Cursed by the Gods

by Raye Wagner

  I’ll check in with you tomorrow.

  K. Bye.

  Hope set her phone down with a sigh. Years ago, Priska had told her that each god only had one demigod child. Clearly that wasn’t the case. What else didn’t she know?

  Sleep claimed Hope for a few hours, and she was buried in a cocoon of warmth. A buzz from her phone nagged at her senses, and she grabbed the offending device.

  One new message at 2:14 a.m.

  Hope swiped across the screen and opened the message.

  Got it. Unbelievable. Call u in the am.

  She sat up, all vestiges of sleep gone. She wanted to call. Her fingers itched to dial Priska’s number. But Priska would have called if she could.

  Call ASAP. I’m up.

  It would have to do.

  A minute later, Hope checked her phone to make sure the text went through. Five minutes later, she checked to make sure she didn’t miss a response. And again, five minutes after that. And again, and again, and again. But nothing.

  Sleep pulled, and Hope fought it, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

  When the phone beeped, her alarm going off, Hope wanted to scream. Priska should have called by now. Why hadn’t she called by now?

  She spent the day on her bed, her phone in her hand, her stomach in knots.

  It didn’t matter if she missed school. It didn’t matter if she didn’t eat, or take a shower. It didn’t matter. Because nothing was going to make her miss this call.

  But it never came.

  The intercom buzzed. “Ms. Biggers?”

  Hope flinched. The cumulative lack of sleep and panic had settled into hopelessness and dread. Perhaps it was paranoia, but something in her gut told her this was for—

  “Please send Hope Treadwell to the office.”

  She could feel the weight of twenty-two pairs of eyes on her back, and she flushed.

  She’d gotten back to Goldendale last night, but without any reassurance about Priska, Hope’s anxiety remained high, and she’d hardly slept the last six nights. She reached over and grabbed her backpack.

  “Go ahead, Hope. Get your things together,” said Ms. Biggers, waving her hands. “You can get the assignment from Krista later.”

  Hope stopped her hand midair. Right. She glanced at Krista just in time to see her turn away with a sneer. At least the feeling was mutual.

  Hope stepped out into the hall and trudged to the office.

  “Go ahead and sit there, Miss Treadwell.” Ms. Slate indicated a row of hard plastic chairs. “Mr. Jeffers will be with you shortly.”

  Shortly. Was that code for time to stress you out more?

  Hope tapped her foot; the anxiety demanded some form of release. The trip last week to Seattle had been completely unfruitful. After waiting three days at Priska’s apartment, she went to see Mr. Davenport. Priska had been in contact with him the entire time she’d been gone, too. But all communication from her had stopped for both of them. Her last text to Mr. Davenport was about a minute after the one Hope got, promising to call in the morning with travel arrangements. Then, nothing.

  Mr. Davenport had tried to locate her through tracking her phone, but the last known location of her phone was Atlanta. He’d filed a missing persons report with the police. He’d even hired a private investigator to look for her.

  On the sixth day, Mr. Davenport pushed Hope to go back to school and promised to continue to marshal all his resources to locate Priska.

  “She didn’t believe it was safe for you on this side of the mountains, Hope. Too many demigods here. Go back and hide where you’re safe. I’ll let you know the minute I find out anything,” he said.

  So she’d come back to Goldendale. And back to school.

  “Mr. Jeffers will see you now.” Ms. Slate interrupted her reverie.

  Hope shook off the memories and stood. Opening the door, she walked into a plain, functional office. A metal desk sat in the middle of the room. Wire baskets filled with papers sat on either side of the computer screen in the center of the desk. The overhead lighting was off, but sunlight lit the room. The shades were adjusted so a beam streamed right into the chair opposite Mr. Jeffers’s desk.

  “Ah, Miss Treadwell.” Mr. Jeffers wheeled out from behind his desk in a sleek wheelchair. “Thank you for coming in.” He extended his hand. His fair skin contrasted with his curly brown hair, just starting to gray at the temples. He wore a short-sleeved polo, and she could see the cording of muscles in his forearms.

