Dark Frost Page 8

Page 8

 

  My mom's death wasn't going to go unpunished.

  I didn't care what I had to do, but I was going to find out who the Reaper girl really was-and then I was going to kill her. Maybe that made me no better than the Reapers, but I didn't care. Not after what I'd seen today, not after the Reaper girl had laughed in my face about murdering my mom.

  But I forced myself to push those dark thoughts away, at least for now. Today, I was in Grandma Frost's kitchen, and that was what I wanted to focus on. Tomorrow, I'd go back to Mythos Academy and start my search for the Helheim Dagger, but for today, we were safe. I was going to enjoy the calm while it lasted.

  Grandma and I sat there in the kitchen, just holding hands, for a long, long time.

  Chapter 6

  Daphne finished her call to her parents and came into the kitchen, but none of us felt like talking or eating. The Valkyrie was still tired from her magic's quickening and healing Carson, so she took a hot shower and went to bed even though it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. Grandma did the same, and so did I.

  I wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror and stared at my reflection. Wet, wavy brown hair, a few freckles on my winter-white skin, and eyes that were a strange shade of violet. I'd washed off all the blood that had spattered on me during the attack and thrown my clothes in the trash, but the awful memories were still there, lurking just below the surface of my mind. I shivered and dropped my gaze from the mirror.

  Since I couldn't sleep, I wrapped myself in my purple flannel robe and trudged up the stairs to the third floor. Really, it was an attic, although Grandma had put some furniture up here for me. After my mom had died, I'd spent hours up here, just staring out the window, crying, and wondering why my mom had been taken from me so suddenly, so cruelly. I must have asked myself why a thousand times, but there was never any answer.

  It wasn't any easier now that I knew the real reason why.

  I snapped on a lamp. Stacks and stacks of battered cardboard boxes formed a zigzag maze through the attic, stretching from one side of the house to the other. Most of the boxes held your usual clutter, old magazines Grandma had never gotten around to throwing out, worn-out clothes that didn't fit anymore, Christmas decorations we'd put away until next year.

  But there were some newer boxes in the mix-boxes full of my mom's things. Her clothes, her books, her jewelry, even her makeup and a bottle of her favorite lilac perfume. Everything my mom had left behind in our old house when she'd been murdered last year. All the pieces of her daily life she'd never use again, thanks to the Reaper girl.

  I hadn't looked at the boxes since her death, but now it was a necessity. Over the holiday break, I'd been going through the boxes and the items inside, one by one, trying to find something, anything that would tell me where my mom had hidden the Helheim Dagger. I'd used my psychometry and touched every single item in every single box, hoping my mom had left me a clue somewhere, that I'd pick up something, get a vibe off it, and see exactly where she'd hidden the dagger.

  It had been one of the hardest things I'd ever done.

  Everything I touched, every sweater I held or necklace I brushed my fingers across brought back a memory of my mom. In a way, it was like I was seeing a condensed version of her life and all the things she'd seen, done, and felt along the way. It was fun flashing on her favorite toys as a kid and seeing her playing with them, her brown hair in pigtails, and freckles dotting her face just like they did mine. But it also reminded me of how much I missed her-and how I'd never see her smile or laugh or talk to her again.

  In a way, touching her things was like losing my mom all over again-a dozen little deaths packed into each and every box.

  But I was determined to do it. My mom had hidden the dagger back when she'd been going to Mythos and had been the Champion of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Now, as the goddess's current Champion, it was my job to find the dagger-before the Reapers did.

  My hope had slowly dwindled as I opened box after box and didn't find what I was searching for, until now there was only one box left I hadn't been through. I pulled it over to an old, gray velvet loveseat in the corner, opened the top, and started going through the items inside. Clothes, a worn-out slipper, some dried-up markers, a few books, a roll of quarters my mom had forgotten to take to the bank. It was an odd mix of items.

