Curse of the Sphinx (5 page)

Hope’s gaze swung back to the stall. Unable to look away, she watched as the man melted back into the shadows. The vendors were oblivious to him, even after he overturned a bucket of lilies, and one of the workers jumped to save the blossoms from being trampled. No one, not one single person, turned to look at him.

“This place is crawling with Skia!” Priska scolded them. “If I’d known you were coming here . . . I would’ve never agreed—”

Leto shook her head. “I had no idea. I figured with all the people we’d be safe. I even brought the blades. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Skia! Hope’s heart tripped over and over again.

The immortal knives had been passed down by her grandmother, their only protection from immortal beings. Her mom must have them in her purse.

“Of all the places you could’ve picked.” Priska looked back and forth between the two of them. “You haven’t seen any?”

Leto shook her head.

“By the gods, you have incredible luck.” She let out an exhale that sounded like a million worries. “Let’s get out of here.”

They started to the car, walking close together. Hope watched the two vigilant women, then glanced around as if she would see something they missed.

An Asian couple hurried past, the woman speaking in her native tongue. A kid on a scooter, followed by his harried father. A jogging stroller pushed by a woman with neon-orange shoes.

They walked past a bank, and a young man stepped out from the doorway, bumping into her.

“Pardon.”

It took a moment before she realized he’d apologized. When she turned to acknowledge him, he grabbed the brim of his baseball cap and tilted his head at her, effectively blocking most of his face from her view, with the exception of his smile, and . . . a dimple? He was fair, but not in a pasty way. He wore short sleeves, and dark tattoos banded his arms. She couldn’t help but stare. He was definitely alive, and definitely not Skia.

Nevertheless, she had the distinct impression he was watching them all the same.

“Hope!” Her mom’s voice broke her focus, and she turned to see the two women standing at her mom’s blue Prius at least a hundred feet up the street. “For the love of Artemis, please stay with us!”

She hurried to the car, but glanced back. The young man was gone.

“Sorry, Mom.” She turned and offered a half smile.

Leto shook her head and pushed the button to unlock the doors.

“Did you see something?” Priska pierced her with her gaze.

She ducked into the car, thinking about her answer. If she told the truth, her newfound freedom would disappear. If she had to pick, death sounded better than isolation.

“She was staring at that boy.” Leto shook her head.

Afraid her voice wouldn’t convey the conviction, and embarrassed that she had been caught by her mother, she deflected, “How did you know there were Skia there?”

“Are you kidding me?” Priska’s brows raised. “There are always Skia, but this area is close to a conservatory for demigods. The more immortals there are around, the more Skia.” She turned back to the front, but her voice was strong, almost angry as she continued, “If they find you, they’ll kill you. In the future, probably best to stay out of downtown.”

“Does this mean we have to go home?” The expectations of a day out began crumbling around her.

“No.” Leto looked at Priska. “No. We’re doing something different. We can go to the mall . . . in Bellevue. And we’ll have lunch on the Eastside, too. There are lots of great restaurants there.”

“Then why didn’t you just stay in Bellevue?” Priska’s muttering carried to the back.

IT WAS RAINING
. Not enough to need an umbrella, but the perpetual drizzle of the Pacific Northwest left her hair and her clothing damp.

Hope found an empty seat and dropped her backpack on the floor as she scooted close to the window on the school bus. School had started, and the only good thing about being back was that her entire day was filled with classes. She looked out at the sea of gray. At least it was still light. In another month, it would be dark when she left for school and dark when she got home.

“Is this seat taken?”

The feminine voice was lyrical and soft, and Hope glanced up at a fragile-looking girl whose features were a study in contrasts. She had alabaster skin, black hair, and her eyes were that curious shade of dark blue that was almost lavender. She looked hesitant and scared.

“Go ahead and sit.” Hope turned back to her window.

“Thank you.”

The seat dipped infinitesimally.

She could hear the zipping of the girl’s bag and then the rustle of paper. Curious, she turned her head just enough to see that the girl was reading a book.

Reading was Hope’s crutch, her lifeline, her sanity. “Any good?”

The girl looked up, but made no move to put the book away. “
Vampire Night
.”

“The first one?”

“Yep. Have you read them?”

