The heat is getting worse, closer. I take a deep breath to clear my head, but my lungs fill with smoke. Fighting my instinct to shimmy back down to the gorge—or to rely on Stella’s protection—I concentrate on controlling the fire.
I picture the flames shrinking, receding, backing away from the cliff’s edge. Slowly, the heat fades. When I can no longer see fire in my mind, I haul myself up the ladder and dive onto the safety of solid ground.
As much as I want to lie on my back, sucking in deep, smoke-free breaths, I want to finish this course more. Climbing to my feet, I push forward.
When I reach a broad, open field, I stop. Something isn’t right. Too easy. It looks like a big grassy spot, but something tickles at my brain.
I center myself, focusing all my energy on the field and what I’m not seeing in my mind. As I focus, my image changes, and I see a series of open pits, holes in the otherwise level earth.
Aha! Visiocryption. Someone must have cloaked the opening of the pits with an image of grass. Now that I can see the holes, I avoid them as I navigate through the field. The path ducks back into the woods and winds around until it reaches a shallow canyon with a decent-size river running through. An old, rickety rope bridge spans the canyon. It looks like an overweight butterfly could send it crashing into the current below. There’s no way it will support me—even at my training weight.
There could be another way across, upriver or farther down. Even though I can’t see through the sash, I turn my head as I try to see if there is a more reliable-looking bridge over the canyon. From the corner of my mental vision, I see the image of the bridge flicker. The rickety-looking version fades and a far more substantial wooden bridge appears in its place.
When I turn back, I see the rickety bridge again. Someone must have cloaked it, too. I reach forward, expecting to feel the solid bridge under my fingers. Instead, I feel fraying rope.
The sturdy bridge must have been altered, not cloaked. Visiomutated .
It only takes a second to reverse the visiomutation, and then I’m scurrying across the bridge.
I’m starting to think nothing can surprise me. Until I turn a corner and sense Stella, Adara, and Xander blocking my path.
“What?” I ask. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t use the protection.”
Why else would they be here?
When they don’t answer, I say. “Okay, guys. If I haven’t screwed up, then get out of my way so I can finish.”
They just stand there, immobile and silent. Maybe this is some kind of mental mirage. But when I reach forward, half expecting my hand to go right through Stella, my palm hits her shoulder.
“What?” I ask, louder this time. As if maybe they didn’t hear me.
Nothing. Absolute silence.
But there is something about the looks I’m sensing on their faces, like they’re concentrating really hard, that makes me think I’m missing something. I can practically feel Stella’s gray eyes burn into mine, and not in her favorite I’d-smote-you-if-I-could way. It’s like she’s trying to tell me something.
What on earth is she trying to say? I stare right back at her. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough I can read her—
Choose.
I hear the word as clearly as if she’d said it out loud. Only, she hasn’t spoken—not out loud or in my head. This was outside my head, if that makes any sense.
She smiles, like she’s glad I figured it out. Figured what out? Choose. What on earth does that mean?
I turn to Adara, like she might have answers. She’s still concentrating. I try my trick again, of staring back at her and concentrating—
Door.
I definitely heard that. And it was definitely outside my head. Maybe I really did read their minds.
Duh! Psychospection.
I turn my attention on Xander and read his thought.
Three.
Choose. Door. Three.
Choose door three?
Before I can ask any questions, Stella, Adara, and Xander shimmer away. Apparently I cleared that obstacle.
Around another corner, I find the answer to my question. There are three doors—very Alice in Wonderland—each with a big gold number on the front.
“Door number three, then,” I mutter to myself as I pull the door open.
As soon as I step through the door, I can’t move. I’m frozen mid-step. It’s like someone turned on a freeze machine, but my brain doesn’t know it’s supposed to be frozen. I can still think and hear and see my surroundings, but I feel like someone shut off all my muscles.
Help, I try to scream. But I can’t open my mouth. No sound vibrates in my throat. I can’t call out for help.
I start to panic. My heart is beating faster than it ever has. Tears well in my eyes.
Help, I try again. Help, help, help.
That’s not working. Maybe someone is still close by, watching out for me. Maybe they’ll see that I chose the wrong door—or whatever sent me into this trap—and come save me.
After what feels like several torturous hours—but was probably like two minutes—I realize no one is coming. Stella and her posse aren’t going to rescue me. I can’t scream to let them know I’m in trouble.
There has to be another way.
If they can’t hear my voice, maybe they can hear my mind.
Help, I say with my mind. I focus my mental communication, my psychodictation, on Stella because I know her best. That might make my efforts easier. Please, I beg. Help. I’m trapped. Set me free.
Instantly, I’m free and stumbling forward onto my hands and knees.
All you had to do was ask, Stella replies.
“Aaargh!” I scream at no one. I should have known it was just another obstacle.
I take a minute, allowing my heart rate and adrenaline levels to return to the vicinity of normal, before moving on. Right now I just want this stupid obstacle course done.
