Of course at first I thought Griff was the bad-boy type, but that turned out to be only one thin layer of his personality. Maybe there's something deeper in Xander, too.
Watching Griff from the corner of my eye, I smile. I don't think I could have dreamed up a more perfect guy.
"Can we run in the morning tomorrow?" he asks.
"Sure," I say, though I'm a little disappointed at the thought of getting up early. It's bad enough I have camp every day on my summer vacation. But better to run early with Griffin than alone at any other time. "Any particular reason?"
"Aunt Lili wants me to go to Serifos with her to stock up on fresh berries."
As we kick up our pace a notch, I try to ignore the sour feeling in my gut. Maybe I just imagined the hint of guilt in his voice.
* * *
"I found several promising exercises in my files," Stella says as we stack up our dishes and carry them to the kitchen.
I quickly rinse mine off and set them in the near-ancient dishwasher-seriously, it's amazing this thing even has electricity. When it runs, the whole house roars like we're keeping a Cyclops in the basement.
Turning and leaning a hip against the counter as Stella adds her dishes next to mine, I wait for her to say more. She carefully rearranges my dishes in the bottom tray. Like the dishwasher cares if the plates are all in the same quadrant.
"I'd like to try the first one tonight," she finally says. "I think it will really help you get in touch with your powers."
Her voice is very calm and reassuring, like an elementary-school teacher's. I'm instantly on alert.
"What exercise is that?" I ask warily.
She closes the dishwasher. "It will be easier if I show you."
Ten minutes later, we've pushed the furniture aside in the living room and we're sitting pretzel style on the floor facing each other.
Though I try to keep my distance,. Stella inches closer until our knees are practically touching. She reaches forward and takes my hands, placing them palm up on my knees.
This reminds me of the yoga class Nola once dragged me to. Not really my thing. If Stella starts talking about meditation and asking me to "om" to the goddess Shiva, I'm outta here.
"The exercise is called 'Inner Contact,'" she explains, setting her hands palm up on her knees, too. The goal is for you to locate the source of power in your body."
Next she'll be spouting Hindi and directing me into the downward-facing dog position.
"Close your eyes," Stella instructs, her voice soft, melodic. "I am going to lead you through your body, and each time I say an area, I want you to focus all your energy on that part of your body. Picture your powers glowing from that spot, illuminating the entire room. Okay?"
I nod. I also roll my eyes. Thankfully Stella can't see, though, since my eyes are closed. I'm willing to give this exercise a chance, but I'm skeptical. All this touchy-feely-New-Agey stuff seems like hooey to me.
"Toes," Stella whispers.
I focus on my toes. Seriously, though, if my powers come from my toes, I think I'd be too embarrassed to ever use them again.
"Ankles."
I shift my focus. I'm not sure how I'll know when I've "found my powers," but I keep trying.
"Calves." She pauses long enough for me to shift focus. "Knees. Thighs."
I follow along.
"Hips. Waist. Chest. Shoulders. Upper arms. Elbows. Forearms. Wrists. Fingers. Neck. Head"
Okay, we've gone from toes to nose and still nothing.
"Now I will move on to the organs," Stella explains. "You will need to shift your focus insideyour body."
I nod. I'm starting to feel really good. Quiet and at peace. Maybe there is something to meditation after all.
"Stomach."
Nothing.
"Heart."
Nothing.
"Mind."
Noth-
"Oh my gods!" Stella squeals. "That's it, that's it!"
I open my eyes, ready to ask her how she knows, but then I see it. The glow. It's everywhere. It's like my head is a giant lamp and the entire room is glowing in my light. (That sounds gross, but it is breathtaking.)
"Wow, that's amaz-"
Knock, knock.
We both jump at the loud knock on the front door. Instantly, the glow is gone. I lost my focus.
"Who could that be?" Stella asks, climbing to her feet and headingto the door. When she yanks it open. no one's there. The porch is empty.
I join her at the door, confirming that we just got ding-dong-ditched. I bet it was a ten-year-old from boot camp. That's just the sort of juvenile prank they would pull.
"Weird." Stella leans out the door, glancing around, then looks down. "Oh, here's something."
She bends down to pick up an envelope sitting on the welcome mat. Reading the front as she closes the door, she says, "It's for you."
"For me?" I echo. Who would leave me a note on the front porch in such a mysterious way? Actually, who would leave me a note period? Everyone knows I live on e-mail and IM.
But my name is penned neatly on the envelope in a thin, elegant script.
I rip it open and pull out the note inside. My jaw drops.
Want to learn what really happened to your father?
"Holy Hades," I gasp. Then my everything goes black.
The next thing I remember is Stella shaking me and screaming. "For the love of Zeus, Phoebe,stop thinking!"
Everything in the room is swirling around me-except for Stella, who has me in a total death grip. The living room is a whirl of furniture and plaster. It feels like I woke up in the Gravitron-that carnival ride where the floor drops out from under you as you spin against the outside wall-only it's the room that's spinning, not me.
I blink away all the crazy thoughts of what that note might mean. As my mind shakes off the dizzy sensation, the room slowly returns to normal.
