Curse of the Sphinx (10 page)

MR. BURGESS’S TEDIOUS
baritone was droning on about the applicability of balancing chemical equations, and Hope was struggling to stay awake. It wasn’t just that she was tired. She was exhausted, like she’d run a marathon instead of her usual three-mile loop. To top it off, it felt as if someone had thrown sand in her eyes. She shouldn’t have gone running so late last night, but it was beautiful and cool, and she hadn’t been sleeping anyway. She was paying for it now.

In addition to the fatigue, the ever-present pressure in her back throbbed. It was always worse a few days before and after changing, but the ache of sore muscles, like she’d worked out too hard, was always present.

Fighting sleep, she sat up straight and let her focus drift to the conversation behind her.

“Where did he move from?”

Krista. Hope inwardly groaned. She was about to pull her focus back to Mr. Burgess, but caught the response.

“Seattle area. His mom died last week in a car accident, I think,” Angela whispered, but the excitement in her voice was palpable.

Hope’s focus became earnest. The pain of losing her mother was suddenly raw and fresh. An ache swelled for this new student and his loss.

“Oh, that’s awful.” Krista actually sounded sincere. “What about his dad?”

Hope gritted her teeth; she doubted Krista could even be sincere.

“I guess he’s not around. Mrs. Stephens is his great aunt. Or something like that.”

“Mrs. Stephens?” Krista moved abruptly and dropped her pencil. There was a moment of silence from the two girls. “I don’t know which is worse, losing your mom, or having to live with that kind of crazy.”

On this point, Krista was probably right. Mrs. Stephens was definitely not all there. Hope had seen the older woman once at the grocery store and watched in pity as the she chanted a rhyme about animals seeking night and battling fear. All while staring at the meat case. It didn’t seem to bother Mr. Stanley, but the woman was cracked.

“I’ve never seen him here before, you know, visiting or whatever. I’m sure we would have noticed him.”

“No. His mom wasn’t close to Mrs. Stephens. It’s some weird relationship, like his dad’s mother’s sister’s daughter, or something like that.”

That would be his second cousin
. She rolled her eyes. She remembered that Angela’s mother was the school counselor. In listening to how much Angela knew about the newcomer, she was grateful she’d declined the school’s services. She again felt a pang of sympathy for the boy.

“Athan Michael.”

“Ethan?”

“No, Athan, with an
A
,” Angela explained. “It’s Greek. My mom said—”

“Have you seen him yet?” Krista interrupted.

“No. He just got here yesterday. I guess it will be a couple of days before he—”

Krista cut Angela off with a sharp intake of breath. “He’s crazy hot!”

Angela giggled, and Hope lost interest. They rarely said anything of value, and if they did, they didn’t mean to. Now, she really did feel sorry for the new boy. Not that she would do anything about it.

The bell rang.

She stood and collected her books. The other students, gathered in groups, ignored her as she walked to her locker. She pulled out her books for math and Spanish, and then turned toward the library. That’s when he caught her eye.

The only reason she could see him was because of his height. His skin was tanned, with olive undertones, and his tawny hair disheveled in a way that told of too much time in front of the mirror, or no time at all. His features were intense, but his body language said he couldn’t have cared less. A large group surrounded him, and rich laughter drifted from that side of the hall.

She stood, momentarily transfixed by the ruckus, and he must have felt the weight of her gaze.

His jade eyes met her gold ones, drifted over her body, and then came back to her face.

She couldn’t help the heat that rushed to her cheeks.

He winked.

She was so startled she actually jumped. Flushing heat blossomed, and she averted her gaze. Without another thought, she walked as fast as she could, but when she got to the end of the hall she realized she’d gone the wrong way. With a huff of disgust, she doubled back to the library.

She settled into her favorite corner, her mind spinning.
How could someone be so . . .
She couldn’t even think of a word to describe it. He winked at her! He was flirting right after . . . right after his mother died? Shouldn’t he be mourning or something? What a
loser
. It was the only word she could come up with. All sympathy for the boy disappeared. She was angry and felt somehow betrayed.

The bell rang, and she grabbed her books and headed off to Algebra II. She was usually the first to enter the classroom, so she was surprised to see a small group of students in the back corner talking. She sat down, ignoring the noise, and pulled out her homework.

“So, are you a math prodigy, or an all-around nerd?” The voice was soft and deep, his speech highly inflected and full of liquid consonants. English was definitely not his first language.

She glanced up from her paper, and followed the hand on her desk up to the face of Athan Michael.