  One by one, I touched everything in the box, wrapping my fingers around the items and reaching for my pyschometry magic, straining to see everything I possibly could with my Gypsy gift. All I got were a few weak flashes of my mom buying the clothes in the store or shaking the markers and grumbling because they were out of ink. Pretty standard stuff. Most of the time, I didn't get much of a vibe off common, everyday objects that had a specific purpose or function or ones that tons of people used every day like pens, computers, or paper clips. I only got the big, high-def flashes, the major whammies of memories and feelings, when I touched something a person had a deep, emotional connection to, something she'd imprinted a piece of herself on, like a treasured family heirloom ring or a favorite Christmas ornament someone had made when he was a kid.

  Still, one by one, I went through the items in the box, looking into the pockets on the clothes and shaking the books in case something had been slipped between the pages. Nothing. I pulled out the final sweater in the box and set it aside, ready to give up, when I noticed there was something underneath it-an old shoebox. I grabbed it and popped off the top, expecting to find a pair of winter boots my mom hadn't worn in ten years.

  Instead, a small, leather-bound diary nestled in tissue paper lay inside the box.

  Curious, I reached down and pulled out the diary. From the tissue paper, I got a small flicker of my mom packing away the book, but that was all. The diary's gray leather cover was worn and faded, and the edges of the pages looked wavy and crinkled, as though someone had spilled water on them. Bits of silver glinted dully on the cover, swirled into the curlicue shapes of vines and leaves that ran onto the spine and then flowed over the back of the diary.

  I'd never known my mom had kept a diary, but now that I'd found it, I couldn't wait to see what memories it held-and what secrets my mom might have left behind. So I drew in a breath, pushed the tissue paper aside, stroked my fingers over the soft leather cover, and closed my eyes.

  My psychometry magic immediately kicked in, and images of my mom flooded my mind. Mostly, the memories showed her sitting at a desk in a dorm room, doodling and scribbling in the diary. She was young then, about my age, seventeen or so, her brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, and I realized that she must have kept the diary when she was attending the academy. One by one, the images of my mom flashed before my eyes, showing her writing in the diary in various places on campus-on the grassy upper quad, in the upscale dining hall, even while she was sitting on the steps outside the Library of Antiquities.

  I concentrated on that last image, grabbing hold of and really focusing on it, pulling everything into sharp detail, hoping to see something that would tell me where the Helheim Dagger was. But the memory just showed her sitting on the main library steps in between the two stone gryphons that guarded the entrance. My mom turned her head and stared at the gryphon on the right side of the steps, then abruptly looked away. Nothing weird there. The statues always creeped me out, too. Apparently, the image hadn't been as important as it had seemed.

  I let go of that memory and surfed through the others attached to the diary, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Just my mom writing and doodling.

  After a few minutes, the images and feelings started to fade, telling me that I'd learned all I could from the diary-at least by using my Gypsy gift. I opened my eyes and flipped through the first couple of pages, my fingers skimming over my mom's beautiful, flowing handwriting. Even if there wasn't a clue in the diary about where my mom had hidden the dagger, it was still a piece of her, and I wanted to read it. I wanted to know what she'd done w
hen she'd been at Mythos, how she had felt about the school, who her friends and enemies had been, the cute guys she'd crushed on, and mostly especially how she'd found the courage to be Nike's Champion and fight Reapers. I wanted to know, well, everything-all her secrets.

  Since there was nothing else in the box, I packed all the clothes and other odd items back inside. Well, except for the quarters. I'd spend those.

  Cradling the diary in the crook of my arm, I turned out the light and walked down the attic stairs to my room on the second floor. Daphne was already asleep, and I lifted the covers and crawled into bed next to her. The Valkyrie murmured something in her sleep, then rolled away from me. A few pink sparks crackled on her fingertips at the motion before winking out. I lay still, and Daphne let out a quiet sigh and sank deeper into sleep. I put my mom's diary on the nightstand within easy reach. Then I snuggled deeper under the covers, determined to go to sleep so I wouldn't be totally exhausted tomorrow.

  Slowly, my body relaxed, my mind started to drift, and the comforting blackness began to rise, drowning out the horrors of the day. I was almost asleep . . . when a low, angry growl sounded outside my window.

  My eyes snapped open.

  I'd heard growls like that before, and they usually meant one thing-that something was about to try and eat me.

