Curse of the Sphinx (22 page)

She woke in the early afternoon. After stretching up toward the sun, she contemplated the rest of the day. Homework first, she decided, and grabbed the bag she’d used as a pillow. Without distractions, she hammered through the work, finishing just before sundown.

With the sun setting, and nothing else to occupy her, her thoughts turned to Athan. In the past, he’d made it sound like he enjoyed spending time with his dad, but yesterday it was all he could do to get out of it.

With the cover of dark, she’d be almost invisible. Hope decided to fly to Goldendale. The air was crisp, and she circled high over the sleepy town. Then she wound her way in and out of the windmills that dotted the hills on both sides of the Columbia River, making a game of speed and maneuverability. When she got to the river, she dropped lower and ran her hand through the water. Her mood lightened with the thrill of flying.

She dove down to the water, then pulled up so that her haunches dragged through the cold water. Laughing, she dove again and again. She flew west to Portland, following the river out to the ocean. As she got closer to the city, she increased her elevation, and after briefly admiring the city lights, she turned around.

On the return trip, she pushed her speed. It was only a few hours before the sun came up, and she took her cues from the landmarks to cut the travel time. As she came over Goldendale, her heart beat rapidly in anticipation. From up above, she saw the Athan’s truck in his driveway, and her heart expanded. A light flicked on in the kitchen, and she pulled higher into the darkness. Laughter bubbled from her lips, both nervous and relieved.

The night was drawing to a close, and she flew north.

She spent much of the next day sleeping. She reviewed her homework, finishing the outline for a paper. She’d decided to write about the curse placed on King Minos’s wife, which led to the birth of the monstrous Minotaur. Unsurprisingly, another depressing tale of the gods taking revenge on a human.

As the sun fell, the trees cast long shadows across the wild grasses. Hope shoved her books into her backpack, and glanced over the small area. Clinging to the straps of her bag, she beat her wings and lifted into the cool air.

Icy-cold needles encircled her ankle, and she was yanked from the sky. With a cry of pain, she crashed to the ground. She pulled her wing away from her face and time slowed.

Skia. The one from the Dalles.

“It will be your fear that destroys you,” he rasped, stalking toward her. “And you should be afraid.”

What was he doing here? “What do you want?” she asked, even as she pushed her wings out and curled her fists, the best she could do for a defensive stance.

He laughed and danced to the right, and then to the left.

Hope had never fought in this form. Not as the Sphinx. She shifted on her haunches, testing reflexes and maneuverability.

Crack.

Her chest lit with pain, and she doubled over with a gasp.

“You are too slow, beast.”

Her eyes narrowed. He’d gotten in and out fast. Really fast.

The sun was setting. She needed to get off the mountain before she changed. There was no time for fear. No time to think. Only time to act.

She took a deep breath and stared at the torso of her attacker. He feigned left. But she saw his weight shift right. This was it.

His fist extended as he came in, and she rotated her hand as she blocked with her forearm. With a fluid movement her opposite elbow followed through, connecting with his leg, just below the hip. A crunch of bone, and he collapsed with a scream.

Hope backed away and pumped her wings.

The Skia lay on the ground in a sliver of sun. She could hear him gasping.

She circled once, but he didn’t move.

She dove in for her backpack, and the shadow monster rolled. As she clasped the strap of her bag, his hand grabbed her wing and yanked.

A searing pain tore through her back. Panic and self-preservation drove her to kick out with her haunches, again and again. He released her, and gritting her teeth, she flew off the mountain.

The last rays of sun were slipping over the horizon as she tumbled from the sky.

She fell to the ground naked, just outside the abandoned barn, and crawled through the doors.

MERCER ISLAND SAT
in the middle of Lake Washington, just east of Seattle. It boasted beautiful views and prime real estate. There were several office complexes in the commercial district. Jamie Treadwell, Hope’s grandfather had found Charlie Davenport in a cluster of yellow buildings in the hub. He and his daughter, Leto, had moved back to Seattle after travelling around the States for almost eighteen years.

He’d asked around for an estate lawyer, and someone from the University of Washington had recommended Davenport. The paperwork for the trust was signed only two days before Jamie died. A short time later, Priska went to work for the attorney, and she’d been there ever since.

Hope parked her conspicuous Civic among the more luxurious BMWs, Porsches, and Mercedes in the parking lot.

She’d barely slept at the small hotel outside of Cle Elum, but the bright rays of sun made the darkness of Hades seem distant.

Hope walked into the office at eight forty-five.

The faintest hint of lavender reminded Hope of Priska, and she felt a pang of loneliness. Shrugging it off, she looked around the waiting room, knowing the leather chairs looked more comfortable than they were. The area rug was thick and the design subdued, as was the abstract art on the walls. It was very much a Priska way to decorate.

