on the ground. But I’m forgetting one important fact: birds can fly. And mythological birds can apparently take off even with the weight of three teen girls holding them down.

Giant wings flap and carry us higher into the air.

“Any day now!” I shout at Greer.

“I’m trying,” she snaps back. “These feathers are too thick to bite through.”

Grace squeals. “It’s heading for the skylight.”

If it breaks through into the open air, our fall back to earth is going to hurt when Greer finally sinks fangs into flesh and the thing disappears back to Abyssos.

“Just find somewhere and—”

“Found it!” Greer exclaims.

A split second later, the bird is gone and I’m freefalling back to earth.

“Ooof!” I exclaim as I hid the ground. And then again when Grace falls on top of me.

I manage to roll us both out of the way before Greer hits. Not that she appreciates landing on the hard tile instead of our soft bodies. Serves her right. She’s the reason we’re here.

We lie there for several long seconds, staring at the floral bats and ghosts swinging from the glass ceiling.

When my breathing finally returns to normal, I say, “Well, that was the opposite of fun.”

Greer makes a gagging sound.

“I really wouldn’t have thought it could get off the ground with us weighing him down,” Grace says. “That defies the laws of physics.”

“Our entire existence defies the laws of physics,” I reply.

She pushes up to a sitting position. “True.”

“Can we go home now?” I sit up next to her.

“Yes, just let me—”

“No,” Greer says, climbing to her feet. “There is an exquisite patisserie just around the corner.”

I stare at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I need something yummy to erase the taste of nasty bird monster from my memory.” She dusts off her pants. “A triple chocolate cheesecake is the perfect cure.”

Grace jumps to her feet. “I never say no to chocolate. Or cheesecake.”

“This is why I liked working alone.” I raise my arms and let my sisters pull me to my feet. “If another beastie shows up, you two are on your own.”

“Deal!” Grace says with more enthusiasm than I think I’ve felt in my entire life.

We start out of the conservatory just as the first wave of tourists, disappointed to learn that there were no buffet freebies today, is returning. And I catch the first hint of a smell that doesn’t belong. Hopefully, whatever monster is lurking around the corner can wait until after chocolate. Because despite what I told my sisters, I never say no to chocolate either. Or cheesecake.