I focus on not throwing up.
"We have got to get you under control," she says, smoothing her twinset into place, like we weren't just spinning in a whirlpool vortex in the living room.
Better not tell her what her hair looks like.
"What set you off?" she asks. "What does the note say?"
I'm not sure why I don't tell her the truth. Maybe I'm not comfortable talking about my dad with her, since her dad stepped into his place. Maybe I don't want to suffer her inquisition over what the note might mean. Or maybe I'm just so shocked by the suggestion that there might be more to Dad's death than I already know that I want to savor that idea without intrusion. Whatever the reason, I shrug it off with a lie.
"It's just a joke from Nicole," I say, forcing a little laugh. "She's a jokester."
From the way her perfectly tweezed brows drop, I get the feeling she's not buying my story. When her gray eyes glance briefly at the white card clutched in my fist, I know she's not buying my story. Darn psychospection.But, for whatever reason, she doesn't call me out. I can see the instant she decides not to argue; she looks back into my eyes and exhales.
"Whatever," she says dismissively. "Now that we know your powers come from the mind, I can tailor some camp exercises to meet your needs."
Before she clumps out of the room, she tosses another look at the note. A little reminder that she knows I lied.
"Oh, and Phoebe?" she calls out over her shoulder as she disappears into the hall. "Try to control your thoughts until we get you straightened out."
That's going to be a problem. Now that the seeds of doubt are planted, how am I ever going to stop thinking about Dad, and what I don'tknow about his untimely smoting? And worrying whether I'm destined for a smoting of my own?
Chapter 5
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
AEROK1NES1S
SOURCE: ARTEMIS
The ability to control and move air and wind. This can also result in the moving and/or levitating of objects, self, or others. Useful during summer months t
o reduce air-conditioning costs. Only very powerful hematheos can use this power to effect noticeable changes in weather.
DYNAMQTIIHOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"WHAT ELSE DID THE NOTE SAY?" Nicole asks.
After the early-morning training run with Griffin, I'd showered and gotten changed for camp with more than an hour to spare. Since Griffin was on the boat to Serifos with Aunt Lili, I headed to Nicole's dorm room.
'Here," I say, pulling it out of the back pocket of my jeans. I tried to leave it on my desk when I left home, but couldn't walk away. Like I was compelled to take it with me. "You can read it."
Nicole looks at the note and then scowls. "This is the note?"
"Yeah." I lean over and read it upside down. "That's it."
She looks at me like I'm crazy. "It's blank."
"No it's not." I argue. I point at the words. "Right there it says, "Want to learn what really happened to your father?"
Nicole squints at it. Holds it up to her nose. Flips it over and looks at the back. She shakes her head.
"Seriously," she says, giving it one last look. "I don't see anything."
How is that possible?
"It must be cursed," she says, handing it back to me.
"Cursed?" I squeak, dropping the note like she'd said it was coated in the plague. I do notlike the sound of that.
"Relax." She drops back onto her bed, grabbing a black pillow and tossing it in the air. "A curse isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's just a specialized use of powers that affects only one person or a specific group of people."
Snatching the note back off the floor, I say, "Oh, well, that's a-"
"Of course it canbe a bad thing," she adds, ruining my moment of relief. She snorts. "A reallybad thing."
"Not helping." I sit in her desk chair and read the note aloud again.
"What was that last bit?" she asks.
"X Sigma 597.11 FL76." It makes no sense. It's not even a word. "What is it? Some kind of code or something?"
"It seems familiar," she says.
Nicole jumps up and grabs a scrap of paper and a pencil with a skull-and-crossbones eraser at the end. Handing them to me, she says, "Write it out. Exactly as it is in the note."
When I do, she claps her hands. "I know what that is!"
"You do?"
"Yes." She smiles triumphantly. "It's a call number. Like from the library."
A call number? I shake my head.
"It's a book!"
"Oh," I say brilliantly. A book. How is some book supposed to explain something about my dad? It's not like just anyone can publish stuff about the secret world of the gods. Mount Olympus totally has supernatural protections against that kind of thing. Why would this crazy note have a library call num-
"What are you waiting for?" Nicole demands, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me to the door. "Let's go to the library."
I've never seen Nicole get so excited about anything-except that time she came up with the plan to help me capture and then break Griffin's heart. That time didn't turn out so well for me. She temporarily zapped away my ankle muscles so Griff would have to carry me home. That was before they made up, of course. And before he and I got together.
It was the thrill of strategy and espionage that excited her then. It's a good bet that it's the same thrill that has her hurrying me across the campus lawn. In under two minutes we've made it from her room to the library door.
I'd been to the library dozens of times during the school year. Researching a book-length term paper for Ms. T's lit class. Using the computer lab to check out a supercool 3-D physics simulator program in Ms. Madrianos' class. Looking up newspaper accounts of my dad's death.
Still, as Nicole and I walk through the glass double doors, I can't help staring in awe.
You know what most high-school libraries are like? Small, cramped, and with so few books that if every student checked one out at once, the shelves would be empty? Well the Academy library is so not like that.