“Uh, excuse me?” She stumbled over the words.

“I was wondering. You have your homework out, and it’s done.” He pointed at her paper. “Are you always on top of things, or is this your favorite subject?” His gaze was direct, and he was clearly waiting for an answer.

“I’m not even sure how to answer that.”

“I might need a tutor. Are you game?”

He smiled, and she could see what Krista was talking about earlier. He
was
good-looking, and he knew it. Her opinion continued to drop, even as her heart rate picked up.

“It’s Athan, right?”

Still smiling, he nodded.

Her eyes tightened. “I don’t think you’ll have any problem finding a tutor, but I don’t think we’d get along.” She turned back to her homework, but the tension made it difficult to focus.

There was no immediate response. After what seemed like an eternity, she glanced up.

He laughed softly. “I think I understand what you’re saying.”

Moments later, she heard him in the back of the room, relating the story, greatly exaggerated to his own disparagement. She didn’t trust herself to turn around.

As soon as the bell rang, she bolted.

She was halfway down the hall when she heard someone call her name. Reflexively, she stopped and looked back. Athan walked toward her, his gaze trained on her.

She turned away.

“Hope.” He caught up with her. With his long stride, he easily kept her pace. “Hey, I wanted to apologize about earlier.”

She stopped walking and regarded him warily.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” He rushed through his words, making his lilting accent more pronounced. “I was just hoping—”

“Look,” she cut him off, “I’m not trying to be rude, but could you just leave me alone?” Her face pinched, a furrow lining her forehead.

He took a step back but said nothing.

“I’m not sure what you’ve heard,” she continued, “so let me help you out. I’m not interested.” Her emotions ballooned as she spoke. “I’m not looking for friends. I don’t want a boyfriend. I don’t tutor. I don’t need to be tutored. Got it?”

His eyebrows drew together in a scowl, but then, almost imperceptibly fast, he quickly rearranged his features into something more amiable.

“
Ouai
. You’re very . . . direct. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” With that, he walked back to a group of boys.

She stood and watched. She saw him shrug when Lee asked what happened. With a shake of her head, she went to collect her homework.

She made a point when she was feeling out of sorts to stop by the Red Apple and share a riddle with Mr. Stanley, so it was no surprise that as she drove down Roosevelt her car, almost on its own, pulled into the parking lot. She went to the back of the store and saw the butcher helping a young mother at the counter. He winked when he saw her, but the smile she returned was only halfhearted. While she waited, she leaned against the meat case and tried to clear her head. But the interaction with Athan gnawed at her. She was grateful when Mr. Stanley’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Have you found a good riddle for me?” His deep voice was warm and friendly.

“Actually, Mr. Stanley, I was hoping that you would have one.” The furrow that remained on her brow spoke of her troubled spirits.

He nodded, and his features pinched in concentration.

“In a marble hall as white as milk,” he began, “Lined with skin as soft as silk, within a fountain crystal clear, a golden apple doth appear. No doors there are to this stronghold, yet thieves break in to steal its gold.” Mr. Stanley finished the riddle and regarded her expectantly.

Most of his riddles were food related, usually livestock. She leaned back against the display case and thought of a farm.

Mr. Stanley said nothing as he went back to cleaning up the scale and counter.

“It’s an egg, isn’t it?” she asked.

Mr. Stanley chuckled and nodded.

“You really should branch out, Mr. Stanley.” She was smiling. Her spirits lifted, she remembered an old riddle she memorized years ago. “I do have one for you . . . nonfood.”

“All right.” He stopped cleaning, and stood waiting, rag in hand.

“I can be cracked, I can be made. I can be told, I can be played. What am I?” Her breath came out in a brief laugh. “Remember, it’s not food. Speaking of which, can I get something good?” She waited while Mr. Stanley wrapped a flank steak for her.

“Cats and bats, and lots of boys.” A singsong chant from an old oddly dressed woman interrupted the momentary silence.

Hope turned and took a step back. The incongruous form of Mrs. Stephens approached. Her white hair was pulled up into a high bun, little wisps framing her unlined face. Her small body was lithe and graceful, and moved with the energy of youth. She stepped into Hope’s personal space, and her eyes narrowed.

“Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?” Her eyes shifted but never left Hope’s.

Hope was speechless.

“Did you hear me, little one?”

Hope could only nod. What could you say to complete nonsense?

“Here you are, Hope.” Mr. Stanley held out the white package. “Enjoy your dinner.”

With relief, she turned her attention. “Thank you.” She took the small package from him and forced herself to walk away.

