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
