Chapter 13
It took me a couple of seconds to get my breath back enough to answer him.
“Sure,” I wheezed, trying to keep the library from spinning around and around. “I’m fine for a girl who just got flipped over a Spartan’s shoulder and slammed to the floor.”
Logan winced, leaned down, and helped me sit up. “Sorry about that,” he said, a sheepish look on his face. “I saw you out of the corner of my eye, and, well, instinct took over. Especially after what happened yesterday.”
Yeah, that was the thing about Spartans—they all had that killer instinct. It was a wonder Logan hadn’t taken the gryphon book I’d been holding and stabbed me with one of the pointed edges. The Spartan could totally do freaky stuff like that, thanks to his ability to pick up any object and immediately know how to kill someone with it. Seriously. Logan was the kind of guy who could skewer you with a paper clip. That’s what made him such a great fighter.
When I felt steady enough, Logan grabbed my arm and helped me onto my feet. The Spartan put his hands on my waist, and I felt the scorching heat of his fingers all the way through my gray hoodie and T-shirt. Suddenly, I felt dizzy once more, but for another reason entirely than getting thrown onto the floor and the air knocked out of my lungs.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his eyes bright with concern.
I smiled. “I’m feeling better all the time, Spartan, especially since you’ve got your arms around me.”
A grin crept across Logan’s face, and he pulled me a little closer, staring down into my face. As much as I wanted to just forget the last few minutes, I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the creepy whispers. They’d disappeared the second I’d attacked Logan. My head still throbbed, but the invisible fingers that had seemed to be drilling into my skull had vanished.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?” he asked in a husky voice, staring at my lips.
“When you first came into the library, before you saw me, did you hear any ... whispers or anything like that? A voice, maybe?”
The Spartan shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything until you started sneaking up on me. You shouldn’t wear sneakers, you know. They always seem to squeak no matter how quiet you’re trying to be. But why are you asking about voices?”
I bit my lip. I didn’t want to admit to the Spartan that I’d thought I’d heard voices or whatever those weird whispers had been. I didn’t want him to think I was losing my mind, even if it seemed that way to me. Still, I couldn’t help feeling that someone else had been in the library—someone who’d known exactly what Preston had said to me at the ski resort. But how was that even possible? Besides me, Logan had been the only other person there, and I knew the Spartan wouldn’t try to scare me like that.
“Are you okay, Gypsy girl?” Logan asked. “You look sort of distracted.”
I pushed all thoughts of the creepy whispers away and focused on Logan. “I’m fine. I just thought I heard someone moving around in the library. That’s why I, uh, attacked you. Or tried to, anyway.”
Logan grinned at me again. “Well, no harm done, right?”
“Right.”
“So,” he said. “Would this be a good time to talk about ... us?”
I blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “What?”
For a second, he looked uncomfortable. “You know,
us
. As in you and me, and what’s going on between us.”
Confused, I just kept staring at him.
He sighed. “Girls always seem to want to talk about stuff like that. All the time. So I thought I’d bring it up first. For a change.” He muttered the last few words under his breath.
Okay, so this wasn’t exactly the starry, romantic talk I’d been hoping for, but Logan had said the word
us
. That would have given me a little bit of hope except for one thing—the fact that Logan had a secret he was keeping from me. One that he thought would make me stop caring about him. One that was going to come out sooner or later, once we started touching.
If we started touching.
I drew in a breath. “I’d love for there to be an
us
. I want that more than anything. I mean, it’s kind of obvious how I feel about you. How I’ve felt about you for a while now. I’m crazy about you, Spartan. Even when you were with Savannah, I was still crazy about you, and my feelings haven’t changed any over the holidays.”
If anything, they’d only gotten stronger, but I didn’t tell him that.
Logan frowned. “I’m sensing a
but
in there.”
I drew in another breath. “
But
it’s not that simple. You know how I feel about you, and I think I know how you feel about me.
But
we both know you’re keeping something from me. Your big secret, remember?”
Logan’s features tightened, and his face grew guarded. “What about it?”
“I’m going to find out your secret, Logan. Not because I want to,” I added in a hasty voice, noticing the anger starting to cloud his face. “But because of my magic, because of my Gypsy gift. The second I touch you for any length of time, my psychometry’s going to kick in, and I’ll know everything there is to know about you—whether you want me to or not.”
“But can’t you just ... turn it off or something?” Logan asked, the frustration making his voice harsh. “At least while we’re together?”
I shook my head. “I can’t, and believe me, I’ve tried dozens of times over the years. But my magic is a part of me. It’s what makes me a Gypsy, just like your killer instinct makes you a Spartan. I wouldn’t be
me
without my magic.”
And now, it was time for the most difficult part, the thing I’d been dreading telling him for weeks now. “I’ve seen part of it already. Part of your secret.”
Logan dropped his hands from around my waist and stepped back. A panicked light flared in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“When we kissed in the construction site at the ski resort, when I kissed you so I could tap into your fighting skills and defeat Preston, I saw more than just you battling other kids,” I said in a low voice. “I saw you as a little boy—standing over two bodies. A woman and a girl. They looked like you, and there—there was blood all over them.”
“You saw that?” he whispered.
I nodded. “Bits and pieces of it. First, I saw you in a closet, clutching a sword. You were so scared of what was going on outside the door, of all the shadows and screams you heard. Then, the memory shifted, and you were standing over the two bodies ... crying. That was all I saw before the kiss ended.”