  I lay there in bed, covers pulled up to my chin, straining my eyes and ears, scarcely daring to breathe, but all I heard was Daphne. The Valkyrie snored like she had a chainsaw stuck in her throat, which was super, super annoying. I was beginning to think I'd just dreamed the growl and was starting to sink back into sleep . . .

  When I heard it again.

  This time, I couldn't pretend I'd just imagined it. I slipped out of bed, reached down, and grabbed my scabbard. I slid Vic out of the leather with a whisper and crept over to the window.

  "What's going on?" Vic mumbled, his half of a mouth stretching into a wide, jaw-cracking yawn.

  "I think there's something outside," I muttered.

  The sword blinked his one eye, which glowed like a purple moon in the darkness of my room. "You think? You don't know? Gypsy, how many times have I told you? Only wake me up when there's trouble-or Reapers lurking around that I can kill. "

  Vic snapped his eye shut and went back to sleep. I glared at the sword, tempted to shake him awake, but I'd learned there was nothing I could do to get Vic to behave. He might be a mostly inanimate object, but he definitely had a mind of his own.

  I made sure I had a good grip on the sword, then pulled the curtain back and peered outside.

  I didn't see anything-not a thing.

  No, that wasn't quite true. I didn't see anything suspicious. The window looked out into the backyard, where a tall maple stood guard, the tree's branches reaching all the way over to tap against the glass. When I was a kid, I used to climb outside, sit in the tree, and read my comic books. It had scared my mom to death. Grandma, too. They'd both thought I'd slip, fall, and break my neck, but I never did. Climbing was actually something I was good at. Thanks to my Gypsy gift, I'd always been able to flash on the branches and tell which ones were the strongest and which ones would snap under my weight.

  Right now, though, the branches bobbed back and forth like a tornado-force wind had just whipped through them. Weird. Nothing else was moving, and the wind wasn't rattling the bushes in the backyard, but the tree looked like a whole flock of birds had suddenly erupted out of the top of it.

  Maybe it was the idea of birds, but I looked up just in time to see a shadow move across the sky in a lazy pattern-almost like it was circling the house.

  My mind flashed back to all those carvings and figures of Black rocs I'd seen when I'd picked up the Reaper girl's map. Was it possible she'd sent a roc to spy on me? To peer in my window? Perhaps even to peck its way inside through the glass, grab the map she'd dropped, and kill me? I shivered and tightened my grip on Vic.

  I peered into the night, my eyes gliding right, then left, up, then down, looking for a roc, a Nemean prowler, or any other mythological creature that might be lurking about in the clouds above or the shadows below. I didn't see anything. It wasn't that late, but a dark frost had already painted the landscape in cold, silvery shards. I would have thought the sight pretty, if I hadn't known just how much the shadows could hide-

  The growl sounded again.

  I froze, waiting for the sound to cut off like it had before. But this time, it just kept going and going, rumbling along like a car idling by the curb. So I focused, this time really listening to the growl instead of letting myself be frightened by it, and I realized it wasn't a Nemean prowler like I'd feared. Otherwise, the sound would have been more of a hissing yowl. No, this growl sounded more like . . . a dog. A very large, very angry dog.

  A shadow detached itself from the garage behind the house, slinked into the bushes, and disappeared through a gap in the picket fence. Beyond that, the landscape gave way to a hill covered by a wild tangle of briars and brambles, but my eyes locked onto that one shadow, trying to figure out exactly what it was.

  Something with four legs and a tail slipped into the thicket and vanished from sight. It could have been a stray dog-or a Fenrir wolf.

  Not too long ago, I'd helped a Fenrir wolf when it had been injured; afterward, it seemed to regard me as almost a friend. But I hadn't seen the wolf since I'd left the Powder ski resort. Metis and the other professors had searched for it, but the wolf had escaped into the surrounding mountains. In a way, I was glad. Even though Preston had trained, beaten, and ordered it to kill me, the wolf wasn't all bad. I'd hoped it would find a pack of wild Fenrir wolves to run and play and live with deep in the mountains.

  But why would the wolf be outside my window tonight? How would it have tracked me here all the way from the ski resort? And why now?