by Raye Wagner
Athan strode down the hall, his glowering expression sending underclassmen scattering.
Haley turned around, took one look at Athan and faced Hope. “Ah, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at lunch?” She didn’t even wait for Hope to answer.
“I want to talk with you,” he growled.
“Okay.” What was his problem? “Uh, if it’s going to take longer than five minutes—”
“It won’t.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward a stairwell.
“Athan . . . my locker . . .” Hope turned as if she could still reach and close it.
“It’ll be fine. It’s not like there’s anything of value in there.”
She disagreed. Her books. Her work . . .
“Get out,” he snarled, and the couple kissing on the stairs ran past them.
“What’s up with you?” She wrenched her arm free.
“With me? Ouia, what’s up with you?”
“What are you talking about? Not much has changed since last night when you were over.”
He took a deep breath and released a slow exhale. “Do you want to tell me where you got that . . . cut on your neck?” His fists clenched and unclenched.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Why? Because I think I should know.”
“You think you should know? Um, last time I checked it was my body. My life.”
“Are you serious? You get injured, and you don’t think I deserve to know?” He yelled.
It was like someone had thrown a switch. The young man she thought she knew was gone. And this person was a complete stranger.
“What’s going on with you?” She couldn’t reconcile the difference in her mind.
“What’s going on with me? Gods, Hope. I said you could trust me. You said you did. And now . . . You won’t even tell me how you got hurt?”
“Why does it matter? I’m fine.” Well, mostly she was fine. The pain was gone this morning, and aside from a small ache . . .
“How can you even be standing here?” He reached out and grabbed the top of her collar, pulled it down so the blackened skin was exposed. “How does something like that happen?”
She grabbed his wrist and threw his arm back. “How dare you. Don’t—”
“If you can’t be honest with me…”
She drew herself up and clenched her fists. “Are you kidding me? What about you? Where did you go with your dad? And how did you get all beat up? How about you tell me what you’re hiding?”
He exhaled. “I already told you. I wasn’t in a fight. I’ve been helping my father.”
“Right. With his courier service.”
“This isn’t about me.” He ran his hand through his hair. “If you can’t be honest with me, maybe we shouldn’t be together.” Without waiting for her reply he turned and left.
Her heart fell into her stomach, and she gaped after him. What just happened? Hope sat on the bottom step.
The bell rang.
She felt like there was a flashing sign in her mind . . . Does not compute. With her world upside down, Hope went to close her locker.
She slammed the door, shutting out the pity that had followed her all day. She saw it in Haley’s eyes. Felt it in the conversation. And by the end of school, everyone knew.
The ache in her chest had nothing to do with the Skia blade, but she wished it did. Perhaps, if he had cut just a little deeper?
She shook her head. What in the name of Hades was she thinking?
Good gods! She was not going to let Athan breaking up with her turn her into a moping child.
Hope reviewed the last several days with sudden clarity.
Skia were watching her. Her principal had all but threatened to expel her. Her boyfriend . . . She got tingles when she thought about him, and then wanted to slap herself. If she was anyone else she would slap herself. Because her ex-boyfriend was a liar. She didn’t know what about, but did it matter? Well, maybe he wasn’t lying, per se, but . . . He was being deceitful. And it didn’t even matter because they weren’t together.
She should leave Goldendale.
Start over.
It’s what her mom would have recommended weeks ago.
She took a quick trip to DT Moving Supplies on Main Street. The sun was just setting, when Hope started packing. One by one she pushed the boxes into the living room. Linens. Toiletries. Dishes.
Even while her heart was breaking, she knew it was for the best.
She liked Haley. She liked Athan. Hades, she like liked Athan. But he didn’t like her. Besides, there was nothing safe about staying in Goldendale.
SIMILAR TO HER first day at Goldendale High, Hope arrived early. The pine disinfectant hung in the air, and coupled with the silent halls, she felt a shiver of déjà vu. However, today she knew her way to the office, she expected the bell announcing her arrival, and she addressed the assistant without having to glance at the nameplate.
“Good morning, Ms. Slate. Is Mr. Jeffers in yet?”
Ms. Slate stopped her typing and picked up the phone.
She waited while the plump woman called into his office. Seconds later, Ms. Slate waved her through without a word.
She took a deep breath, forcing the butterflies and caterpillars to the depths of her soul. This was for the best; despite what her heart said, her mind was made up.
She knocked.
“Come in,” a deep voice instructed from behind the door.
Hope opened the door and walked into his practical office. He looked up from his computer screen and met her eyes. “Hope Treadwell, what can I do for you this morning? Not planning on missing more school are you?” He extended his hand, and she grasped the calloused skin briefly.
She clenched her teeth, swallowing a snide remark. “No, sir. But I do need to talk with you about that.”
“I can appreciate your concern. You seem to have an issue with attendance.” He pointed at the chair across from his desk.
Hope pulled the chair far away from the glare of the sun, offered a tight smile, and sat. “Yes. Mr. Davenport spoke of your concerns. Though, I think it’s interesting, this concern you have.”