As she maneuvered past carts and produce, she could hear Mr. Stanley. “Mrs. Stephens. Always a pleasure to see you out and about. What can I get for you today?”

How could he talk to her so normally?

She tried to dismiss the odd encounter, but a shiver ran down her spine as she climbed into her car.

SHE BOUNDED UP
the steps to her house, taking two at a time, and noticed a piece of paper tucked into the door. She pulled it from the jamb and read the scrawl:
A joke
. Mr. Stanley must have stopped by on his way into work.

After unlocking the door, she walked into her small home, reveling in its coziness. Her living area was open—the kitchen, dining area, and living room all connected. A matching couch and loveseat filled the living room, and a TV hung from the opposite wall above the mantle where the statue of Hecate sat. Down a short hall were two bedrooms, and a cramped bathroom squeezed between them. A study sat off the living room. It was everything she needed, and therefore perfect.

Her smile didn’t last. After her shower and breakfast, Hope checked her phone.

I’m in. Text only from now on. Wish me luck
.

Her heart pounded, and she tapped out her perfunctory response to Priska.

Good Luck!

She took a deep breath. This was what they wanted.

Hopefully, Priska would find answers soon.

Twenty-one days until the change

“WHO CAN TELL
me about Skia?” Ms. Biggers smiled at the class as if she were discussing divine ambrosia.

Hope sat up and flipped her notebook to a clean page.

“Uh, they’re mythical,” Tristan muttered under his breath.

Ms. Biggers sighed and rolled her eyes. “Anyone else?”

A cute girl with auburn hair raised her hand. Was her name Richelle or Michelle?

“Chelli?”

“They’re from the Underworld. Hades created them.”

“Very good. Hades, god of the Underworld, created Skia in response to the gods’ bastard children. It was a move for balance, a way to keep the demigod population in check.”

Balance?

Ms. Biggers continued her lecture. “Just as death is an inevitable part of life for humans, Skia ensure that death will be a part of the demigods’ lives. Death isn’t evil. It just is.”

Her hand went up.

“Yes.” There was a pause, and then Ms. Biggers waved in her direction. “You have a question?”

Hope blushed. “Uh, yeah. Do Skia kill other things?”

There was a giggle from behind her.

“Other things?” Ms. Biggers frowned. “Like animals or humans? No.”

“No, I meant, do they kill monsters?”

Several more chuckles.

“Ah.” The frown turned into something that communicated pride. “No, class. This is a very good question.”

The room quieted.

Hope scooted forward on her seat.

“Of course, the answer’s hypothetical, as monsters are probably extinct. But theoretically, the answer would be no. Skia hunt demigods, the ones that are left, at least. It is believed, with the disappearance of the gods, that one day, the demigods, too, will disappear. Then the earth will be inhabited entirely by humans.” Her eyes grew distant.

“Too bad we can’t get some elves to join us from Middle Earth,” Krista snarked.

“Or angel-children.” Angela sighed.

“Ah, Angela. You’re mixing your mythology. Nephilim is the term you’re looking for, and they’re children of gods and humans; a different way of saying demigods.” Ms. Biggers chuckled. “Now, your assignment. Analyze the myths surrounding the death of a demigod. Find one that could be the result of Skia, and write a supporting supposition. The point here again is to persuade the reader to your point of view. You can work alone, or in pairs. It’s due tomorrow. You have the rest of class to work on it.”

Could Priska be wrong about Skia? And if it wasn’t Skia that killed her mom . . . Had a demigod found them in Bellevue?

Guilt sat heavy in her stomach. If she’d said something to her mom . . . If she’d only been less selfish. If they’d only moved . . . they would’ve been safe. Her mom would have been alive.

A FEW MINUTES
before nine, she finished her paper. She tilted her head side to side, cracking her neck. By the gods, she was tight. Her muscles were stiff from sitting for so long.

Orpheus was a depressing subject to write about, and while the myth surrounding his journey to and from the Underworld to claim his wife was well known, the story of his death was not.

It was not unreasonable to believe that Hades would look at Orpheus’s actions as selfish. When Orpheus appeared in the Underworld and begged to take his wife back to the mortal realm, it was because he loved her too much to live without her. But then he refused Hades’s offer to remain in the Underworld with Eurydice which would have kept him united with his love. Even after the refusal of his offer, Hades still gave Orpheus a chance to get his wife back. But Orpheus was impatient and broke the terms of the contract, thus losing his wife to death. After all this, it was more believable that a “reaper,” or Skia, killed the demigod than a bunch of women tore him limb from limb because he wouldn’t sleep with them. Not if he truly loved his wife.