I tear ahead, focused on finishing to the exclusion of everything else. I almost don’t see the barricade of briar bushes until it’s too late. At the last second, their image flashes into my mind—thanks to self-preserving corpoprotection, probably. I don’t have time to do anything but react. Instinct and some corpopromotion superstrength send me high-jumping over the barricade, and landing safely on the other side.
“For the love of Nike,” I grumble. “How many times do I have to almost die or get seriously injured?”
Okay, I have to admit that, even without using the protection, I haven’t actually gotten injured. And maybe, just maybe, that’s part of the exercise.
Deciding that caution is more important than speed, I set out at a walk. I try to mentally list the obstacles I’ve done so far. If you count the briar barricade for two powers, then I’ve completed eleven. Eleven (dangerous) obstacles without injury. My powers haven’t failed me once, guiding me over, around, and through as if my eyes were wide open. Better, even. If I could see what I had to face, I’d probably be too scared to attempt it.
Considering the twelve dynamotheos powers, I expect just one more obstacle. No big deal. I’m in the homestretch.
When I round a bend in the course and find myself up against a solid wall, I stop in my tracks.
In my mind I can see the wall perfectly. It’s tall, maybe ten or twelve feet, spans the entire width of the path and into the woods beyond, and is completely smooth. Focusing my powers, I search for a foothold or a rope or anything that will get me over. Nothing. It might as well be a wall of ice.
Maybe my mental image is wrong. Maybe it’s not as tall as I think.
I walk forward until I’m about a foot away, bend down, and jump as high as I can, reaching for a ledge to grab onto.
My body smacks full-on into the wall. As I slide back down to the ground, I wonder how on earth I’m supposed to get over this obstacle.
“You can’t defeat this obstacle so easily,” Stella says from somewhere to my left. “Even if we removed the blindfold, you couldn’t succeed through phys
ical means alone.”
“This is the ultimate test,” Adara adds. “You can only get through by using your powers.”
What on earth does that mean? Before I can ask them to explain, I feel a soft breeze and know that they’re gone.
Okay. I can figure this out. I’ve made it this far trusting nothing but my powers—and my sense of self-preservation. Surely getting over a wall can’t be that hard.
“It’s not about going over the wall,” a distant-yet-familiar voice whispers within my mind. “Feel the victory inside you, Phoebester.”
Dad?
That is not possible. I give my head a brain-rattling shake. I must be suffering from sensory deprivation after being blindfolded so long. My subconscious is playing tricks on me. That’s all.
“Come on,” Adara shouts from the far side of the wall. “We have to start camp soon. I’d hate to leave you out here on the course.”
She grunts, like someone just elbowed her in the gut.
“We believe in you, Phoebe,” Stella says. “You just have to believe in yourself.”
I roll my eyes behind the blindfold. As if that’s not a cheesy, movie-of-the-week line. Still, I want to finish this course. To prove that I can handle anything they throw at me—the counselors and the gods.
“Okay,” I say to myself. “Think this through. If there’s no way around the wall. And I’m not about to make it over the wall. Then there’s only one other option . . .”
Suddenly I know exactly what I have to do.
I managed it that night on the beach, when my emotions took the reins, and on the cross-country course the other day. Now I just need to use my mind to achieve the same result consciously.
Placing my palms to the wall, I picture myself on the other side. I focus all my energy on having gotten myself through the expanse of two-by-fours. My mind shuts out all other stimuli. No sounds, no touches, no tastes, no smells. Just me, on the other side of this wall.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Someone’s arms wrap around me.
“You did it!” Stella shouts. “Omigods, you were so awesome!”
I reach up and rip off the blindfold. Sure enough, I’m on the other side of the wall, at the end of the obstacle course. Stella’s hugging me and shouting. Adara crosses her arms over her chest and smiles smugly. As if she’s the reason I made it through. Xander is clapping and smiling.
“We knew you would make it, Phoebola.”
Twisting out of Stella’s embrace, I turn to find Mom and Damian standing off to the side. Looking as proud as I’ve ever seen them.
I run into Mom’s arms. “You’re not supposed to get home until tonight.”
“When Damian told me what they were going to put you through this morning,” she says, squeezing me close, “I insisted we catch an earlier flight so we could be here to share in your triumph.”
She sounds so certain, like there was never a doubt that I would make it through this obstacle course. I was never that sure.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper.
As she tucks a loose clump of hair behind my ear, she says, “It killed me to be so far away while you were struggling.” She smiles painfully. “But you’re such a strong, independent girl, I knew you needed to process this on your own.”
“I know.” Besides, it’s not like she could have helped me or anything. This is kind of beyond the realm of her psychoanalytical expertise. And if I’d really needed her, she would have skipped out on her honeymoon in a flash.
I hug her a little tighter.
“Come on,” Damian says, clapping a hand to my shoulder. “Let’s go celebrate. I think you can skip camp for today.”
