Jennifer Estep Bundle Page 8

  For the next three hours I checked out books, answered questions, and did other menial tasks. The library was the one place where the other Mythos students were actually forced to notice and speak to me, if only so they could get their homework done.

  Since students weren’t supposed to go off campus during the week, the library was also a place to Hang Out and Be Seen, and lots of kids liked to sneak off and hook up in the stacks. I’d found more than one used condom when I’d shelved books. Yucko. Doing it against a case full of musty books wasn’t exactly the way that I wanted to lose my virginity, but it was all the rage at Mythos. This month, at least.

  Jasmine Ashton, Morgan McDougall, and Daphne Cruz were among those who came into the library during my shift. The three Valkyries grabbed some iced mochas and raspberry muffins, then plopped themselves at the table closest to the coffee cart so everyone coming and going would see them. Samson Sorensen was with them, too, although he seemed to be more interested in the sports magazine he was thumbing through than anything else.

  After a few minutes, Jasmine moved off to circulate through the crowd and talk to the other popular kids who’d come to the library tonight. Morgan and Samson put their heads together and started talking, but evidently Daphne had actually come here to study, because she moved down the table a little away from the others.

  Daphne saw me sitting behind the checkout counter. The Valkyrie gave me a dirty look, dragged her laptop out of her bag, and opened and started typing on it. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at her. It wasn’t my fault that Daphne had a monster crush on a band geek and that her mean-girl friends would make fun of her if she ever told them that she liked him, much less actually tried to date him.

  Finally, around nine o’clock, the library emptied out as the kids packed up their books and headed back to their dorm rooms for the night and the ten o’clock curfew. Nickamedes said he had to go over to the math-science building and run an errand before he closed the library. Instead of letting me go ahead and leave, the librarian pushed a cart full of books in my direction and told me to have them shelved by the time he got back. Like I said, he was a giant pain in my ass.

  But there was nothing I could do. If I left without putting the books away, they’d just be waiting here for me the next time I had to work. Nickamedes was kind of a dick that way. So I pushed the metal cart into the stacks, grabbed the books, and started putting them back where they belonged. Almost all the titles were old reference books that had been handled by hundreds and hundreds of students over the years, so I didn’t get any big vibes or flashes by touching them. Just a general sense of kids flipping through the pages and hunting for whatever obscure information they needed to finish their latest essay.

  I supposed that I could have worn gloves to cut out the flashes entirely, both here in the library and everywhere else. You know, the old-fashioned white silk kind that crawled all the way up to a girl’s elbows. But that would have definitely branded me as a freak at Mythos—the Gypsy girl with the glove fetish. I might not fit in at the academy, but I didn’t want to advertise how different I was either.

  I did keep my eyes and ears open for any students who might not have finished their nightly hookup in the stacks. Last week, I’d rounded a corner and had seen two guys from my English lit class going at it like rabbits.

  But I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t see anyone as I roamed through the library and slid the books back into their appropriate places. The whole thing would have gone a lot faster if the cart that I was using hadn’t been old and rickety, with a loose wheel that pulled to the right. Every time I tried to turn a corner with the stupid cart, it inevitably slid into whatever antiques case happened to be nearby.

  There were hundreds of them in the library, just like the one that Nickamedes had dragged me over to earlier. Shiny glass cases that contained all kinds of stuff. A dagger that had belonged to Alexander the Great. A necklace that the warrior queen Boudicca had worn. A jeweled comb that Marc Anthony had given Cleopatra to show his undying love for her before they’d both kicked it.

  Some of the items were kind of cool, though, and I’d take a quick look at the silver plaque on the front or the ID card inside to see exactly what it was. I’d never tried to actually open any of the cases, as they all had some kind of magic mumbo jumbo attached to them to prevent people from stealing the stuff inside. But I always wondered how much some of the items would go for on eBay, if they were real. Probably enough to tempt even Jasmine Ashton, the richest girl at Mythos, into walking off with them in her designer purse.