  Hope shook his calloused hand. “Of course, sir.”

  “Pull up a chair.” He pointed at the hot seat then wheeled around behind his desk. “You seem to have disappeared for a few days.” He glanced down at something on his desk then back at her. “Four, to be exact.”

  She nodded.

  “Would you like to elucidate?”

  “My aunt . . . disappeared, and I was . . . worried. I went to see if I could find her.”

  Mr. Jeffers nodded. “And did you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Hmm. Are you close to your aunt?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you don’t live with her?”

  “No, sir. She lives in Seattle.” Dang! The seat was uncomfortable as well as warm. Hope shifted, trying to pull out of the light.

  “And she’s not your guardian, correct?”

  “That’s correct. She travels, and we thought—” What was he getting at?

  “So the responsibility for your education falls on . . .” His head dipped at her meaningfully.

  “Me?”

  “And here we come to the crux of it, Miss Treadwell. You’ve been at our school for a little over a month, and you’ve had six absences. All . . . unexcused.” He tapped the paper in front of him. “Are you unwell?”

  She swallowed. “No, sir.”

  “You’ll not find me unreasonable.” He sat back and spread his arms wide. “But, I don’t write the laws, Miss Treadwell. At ten absences, I have to report you to the truancy board. I imagine at that point your emancipation may come under scrutiny.” He sighed and wheeled out from behind his desk. “You’re skating on thin ice. I would hate for you to get in over your head.”

  Too late.

  “If you need to talk with someone, I can arrange for you to meet with Mrs. Rossi, our school counselor.”

  Mrs. Rossi, aka Angela’s mom. “No, thank you.”

  “Then I suggest you get caught up in your classes.” He indicated the door with a wave of his hand. “Good day.” He turned to his computer screen, effectively dismissing her.

  Good day? Who said that anymore? She left, stopping to get a note from Ms. Slate before heading back to class.

  So what was she going to do when she changed?

  “Excuse me?” What was her name? Gods, if only Hope had paid more attention when all those girls introduced themselves. She leaned forward, entering the girl’s personal space. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but . . .” She hated to admit it. “I need some help.”

  The brunette sat up, her eyes wide. “Oh. Hope. Hi.” Her smile was tentative. “What can I do for you?”

  “I . . . I need to borrow notes . . . from last week . . .” Hope’s heart hammered in her chest. The experience of asking for help completely new, and very uncomfortable. “Please?”

  The girl’s smile spread. “Sure. No problem. I’ll print them off for you during computer lab, ’kay?” She leaned toward Hope and made duck lips. “Are you okay? I heard about you having to see Mr. Jeffers. He can be a real jerk.”

  “No, I mean, yeah.” Why was she asking about what happened with Mr. Jeffers? Why would she care? “Um, Thanks.”

  “So where’d you go?” The girl followed Hope out of the classroom and toward her locker.

  Great. She didn’t need a friend, just the homework. “Over to Seattle.”

  “Oh.” The girl nodded. “The rumor was you skipped town, you know, ran away, but obviously that’s not true. I mean, why would you run away? Seattle’s awe
some. I love it over there. Have you been to Pike Place Market?”

  Holy Hades, this girl could talk. “Yeah. But it’s been a while.”

  “Cool.” The bell rang. “Well, I’ll see you later, ‘kay?” The girl waved and walked off.

  It was weird to have someone be so friendly. Weird, but maybe a little nice, too.

  As promised, the brunette girl gave Hope a stack of notes at the beginning of Spanish. There at the top of the page was her name. Haley.

  Hope wanted to start looking at them right then, but Haley lingered at her desk.

  “I was thinking,” Haley started. “If you’re not busy Saturday night, you should totally come to the river with us. I mean, me. I mean, there will be a ton of other people there, but, it would be cool to have you come, too. If you want. I could pick you up.”

  Was she serious? Hope stared at Haley, her mind processing the request. That was going too far. Hope couldn’t accept, even if she wanted to.

