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probably some of Mom’s “works of art” were really Aunt Stheno’s petrified people. I mean, she used to do it, too, right?
    Or maybe—maybe she still did?
    â€œStop,” I whispered to myself, feeling like I couldn’t take much more.
    Mom continued as if she hadn’t heard. “The Eumenides sisters. Nemesis is a member of the American Academy of Poetry.” Turning to me again, she smiled at the winged woman who had landed first, and I winced again at the sight of those big, scaly bird feet with thick gray claws.
    She must have seen me looking, because she said, “It’s amazing what you can hide under a caftan.” Her voice was ancient, as dry and warm as bones bleaching in the desert sun.
    I blushed so hotly that my snakes squirmed. “Um, excuse me,” I whispered.
    â€œNot at all, little daughter. Take a good look, and be grateful for your own pretty feet.”
    â€œAnd be grateful you don’t have wings,” added the Lamia with the dragon tail and, yes, bat wings.
    Several voices agreed that wings were the worst. “Almost impossible to hide them,” said the other Lamia, the anaconda look-alike.
    â€œAnd feathers ,” said the birdwoman with the spiky white ruff. “What a curse, how they itch.”
    â€œYour snakes will itch only when they shed their skins,” Aunt Stheno told me kindly.
    â€œAt least none of her snakes are poisonous,” said Mom.
    â€œGood!” said Nemesis. “Little Medusa, be grateful—”
    I felt grateful for nothing and I could not stand to hear another word of this. I yelled, “Stop it!”
    They fell silent, except for Mom, who said, “Dusie, we’re just trying to help.”
    â€œI don’t want help to be a freak!”
    Freak! Freak! Freak , echoed away between the rocks before a honeyed growl said, “What do you want, daughter of Gorgon?”
    I turned to the Sphinx with Mom’s warning fingers nudging my back. No need. I couldn’t speak.
    The Sphinx said, “You would rather be such a freak as Aphrodite, perhaps? Or Athena?”
    My mouth opened twice before I managed to whisper, “They’re still around?”
    â€œOf course. They’re immortals, too.”
    â€œBut—but where?”
    â€œHollywood.”
    In a voice like asphalt Nemesis said, “No substantial poetry comes out of them.”
    I felt the glittering gaze of the Sphinx on me, even though I couldn’t bear to look directly at her as she said, “They are freaks, too. They are freaks of beauty, that is all. And I am here to tell you, Medusa, there is more to becoming a woman than being pretty. I ask you again: what is it that you want?”
    By the chill in my spine and the coiled stillness of my snakes I knew I had to answer. “I—I want Troy to be okay again.”
    They all knew what had happened. I’d heard Mom on the phone, filling them in when she’d called the meeting.
    â€œYou are concerned with the fate of the boy?” The Sphinx sounded sublimely indifferent. “Why?”
    â€œBecause I don’t want to hurt people!”
    â€œShe is half-human,” Mom said from behind my back. “She has compunction. She feels she has done something wrong.”
    â€œNonsense,” said the Sphinx in the same tone, ancient and stony. “Conscience has nothing to do with us, little Medusa. Forget the boy. He can do you no harm.”
    â€œBut what if …”
    â€œNo ifs. Remember, I am the Sphinx, and I know. He will lie there without speaking until he grows old and dies.”
    I felt a chill like a desert night falling.
    â€œDismiss him from your mind, young Medusa,” the Sphinx went on. “I asked you what you want . Before any of this happened, what was the deepest wish of your heart?”
    And I thought: Troy.…
    Forget soft kisses. Forget all those dreams of true love .
    Tears stung my eyes as I