  Ten minutes later, I put away the last book, grabbed the cart, and tried to steer it back to the checkout counter. But, of course, the metal contraption had a life of its own and zoomed toward yet another case. I managed to stop the cart just before it slammed into the glass.

  “Stupid wheel,” I muttered.

  I walked around the cart and was trying to shove it back from the other side when a wink of silver caught my eye. Curious, I looked down into the case that I was standing next to.

  A sword lay inside it, one of hundreds in the library. My eyes skimmed over the glass, looking for the plaque that would tell me whose sword it was and what she’d done with it that was so freaking special. But there wasn’t a plaque on the case. No silver plate on the outside, no little white card on the inside, nothing. Weird. Every other case that I’d seen had had some sort of ID on or in it. Maybe Nickamedes had forgotten about this one, since it was way back here in the stacks in no-man’s-land.

  I should have shoved the cart into the aisle, gone back to the checkout counter, and packed up my messenger bag so I could leave the very second that Nickamedes came back. But for some reason, I found myself stopping and looking down at the sword once more.

  It was a simple enough sword—a long blade made out of a dull silver metal with a hilt that was just a little bit bigger than my hand. A small weapon, compared to some of the enormous crowbars that I’d seen in the library.

  Still, something about the shape of the sword seemed . . . familiar to me. Like I’d seen it before. Maybe there had been an illustration of it in my myth-history book. Maybe some bad guy had used it in the Chaos War, if it had ever even really taken place. I snorted. Probably not.

  I cocked my head to the side, trying to figure out why the sword was so interesting. And I realized that the hilt almost looked like ... a face. Like half of a man’s face had somehow been inlaid into the metal. There was a slash of a mouth, a groove of a nose, the curve of an ear, even a round bulge that looked like an eye. Weird. But it wasn’t ugly. It looked almost ... alive.

  There were some words on it, too. I could just see them glinting on the blade right above the hilt, like they’d been carved into the metal there. I squinted, but I couldn’t quite make out what they were. V-i-c—Vic something, I thought, leaning close enough to leave a nose print on the smooth glass—

  CRASH!

  Startled by the sudden noise, I jumped back and pressed myself against the bookshelf. Eyes wide, heart in my throat, blood pounding in my ears. What the hell was that?

  I didn’t consider myself to be a scaredy-cat, and I certainly wasn’t some wimpy girly-girl who was afraid of her own shadow. But my mom had been a police detective. She’d told me lots of horror stories about people getting mugged and worse. And the Library of Antiquities wasn’t exactly as warm and friendly as a park on a summer day. Nothing was at Mythos.

  Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t heard anything while I’d been shelving books. No sounds, no rustles of clothes, nothing to indicate there was anyone left but me in the entire library—

  Something cold and hard dug into my palm. I looked down and found that I’d wrapped my hand around the glass case, my fingers curled around the metal clasp, a second away from opening it and grabbing the weapon inside.

  But the really strange thing was that the sword was staring at me.

  The cover on the bulge on the hilt had slid up, revealing a pale
eye that regarded me with a cold, steady stare. It was an odd color, too, not quite purple and not quite gray either—

  Then, my brain kicked in and reminded me that this was all super, super creepy. I shrieked and stumbled away from the glass. My shoulder hit the edge of one of the bookcases, and I hissed as the sting of it flooded my body.

  But the small pain lessened some of my panic. Deep down, I knew that my imagination was totally playing tricks on me. Swords didn’t have eyes, not even in a place as crazy as Mythos Academy. And they certainly didn’t stare at people. Especially not someone like me, that unimportant, nerdy Gypsy girl who saw things.

  And the noise? That was probably just books that some kid had stacked up crooked on a shelf, finally toppling over. Probably done on purpose just to scare whoever was in the library this late. It had happened before, usually to me.

