Chapter 18
By the time I got ready, it was after eight, which meant the dance had been going on for an hour already. I’d missed the part where the homecoming king and queen would be announced for each class, the couples the other students had voted for two weeks ago. But like Morgan had said, who else was it going to be in our second-year class besides her and Samson now that Jasmine was gone?
I stared at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. Violet dress and eyes, wavy brown hair loose around my shoulders, freckles splashed across my winter white skin. I didn’t look like a beautiful fairy princess like Daphne had, but at least I didn’t come off as a total slut like Morgan either. I didn’t know what I was, other than that Gypsy girl who saw things. But I was determined to have a good time tonight—or at least fake it well enough so that no one else would know the difference but me.
I left my dorm and walked across the campus quad. Everyone else was already at the dining hall, so the quad was even more deserted than before. A cold breeze gusted across the lawn, bringing the fall chill with it, along with the faintest bite of winter. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing that I’d thought to grab a coat before I’d left my room, but I didn’t want to go back for one now. If I did, I doubted that I’d make the effort to come back and go to the dance at all.
Finally, I reached the dining hall. The front doors were open, the light spilling outside and banishing some of the shadows. Several students stood around the entrance, a few of them taking drags off cigarettes or something stronger when they thought no one was looking. Some kids were drinking, too, and the sour stench of beer mingled with the clouds of sweet, choking smoke.
I walked past the other students and went inside. To my surprise, the dining hall had been completely transformed since lunchtime. The usual round lunch tables were gone, replaced by a single long banquet table that stretched down the left wall. Crimson and pumpkincolored autumn leaves twined with greenery and baby’s breath clustered around an enormous ice sculpture shaped like a giant cornucopia. Candles also flickered on the banquet table, highlighting the gourmet food that covered the surface. More leaves and greenery hung from the ceiling, along with strings of silver and gold lights that bathed the area in a soft, romantic glow. Even I had to admit that it was all very classy, very elegant, and very beautiful.
I’d missed the harvest ritual, which had been held before the dance had started, but I could see the remnants of it. Tall bronze rods topped with beeswax candles burned in the open-air garden, and golden bowls full of fresh-picked grapes, oranges, almonds, and olives sat at the feet of the various statues of the gods there, including Dionysus and Demeter. Everything in the garden seemed to have a warm bronze tinge to it tonight, including the goblets full of wine that had been placed next to the bowls of fruits and nuts, and the air smelled sharp and sweet, like citrus. I waited a moment, wondering if I’d feel the same kind of invisible force that I had at the bonfire last night. But whatever presence that might have been summoned by the ritual had vanished already. I let out a breath. No more magic mumbo jumbo tonight. Good.
I didn’t know how many students went to Mythos, but it looked like every single one of them had shown up for the dance. Couples wearing glittering gowns and tuxedos held on to each other and swayed back and forth on the dance floor. Some sat at the tables that had been set up on the far side of the hall, kissing, giggling, and whispering into each other’s ears. Others clustered around the food table, dipping strawberries and other fresh fruits into a dark chocolate fountain that spewed out a never-ending stream of warm, gooey goodness. I even saw a few kids eating the caviar that had been put out as part of the buffet. Yucko.
I’d been right about the homecoming kings and queens having been crowned already. Morgan McDougall stood on the edge of the dance floor holding court with her fawning Valkyrie friends. A glittering tiara topped Morgan’s head, and a triumphant smile curved her crimson lips. This was her coming-out party, and she wanted everyone to know it. Morgan had her arm looped through Samson Sorensen’s, her body plastered to his side. Samson looked handsome in his tux, although he was holding on to his garish gold crown instead of actually wearing it. He bent down and slobbered a kiss onto Morgan’s neck while she talked to her friends.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Jasmine would do if she was here right now. If she saw how easily Morgan had stepped into her place as queen of the second-year Mythos students. I imagined that Jasmine would go over, snatch the crystal crown off Morgan’s head, and start beating her friend and Samson with it. The Valkyrie had certainly been capable of doing something like that, given all the rage that I’d felt when I’d picked up that photo in her room. The one of Morgan and Samson that Jasmine had ripped up.
My eyes roamed over the rest of the dining hall. Students weren’t the only ones here tonight. More than a few professors could be seen in the crowd, including Metis, Coach Ajax, and Nickamedes. The three of them stood off to one side of the hall, drinking punch, talking, and occasionally stepping forward to keep the dry-humping on the dance floor to a minimum. Ajax and Nickamedes both wore tuxes, while Metis looked soft and pretty in a green evening gown.
Finally, I spotted Daphne and Carson deep into a slow dance. Daphne had her head on Carson’s shoulder, and the band geek had a goofy, dreamy look on his face. Morgan said something to the two Valkyries standing next to her and pointed at Daphne and Carson. The three of them laughed and snickered, making fun of the new couple. But Daphne and Carson were so into each other that they didn’t see or hear the Valkyries. I doubted it would have bothered them anyway. Not tonight.
Since I didn’t want to tromp through the crowd to get to Daphne and Carson, I skirted around the edge of the dining hall and headed for the refreshment table, just to have something to do. Just so no one would see that I was a total loser who was here by myself. Coming here had been a mistake. I’d thought it would be fun, but now I wasn’t so sure. Because my only, sort-of friend was totally into her date, which meant that I didn’t have anyone else to talk to—much less dance with.
So I got in line, piled a plate high with fresh fruit, and dipped everything into the dark chocolate fountain before grabbing a glass of sparkling fake champagne punch. I headed for the tables in the back of the dining hall, but all the seats were occupied by couples. I stood there, feeling stupid and awkward, food in one hand and drink in the other, with nowhere to sit down and eat and absolutely no one to talk to.