First of all, it's huge.When you walk in, you're on the second story, on a balcony that overlooks the basement-level main floor. Circling the upper level is an alternating pattern of tables and chairs, individual study carrels, and comfy armchairs facing low coffee tables. Who wouldn't want to study in here?
Second of all, it's beautiful.There is light everywhere on the balcony and pouring into the open space below. Since it's at the corner of the school, it has two full walls of windows that let in glorious sun all day. The shelves that line the balcony are the exact same color as the Academy exterior, so they blend right in with the walls. Everything is trimmed in gold-I have a feeling it's realgold-and marble. All the fabrics are this gorgeous gold swirly-girly pattern. As far as lush interiors go, it could rival any of the great palaces of the world.
Third of all, it's full of books.Oh, not so much that you feel crowded by them or anything, but if they had a card catalog-which they haven't since computerizing everything in the nineties-it would be the size of an average high-school library. Almost all of the books are in the basement level, which spreads out under the entire school. Probably farther. This is totally the kind of place that would have secret chambers or hidden passages or something else right out of a Nancy Drew novel.
"Come on," Nicole calls out as she heads for the sweeping staircase that leads to the lower level. "Let's check the call number against the Map."
Note clutched in my hand, I hurry after her. The Map is a huge-scale, Plexiglas floor plan of the library that details what's on every shelf. Not to the book, of course-wouldn't that be cool, though, if it was some ultra hip, interactive map where you could scan through every book on the shelf!-but by call number.
When we reach the map I unfold the note and read the call number out.
"X Sigma 597.11 FL76." I'm sure that makes sense to somebody-librarians, probably-but to me it's just a garble of numbers and letters.
The one bad thing about the Academy library is that nothing is in order. At least, not call-number order. Or any other order, as far as I can see. Tracing over the Map with our fingers, Nicole and I search every inch of it. I'm just about to give up, when she says, "Here it is." Followed immediately by, "No, that's not it."
"What?" I move to her side of the Map and look at the spot she's pinpointing with her finger.
"This doesn't make any sense," she says. That set of shelves has all the X-whatevers exceptX Sigma. There's no X Sigma anything anywhere."
Leaning in for a closer view, I see she's right. How weird is that? The label lists everything that starts with X plus a letter from the Latin alphabet.
I scan the Map again. There are no call numbers with Greekletters. But the second letter of the call number is definitely a Ј. A Sigma.
Maybe the note was a typo.
"You will not find Chi Sigma on the Map."
Nicole and I both spin around. I don't know about Nicole, but my heart is racing. I feel like we got caught sneaking into school after dark, not searching for a library book.
Standing right behind us is the librarian, Mrs. Philipoulos. I adore her-she helped me find obscure Aristotle writings for my final in Mr. Dorcas's philosophy class-but she scares me a little. She is no stereotypical librarian. She only comes up to my chin, making her maybe five foot. Maybe. My best guess at her age is seventy, but you wouldn't know it from how she's dressed. It's not every day you sec a five-foot, seventy-year-old librarian wearing black cargo pants and a black leather corset top. And certainly not one that looks goodin that outfit.
"Mrs. Philipoulos," Nicole gasps. "You scared the Hades out of us."
"We librarians have to be stealthy," She shrugs her tiny shoulders. "How else can we expect to spy on young lovers in the stacks?"
My cheeks flush with the memory of one night during finals week when Griffin and I slipped down the modern-dramatic-theory aisle for a make-out
session, certain that no one in their right mind would come looking for one of those books. We quadruple-checked that no one was around. There was no way she could have-
"Mrs. Philipoulos!" I gasp.
The tiny librarian winks at me.
I give her a weak smile.
Remembering why we're here-and desperate to deflect my embarrassment-I ask, "Why won't we find Chi Sigma on the Map?"
Why didn't we guess that the X was really a chi?
"Because," she says, her ruby-glossed lips smiling mischievously, "That is one of the secret collections."
"Secret collections?" I repeat. Why would someone send me a call number for a book in a secret collection?
"One of?" Nicole gasps. "You mean there's more than one?"
"Of course, dear." Mrs. Philipoulos turns sharply and walks to her desk.
"She's a little scary," I whisper.
Nicole whispers back, "She's a descendant of Nemesis."
Who is that? I shake my head.
"Goddess of retribution," Nicole explains.
I'm impressed. "No wonder she looks like she can kick butt."
"She also has excellent hearing," Mrs. Philipoulos says as we reach her desk. Before we can react, she says. "What is the exact call number, dear?"
As I read it out she quickly keys in the letters and numbers.
"Interesting," Mrs. Philipoulos says, squinting at the screen. Her short, spiky gray hair glows blue in the light from her flat-panel monitor.
"What?" Nicole and I both ask, hurrying around the desk to see.
Mrs. Philipoulos presses a red button on her keyboard and the screen goes blank just as we catch a glimpse.
"I'm sorry, girls." she explains, "but that segment of the collection is off-limits to students."
"What do you mean?" I ask. "Isn't this a student library?"
"Of course." She gives me a sad look. "But we are also the official archival library of Mount Olympus."
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