  I stood there a second more to calm my racing heart, then pushed away from the bookcase. I thought about just grabbing the cart and forcing it back to the main library desk, loose wheel and all. But I had to look at the sword first. I had to convince myself that I wasn’t going crazy. That I wasn’t actually starting to believe all the stuff that Professor Metis kept spouting at us in myth-history class about evil gods and ancient warriors and Chaos and the end of the world and blah, blah, blah.

  So I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. The bulge that I’d thought had been an eye before was nothing more than a bump on the hilt. Completely covered, completely silver, completely normal. Nothing more. It certainly wasn’t staring at me.

  I let out a sigh of relief. Okay. Gwen wasn’t losing her mind just yet. Good to know.

  I grabbed the cart and pushed it back toward the counter. Screw Nickamedes and his pissy attitude. Creepy swords and weird noises were enough for me. I was leaving. Now.

  I broke free of the stacks and rounded the end of the aisle. I was halfway back toward the counter when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over to my left.

  And that’s when I saw her.

  Jasmine Ashton.

  The blond Valkyrie lay on her back in front of the case that Nickamedes had shown me earlier tonight, the one with Loki’s supposed Bowl of Tears in it.

  Except all the glass on the case had been shattered and there was no Bowl inside of it anymore.

  And someone or something had slit Jasmine’s throat from ear to ear.

  I froze, not sure what was going on. I blinked a few times, but the scene didn’t change. Broken case. Stolen Bowl. A girl with a big, bloody slash across her pale throat.

  I stood there another moment, shocked and dumbstruck, before my brain kicked in and started working once more. I pushed the cart out of the way and ran over to Jasmine. My foot slipped out from under me, and I put my hand down to brace myself. Something wet and cold and sticky covered my fingers, making me flinch. I raised up my hand to find it coated with blood—Jasmine’s blood.

  It was everywhere. Under the smashed case. Beside it. Splashed up onto the wooden tables. Puddles of the Valkyrie’s blood covered the floor like crimson water that hadn’t been mopped up.

  “Oh, shit!”

  I was almost hyperventilating, so I made myself take deep breaths the way that my mom had always told me to whenever I got panicked. Whenever I was in a bad, bad situation. After several seconds, I felt better. At least, good enough to pick my way through the pools of blood over to where Jasmine lay.

  Strawberry-blond hair. Blue eyes. Beautiful face. Designer clothes. The Valkyrie looked the same as she always did—except for the slash in her throat and the knife on the floor next to her. A long curved gold dagger with an enormous ruby set into the hilt. The lights made the gem glint and gleam, like a giant red eye watching me. For some reason, the dagger was the only thing here that wasn’t covered with blood. Bizarre.

  I crouched down beside Jasmine, trying not to stare at the horrible wound on her throat. I couldn’t tell if she was still breathing or not, and there was only one way to find out.

  I had to touch her.

  And I really, really didn’t want to.

  As much as I liked learning people’s secrets, I knew that my Gypsy gift would kick in the second that I put my fingers on the Valkyrie’s skin. Then, I would see and feel and experience exactly what Jasmine had when her throat had been cut. It would be horrible, just as horrible as seeing all the awful things that Paige’s stepdad had been doing to her. Maybe even worse.

  But there was no getting around it. I had to find out if Jasmine was still alive. I’d taken CPR in health class at my old school last year, so maybe I could help her—or at least run and find someone who could. I had to try, anyway. I just couldn’t stand here and do nothing, not when Jasmine looked so—so broken.

  So I crouched down and stretched out my trembling hand toward her neck. My fingers loomed closer to her pale skin, before finally jerking forward and making contact.

  I closed my eyes and bit my lip, expecting to be overwhelmed with emotions and feelings. Expecting to feel all the pain and terror and fear that Jasmine just had. Expecting to be overcome with all those horrible emotions and just start screaming—

  I felt nothing.

  Not fear, not terror, and especially not pain. Nothing. I didn’t even get the faintest flicker of feeling off Jasmine’s body. No vibes, no flashes, nothing. I frowned and pushed my fingers deeper into her neck, placing my whole hand on her skin just above the cut on her throat.