But the brunette woman arranging the refreshment area was not Priska. Judging from the number of baked goods she was heaping onto a tray, Hope was one of many clients this morning.

The woman turned as the door clicked shut, and with a look of polite deference she asked, “May I help you?”

“I’m Hope Treadwell. I have an appointment with Mr. Davenport.”

The woman’s smile was one of relief. “You’re early.”

Hope’s mom ran early, too. “Is that okay? Is he running late?’

The woman shook her head. “No. He should be with you shortly. Can I get you anything?” She pointed at the tray of pastries and muffins.

“Just a water, please.” Hope accepted the bottle gratefully, and drank deeply. “Thank you.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here.” The woman finished stacking the tray, then walked down the hall. She returned a couple of minutes later. “He’ll be with you momentarily.”

Seconds later, Mr. Davenport appeared in the waiting room.

Charles Davenport was in his early fifties. Tall and fit, he kept his head shaved, but the outline of a receding hairline was faintly visible. He wore a dark, tailored suit, and the smell of expensive cologne wafted in with him. But something in the way he moved made it look like he carried a weight of worry squarely on his shoulders.

“Hope Nicholas, so nice to see you.” His deep bass communicated the words with feeling, and he extended his hand. She took it, and he covered hers with both of his. His gaze held hers while he spoke. “I’m glad you’re running early.”

They walked back into his office, and he closed the door.

“Without Priska I seem to make more of a mess of my schedule, and Melanie can’t seem to work the same magic.” He sighed.

“I thought her name was Melody?”

He frowned and looked off into space for a moment. “No, I think that was the last one.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I can’t keep them straight. Gods, I wish she’d come back.”

Hope’s heart fell. She’d been hoping he’d have some news. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes met hers. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. I know you miss her, too.”

She nodded.

He exhaled a big breath, and extended his arm. “Let’s sign you into your inheritance.”

Mr. Davenport grabbed a folder from his desk, and pulled a chair up next to her. He shuffled quickly through the paperwork, and she signed where he indicated as he explained the purpose of each document. When they finished, Hope stood to leave.

But, after he put the paperwork away, Mr. Davenport remained seated.

He glanced up at her, his lips pursed. “There is something else we need to talk about. I think it might be better if you sit.” His face was lined with consternation.

With a growing sense of dread, she sat and waited.

“I hope you understand that I always try to act in your best interest.” He paused, as if calculating what to say next. “Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Jeffers called. He was trying to confirm the date and time of our appointment.”

Her heart stopped, and anxiety danced through her body.

“Melanie took the call, and of course refused to confirm that you were even a client here, but passed the message to me. I called the school back, and spoke with him.”

She nodded.

“Normally, I would have stayed on the side of the law and refused all information, but since we’d discussed this, I explained the law to Mr. Jeffers, and confirmed that you are a client. I did not confirm or deny any appointments, and reminded him that I work for you, and if frivolous action were taken, I would represent you and ensure he became unemployed.”

Hope’s mouth dropped open, but the words were slow in coming. “Um, I . . . I can’t believe you did that.”

He waved his hand through the air. “I’m not sure I did you any favors. The man was livid. Perhaps my threat was a bit much. Are you struggling in school? He called you . . . an ‘at risk’ student.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m getting straight As.”

“Then this is ridiculous. Would you like me to call him back?”

It would be nice to let Mr. Davenport handle it, but the battle wasn’t his. “Let me see what happens when I get back. There are only a couple more weeks of school, so it shouldn’t even matter. Maybe . . .” She shrugged. “I could try and smooth things over.”

“Of course, my dear. And if I might make a suggestion, since your absences seem to be an issue in Goldendale, you might consider moving before the next school year. Something to think about.”

It was a reasonable suggestion. But she didn’t want to move.

Mr. Davenport stood. “Your aunt loved you very much. And I want you to know, if you ever need anything, you can call me.”

Hope stood, but words eluded her. Emotion she’d held in check threatened to burst. She closed her eyes, willing herself to hold it together.

Warm hands cupped her shoulders.

“I miss her, too,” he said.

Hope looked up and saw in Mr. Davenport’s face pain that mirrored her own.

She swallowed, and nodded. “Thank you.”

He walked her to the office door, and she went down the hall toward the waiting room by herself.

SHE DROVE INTO
Goldendale with an hour of school remaining.

Plenty of time to turn in her completed assignments. It might help. It couldn’t hurt.

One by one, she stopped into each class. Each of her teachers thanked her for the work and wished her a good weekend. The last bell rang as she walked down the hall. Students poured out, and Hope swam upstream through the crowd.

Students’ voices filled the halls, and the smell of the numberless bodies tickled her nose. With a sigh, she looked for Athan but couldn’t see his tall figure anywhere. Tristan stood by his locker with Lee, and she walked over to them.