He clenched his jaw. “Interesting? How so?”
She took a deep breath, as if contemplating the words. “One would assume that your interest is in your students learning and their progress. However, if that were your focus, you would’ve noticed that I have straight As. I make up all my work. All of it. If you were attentive to the needs of the students, you would see their suffering and struggles, not just their attendance. If learning— actual knowledge and education—were actually your concern, you would make your students, not attendance numbers, your focus.”
His eyes grew wide.
“And don’t even get me started on your choice of counselor, and her serious lack of confidentiality. Not only does her daughter seem to know everything that happens, but she shares it with the entire school. If you decide to report me”—she glared at him—“I will let them know every single violation that goes on here. Besides, I don’t think that the absences of a straight A student who, incidentally, has lost her mom and her aunt both in the last six months, would really meet criteria for an at-risk situation, or whatever it is you call it.”
He sat back in his chair and exhaled. Then with a wave of his hand he dismissed her concerns. “No. No need. We’ll just . . . move forward. In the event of future absences, please just provide a letter stating the necessity of said absence.”
She swallowed, but her anxiety didn’t disappear. “I understand, Mr. Jeffers. But I came in to let you know I will be withdrawing from school.”
He set the papers down and narrowed his eyes. “When?”
“Today.”
He frowned. “I hope this choice to move is not in response to any . . . misunderstanding.”
“Why would you think that?” Not waiting for an answer, she stood. “I’ve been advised to move closer to Seattle so I have easier access to the services I’m using. I’m su
re you’ve had other students coping with loss, so you understand.” She extended her hand. “Thank you for your time.”
Mr. Jeffers wheeled around the desk. “Of course. My door is always open to the students.”
He clasped her hand; it was clammy with sweat.
“I’m sure it is, sir.”
As she shut the door, she could hear the clicking of his keyboard.
Students filed in as Hope walked to her locker. Might as well get her stuff while she was here. Bitter anger surged. It was so unfair. She turned the dial quickly, missing number after number. A growl of frustration escaped, and she hit the metal door.
“Hope.”
She turned, her heart flipped and her mouth went dry.
“I think we should . . .” His brow creased. “You don’t look so well. Are you ill?”
For the first time in her life, she was grateful that her emotions played so obviously on her face. “Why would it matter to you? Go away, Athan.” She turned back to the locker and spun through the combination.
“No. I want to talk to you about yesterday.”
She shoved notebooks into her bag, and pulled out the textbooks putting them into her locker. “I’m not feeling up to it right now. I’m just here to grab my stuff, then I’m heading home.”
“What? You’re going home?”
She offered him a tight smile. “If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise . . .”
Athan’s brow creased. “I . . . I’m sorry I lost my temper yesterday. I . . . I want us to still be friends.”
Was he kidding? “Okay. Fine.” Sure.
“Okay? Oh, great. Good. So maybe—”
She slammed the locker shut. “See you later, Athan.”
He sighed. “I hope you feel better. Will I see you tomorrow?”
He reached out as if to touch her, but she pulled back. “Yep. See ya.”
It was so much easier to hide behind her anger than acknowledge her hurt. Friends? Whatever. She just needed to finish packing, and then she could leave.
BY EARLY EVENING, the house was packed. She’d moved her mother’s boxes, the boxes of books from the study, and the duffle bags into the front room. She’d call a moving company in the morning, but she wanted to get on the road tonight. She grabbed the two duffle bags and went out to her car.
The air had cooled with the sunset, and her feet dragged as she walked back to the house. She needed to move a few more boxes into the living room, finish packing her car, and then she’d be ready.
She opened the front door to the ringing of her phone. It had been ringing all afternoon. All evening, too. The lit screen showed ten missed calls. All Athan, and no messages.
Looking through her house with boxes stacked all around, she felt the walls closing in. Hot emotion roiled through her body, and her head ached with the tension. She wanted to hit something, or someone. She ran through her breathing exercises, trying to calm down, but the energy needed an outlet. With a dare to the universe, and the Skia from Hades, she grabbed her running clothes and went to change.
Night had fallen by the time she stepped outside, and she closed her eyes to the veil of darkness. With a deep breath, she turned the key, and someone coughed behind her. Her heart thudded, and she turned.
Athan stood under the streetlight.
“What is it with you today?” he said, unhitching himself from the post. He wore long baggy athletic shorts, a T-shirt, and running shoes.
“What?” she squeaked.
“You don’t answer my calls, you ran off in school . . .”
The urge to tell him off was almost as strong as the urge to cry. She mentally pounded it into oblivion and fixed her eyes on the ground. If she glanced his way, she knew her will would crumble.
“I have a lot going on, and you’re not helping. Besides, I thought you didn’t care.”
“Why would you say that?” He stepped closer, his eyes darting to her neck.
“Um, you broke up with me.” She itched to hit him.
“You think I broke up with you because I don’t like you?” He sounded incredulous.
