I winced again.
“The Reapers want one thingâto free Loki from the prison realm that the other gods have placed him in. And we, the students and teachers here, the members of the Pantheon, are at war with them, trying to prevent that from happening. That's what all the students here are being trained for. To learn how to fight with whatever skills and magic that they have to keep Loki from escaping from his prison. That's why losing the Bowl of Tears is such a big blow. It's an old artifact with a lot of magic, with a lot of power, and it can help the Reapers get closer to freeing Loki.”
I frowned. “So what happens if Loki gets free? What would be so bad about that?”
“Because the last time Loki was free, he raised an army to try to kill the other gods, to enslave mortals, and to bend everyone to his will. Hundreds of thousands of people died, Gwen. And hundreds of thousands more will die if Loki is freed once more. The world as we know it will be utterly destroyed.”
So the Chaos was death, destruction, and blah, blah, blah, just like I'd thought. Another war, just like the one that had been fought before. Except when Professor Metis talked about it this time, a shiver swept up my spine. Like it was actually
real.
Like it could actually
happen.
We left the main quad behind and stepped onto one of the walkways that led out to the dorms. The student dorms were smaller versions of the main academy buildingsâlots of gray stone, lots of thick, green ivy, lots of creepy statues everywhere.
Somehow, Metis knew that I roomed in Styx Hall, without me even telling her. She walked me all the way up to the front door. Since the student curfew was ten o'clock on weeknights and the dorms automatically locked down after that, Metis had to swipe her professor ID badge through the scanner to get the door to open for me.
I could have told her not to bother. That there was a sturdy persimmon tree that reached up to a second-floor window on the back of the building. The window had a busted lock, and whatever magic was on it to keep students in or bad guys out had dissolved or disappeared a long time ago. Now, all the girls used it and the tree to slip out at night and see their boyfriends. Everyone except me, of course. I didn't have a boyfriend, much less just another girlfriend to hang out with after curfew.
“Now, don't worry,” Metis said. “Ajax and Nickamedes have already started increasing the security at the library and over the whole campus. Nickamedes is out casting more spells right now. The dorms themselves are already quite secure. They all have wards on them to ensure the students' protection, but Nickamedes is going to increase the power and complexity of those as well.”
Her voice was so calm and matter-of-fact that it reminded me of the teachers at my old school and how they'd all tell us to patiently file outside when we were having the yearly fire drill. They'd been so calm because they'd all known that there was no real fire and they didn't even think there was a problem to start with.
I thought of how easily I'd been able to walk down to the main gate, slip past the sphinxes, and leave campus earlier today. Apparently, just as easily someone had been able to come into the library and kill Jasmine tonight. Nickamedes's spells and the rest of the academy's magical security hadn't stopped either one of those things from happening. Just like all the academy's rules and threats of punishment didn't stop kids from drinking, smoking, or having sex in their dorm rooms. But I didn't say anything.
“Now,” Metis said, taking my silence for some kind of agreement. “Would you like me to take a look at that bump on your head? I can heal you, if you wish. You'll never even know you were hit.”
I blinked. “You can heal me? How?”
Metis held out her hands, palms up. They looked as smooth as polished bronze underneath the streetlight burning over the dorm. “I have a magical talent for healing injuries. All I have to do is place my hands on someone, picture them getting well, and they do.”
Now that was a pretty cool power, and I'd heard of a few other kids on campus having that kind of ability. All the students at Mythos had something going for them, the magic that classified them as a particular type of warrior. Valkyries and Vikings were incredibly strong; Amazons and Romans were superfast; Spartans could kill you with whatever happened to be handy. As if that wasn't enough, the students had other magic as well, bonus powers as it were, everything from enhanced senses to the ability to shoot lightning out of their fingertips or create fire with their bare hands.
I wondered what the healing power made Metis, if she was a Valkyrie or an Amazon or something else, instead of just my myth-history professor. I might have even taken a chance and let Metis heal me, if it hadn't been for the whole
touching-my-head
part. I didn't want to touch anyone or anything else strange tonight. I'd seen enough horrible things in the last two hours. I didn't want to see any more.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I'll just go ... sleep it off or something.”
Understanding flashed in Metis's eyes, and she nodded. “Very well. I examined you at the library before you woke up. The wound isn't that severe. You should be fine with a good night's sleep. But if you have any problems, blurred vision or anything like that, come see me immediately.”