She shook her head. A run would help clear the thoughts buzzing inside.

The night air was crisp and cool.

As Hope jogged down Main toward Columbus, she noticed another runner. Someone coming toward her.

As soon as she recognized him, she debated turning around. But the idea of Athan being behind her was even less appealing. Stuffing down her apprehension, she fixed a smile in preparation to acknowledge him.

She could tell the second he recognized her. His pace slowed, and his face, previously set in the concentration of running, shifted.

“Hey.” She tipped her head toward him.

He nodded and ran on.

She could hear the sound of his retreating steps, and then she turned right on Columbus.

As she turned left on Broadway, her thoughts drifted to her assignment, and she wondered if love really made people do stupid things, like go to the Underworld to try and win your wife back. If what happened to her mom was any indication, love was just trouble.

As her mom told it, she’d made a mistake. She didn’t tell her husband about the curse until after they were married. It wasn’t just that she turned into a Sphinx at the new moon. No, if she ever had a “complete family,” i.e., a husband and child with anyone other than Apollo or his offspring, she would die. While Leto told Hope over and over that love needed to be built on trust, actions spoke louder than her words. When Leto told the men she loved of the curse, they fled.

That hurt.

Hope was finishing the loop around Goldendale when she saw Athan again.

She hadn’t been friendly with him, even bordering on offensive at times, but she did
not
feel bad about it. Regardless of what his life had been like. Regardless of the fact he’d lost his mom, too.

Almost as though she’d called his name aloud, Athan jogged toward her, his gaze fixed on her.

“Hey Hope,” he called as he approached.

She slowed her pace only slightly. “I’m not finished with my run. Do you mind?”

To her surprise, he started to jog next to her. “How about if I finish with you?”

Flustered, she said, “Okay.” But her uncertainty made it sound like a question.

He said nothing, and their steady footfalls pounded a rhythm.
Thump-thump, thump-thump
. A sense of security trickled over her senses.

“Do you run at night a lot, Hope?”

What?
“Not usually.” She dared a glance from the corner of her eyes. “Maybe once or twice a week.”

He stumbled, then surprised Hope with his rejoinder. “Do you think that’s safe?”

“Thanks for the concern. I’ll be just fine.” She was relieved to see her house on the left, and she slowed her pace. “Here’s my stop. I hope the rest of your night is”—she really didn’t care how his night was, and she finished lamely—“nice.” She was up on the porch, bending down to get her key, when she realized he’d followed her up the steps.

He leaned against the door, and when she stood up, he was staring. Uncomfortable with his gaze and uncomfortable with his presence, she demanded “What?”

“Why don’t you run during daylight hours?”

She made no move to unlock the door, but flipped the key over and over in her hands. Part of her wanted to yell at him to leave, and part of her wondered at his interest. “I usually
do
. I just needed to clear my head.” She frowned. “I appreciate your concern, but really, we’re in Goldendale. I stay on main streets, I’m a black belt in tae kwon do, and I’m stronger than I appear. I really think my safety shouldn’t keep you up tonight.” She stood waiting for him to back off the porch.

But he didn’t.

She huffed. “If you don’t mind, I really need to get inside and get ready for bed. It’s late. At the risk of sounding parental, you should do the same.”

He shifted his weight. “Okay. Just, if you want a running partner, you could always give me a call.”

Never
. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Her sarcasm was biting.

The playfulness disappeared. He leaned forward, his gaze steady, intense. “Think about it. I’d like for us to be friends.”

He bounded down the steps and was halfway up the block before she could process what he’d said.

Over the next few days, she kept wary watch over the stupid mortal boy. It was exhausting. He interacted with everyone. Everyone got a smile, a joke, a touch, a laugh.

He obviously wanted to be friends with
everyone
.

But there was a practiced intensity that made it feel . . . false.

Like watching a movie.

Her worry about being singled out faded, then disappeared.

Sixteen days until the change

HOW ARE THINGS
going? Any news?
Hope typed out the text and waited, as she did each night before bed.

Nothing concrete. More demigods here than expected. Several from Athena, but others, too
.

Who else?
What did that mean?

Him, among others. Not sure that it means anything, except there are more demigods than I thought.

More demigods? And some from Apollo . . .
Should I be worried?

No. Just be careful.

I am.
Careful. Safety. The familiar mantra pounded with her heartbeat.

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 her 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 two fourteen am.

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 she checked her phone to make sure the text went through. Five minutes later Hope 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.