Logan turned away from me. The Spartan ran his hands down over his face, like he could scrub the memory out of his own mind with the motion. After a second, he snapped back around and stabbed his finger at me.
“You had no right to do that. You had no right to go snooping through my head like that. No right at all, Gwen.”
Uh-oh. The Spartan only called me
Gwen
when he was serious about something—or seriously pissed off like he was now.
“I didn’t do it on purpose. It just ... happened.”
The hard, angry look on Logan’s face told me that he didn’t believe me—that he didn’t believe the memories had just come to me and that I hadn’t gone looking for them on purpose. Yeah, sometimes I used my Gypsy gift to figure out what other people were hiding, what their secrets were, but I would never do that to Logan.
Never
.
“Will you at least tell me who they were?” I asked in a soft voice, trying to reach out to him. “The woman and the girl?”
Logan let out a bitter laugh. “I suppose I don’t have a choice now, do I? Because I know you, Gypsy girl. Once you get your teeth into something, you never let go. Once you find out someone’s keeping something from you, you’re even more determined to figure out what it is, what their precious secret is.”
I flinched at his words.
“You want to know what happened back then, Gypsy girl?” Logan snarled. “I’ll tell you.”
The Spartan’s hands tightened into fists, and his whole body trembled with rage as he glared at me, his face as hard and fierce as I’d ever seen it.
“Reapers came to our house one afternoon, and they killed everyone they could get their hands on, just like they did at the coliseum. Except, in this case, that everyone was my mom, Larenta, and my older sister, Larissa. The Reapers came in, and they butchered them like cattle, even though neither one of them even had a weapon.”
I’d thought it must have been something like that, but my heart still twisted at his pain, at the raw, naked grief shimmering in his eyes. “Oh, Logan. I’m so, so sorry. I know what it’s like to lose your mom. To have her taken away from you. I’m sure that you did everything you could to help your mom and your sister. I’m sure you did everything you could to try and save them—”
He let out another harsh laugh, cutting off my words. “You don’t know anything. Not a damn thing. Not about me, not about being a Spartan, nothing,” he growled. “Your mom and grandma kept you out of all this, sheltered you from Loki and Reapers and everything else. You have no idea what it’s like to grow up in our world, to deal with the threat of them
every single day
. To you, it’s like it’s all a big game or something. Even when Metis and Nickamedes tell you to be smart, to stay safe, you go right back to poking your nose into other people’s business. When are you going to realize this obsession you have with finding out people’s secrets is going to get you killed?”
I opened my mouth to say it wasn’t true, that nothing he was saying was true, but the words just wouldn’t come. Because really, deep down, I was
exactly
like that. I’d totally scoffed at the idea of Loki and Reapers of Chaos when I’d first come to Mythos, despite all the magic I’d seen around me. Even now, when I knew the Reaper girl was targeting me, I still wanted to beat her at her own game. I wanted to find the Helheim Dagger and keep it safe from her and all the other Reapers. I wanted to be worthy of the power and trust Nike had given to me. I wanted to be as smart, strong, and brave as all the other Frost women who had served the goddess of victory.
But most of all, I wanted to make the Reaper girl pay for murdering my mom.
“I don’t know why I thought you would be different. I don’t know why I thought you might understand. I don’t know why I thought this would work,” Logan said. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I just—I just can’t do this. Not even for you.
Especially
not for you.”
The Spartan turned around and stalked toward the double doors that led out of the library.
“Logan? Logan!”
But the Spartan didn’t stop. If anything, he quickened his pace—and he didn’t look back. Not even once.
I stood there in the middle of the library stunned—simply stunned. By the awful thing that had happened to Logan’s family and by the awful things he’d said to me. Things that were a little closer to the truth than I would have liked them to be. Tears burned my eyes, and a sob rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. How had Logan and I gone from talking about us and what we could be to breaking up before we even got together?
“Ahem.” Someone cleared his throat.
I swiped the tears from my eyes and turned to find Nickamedes standing behind me, holding my messenger bag in front of him like a shield. From the look on his face, it was obvious the librarian had heard everything Logan had said to me.
“I bet you just loved that, didn’t you?” I snapped, trying to keep the tears from running down my cheeks. “Your nephew telling me exactly what a horrible person I am. Did you give him pointers on that little speech? Or does being mean just run in the family?”
Nickamedes stared at me, his face blank and neutral. “I’m ready to close the library for the night, Gwendolyn. I thought you might want your things before you left.”
He held out my bag, and I stalked forward and grabbed it from him, fully intending to run out of the library before he saw me cry. Except I didn’t get a great grip on the strap, and the bag fell to the floor, spilling my stuff everywhere. The perfect ending to a perfectly miserable night.
I got down on my hands and knees and started scooping everything back into the bag. Pens, notebooks, the latest comic books I was reading, the bag of food for Nott. I’d just crawled over to the gryphon book I’d dropped earlier, when I heard Nickamedes shuffle on his feet behind me.
“Where did you get this?” he asked in a low voice.
I looked up to find the librarian clutching my mom’s diary in his hands, a strange, twisted look on his face, like the leather cover burned his skin and it hurt him just to look at the journal. I got to my feet, stalked over, and yanked it out of his fingers, wondering if the damage had already been done, if he’d already imprinted his hatred for me on the diary.
“Give me that,” I hissed. “That was my mom’s, and I don’t want you touching it. Not for one
second
.”