“Hey, you’re back!” Tristan greeted her. His smile was a direct contrast to the cold one from Krista standing just behind him.

There was some satisfaction that the nasty girl was sporting matching black eyes.

“Yeah, I just got back.” Hope responded. “Is Athan here today?” She glanced around as if he might materialize.

“No.” He sounded disappointed. “He’s been gone since Tuesday. With his dad, I think.”

“I thought his dad was dead,” said Lee.

“Nah,” Tristan responded. “He travels a lot so Athan couldn’t stay with him.”

Obviously she wasn’t the only one he’d shared with.

He turned back to Hope. “They were going hunting, maybe?” His face scrunched.

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s been gone, same as you.” He tilted his head. “Someone said you two were skipping together, but obviously not.”

That again? She drew back. “No.”

Lee raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Obviously.”

“Huh.” Tristan frowned. “Maybe he really went hunting.”

“I didn’t know he hunted.”

“He’s never talked about it before.” He shrugged. “Maybe I misunderstood.”

“Okay. Well, have a good weekend.” She turned to leave, and Tristan’s voice called her back.

“Hey, Hope! We’re going to go down to Maryhill Park tomorrow for the day. BBQ and all that. You’re welcome to come if you’d like. I know Haley would love to have you there.”

“Thanks. I’ll try.” She forced a smile and waved good-bye.

BETWEEN THE SKIA
, the hours in the car, the stress of school, and Athan being unavailable, Hope felt like she would explode. All she wanted was to go for a run. The late afternoon sun lolled on the horizon, keeping the night chill at bay. The smell of summer played on the wind. And Hope decided she would not let fear rule her actions. With resolve, she strapped her golden dagger at her hip before she left the house.

Hope took a deep breath and started at a jog.

She would not worry about Mr. Jeffers.

She would not worry about Skia.

She would not worry about Athan.

She would not worry about Priska.

She would not worry . . .

The tension in her shoulders and back drained as she pounded the pavement. Sweat dripped from her hairline, leaving tracks down her face and neck. Her tank top was saturated.

It was good to be home. Everything was going to be okay.

She’d looped through the town twice, and was halfway through a third loop when she saw Athan’s truck at the school, in the back lot. Had it been there this afternoon?

Hope walked to it and put her hand on the hood. Wasn’t that supposed to tell you if it had been driven recently? Gods, she’d make a terrible spy. She looked around but didn’t see him. She went to the school, on the pretense of getting a drink, but the doors were locked.

She crossed the empty bus lot as the sun continued its descent leaving orange only on the horizon.

Athan’s truck still sat unoccupied.

She turned to go home, and crossed the street, passing by the abandoned factory.

This time she could feel his presence even before she saw him.

Nausea roiled through her, and the smell of decay travelled on the breeze.

The Skia stepped out from the shadows; the tall figure’s sallow appearance bordered on emaciated. He walked with a limp, as if the bone had not been set right after their fight last night.

Her fear turned to anger. But her training dictated her actions unconsciously. She stepped back, coiled to run.

“It won’t do any good,” he rasped. “I can follow you, monster. Through the shadows, I can see you.”

Her muscles tensed. “What do you want?” She gritted her teeth. He was well out of striking distance, and despite her anger, she’d rather not fight him. “Why did you attack me?”

“You are wanted by my master.”

“Hades?” She clasped her clammy hands to her hips. She could throw the immortal dagger, but she wasn’t trained to work with blades. Her fingers itched to reach for the weapon, or to close the gap and beat him. But . . . She reined her emotions in. Fight smart, not angry.

He stepped toward her. “You are very ignorant.”

She gritted her teeth. Even if it was true she didn’t want to hear it. She stepped away. “Did you kill that man? In the Dalles?”

He chuckled. “You mean the spawn of Dionysus? Why would you care? If he had found you alone, he would have killed you . . . or worse.” He tilted his head.

With his eyes just all-black orbs, it was impossible to see exactly what he was looking at.

“I would have been fine.” Hope spit out.

He nodded. “Perhaps.” He pulled out a black blade. “But you are not invincible.”

Her anger pulsed in waves, and all her training flashed through her mind. The first lesson in self-defense is to use your voice as a weapon.

“Stop!” Hope issued the command. She gripped the gold dagger with the blade pointing down, and held it close to her chest. She took another step back. “Go back to your master and tell him there is nothing here for him. I am not dead.”

The Skia chuckled, and he dissolved into a shadow.

That was almost too . . .

Hope let out a sigh of relief, but her shoulders stopped midslump as cold metal rested at her throat.

His cold breath was like sleet against her skin, and he whispered in her ear, “You do not command me.” He grabbed her shoulder; his icy grip chilled from skin to bone.

Her pulse jumped a staccato arrhythmia, as fear pulsed through her. Her knife slipped through her fingers, clattering to the ground.