She laughed. “I may not be well versed in the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but usually you don’t break up with someone you like.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, I need a run . . . to clear my head.” She looked up at him. “Do you ever do that?” She started walking briskly, and wasn’t at all surprised when he kept stride.
“All the time.” His hand trailed down her arm.
Despite yanking her arm away, she had an almost overwhelming compulsion to share her plans with him. Keeping her focus on the road, and her mouth clamped, she picked up the pace. It wasn’t until she was running that her desire to bare her fears, her plans, and her secrets passed.
She lost herself in the release.
After lapping the town twice, she slowed their pace to a jog, and then a brisk walk. On Broadway, still three blocks from her house, Athan broke the silence.
“You can’t avoid talking to me forever. You can’t just ignore something and have it go away.”
“Are you kidding me?” she started, but stopped when she saw the man strolling toward them.
What struck her was his liquid gait; there was something strangely familiar about how he moved. The man passed under a streetlight, and Hope gasped.
Skia. The one that had attacked her. She could make out the blackness of his eyes and the sharp angles of his features. The leer made fear grip her stomach.
“Darren.” Athan’s voice seethed.
He pushed Hope behind him, but she pulled away in shock.
“You know him?” Her heart skipped a beat.
“You can see him?” Certainty registered in every fiber of his body.
“He was the other guy in the Dalles. The one that gave me this.” She pointed at her neck.
“He’s Skia.” Without waiting for her response, he pulled a small silver blade from each hip. “Hold it, Darren.”
“You two immortals. . .” Darren’s voice rubbed like sandpaper. “Together. Who would have thought?” He laughed. “Hades will be so happy to see you both.”
Not only could Athan could see the Skia . . . He knew him. Gods!
“What makes you think we’re coming with you?” Athan questioned, and, with supernatural speed, he flicked his wrist.
One of the daggers flew through the air. But, quick as lightning, the Skia dropped, rolled, and came up with a black blade in each hand.
At the sight of the dark daggers, Hope shuddered.
Athan swore. “I will kill you, Darren.” He advanced on the demon from Hades.
The rasp from Darren could’ve been a laugh, but it was menacing and full of hate. “You are not capable, demigod.”
Athan dodged a blade, then punched the Skia in the gut.
Hope stood frozen as Darren’s elbow stuck Athan’s side. With only a small wince to acknowledge the hit, Athan pulled back and circled the shadow demon.
The two figures squared off, and it became a brawl.
Hope stood transfixed while the two enemies traded punches, kicks, and elbows.
She had no idea where their blades were, if they were even out. . .
Athan screamed and fell to his knees. The Skia held a fistful of Athan’s hair, forcing his head back, exposing his neck.
Time slowed.
Hope looked down at the golden dagger from her grandmother, and she knew, she was not going to be a bystander. Not to this.
“Stop!” she screamed. “Stop!”
The two immortals froze.
It was all the time she needed.
She leaped forward and dragged the blade across the Skia’s chest, slicing through his clothing, the blade biting into his pasty flesh.
The Skia’s blade clattered to the ground, then disappeared.
“Agghhh!” Darren hissed. Something dark oozed from the wound, staining his shirt.
He op
ened his mouth and vomited light. The cut pulsed a bright beam, and the Skia seemed to flicker, and then he faded into the night.
Athan swore.
Hope dropped her knife, and the clang made her jump. She stared at the weapon, then glanced up at the Skia, but he was gone. She stooped to pick up her blade, it was covered with a sticky pitch. She wiped it on the hem of her tank, and looked up to see Athan retrieve his knife.
She wanted to throw up.
She wanted to run away.
And she couldn’t move.
He walked toward her, his voice gentle, concerned. “Hope?” He wiped the silver blade, the handle a snake with emerald eyes, and tucked it somewhere at his hip.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the Skia?”
She couldn’t process. If he could see the Skia . . . “What do you mean?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about that night in the Dalles? Why didn’t you tell me one was Skia?”
“What are you talking about?” Her fear made her angry. “I . . . I told you. I told you there were two guys. And, I . . . I couldn’t tell you . . .” The sting of betrayal was sharp. He’d been hiding his identity the whole time!
“How was I supposed to know?” He was talking but not even looking at her. Then his attention zeroed in on her. “Come on.” He grabbed her wrist.
His stride cut with purpose, and Hope, clumsy with shock, stumbled behind him.
They got to her house, but Athan led her to his truck. Wordlessly, he opened the door, picked her up, put her inside the cab, and buckled her in.
Neither spoke. When he pulled up to his house, Hope noticed Myrine sitting on the porch staring up at the sky. She glanced up and saw the stars, millions of tiny lights, oblivious to the chaos all around.
His voice pulled her back, “Let’s go inside.”
Dreading whatever was next, she slowly climbed down from the truck.
As they walked toward the darkened house, Myrine turned toward them. “Tread softly, Athan. Where you walk leaves prints in the sand,” she cautioned, as she walked out into the darkness.
He opened the door and flipped the on the lights.
Momentarily blinded, Hope stood rooted in the entryway.
“In here.” His voice was sharp.