Touch of Frost (28 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Estep

BOOK: Touch of Frost
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Chapter 25
 
The next day, Professor Metis called me into her office. The last time that I’d been in here had been the day that I’d come to Mythos Academy at the start of the fall semester, and I’d been too angry and pissed at her and everyone else to really notice things.
Old, thick myth-history books lined the shelves in the bookcases that covered two of the walls, while a couple of clay pots of sunflowers and violets sat on the windowsill. Above them on either side of the window were various plaques, showing all of the professor’s degrees and awards. There were
tons
of those. Metis’s desk was piled high with papers and pens and stuff, along with a tiny marble statue that perched in the left-hand corner. It looked like a smaller version of the one of Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, that stood in the Library of Antiquities, but I wasn’t sure.
But the weirdest things were the weapons. A whole rack of them stood in the corner. A couple of swords, a staff, some daggers, even a crossbow and the bolts for it. With her silver glasses and quiet, scholarly vibe, Metis had never struck me as being a warrior. Not like Coach Ajax, anyway, who was all ripped, muscled, and totally Hulked out.
Professor Metis was staring out the window at the quad when I came inside. I shut the door behind me and stood there, waiting until she noticed me. After a moment, she turned around and smiled at me.
“Hello, Gwen. Sit down, please. There are some things that we need to talk about.”
Yeah, I’d figured as much, since, you know, I’d been involved in the death of a student, the destruction of the library, and a whole bunch of other Bad, Bad Things. So I did as she asked and took the seat in front of her desk.
Professor Metis sat down as well. Her green eyes flicked to one of the framed photos on the desk, but since it was turned around the other way, I couldn’t see who was in it. Her husband or kids, I supposed. Maybe a boyfriend or a pet.
“How are you today, Gwendolyn?”
I shrugged. “Fine, more or less.”
And I really was. Yeah, I’d seen and done some bad stuff in the past few days, and I’d learned so many things about myself, my Gypsy gift, and why I was here at Mythos that it kind of blew my mind. And maybe I was still totally freaked out that a goddess had chosen me to be her Champion. But at least I had some answers now, and I’d learned more than one secret about myself. I thought I was handling it all okay.
“Well, I wanted to say that I was most pleased by the report that you turned in yesterday,” Metis said. “The one about Nike. You’re getting an A on it.”
I sat up a little straighter in my chair. After everything that had happened, writing the report had been easy. I’d actually been paying more attention in myth-history class, too. At night, when I had time, I’d started reading everything that I could get my hands on at the library about Nike, Loki, and the Chaos War. There were so many books with so many conflicting stories that it was hard to know what was real and what wasn’t. But it had always been that way for me here at Mythos Academy, the school of myths, magic, and warrior whiz kids.
“Thanks,” I said. “It was easy for me to write. I, uh, had a lot of experience to draw on with it after everything that happened in the library.”
“Yes,” Professor Metis said in a quiet voice. “I supposed that you did.”
Metis reached up, took off her silver glasses, and stared at me. For the first time, I noticed how pretty she was, with her black hair, bronze skin, and green eyes. She was also younger than I’d thought, about my mom’s age before she’d died—in her early forties.
“We need to talk about what happened in the library,” Metis said. “Because while your actions were very brave and noble, they’ve also put you in a great deal of danger.”
“Danger?” I asked. “What kind of danger?”
“You mentioned that Jasmine told you about her family, about how they’re all Reapers who serve Loki. I have reason to believe that Jasmine told them what she was doing, that she was planning to use the Bowl to sacrifice Morgan,” Metis said. “Her parents and her older brother have gone into hiding, along with the rest of her family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone. They’ve all gone underground. The members of the Pantheon can’t find them anywhere.”
“Wait a minute. It sounds like you were going to . . . arrest them or something.”
“Or something,” Metis agreed, a grim note creeping into her voice. “I don’t know how, maybe from another student, but Jasmine’s family found out that you were there that night. The Ashtons aren’t the kind of people to let their daughter’s death slide. They might come after you.”
“But I didn’t
kill
her,” I protested. “Logan did, and only to save me. As for everything else, I didn’t really
do
much of anything that night. All I did was run around and be afraid and try not to get killed.”
“You did a little more than that, Gwen. You destroyed the Bowl of Tears, one of the Thirteen Artifacts, one that many Reapers, many of Loki’s followers, desperately wanted to get their hands on. And you stopped Jasmine from sacrificing Morgan, a sacrifice that would have increased Loki’s power and possibly further weakened his prison. That makes you a target for all of the Reapers and their revenge.”
I stuck my hands deeper into the pockets on my purple hoodie and shivered. I knew her words were true. Before at Mythos, I’d been nobody, just like Jasmine had said. That Gypsy girl who saw things. But now, I was that Gypsy girl, the one with secrets of her own.
“Normally, this wouldn’t be a huge problem, as that’s what students here at Mythos are trained for—how to use their magic, how to fight, and especially how to defend themselves against Reapers,” Metis said. “But you’ve only been at Mythos a few months, and you haven’t had any of the training the other students have been exposed to their whole lives. That’s why I let you keep that sword from the library, because you’re going to learn how to use it. As soon as possible. May I see it please? The sword?”
I reached down and picked up Vic from where I’d put him on the floor when I’d first come into the office. Since that night in the library, I’d been carrying the sword around with me everywhere I went, just like all the other kids did with their weapons of choice. But Vic never opened his eye or talked to anyone but me. Truth be told, he still creeped me out a little bit. So yeah, now I believed in gods and goddesses and Chaos and stuff. But a talking sword was still a little much for me to handle.