She nodded. “Yeah. The first two are really good, but don’t bother with the rest.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “I know!” She put the book in her lap. “I hated so much when Aedan got killed, and then Jaye got together with Bazin, who is so creeptastic. You just knew that he was the instigator of everything against Aedan, and I could almost forgive him, because he loved Jaye so much, but the whole stalking in her house was just too much. By the time Aedan healed, or whatever”—she waved her hands before continuing—“Jaye was duped, and well, you know”—she took her first breath—“I just really hated the ending.”

This girl understood exactly how she felt! “I know, right?” The words seemed foreign in her mouth.

“I’m Sarra Crawford.” The girl extended her hand with a bright smile.

“Hope Nicholas.” She took the proffered hand and was surprised by the thin girl’s firm grip.

“It’s nice to meet you. Have you read the Starvation series?”

She nodded. “Yeah, but the middle book was slow.”

“I thought so, too.” Excitement radiated from her thin frame. “What about
Remembrance
?”

“Just the first one. I think I got sidetracked with
Shattered
and then the Defiance series.”

“Oh, yeah! I loved Defiance. And
Shadows
…swoon.” The girl tilted sideways and closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Andrew was so yummy in that one.”

The bus stopped in the lot outside of school. It was the first time a bus ride had felt so . . . fast.

Sarra shoved her book back in her backpack and stood. But it would be another couple of minutes before the boys up front let them get off.

“Zeus and Hades! I’m so glad I sat next to you.” Sarra sat back down. “I was just certain I wouldn’t make any friends at this place. We moved here three days ago, and I had no idea that I needed designer clothes to avoid social suicide.” Sarra looked at the front of the bus and then back. “It’s not the most friendly place on earth, huh?” She blushed. “I mean, you’re friendly and all. I just . . . I had a really bad day yesterday.”

Hope couldn’t believe that the girl could have so much inside just bursting to come out. Or how fast it would come out.

Sarra’s eyes widened, and then she looked at her shoes. “But maybe you don’t want to be friends . . .” She swallowed.

Crap! “Yeah, I mean, no.” Why couldn’t her brain keep up with her tongue? “No, I do want to be friends. That would be . . . nice.”

Sarra let a big breath out. “Oh good.”

The two walked down the black rubber tread and stepped off the humid bus. The misty drizzle pushed them to hurry to get under cover.

“So what classes do you have?”

Sarra’s eyebrows pulled together. “We’re in the same English, math, and chemistry classes.”

Hope nodded, now remembering Mr. Jones, the English teacher, introducing a new student yesterday. “Sorry. I guess I was kind of out of it yesterday.” It must’ve sucked missing the first day of school and having to be introduced in each class. She pulled open the metal door leading to the student union, and they flowed through with a wave of adolescents.

“No worries,” Sarra said as they walked to the lockers.

The smell of wet leather, hair gel, body odor, and lemon disinfectant competed to overwhelm her. She needed to get out of the mass of people so she pushed to the stairwell.

Sarra followed, still talking. “It’s a good thing I was paying attention.”

Hope turned back to her new friend. “What other classes do you have?”

“Spanish, Modern Myths, and Voice. But sometimes I think the electives they offer—”

“Do you have Mrs. Lourdes for Spanish?” Hope sat down on the step. The smells were stale in the windowless well.

The petite girl nodded. “And Smith for Myths. Are you taking a mythology this semester?”

“Yeah, I have Stevenson for Myths and Legends.”

Hope heard humming. She realized she had heard it on the bus, too, before they started talking. “You sing a lot?”

Sarra laughed. “Was I singing on the bus?”

“Just humming.”

She nodded. “My dad says it’s my first language. Music. English is my second.”

The bell rung, and the two girls pushed back into the hallway to go to class.

Fifty-one days since last move

“CAN I HAVE
friends?” Hope dropped her backpack on the floor and shut the door with her foot.

“What?” Leto stopped chopping carrots and looked at her.

Their gold eyes met, and Hope refused to back down. “You heard me. I met someone I think would be a good friend.”

She could see her mother’s jaw clench and her chin jut forward. The small apartment seemed to close in as the tension radiated from mother to daughter.

“What’s his name?”

What was wrong with her mom? “Why would you think it was a boy?” She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of carrot sticks from the wooden board.

Her mom exhaled and her shoulders dropped. “I don’t know. I guess you’re getting older, I thought maybe . . . Never mind. What is
her
name?” She resumed chopping the large carrots into thinner wedges.

“Sarra. Sarra Crawford. We have some classes together, and I thought she could come over and study with me.”

Leto’s eyebrows pulled down. “You need help studying?”

