Now that I’ve seen my opponent, I drop my compact back in my purse and speed up my steps. I turn the corner at the intersection and break into a run, hoping to give myself a little distance between me and my pursuer. I’m not running away this time, though, I’m getting into position.

I have only seconds to decide on the best concealed location. There are raised stoops and clusters of garbage cans to the right, cars and trees and a mailbox to the left.

I decide on the big, boxy SUV with tires massive enough to hide a small hybrid hatchback. I’m just crouching behind the front bumper when I sense the creature shuffling around the corner. I slow my breathing and try to reach out with my mind, to see where the creature is and what it’s planning. I have to learn how to harness my power eventually, and now seems like as good a time as any.

I sense … nothing. Sugar.

I peer out around the tire and see the creature looking around, its soggy shoulders slumped. It looks disappointed.

It thinks it’s lost me. Clearly it’s too stupid to realize I might be hiding. Which might be a good reaction if I were trying to get away, but I have a duty to send it home. I’m ready to fight.

Against all my instincts and better judgment, I step out of my hiding place and say, “Looking for something?”

I can tell I’ve startled it. Good.

It tilts its head to the side, confused by my actions I suppose, and grunts. Lurching forward, it holds its arms out straight like Frankenstein’s monster. Wow, this is going to be easier than I thought.

I stash my gym bag in front of the tire. I’m braced, ready to deliver a strong kick to send it flying, followed by a hand chop to bring it to the ground. Then I get the weirdest sensation. It’s like slivers of ice all down my back.

The creature freezes, staring blankly at a spot just over my right shoulder. I know I probably shouldn’t—turning away from the vile creature in front of me is perhaps not the smartest idea ever—but I can’t ignore the icicles on my spine.

Walking down the sidewalk, about half a block away, is a woman. A very ordinary, nothing-monsterlike-about-her woman. She’s maybe middle-aged, forty-something, with her black hair swirled into a loose bun. Despite her diminutive size, she’s covering the sidewalk between us quickly.

The creature grunts. I turn back, not sure why the woman’s presence gave me such shivers, and find the thing lurching away.

Now I’m not sure what to do. Go after the creature, in front of the woman, and risk having to answer questions about a fight and a disappearing opponent? Or maintain the appearance of normalcy and let it get away?

With a sigh, I lower my hands and watch as the monster waddles down the street. Err on the side of normalcy, I always say.

“You’re not going to let it get away, are you?” the woman asks.

What did she say? No, I must have misunderstood.

“Don’t play coy with me, Greer Morgenthal,” she says. “I know exactly who and what you are.”

“I—What?”

“You’re a huntress.” The woman points at the retreating creature. “Hunt.”

I regain my ability to speak.

“Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?”

Honestly, I have no clue. But I make the only guess I can. “Are you one of the Gorgons? Are you Euryale?”

The woman’s laughter turns my stomach. It’s dark and nasty and curls around my neck like tentacles. I back away.

“No,” she barks, her voice echoing over me, “I am not a Gorgon.”

A crash sounds behind me and I turn away from the woman. The escaping creature ran headfirst into a group of trashcans and is now trying to climb over and out of the piles of garbage.

“Oh for the love of darkness,” the woman says.

I watch, transfixed, as she storms past me, walks up to the creature, grabs it by the neck, and hauls it to its feet. Hurrying after her—because I feel that I have to do something—I’m not sure if I should stop her or help her.

The woman speaks to the monster in a language I don’t understand.

“Tolmáte apsi foún tis parangelíes mou?”

Her tone, though, tells me everything I need to know. She is not happy with this sad creature. At all.

The seaweed beast lets out a nauseating scream.

I don’t know why, but instinct tells me to protect the creature from the woman.

“Stop it,” I cry. “You’re scaring him.”

The woman twists to face me, to glare at me, and snarls. “Scaring him? Of course I’m—” She stops in midsentence, turns her head slightly, and smiles. “Ah. You have the dead queen’s power.”

I shake my head, not understanding her confusing statement.

“The queen Medusa, with her second sight,” she says. “You are the seer.”

“Who are you?” I repeat. “How do you know this?”

She smiles, still holding the creature by the throat. “I know more than you can possibly imagine. I know more than anyone else in this game.”

“This isn’t a game,” I assert, stepping forward. I don’t know where I find the sudden courage, but I refuse to let her bully me. “There are lives at stake. Now tell me who you are.”

In an instant, she flings the creature toward me, and while I’m reeling backward—trying to keep from collapsing under its weight—there is a bright flash of light. When I regain my footing, keeping the creature at arm’s length, I start to give her a piece of my mind.