  “Uh, I—”

  The bell rang, saving her from having to answer. The girl had given Hope notes, so she didn’t want to be rude, but she couldn’t think of a nice way to tell Haley no.

  “’Kay then.” And Haley walked to her seat in the back of the room.

  Hope tapped Print and listened as the paper fed through the printer. There was something decidedly satisfying about finishing a paper. She’d spent the entire day on missed assignments, and there were only a couple of worksheets left and she’d be caught up in all her classes.

  She stacked the papers then stapled them together.

  A glance out the window to the deepening sky told her she had plenty of time to finish her chemistry before bed.

  If she wanted. But she really didn’t want to. She was over it. Tired of typing. Tired of writing. Tired of balancing and equating. Tired of translating. Over it.

  Hope grabbed her phone from the desk and pushed the Power button. Still no messages. Her stomach knotted in worry.

  Please call me. Please text me. Please let me know you’re okay!

  Her finger hovered over the Send button. Every day, she sent a worded plea to Priska’s phone. Every day Hope checked for a reply. Every. Single. Day. She clicked send, hoping this one would be the one.

  Hoping but not believing.

  Knock knock.

  “Hey, Hope, it’s me, Haley.”

  Oh blast. Their conversation came back all at once. Clearly, Haley was being serious about going to the river tonight. And Hope’s non-answer had been misinterpreted.

  Hope opened the door a crack. “Hey, Haley.”

  Haley’s eyes widened as she looked Hope over. “You’re going in your pajamas? Ugh. I wish I’d thought of that.” Haley was wearing jeans, dark leather boots, and a brown fleece jacket.

  “Um, no. I wasn’t planning on—”

  “You aren’t going to come?” Haley’s shoulders dropped. “Really?”

  Hope looked around her house. What else was she going to do?

  Everything she’d ever been taught said she shouldn’t go. Even her own experiences were evidence that it wouldn’t end well. And yet, sitting at home alone, again . . . The self-imposed isolation made her heart ache. She decidedly did not want to sit at home alone doing worksheets.

  “No, I’ll come. But, let me put some jeans on. Just give me five?”

  Hope changed quickly, and soon they were on the road.

  “Do you think Tristan’s cute?” Haley asked as she drove. “I mean it’s okay if you do, but I didn’t want to, you know, try and hook up, if you were interested, or something.”

  Hope squirmed. “Nope.”

  Haley veered the car to the right as she looked at Hope. “No you don’t think he’s cute?”

  “No, I’m not interested. I guess he’s cute.” Did it matter?

  “Cute, but not demigod cute, huh?” Haley sighed.

  Hope’s stomach churned.

  “Not that we’ve had one here for, like, a year at least.” Haley paused. “Although, maybe Athan is one. He’s hot enough, anyway.”

  Hope nodded. He was definitely good looking. She thought back to the demigod she’d met all those years ago in Kent. He’d been really good looking, too.

  “What about you?”

  Hope frowned, her thoughts of demigods derailed. “What about me?”

  “Are you a demigod?”

  Her heart stopped. Was that why Haley had asked her to come tonight? “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. I mean you’re pretty and all. But”—she snapped her fingers over and over—“I don’t know. You just don’t seem the type.”

  “You’ve known that many demigods?” A desire to open the door of the sedan and jump clutched Hope. Irrational. She was being irrational.

  “A couple.” Haley shrugged.

  The silence stretched into awkwardness, but Hope didn’t know what to say. What could she say? She wanted to change the subject, talk about what normal people talked about. But what did they talk about?

  “My best friend was a demigod,” Haley said, choking on the words. “But they got her a couple years ago.”

  Hope’s pulse skipped and tripped, and her hands grew clammy. She should’ve stayed home. Nothing good could come of this, and yet she couldn’t help but ask, “Who got her?”

  The mood dropped from awkward to somber, and the silence stretched.

  Hope began to wonder if she had asked the question aloud or if she’d just thought it.

  They pulled into the parking lot, but Haley made no move to get out of the car.

  Hope waited. Should she say something? Move to leave? She fidgeted in her seat, her mind racing.