I doubted that I'd get a good night's sleep after finding a murdered girl, but I didn't say anything. Instead, I just nodded.
Professor Metis started to go, but she hesitated and turned to look at me once more. “I don't know if I said this before, but that was very brave of you, Gwen, trying to help Jasmine like you did. Most people would have just screamed and run away.”
I shrugged. I hadn't thought it was brave. It had just been instinct more than anything else. A foolish one, since I'd gotten knocked out and Jasmine had died anyway.
“It was just like something your mother would have done,” Metis said in a low voice.
I stared at her, wondering at the familiar tone in her voice. It almost sounded like she knew my mom. But how could she? As far as I knew, Grace Frost had never even set foot in the academyâ
“She was a police detective, right?” Metis added.
“Yeah,” I said, wondering how the professor knew that. I'd never told anyone at Mythos anything about my mom. “She was a cop. A good one.”
But now she's gone, and it's all my fault.
Tears filled my eyes, my throat closed up, and I couldn't finish my thought. The usual stab of loss and guilt pierced my heart, overpowering everything else.
Deep down, I knew that I didn't have anything to do with the drunk driver who'd T-boned my mom's car and then driven off, leaving her to die in the wreck. It had been an accident, a stupid, stupid accident, and nothing more.
Still, I wondered what my life would have been like right now, right this very
second,
if I hadn't seen the awful things that Paige's stepdad had been doing to her.
I couldn't help but think that my mom, Grace, would still be alive. That I'd be across town in our old house, in my old bed. That tomorrow I would have gotten up and gone to my old school with all of my old friends. Instead of being stuck here at Mythos Academy, where a girl had just been murdered and danger and bad guys lurked around every corner, according to Metis.
I couldn't help but think that my life would be so much better. So much simpler. So much closer to
normal
than this freak-show world that I was trapped in.
Metis opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else, but I turned around so she wouldn't see the hot tears that burned my eyes.
“Well, go in and try to get some rest now,” she said in a soft voice. “And feel free to call me, if you need to talk about anything, anything at all.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure. Thanks, Professor.”
Instead of looking back at her, I opened the door and stepped inside the dorm, shutting Metis and everything else out for the night.
Chapter 6
Jasmine Ashton's murder was the talk of Mythos Academy the next day.
But not in the way that I expected.
All the professors announced the news in their first-period classes. My finding Jasmine's body wasn't mentioned. The official story was that Nickamedes had been the one to discover her in the library, along with the smashed case and the fact that someone had stolen the Bowl of Tears. The professors assured all the students that Jasmine had apparently been in the wrong place at the wrong time and that since the Bowl was gone, whoever had killed her was probably long gone along with it. But, just to be on the safe side, students should stick together in groups and find a professor immediately if they saw anything suspicious.
After that, there was a campuswide moment of silence for Jasmine, so we could all pray for her soul or whatever they did at Mythos.
Two of the Valkyries Jasmine had been friends with were in my first-period English lit class, and I thought that they might ask to be excused, to go back to their dorm rooms for the rest of the day and just process what had happened to their friendâto just feel sad and grieve and cry for her. But the two girls opened up their textbooks, got out their laptops, and started working on the latest critical thinking essay like the rest of us. Like everything was
normal.
Like nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. If it hadn't been for the faint headache that I still had, I would have thought that I'd imagined everything that had happened last night.
My eyes went from face to face, but everyone was just as calm and collected as the two Valkyries were. Nobody cried. Nobody looked upset. Nobody seemed scared at all that one of their classmates had been murdered last night.
Last year at my old school, David Jordan, a popular football player, had been working his after-school job at a convenience store when he'd been shot to death during an armed robbery. The next day at school, people had been
hysterical.
Crying, weeping, screaming, wondering why David had been shot, why he'd had to die, what he'd ever done to deserve something like that, something so violent and awful and random. The school had brought in grief counselors to talk to all of David's friends and everyone else who'd been shaken up by his death.
Jasmine Ashton had been the most popular girl in my second-year class. Yeah, she wasn't the first student at Mythos to die, according to Professor Metis, but Jasmine's death had to be one of the most unexpected, the most shocking. But everyone was so calm about it.
It was
creepy.
And it was the same everywhere that I went all day long. Oh, the kids talked about Jasmine and her gruesome murder, but not in the way that I expected.
