Finally I shrug.
This will be on my terms, though.
He must understand, because he falls back into step next to me as I continue toward Moira. When we get within range, I pop her trunk. I fling my backpack inside and slam it shut.
Nick hurries to the passenger door, as if he’s afraid I’ll change my mind and take off without him. Maybe he’s right. But getting into the car doesn’t guarantee him the chance to say what he has to say. If I want him out I could have him rolling across the street in less than two seconds. One, if the car is moving fast enough.
My curiosity wins out, and I wait for him to buckle in before putting Moira in gear and pulling into traffic. The seatbelt gives him at least another two seconds in the car.
I have more than half an hour before I’m supposed to meet Sthenno and my sisters at the coffee shop, so I decide to take the scenic route. In general, I try to avoid the touristy parts of town. I get drawn to them often enough on monster hunts. The sightseeing crowds make easy pickings for beastiekind. What’s one missing tourist in a sea of hundreds? But there is one popular spot that I return to again and again.
Nick is silent as I make my way down Columbus and turn left onto Lombard, well below the crookedest-street-in-the-world section—talk about a tactical nightmare. I follow the road around a sharp curve and wind my way up Telegraph Hill. In the summer it’s pure madness, full of visitors from across the country and around the world. But on this chilly fall day, the road is practically empty. I pull into a parking spot at the top, facing out over the bay.
I’m not sure why this is my Zen spot. Maybe it’s the sweeping views of the water and the city. Maybe it’s the feeling of being so far above it all. Maybe it’s Pioneer Park, a pretty little green space that rarely sees visitors. For whatever reason, when I need to get away, to think about things, this is where I come.
Which in no way explains why I’ve brought Nick here.
“For someone who has something to say,” I snap, “you’re being awfully silent.”
I feel him watching me. “I’m waiting until you’re ready to listen.”
“I never promised to listen. Only that you could come along for the ride.”
He shifts in the seat—awkwardly because of the restricting seatbelt—and tries to face me. I look away. I don’t want to see him, to be influenced by his pretty face, his expression, or any outward appearances of sincerity. I learned a long time ago it’s easier for people to put on a false facade than to fake it in their voice.
Our view of the bay below is filtered by a light fog. Not so thick that I can’t see the other side, but enough to make everything unclear. Which is exactly how I feel right now. Unclear.
“I know you’re upset with me,” he finally begins.
That’s a ridiculously massive understatement. I snort derisively in response.
“I totally deserve that,” he continues anyway. “I can’t change what’s already happened, but you have to know one thing.”
When he doesn’t explain, curiosity draws my gaze away from the hazy view of Alcatraz. His dark eyes are steady and earnest. Darn it.
“I am on your side,” he says, deadly serious, like this is the most important thing he has ever said. “Whatever happens, I want to help you fulfill your destiny.”
“Destiny?” I snap back. “What destiny? I didn’t even know I was on a side other than the monster-hunting one.”
“Things are more complicated than that,” he says. “When the door was sealed, it was intended that one day—when the Key Generation came of age”—he nods at me, indicating he knows that means me and my sisters—“the seal would be broken so man and monster could once more share the world, as it was meant to be.”
“Oh yeah, monsters freely roaming the streets. That’s a total utopia.”
“Of course it’s not,” he replies. “Not without regulation. Not without guardians in place.”
I shake my head. I don’t understand any of this. All this time my sole mission has been to send monsters home. Away. And now my destiny’s supposed to be letting them out? That can’t be right.
“Gretchen, I want you to know that, no matter what—” He reaches out, like he wants to rest his hand on mine, but then drops it onto the gearshift between us. “You can trust me.”
It’s practically a whisper, but I hear it like he used a megaphone. The effect echoes through me and I find myself wanting to trust him. Wanting to believe in him more than anyone else.
What has he done to earn my trust? He’s been lying to me since the beginning—well, if not lying, exactly, then at least keeping the truth buried. He’s an unknown quantity, a new addition in my life with no proof of who he is or where he came from. And the one person whose answer I trust is being held prisoner beyond my reach.
Yet something in me wants to believe him. I can’t explain it, but it’s like a craving. Unfounded and unrelenting.
Maybe if he answers some questions, I’ll know whether to listen to the part of me that is softening.
I’ll start with an easy one. “Where are you from?” I ask.
His eyes shutter before he answers. “I was born in Greece.”
I lift my brows at the incomplete answer. If he’s going to ask me to trust him, then he has to trust me too. He has to tell me everything.
He sighs, as if accepting that he has to tell me the whole truth. “I was raised on Mount Olympus.”