“Not now, not ever.” He pulled the icy blade across her skin. “I will take you, and you can’t stop me.”

A tingling sensation gave way to shards of ice bludgeoning down her neck and into her chest. The pain was unreal, and she gasped. Blood welled at the cut, then dripped down, staining the collar of her tank black in the twilight. She could feel him pulling her back, dragging her, but she couldn’t find any strength to fight it.

“Sphinx,” he hissed.

She glanced behind her and saw him step into the shadows.

Oh. Gods.

He dragged her closer to the darkness, and she watched in terror. He’d completely disappeared into the blackness of Hades except for his arms.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.

This was not how she was supposed to die.

He yanked her forward, and it felt as if she’d hit a brick wall.

Pain blossomed and flowed from her scalp to her chest. Icy tendrils stabbed in pin-like projections, and the Skia pulled at her again and again, slamming her into an invisible barrier.

He swore, and then the tension was gone. Hope fell to the ground. Her head dropped, and she vomited. Wave after wave of glacial pain stabbed her.

She screamed, and then sobbed, begging for mercy, as her tears turned the dirt to mud.

But the pain would not stop.

Her cries grew weak, and when she collapsed, it was with a plea for death.

But, death had refused her.

The night sky was dotted with silver when Hope rolled over. She blinked again and again, the pain waning ever so slowly, and Hope shivered with the cold. The pain in her chest persisted, it’s throbbing, an unremitting thump-thump. With a deep breath, she pulled herself up onto her hands and knees.

The ground spun, and then settled.

She waited.

The sour smell of vomit clung to her hair, and her shirt was sticky with her own blood.

Hope tried to suppress the shuddering cold as she crawled to the sidewalk. Using a street sign, she dragged herself upright. When the world stopped spinning, she staggered home in the shadows.

By the time she got through the door, she didn’t care that she smelled of vomit and blood and sweat. She didn’t care about anything. She pushed the door closed, and fell to the floor exhausted.

Twenty-four days until the change

THE SUN STREAMED
through the open curtains. Hope turned to get out of the light, and groaned. The stabbing pain had been replaced by a dull throbbing, and the shaking chills had left her sore and achy. But she was alive. And glad for it.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the image of Hecate. She never really believed it before, that the little statue kept the Skia from her house, kept them from crossing through her doorways. She wanted to carry the effigy everywhere, and at the same time she was bitter that the gods had that much power. With a grunt of disgust, she stood.

The shower was pure heaven. Clean clothes like nirvana. And her bed . . .

Elysium.

It felt like minutes later that the noise forced her to peel her eyes open.

Not even seconds later, the knocking was accompanied by her phone chiming.

“Just a minute,” she shouted, then looked at her phone. Haley.

“Hello?” She answered the phone as she pulled an oversized sweatshirt from her floor.

“Where have you been?” Haley’s question sounded like an accusation.

Hope pulled the hoodie on, then held the phone back to her ear. “Home.”

“All weekend? I came by Hope. You weren’t there.”

Hope crossed through the house while she talked. “Yes, all weekend. I . . . I was sick. I must have picked up something while I was in Seattle.” She peeked through the peephole.

Athan.

“Listen, Haley, Athan just got here. Call you back a little later?”

Haley laughed. “No. I’ll just see you in school tomorrow. You’re well enough to come, right?”

“Yep. See you tomorrow.” Hope pressed End and turned to Athan.

Athan stood before her in jeans and a pale olive sweater. His scent tickled her senses, and she drank him in. There were dark circles under his eyes that told of too little sleep, but the jade jewels sparkled with emotion. She could see the hint of joy that played at the corners of his mouth. She wanted to fling the door open and pull him in.

“Hey.” She tried for a casual smile, but her grin broke through and she reached for him.

“Hey, yourself.” His voice was low and soft, and his hands felt rough when he touched her cheek. He pressed his lips to hers. “Can I come in?”

Emotion ignited between them, and she couldn’t look away. “Of course.” She backed away from the door, allowing him passage.

“How was your weekend?” she asked, noting his sallow appearance. His hands were scraped, and there was a fresh scab on his neck that was long and thin.

“Loads of fun.” His smile was wry and his voice heavy with sarcasm. He moved to the couch, and patted the cushion next to him. “What about you? Did you do anything fun?”

“No.” She waved her hand around the house as she continued. “I cleaned house and finished my mythology essay. And then I got sick.” She collapsed on the couch and snuggled close to him.

“Finished your mythology essay? The final?” Athan pursed his lips. “The one that isn’t due for another week?”

She nodded. “I know I’m a nerd.” Her laugh was tinged with embarrassment. “I heard you went hunting?”

He sat up. “Who told you that?”

“Tristan.”

“Oh.” He sat back. “He must have misunderstood.”