Warriors of Poseidon 04 - Atlantis Unmasked

DNA,” she called it. Her hair was a tangle across her body; she should have tied it back. Should really cut it. What kind of self-respecting rebel leader had long hair?
     
    The thought resonated like an echo in her mind, whispering secret refrains to half-buried memories. Robert. Robbie . Her brother.
     
    Grace allowed herself to remember. On this, of all days. Once a year, she allowed herself the weakness of memory. Of emotion. And pretended not to notice when salt water of her own making slid down her cheek to join the sea.
     
    “You‟re going to have to cut it,” Robbie said, grabbing playfully for the end of her long braid. “What Olympic swimmer ever has long hair? It‟s not aerodynamic,” he teased.
     
    Grace jerked her hair out of his hand. “That doesn‟t even make sense. Wouldn‟t it be aquadynamic or something? For an older brother, you sure act like you‟re eight years old sometimes,” she loftily informed him. “If—if—I make the Olympic team, I‟ll cut my hair. But for now—”
     
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    She faltered. Her mom had loved Grace‟s long hair. Loved brushing it for her and braiding it, ever since Grace had been a little girl. Right up until she‟d been too weak and sick to lift the brush.
     
    His grin faded and he pulled her into a one-armed hug, a rarity since she‟d turned fifteen and hit what he always called her defiant years. “I know, Gracie. I know. I miss Mom, too.”
     
    Before the tears burning in the back of her eyes could force their way out, Robbie‟s phone rang. He checked the screen. “Gotta go, Baby Sis. You know me, I‟m always in demand. See you tomorrow.”
     
    As he sauntered off, she almost didn‟t say it. He didn‟t deserve it, always teasing her.
    But affection won out over her temporary pout, and she called out to him before he‟d walked out of the pool house gate.
     
    “Happy birthday, Big Brother.”
     
    Those had been the last words he‟d ever heard her say. That night, the supernatural creatures everyone had always believed were only myths had shown up on television and Internet broadcasts all over the world. They were real; they‟d wanted the world to know. Persecuted minorities. Time for the world to change and recognize their rights.
     
    But Grace hadn‟t cared about the world changing back then. All she‟d cared about was that a band of female vamps, celebrating their newfound freedom to strut their fangs in public, had run across Grace‟s big brother in a bar.
     
    Robbie had been celebrating, too. Twenty-one years old that very day, time to party.
    High on a couple of beers and his first time in a bar, he‟d met the most beautiful women he‟d ever seen, according to the witnesses. They‟d enthralled him, which was probably easy enough even without vamp mind control.
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    Twenty-one. Running on all hormones and not a lick of sense. Most survived it. Robbie hadn‟t.
     
    Grace dove deep and then slowly floated back to the surface, still lost in the memories.
    She‟d given up her Olympic training and given up on life. Turned her face to the wall and lain in bed, unmoving, all day. Day after day. Never spoke a single word for a solid month, even to her aunt who‟d raised them after Mom died. Poor Aunt Bonnie had been at her wits‟ end, ready to call a shrink.
     
    Then, one month to the day later, she‟d gotten out of bed and gone to the gym. Started working out harder than she‟d ever trained for swimming, but this time with a darker purpose. A killing purpose.
     
    Found a friend of a friend who knew somebody starting up a group. A rebel group. Like-minded humans who wanted to reclaim their lives and country from the vampires and shape-shifters who were slowly and insidiously taking over the United States. Taking over the world, from what she‟d heard, but a girl had to start somewhere.
     
    Truly began to live only—finally—on the first day that, curious, she‟d picked up a bow.
    Heard the wood sing through her soul. Spent some time tracking back through her past, on the advice of a shape-shifting shaman. Found the great-grandmother her mother had refused to allow her to know; learned of her heritage. Grace, like her great-grandmother and all the females of her line, was a descendant of Diana, and it was her destiny to protect the world from evil.
     
    Diana, the huntress goddess. Skilled beyond all others