Emotions are boiling through me. I can’t believe I made it through the whole course blindfolded. I can’t believe I autoported through the wall. But most of all, I can’t believe I heard Dad’s voice in my head.
After everyone has gone to bed, I sit down at my desk and power up my laptop. While I’m waiting, I dig into my pocket and pull out the merit badges Stella gave me after dinner. I pin them onto the bulletin board above my desk, next to the ones I’ve already earned. A dozen little badges of honor. I’m still getting used to the idea that my powers might actually be under control.
The beeping and whirring stops and I click open my IM. I don’t really expect my girls to be online—it’s crazy early in L.A. and I have no idea if Cesca even has Internet access in Paris—but amazingly enough, the smiley faces next to both their user names are bright yellow.
Cesca starts chatting before I can even say hello.
PrincessCesca: about time!
LostPhoebe: hi!!!
PrincessCesca: I only have a few
PrincessCesca: have to meet François in twenty
LostPhoebe: François?
GranolaGrrl: new French bf
LostPhoebe: you’ve only been there like a week!
PrincessCesca: not my bf
PrincessCesca: but he is deliciously yummy
I can’t help laughing. Leave it to Cesca to find a hot French boyfriend in record time. She never seems to have trouble attracting a guy—she just never seems to want to hold onto them for very long. Maybe this one will be different.
GranolaGrrl: speaking of bfs . . . what happened with yours?
LostPhoebe: we’re totally back together
LostPhoebe: I can’t believe I thought he was cheating on me
PrincessCesca: wait, what? you and G broke up?
LostPhoebe: only for a weekend
GranolaGrrl: I don’t believe in saying I told you so
GranolaGrrl: but I told you so!
LostPhoebe: I know
PrincessCesca: a girl makes one little trip to France and all hell breaks loose
I can just picture Cesca, crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her perfectly glossed lips in annoyance. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her and Nola.
LostPhoebe: any updates on visiting Serfopoula?
PrincessCesca: my sched is pretty busy
PrincessCesca: but I can always sneak away for a weekend
GranolaGrrl: the grant committee met
For several long, torturous seconds I stare at the blinking cursor. Waiting. Hoping. Waiting. It’s not like Nola to make us sweat like this.
LostPhoebe: and . . . ???
PrincessCesca: dish already, envirofreak
PrincessCesca: I got a hot date
GranolaGrrl: I
GranolaGrrl: won’t
GranolaGrrl: be
GranolaGrrl: there
My heart dips into my stomach. I know it was a long shot, but I was so counting on her coming, so looking forward to her visit.
PrincessCesca: damn
GranolaGrrl: until August!!!
LostPhoebe: omigods, yay!!!
PrincessCesca: well played, bi’atch
GranolaGrrl: you two can’t have all the fun ☺
PrincessCesca: gotta run
PrincessCesca: e-me the dates and I’ll be there
PrincessCesca: luck in your race tomorrow P
LostPheobe: thx Cesca
LostPhoebe: have fun with François
PrincessCesca: always XOXO
GranolaGrrl: night
Cesca’s smiley face goes blank. I’m always sad to say good-bye, but this time I’m more excited about them coming to the island at the end of the summer.
LostPhoebe: you know the Pythian Games are in August
LostPhoebe: if I make the team you guys can come
GranolaGrrl: of course you’ll make the team
GranolaGrrl: *victory* is assured
I smile at Nola’s Nike joke. Even though Damian let me tell my girls about the whole descendant-of-the-gods thing, we’re still not supposed to chat about it online. He’s convinced someone is going to intercept the transmission and spill the hematheos secret to the world.
He’s way paranoid, but I do not want to be on his bad side.
Gr
anolaGrrl: I’m glad things worked out with Griffin
GranolaGrrl: he’s your perfect match
LostPhoebe: I think so too
GranolaGrrl: you better get to bed
LostPhoebe: yeah, gotta get up early
LostPhoebe: love you
GranolaGrrl: love you!
We sign off and I shut down the computer. I give the merit badges one last look before I tuck in. For the first time since Damian told me about the test, I’m feeling pretty confident. All I have to do is get through tomorrow’s trials and then everything will be cake.
“Ground my powers.”
Griffin rolls his eyes at me. “I am not grounding your powers,” he says. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You can control them on your own now.”
I’m not so sure. I mean, yeah, I completed the obstacle course yesterday with flying colors, but that’s because I was totally concentrating. I didn’t have anything else on my mind. Like, say, the freakin’ Pythian Games trials!
This is the biggest race of my life, so I might be a little distracted.
“Please,” I beg. “Just for this race. Just to make sure I don’t . . . accidentally use them.”
“You won’t.” He presses his lips to mine. “Besides, I told you, I can’t.”
“But what if—”
“I know you’re worried about accidentally using your powers,” he says. That’s the understatement of the millennium. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about your dad’s record. How you’re afraid to read it.”
Goddess Boot Camp Page 20