I sighed. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking, coming here by myself. I was going to take my food back to my room and stuff my face before reading comic books the rest of the night. Which was what I should have done in the first place instead of coming here and trying to fit in, trying to pretend like I actually
belonged
here.
I turned and walked back around the edge of the dance floor, weaving in and out of the couples who crossed my path. I was about halfway toward the exit when someone stepped in front of me. The guy had his back to me, so he didn’t even see me. I had to jump back to keep from slamming into him, and the sharp motion made the punch slosh out of my glass and splatter down the front of my dress, staining it. Great. Just great.
“Hey,” I muttered. “Watch where you’re going.”
The guy must have heard me, because he turned around and glared at me, and I found myself staring up at Logan Quinn.
I hadn’t talked to Logan since last night when he’d tried to kiss me and I’d totally freaked out about it. I hadn’t been able to get close to him in gym class, but I’d looked for him the rest of the day out on the quad, hoping to apologize again. I hadn’t seen him then, but now that I finally had, I couldn’t stop staring at him.
Logan looked absolutely
gorgeous
in his black tuxedo, although he’d already undone his tie, as if it was choking him. The jacket stretched over his shoulders, highlighting just how totally muscled they were. His black hair glistened underneath the silver and golden glows from the twinkling lights, and his eyes glittered like ice in his face. I stood there, breathless.
Logan glared at me another second before doing a visible double take. His eyes slid down the front of my dress, lingering on the punch stains that dotted the long skirt. My cheeks started to burn. Why did I have to run into him now? Why couldn’t I have at least seen him before I managed to splash punch all over myself?
“Excuse me,” I muttered, and moved past him.
I hurried over to the buffet table and put down my plate and glass, having lost my appetite for, well, everything. I turned around, and there he was again, standing right behind me, still staring at me.
“Gypsy girl?” Logan asked in an uncertain voice, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether or not it was me.
“Spartan,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest to try to hide some of the sticky stains on my dress. “Enjoying the dance?”
Logan looked at me another moment, then shrugged. “As well as any other, I suppose. They’re all the same—long and boring.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know how to talk to him when he wasn’t teasing me—or when he wasn’t saving my life. And I certainly didn’t know what to do now, when he looked so freaking sexy in that tux.
“Do you want to dance?” Logan asked in a low voice, his eyes gleaming in his face.
My heart leapt up into my throat. I’d never realized until just this second how much I wanted that very thing. How much I wanted to step into his arms, even if it was only for tonight. But I couldn’t answer him. I just couldn’t make myself say the words.
I didn’t have to. Logan put his hand around my waist, careful not to touch the bare skin of my arms, and pulled me out onto the dance floor along with all the other swaying couples. I let him, as if in a trance, mesmerized by the sensation of his hand on my waist. I could feel the heat of his fingers even through the silky fabric of my dress.
“So,” Logan said once we stood in the middle of the floor. “How are we going to do this? Because I can’t touch your skin or anything, right?”
I just stared at him. If there was anyone I’d want touching me, it would be Logan. But I couldn’t risk it. I just . . . couldn’t. For once, I didn’t want to know someone else’s secrets. I didn’t want to touch Logan and realize that he was really laughing at me deep down inside. That he was thinking about how pathetic I was and how sorry he felt for me. I wanted to pretend like he actually cared about me, even if it was just for this one dance.
“No,” I finally said. “You can’t touch my skin, not without me flashing on you. So, just, uh, put your hands on my waist or something, and I’ll put mine on your shoulders. Okay?”
He gave me a crooked grin. “Whatever you say, Gypsy girl.”
Logan’s hands curled around my waist, and I settled mine on his shoulders, somehow resisting the urge to reach up and run my fingers through his thick ink-black hair. Slowly, we began to sway in time to the music, some old, sad song about lost love.
We didn’t speak. I could feel Logan’s ice blue eyes on my face, but I didn’t look into his. I didn’t want him to see everything that I was feeling right now. I wasn’t touching him, not
really,
not touching his skin anyway, but I still felt so much. The lean strength of his body. The gentle way he held on to me. How easy it was to move to the music with him despite the fact that I was totally uncoordinated and sucked as much at dancing as I did at gym class. It was the first time in a long time that I was completely overwhelmed with sensations, even though I wasn’t using my psychometry magic at all.
A sharp stab of longing pierced my heart, making my whole body quiver with its aching intensity. Because I knew that I was very close to developing a major,
major
crush on Logan Quinn. If I wasn’t a complete goner already.
I don’t know how long we danced before he cleared his throat.
“You look beautiful tonight, Gwen,” Logan said.
He wasn’t flirting with me or talking about sex like he usually did, but, for once, I almost believed him. It was like . . . I could almost
feel
him telling the truth, even though I wasn’t touching his bare skin. Or maybe that was just because I was lying to myself, trying to convince myself that this dance, this moment, meant as much to him as it did to me.
“Thank you. So do you. Um, not beautiful, but handsome. Very, very handsome,” I finished in a lame tone.
The truth was that he was beautiful—far more beautiful than I could ever be. Logan looked like one of the illustrations out of my myth-history book come to life—like some ancient warrior dressed up in modern clothes. A mix of old and new that seemed like everything to me. That seemed completely wonderful to me.
We kept dancing, and the rest of the room fell away. The other dancers, the kissing couples, the kids hanging around the refreshment table, Morgan and her catty entourage. It all just fell away until there was nothing but Logan and me.
Logan holding me, his eyes on mine, his head slowly dipping lower and lower, my eyes fluttering closed, my breath catching, catching in my throat in anticipation of something that I knew would be completely wonderful—