“So who do you think will be homecoming queen now that Jasmine's gone?” the girl sitting in front of me whispered in my fourth-period chemistry class. “Because the dance is on Friday and we already voted for all the kings and queens last week.”
The petite Amazon sitting across from her shrugged. “Oh, the profs will just give it to the runner-up, which has to be Morgan McDougall. She was Jasmine's number two. Besides, you know how Morgan is. She'll be more than happy to wear that tacky crown, even if it wasn't really hers to start with.”
The two girls giggled at their cattiness.
Then, the one in front of me leaned closer to her friend. “Speaking of something else that wasn't hers to start with, I heard that Morgan and Samson Sorensen were getting
very
cozy at lunch today. Really
comforting
each other, if you know what I mean.”
That caught the Amazon's interest. “Really? That's quick work, even for a total slut like Morgan. Tell me more... .”
The talk was the same all day long. Who would be homecoming queen, if Morgan and Samson were hooking up, even who was going to get to move into Jasmine's primo dorm room whenever her parents cleared out her stuff. Apparently, the Ashtons were vacationing on some remote island off the coast of Greece and the school higher-ups hadn't been able to reach them yet to tell them about their daughter's death. But everyone had a cell phone these days, even parents. It sounded to me like the Ashtons just didn't want to be bothered with Jasmine's murder. They probably didn't want to cut their sweet vacation short to come deal with everything.
Finally, in myth-history class, I couldn't stand it any longer. I tapped Carson Callahan on the shoulder and asked him about it.
“What is wrong with people here?” I muttered. “The girl was
murdered.
In the
library,
where we all have to go practically every single day. And nobody even talks about it, except to wonder who's going to be the stupid homecoming queen now and which Valkyrie's going to sink her claws into Samson Sorensen next. Nobody
cares.
Not about Jasmine anyway or who might have killed her or the fact that maybe he's still here on campus hiding out somewhere.”
Carson gave me a sad look, like he and everyone else knew a secret that I didn't. “Do you know how many kids I've grown up with who have died, Gwen? Lots of them. So many that I've lost count. We go to Mythos for a reason. We're warriors, and warriors die. That's just how things are. Sure, some of the kids have car accidents or get drunk at the beach and drown or whatever. And sometimes, they're in the wrong place at the wrong time and get ripped to shreds by Nemean prowlers or murdered by Reapers. Sometimes, they're even Reapers themselves, and you have to kill them before they kill you.”
I'd never thought that a band geek like Carson could be so blasé about something like this. That he could talk about kids dying and killing other kids like it was all okay. Like it was the way that things were
supposed
to be.
I just looked at him. “But doesn't it bother you? What happened to Jasmine? Or at least the fact that it happened here?”
He shrugged. “Sure it does. But nobody ever said that Mythos was a hundred percent safe. Kids sneak out past the sphinxes all the time. It's not that much of a stretch to think that a Reaper could sneak in if he really wanted to. Besides, Jasmine wasn't exactly the nicest girl around. She was kind of a bitch, if you really want to know, always being mean to and putting other people down just to make herself look cool. But nobody ever said or did anything about it because her parents are so loaded and so powerful.”
“Butâ”
Carson sighed. “Look, I know you're new, Gwen, but pretty much everybody here has lost someone that they love, someone that they care about a whole lot more than a spoiled bitch like Jasmine Ashton.”
There was a harshness in his voice now, a tightness in his face, and a strained sadness in his brown eyes that I recognized.
“Who have you lost?”
“My uncle,” he said. “He was killed fighting a group of Reapers last year. He was out having dinner with his girlfriend when it happened.”
“But why? What did he do to them? Did he have an artifact or something they wanted?” I asked, thinking of the stolen Bowl of Tears.
“Nothing,” Carson said in a cold voice. “He didn't have a thing that they wanted. They just saw him and killed him because they're Reapers and they like hurting people, especially warriors like us. They kill us before we can kill them because they know that we're a threat to them, that we're all here learning how we can stop them and Loki for goodâforever. But not everyone gets to live to see that day, whenever it comes.”
The raw pain in his face made me wince.
“Carson, I'm sorry. I didn't know.”
“Now you do,” he said in a quiet voice, and turned back around.
Â
Carson didn't speak to or look at me during the rest of class. I couldn't blame him. I'd been trying to understand, trying to figure out why things were so different here, and I'd put my foot right in my mouth.