  Haley turned to Hope. “Skia got her.”

  They gathered around the fire, like bugs to light. Or like cold humans to warmth . . . because they were. Hope stared at the crowd and wondered what she was doing. She didn’t know what to say to Haley. Was an apology enough? It wasn’t Haley’s fault, and probably not the demigod friend’s either. Skia just killed. That’s what they did. Still, Hope felt bad that Haley had lost her friend.

  They crossed the parking lot in silence, and Hope zipped her coat up. It was freezing. And dark. And this was stupid. She shouldn’t be here. Was there a way to ask Haley to take her home, or would that be rude?

  Haley walked over to a group of guys, and Hope knew she’d missed her chance.

  Several of her classmates roasted marshmallows, others sipped at cans. People were having conversations in groups of twos and threes, and Hope stood in the shadows watching. She felt the warmth of someone behind her and turned.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t want to mingle with the trash of Goldendale?” Athan whispered.

  Hope stepped away from him. “I didn’t . . . No. I didn’t say that.”

  “Then why are you over here by yourself?” He smirked.

  The cold air nipped at her ears and nose, and her irritation flared.

  “Why are you?” She glared at him. He was infuriating. And rude.

  “A better view.” He raised his brows, and his green eyes flashed fire.

  The wind shifted, and with it the smoke. Her eyes stung, and she coughed. Stepping away from the smoke, and using it to get away from Athan, she backed right into a group of girls. Apologizing, she ducked and maneuvered, fighting the urge to just run away.

  Tristan stood up and yelled for attention. “Hey! Story time! Everyone quiet down. Athan, come tell us a story.”

  Out of nowhere, Haley grabbed Hope’s arm and pulled her closer to the fire and the large group there.

  “Come on, you’ll want to hear this,” Haley said.

  “Uh, okay. But no scary stuff,” a freckle-faced boy said.

  “Oh, are you scared?” The brawny teen that had tried to help Hope to her locker when she first moved in teased. “Lee, you’re such a girl. Better run—”

  “No, you pissy harpy, there are ladies here, and maybe—”

  “I’ve got a good story.” Athan stepped into the f
irelight, his presence cutting off the bickering. “I think you’ll like it. Even the ladies.”

  He winked at the group of girls Hope and Haley hovered around. Several girls giggled, as if he’d winked at them.

  After several shushes, silence settled, and in its wake the anticipation grew.

  Athan began, his lilting accent adding a measure of depth to his story, “When the Olympians were still young and involved in their rule of this sphere, Atalanta was born. Her father, King Iasus, was so disappointed that the babe was not a son that he took his newborn daughter into the woods and left her to die.

  “But the gods smiled on the young one, and a mother bear adopted the infant. Atalanta’s first years were those of a cub: wrestling, hunting, running, and climbing. When she was still a young girl, a passing hunter saw her kill a doe with only her hands.

  “The hunter was married but childless, and he took the girl home to his wife. The couple recognized that Atalanta was strong in mind and body and encouraged her to develop her talents.

  “Atalanta became renowned. Famous because of her physical prowess and hunting skills, she was invited to participate in the Calydonian Boar Hunt. Of all the hunters, she won the trophy for drawing first blood. She gained further fame after defeating Peleus in a wrestling match. Peleus was Achilles’s father.

  “Not only was Atalanta strong and brave, she was beautiful. However, she saw no use for a man—for what could he do that she could not?”

  “Hey, hey,” Brawny Jock interrupted. “I could show her something.”

  Somebody snickered.

  A male classmate retorted, “Yeah, you could show her your mama’s house and your mama’s car—”

  “Shut up.” Haley’s soft voice was unusually forceful. “I want to hear the story.”

  “Of course you do.” Tristan laughed and winked at her.

  Haley blushed.

  Athan waited for silence, and then he continued, “A few tried to take advantage of the young lady; all were injured, most were killed.

  “After all her accomplishments and renown, her father, Iasus, finally acknowledged her as his child and brought her home. Once there, Iasus tried to fulfill his parental responsibility and find Atalanta a husband.