  Still nothing.

  Weird. Really weird. I always saw something, always felt something, especially when I was actually touching someone, in this case someone who’d just had her throat brutally sliced open—

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a quick, furtive movement. But before I could turn and see what it was, something cold and heavy slammed into my temple. A bright, white flash of pain exploded in front of my eyes, before the darkness swallowed me.

  Chapter 5

  The first thing I was aware of was the voices. Low, steady voices that seemed to bore into my skull like a dentist’s whiny drill. They kept on talking, one after another. Each one sent another spike of pain through my head.

  “... obviously after the Bowl; Jasmine just got in the way... .”

  “... but why kill her? It doesn’t make sense... .”

  “... Reapers don’t have to make sense... .”

  “Shut up,” I mumbled.

  The voices stopped, and I started to sink back down into the quiet blackness—

  “Gwen?” a familiar voice murmured.

  “Mom?” I mumbled again.

  A hand smoothed back my hair. “No, Gwen. Not your mom. Can you open your eyes for me, please?”

  Then I remembered. My mom was dead. Killed by some drunk driver. And I was stuck here at Warrior Freaks R Us. My heart squeezed in on itself, aching even more than my head did, and a hot tear trickled out of the corner of my eye before I could stop it. I missed my mom so much. I missed everything so much. My old school, my old friends, and everything else that I’d lost just because I’d wanted to know another girl’s secret—

  “Gwen?” the voice asked again, more insistent this time. “Come on. Open your eyes for me, please.”

  My head still hurt, but after a few seconds of concentrating I managed to crack open my eyes, letting the light trickle in.

  Black hair, bronze skin, green eyes, silver glasses. Professor Metis’s hazy face swam before me, and I had to blink several times before she came into focus.

  “Professor Metis? What’s going on?” I asked, struggling to sit up.

  Metis put her hand under my back and helped me up into a sitting position. My brain swam around inside my skull for a few seconds before it snapped back into place and the world stopped spinning.

  To my surprise, I was still in the Library of Antiquities, although I was now lying on top of one of the tables instead of in the middle of the cold marble floor.

  Other people were in here now, too. Like Coach Ajax, the big, burly,
biker-looking, tattooed guy who oversaw the athletic programs and trained all the kids. Ajax stood a few feet away talking to Nickamedes. The coach’s onyx skin glistened under the library’s golden lights, and his chiseled muscles twitched and jumped with every move he made. He looked like the kind of guy who could break concrete blocks with his bare hands.

  As if sensing my stare, the two men turned and walked over to us. They both nodded to Professor Metis, who nodded back.

  “Gwen,” Metis said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  “Professor? What are you doing here?” I asked, still confused.

  Metis gestured at the two men. “Ajax, Nickamedes, and I make up the academy’s security council. We’re responsible for the safety of everyone at Mythos, for protecting students and staff from Reapers of Chaos and other threats. So we really need to know what happened here tonight. Do you think you can tell me what you saw? It’s very important, Gwen. We don’t want anyone else to get ... hurt.”

  Hurt. Well, I supposed that was a polite way of saying what had happened to Jasmine, instead of the ugly truth—the fact that she’d been brutally attacked.

  Their eyes fixed on my face. Metis’s gaze green and understanding, Coach Ajax’s black and hard, Nickamedes’s blue and suspicious.

  I drew in a breath and told the three of them about working in the library. How I’d been shelving the last of the books when I’d heard a crashing sound. How I’d thought it was just some books falling over, only to come out of the stacks and find Jasmine sprawled underneath the smashed glass case with her throat cut and blood everywhere.

  “I went over to try to help her,” I said in a shaky voice. “I was feeling her throat for a pulse when somebody. . . somebody hit me.”

  I looked over at the case, expecting to see nothing but broken glass. But Jasmine was still there, still lying in thick puddles of her own crimson blood, her sightless blue eyes staring up at the ceiling.