After myth-history, I walked over to the Library of Antiquities. As I crossed the quad, I realized that the other kids had felt something over Jasmine's murder after all. I could see it in the way that they huddled together in tight groups, in the strain on so many of their faces, in the way they talked just a little too fast and laughed just a little too loud. Yeah, they'd felt Jasmine's death just as much as I had and were trying to deal with itâeven if it wasn't in the way that I'd expected.
I didn't know if that made me feel better or worse.
Apparently, I wasn't the only one who was curious, freaked out, or whatever, because there was a much, much larger crowd in the library than usual. Almost every table was full, and almost every student was sneaking glances at the spot where I'd found Jasmine's body.
There wasn't anything to see. The broken case and the shattered glass had been cleaned up, along with Jasmine's blood. And, of course, her body was gone, too. There was nothing there, not even some flowers, teddy bears, or a few lit candles to remember the dead Valkyrie. After David Jordan's murder, people had turned his locker into a shrine, with photos and cards and stuff. But not here at Mythos.
Eventually, the crowd cleared out and I found an open spot at the end of one of the long library tables. I pulled out my books and tried to study, tried to focus on the report that I had to write for Professor Metis's myth-history class, but I couldn't concentrate. It didn't help that all the kids around me were still talking about Jasmine.
“... got what she deserved, if you ask me,” one girl whispered. “Jasmine always thought that she was better than everyone else.”
“Oh yeah,” another guy agreed. “It's a terrible thing, but at least I won't have to put up with her in Ancient Languages anymore. She always made fun of me.”
“Me too, but what really freaks me out is the fact that there was a Reaper in the library.” The girl shuddered. “They're not supposed to be able to even get on campus, much less steal something from the library. That bothers me a lot more than Jasmine ever did.”
I knew the other kids were grieving, venting, or whatever in their own way. And yeah, maybe Jasmine had been a spoiled bitch, like Carson had said. But still, somebody should care that she was dead. I mean
really
care. Somebody should be sad that she was gone. Somebody should want to know exactly what happened to her and why. Somebody should try to make sure that it didn't happen again to some other kid.
Paige Forrest's face flashed through my mind, and I remembered the way that she'd looked at me that day. There had been a ...
desperation
in her eyes. In that moment, in the second before I'd touched her hairbrush, part of me, some small part of me, had realized that Paige was hiding somethingâsomething
big,
something
huge.
And I'd wanted to know what her secret was, the way that I always did, so I'd picked up her hairbrush. I'd just never imagined how truly terrible Paige's secret was.
Thinking so much about Paige triggered a rush of images and feelings, and I saw it all again in my head. Paige's stepdad brushing her hair, then making her lie back on the bed so he could touch her. I felt it all again, tooâall of Paige's shame and fear and helplessness. Once I saw something, once I flashed on an object or a person, those feelings, those memories, were a part of me forever and I always remembered them, could always see and feel them. I supposed it was a Gypsy version of a photographic memory. I could call up specific memories and focus in on them, examining every little thing that I'd seen, felt, or heard. But other times, they just hit me like Paige's were doing right now, whether I wanted them to or not. In a way, I supposed that it was a punishment for me being so damn nosy sometimes.
I dug my nails into my palms, willing Paige's memories away before I started screaming again. I drew in slow, deep breaths and focused on another imageâmy mom. Remembering her face, her voice, her smile, her laugh, trying to pull every single detail into supersharp focus. A trick that she'd taught me to deal with the unwanted memories. Think about something good and forget the bad as much as you could.
It didn't always work, but this time it did. Paige's ugly memories faded from my mind and got locked away in a dark, distant corner of my brain, right alongside all the other bad stuff that I'd seen and felt over the years.
Still, the flashes of feeling made me think about what I'd done to help Paige. Yeah, I'd wanted to know her secret, but I'd also told my mom what was going on. And, in some small way, I'd helped my mom stop Paige's stepdad from hurting her. I thought about what Professor Metis had said last nightâabout how proud my mom would have been that I'd tried to help Jasmine when most people would have just run away.
And, in that moment, I made my decision.
Maybe it was crazy. Maybe it was this nagging feeling I had that there was something more to all this than just stealing a magical bowl. Maybe it was stupid or silly or just plain wrong.
But I wanted to know more about Jasmine. Specifically why she'd been in the library so late last night. What had really happened to her and who was responsible for it.