Hope wanted to laugh. “Uh, no. She needs help. She’s practically failing math, and her dad’s gone all the time. We got partnered up last week for quizzes and I corrected hers. Anyway, she asked for help. I told her I had to check with you.” She hopped up on the speckled counter and reached for more carrots.

“What about her mom?” Leto rifled through the Tupperware drawer and pulled out a container and lid.

“Her mom left. Like five or six years ago. It’s just her and her dad.”

Her mom said nothing as she put the carrots into the plastic cube.

Hope counted the seconds, knowing the quiet meant it could go either way.

“Where does she live?”

“Right here. In our complex. Please mom, I promise you’ll like her.” What she wasn’t saying was how nice it was to have someone to eat lunch with, to visit with between classes, to chat with at the bus stop.

“It won’t last. Sooner or later, we’ll have to move again.”

“I know.” The whisper was laced with resignation for the inevitable.

Leto nodded. “Okay.”

Hope pulled out her phone and texted her friend.

Two minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Sixty-five days since last move

THEY SAT ON
the bed doing geometry homework.

“How did you do number eight? I’m stuck.” Sarra’s soft voice almost sounded as if she were singing the words.

Hope moved over. She was explaining the Pythagorean theorem when Leto stuck her head into the room.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah. We’re just finishing up,” Hope answered.

“Perfect timing. I’m going to get started on dinner.”

Sarra nudged Hope.

“Mom, can Sarra stay for dinner? We have a little bit of Spanish homework we need to do, and this way she won’t have to come back later.”

“You’ll have to talk with your father, Sarra. If he says it’s okay, it’s fine with me.”

Several weeks had passed, and the two girls were practically inseparable. Despite this, neither Hope nor her mom had met Sarra’s father.

“I’ll ask him right now.”

“Just let me know.” Leto left the two girls and headed to the kitchen.

Sarra’s phone buzzed.

“What did he say?” Hope leaned over to look at the screen.

Sarra’s eyebrows pulled down. “He wants to come over and meet you and your mom.”

“Okay.”

“No, you don’t understand. He . . . he hasn’t been particularly . . . normal since my mom left.”

“What do you mean?”

Sarra never talked about her mom, except the one time to say that she was gone.

Sarra sighed. “It was a long time ago, and I was at voice lessons. Mom dropped me off, but Dad came to pick me up. Dad said that they’d had a disagreement. She was gone when we got home. We haven’t heard from her since.”

Hope’s palms started to sweat. “Did she die?”

Sarra laughed. “No, she just took off. Met some other guy. Decided life was better with him than with us, I guess. Anyway, Dad’s buried himself in work ever since. Kind of like the living dead. He doesn’t really care much about anything anymore.”

“But you moved here? He brought you here.”

“Yeah, for work. He’d been working as a contractor for Microsoft, but they offered him a permanent position, so here we are.”

Sad. Even though her father had left, Hope had her mom. And her mom was always present.

The doorbell rang a while later, and soon voices carried down the hall.

“Ms. Nicholas, I’m Sarra’s father, Paul Crawford. I wanted to thank you for letting Sarra come over. I sure hope she hasn’t gotten underfoot or anything.”

His words were reserved, but the warm tenor carried back to the bedroom. Sarra pushed off the bed and darted from the room.

Hope followed.

“Not at all,” Leto replied. “It’s been nice for Hope to have a friend.”

“Yes, well, it has made Sarra’s transition very easy. It was hard for her to leave the place she called home. I’m very grateful to you both.” He stood stiffly in the doorway.

Paul Crawford was too young to be called middle aged. He was as tall as Leto, a couple inches shy of six feet. With his pale-gold hair, tanned skin, and bright blue eyes he looked like a ray of sunlight, but his demeanor was halting and stilted.

“You know, if she becomes a nuisance, you can send her home,” he said.

Sarra stood close to her father, her head hanging down.

“I doubt that girl could ever be a nuisance.” Leto’s smile was blinding, and Paul stood momentarily dumbfounded. She turned to the girls. “Why don’t you two go finish your homework while I work on dinner? Paul, are you comfortable with a knife?” With that, she turned and headed into the kitchen.

He watched Hope’s mother disappear. Hope had seen that look before: the unconscious parting of the lips, the glowing cheeks, the darting looks. Every shoe salesman, grocery-store bagger, and waiter got that same infatuated expression for her mom. When he cleared his throat and walked into the kitchen, she knew he wouldn’t mind staying for dinner.

“What can I do to help?” he said.