I passed Vic over to Metis, who drew the sword out of the black leather scabbard that Coach Ajax had given me for him. I held my breath, wondering if Vic would open his eye and glare at the professor for interrupting his nap. That’s what he always did to me when I tried to talk to him when he didn’t want me to. Vic was kind of a pain that way, always wanting to do things on his schedule instead of mine.
“It’s a beautiful sword,” Metis said, admiring the silver blade. “One that is certainly fit for Nike’s Champion.”
It took a second for her words to sink in. “How did you—” I bit my lip.
Metis smiled. “How did I know that Nike picked you to be her Champion?”
She’d totally busted me. Because seeing Nike and all the things that the goddess had said to me was something that I hadn’t told anyone else about, besides Grandma Frost.
Metis slid Vic back into his scabbard and handed him to me. Then, she walked over to the rack of weapons against the wall and pulled a staff from the top slot. The professor brought the weapon over to me so I could see it. The staff was made out of a thick polished golden wood. It was completely smooth and plain, although I could see that some sort of writing had been carved down the front of it.
“Every Champion is given a special weapon by her god or goddess to help her in her various battles,” Metis said. “And Champions can always recognize other Champions.”
“How? How can you tell if someone is a Champion?”
The professor shrugged. “Most of the time, it’s just a feeling you get; you just know someone is a Champion. We’re all sort of . . . drawn to each other. Like magnets continually attracting and repelling each other. Especially those on opposite sites, those who serve opposing gods. For example, it wouldn’t surprise me if you one day encountered Loki’s Champion, since you serve Nike. The two gods have been fighting for centuries now—and so have their Champions.”
Loki had a Champion? Just like Nike did? I hadn’t forgotten about seeing the evil god’s red, red eyes that night in the Library of Antiquities. That hate-filled stare had haunted my nightmares ever since, even though I knew Loki was locked up where he couldn’t hurt me. I doubted the same could be said about his Champion, though.
Determined to think about something else, I stared at the letters on Metis’s staff. “What does your weapon say? And why can’t I read them?”
Metis smiled. “Only a Champion can see the runes, the message, on her weapon. Mine says: ‘In wisdom, there is great strength.’ ”
Wisdom? My eyes flicked back to the statue on the edge of Metis’s desk. Athena was the Greek goddess of wisdom, which meant that Metis had to be her Champion. Daphne had told me that the professor was a Champion, but I hadn’t really believed her. I
so
needed to start believing Daphne more.
“But if you’re a Champion, why are you here at the academy?” I asked. “Why aren’t you out fighting Reapers or something?”
Metis put the staff on the rack with the rest of the weapons, walked back to her desk, and sat down. “Because my job as a Champion is to be here and watch over the students. To teach them wisdom and everything that they need to know to fight Reapers. And now, I’m here to teach you, Gwen.”
She hesitated. “Just the way Grace would have wanted me to.”
For a moment, I was stunned. Just . . .
stunned.
Then, my brain kicked back into gear. “Grace? My—my
mom?
What do you know about her? Why would she want you to teach me how to be a Champion?” The questions spilled out of my mouth one after another.
“Your mother and I were friends,” Metis said. “Best friends, actually. Back when we went to Mythos.”
Professor Metis put her silver glasses back on and picked up a picture frame from the corner of her desk, the one that she’d looked at a few minutes ago. She turned it out so that I could see it. Two people stood in the photo, two girls with their arms slung around each other and wide grins on their faces. One of them was a younger version of Metis, taken when she was about my age.
The other girl in the photo was my mom.
Brown hair, violet eyes, pale skin, wonderful smile. Grace Frost had been beautiful even back then. My mom had hated having her picture taken, so I didn’t have many photos of her, especially when she was young. But this one—I knew that this one was something special.
“Can I—can I touch it?” I whispered. “Please?”
Metis slipped the photo out of the frame and held it out to me. Hand trembling, I reached for it. My fingers latched onto the soft, slick edge, and I closed my eyes and let the memories sweep me away.
So many images flickered through my mind, all of my mom and Metis. Laughing, talking, walking across campus together, eating lunch in the dining hall, practicing in the gym, and doing all the other things that Mythos students did. There were other images, other feelings, associated with the photo, too. The complete faith they’d had in each other, the trust between them, all the whispered secrets and heartaches they’d shared. But through it all, Metis and my mom had loved each other—like sisters. That was the emotion I felt the most—love. It was . . . nice to know that someone had cared about my mom just as much as I did. That someone else missed her just as fiercely as I did.
I opened my eyes and swiped away a couple of tears.
“You can keep it, if you want,” Metis said in a low voice. “I have another copy.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet. Instead, I carefully ran my fingers over the photo, feeling the emotions ripple out of it and into me.
We didn’t speak for the better part of a minute, but finally Metis cleared her throat.
“Anyway,” Professor Metis said. “Your mother and I were friends. She saved my life more times than I can remember, and I plan on doing the same for you, Gwen. To help with that, I’ve rearranged your schedule a bit. Now, in addition to your regular gym class, you’re also going to be getting private lessons every day from your combat tutor to bring you up to speed on how to use your sword.”
Combat tutor? I wasn’t sure that I liked the sound of that.
Metis looked toward the frosted glass door. “Come in now, please.”
A second later, the knob turned, the door opened, and Logan Quinn stepped inside the office.
“I believe that you and Mr. Quinn already know each other,” Metis said. “He seemed to be the most logical choice to be your tutor, given what happened in the library.”
I hadn’t really talked to Logan since that night. Afterward, he’d gone over to Carson’s dorm with Daphne and me, but he hadn’t hung out with us, instead saying he was tired and was going back to his own room. I’d looked for him ever since, but I never seemed to spot him in the halls or out on the quad, and he never glanced my way in gym class or came into the library while I was working.

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