Goddess in Time (8 page)

“What do you see?” Poseidon asks softly.

I don’t stop to ask how he knows I’m seeing something.

“A girl with pale blond hair and pretty green eyes,” I describe.

“My daughter,” Poseidon confirms. “What else?”

“She’s walking on the beach with a boy.” I squint my eyes, as if that will make the mental picture clearer. “He has dark blond hair and”—the image zooms in on his face—“a tattoo on the back of his neck.”

“That is the boy.” Poseidon releases my hand. “The
con
artist.”

The modern term sounds awkward in his accented voice.

The image fades and I open my eyes. “I—” I shake my head, not sure how I could possibly know this, but I feel it like a certainty in my gut. “He isn’t a con artist.”

“No?”

I shrug. “They seem . . .” I study the picture of the girl and the blissful smile on her beautiful face. “Happy.”

“Happy,” Poseidon echoes.

I can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed. Personally, I’m confused. What the heck just happened? One touch from a god and suddenly I’m seeing things I shouldn’t be able to know?

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the silver seashell and offering it to me. “It was not the answer I sought, but it is . . . acceptable.”

I let out a huge—water-filled—sigh of relief. Seems like I passed the test.

I reach out to take the seashell. Before I can grab it, Poseidon moves his hand back a few inches. When I look up, ready to call him out for pulling a dirty trick, he is giving me a serious look.

“You of all people, Nicole Matios,” he says, shocking the ever-loving crap out of me by knowing my name, “of all
hematheos,
should know that some things happen for reasons beyond our control.”

“I, um . . .”

Crazy guy says what? What kind of cryptic nonsense is that? Sure, the old guy gets points for knowing my name, but that ominous threat is filed under
none of his business.
He must be totally off the rails. If this all goes wrong at the last moment, I’m going to be seriously annoyed.

But Poseidon doesn’t spout any more of his crazy talk. He holds the seashell back within my reach.

I snatch it before he can yank it away again.

“Thanks,” I say, clutching the seashell in my fist.

I turn and swim for the door as fast as my mediocre swimming skills will take me. It’s not until I’m out of the palace, through the canyon, and kicking to the surface that I let out a sigh of relief. I did it. I actually got the silver seashell.

As I break through into the salty air, I don’t hesitate. I
autoport
back to Serfopoula, back to my friends, with the edges of the shell digging into my palm.

I
t’s late when I get back and the beach is deserted, so I go ahead and
autoport
back to my room. After placing the seashell in the desk drawer next to the feather, I grab my phone and send the gang a quick text to let them know I’m back safe.

A phone beeps from the vicinity of my always-messy bed.

Scowling, I cross the room and yank the comforter away. There’s Troy, sprawled across my sheets, sleeping like a little baby.

“Hey,” he says, rolling over and squinting into the light. “You’re back.”

I don’t bother confirming the obvious. “How did you get in here?”

I swear I reset my protections after last time.

He sits up, rubs his eyes with one hand, and waves at the window with the other.

“I’m on the third floor,” I argue while he stifles a yawn.

“I know.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “I
neofactured
a ladder.”

I give up. With a resigned shake of my head, I drop into the chair at my desk. “Clearly I need to up my security.”

Troy ignores my grumble. “Did you get it?”

I yank the drawer back open and hold up the seashell.

“How?” he asks. “Was it hard?”

“Not really,” I answer.

All it took was a bizarro mental movie of Poseidon’s daughter. I have no idea what that was all about, and part of me wants to share that with Troy. Not that he would understand any more than I do, but it’s making me a little crazy to keep it inside.

What would I say? Poseidon touched me and I saw—what? The future? The past? I don’t even know.

It had to be something supernatural. I’ve never seen this daughter of Poseidon before, but according to him I described her—and her boyfriend—perfectly. And whatever I saw, it was enough to appease the sea god.

Still, it’s . . . weird. To say the least.

Instead of telling Troy something I can’t explain, I tell him the rest of the story—from the moment I left the beach until I
autoported
home.

“All I did was ask for it,” I say. “He was pretty reasonable, as far as Olympians go.”

“Wow, that’s—” Troy shakes his head. “Wow.”

I nod my head. “I know.”

He reaches for the seashell and I let him take it. It doesn’t look like anything special. Just an ordinary seashell that happens to be silver. I get the feeling the offerings are more about the effort than the objects themselves. While Troy turns the shell over in his hand, my mind drifts to the next step.

Apparently, so does his.

“So . . .” he says, holding the seashell up for a closer look. “Hades?”

I draw in a full breath. “Hades.”

“That’s going to be—”

“Impossible,” I interrupt. “I’ll add it to the list.”

I grab the seashell back, drop it in the drawer with the feather, and slam the thing shut.

“This isn’t the same as Poseidon’s palace,” Troy says, reclining back on my bed. “The underworld is a whole different ball game.”

I sigh. “I’m trying not to think about that.”

Hades. The underworld. The land of the dead.

Not exactly a choice vacation spot. In fact, other than descendants of Hades and his too-stupid-to-live bride Persephone and participants in a ridiculous survival game held on the island every summer, no one but the dead ever enters Hades because no one can ever leave.

“There has to be a way,” I insist. “Otherwise why would that be a required step?”

“I don’t like it,” Troy says. Before I can tell him I don’t care if he doesn’t like it, he says, “But we’ll figure it out.”

He pats the bed and I move to sit next to him. Our arms touch and I feel myself relax. I’ve never felt as comfortable with anyone as I do with Troy. Suddenly, the exhaustion of the day—of this whole quest—hits me and I find my eyes sagging.

“We’ll get everyone together tomorrow,” he continues, his voice lulling me to sleep. “We will figure out how to get you to Hades.”

“And back,” I murmur, letting my head fall onto his shoulder.

“And back,” he repeats.

As I drift to sleep, images of golden feathers and silver seashells dance in my mind. With my friends at my side—with Troy at my side—I have no doubt that ruby pomegranate seeds will be mine before long.

Redemption, too.

Just as the last of my consciousness succumbs to sleep, I feel Troy’s hand slide under mine. I smile and then I’m out.

We decide to meet at Phoebe’s house the next morning. Mostly because the idea of having so many people in my room makes me itchy. Also because we are less likely to be overheard here than in the dorm or the library. Even on summer break, there are still some students on campus.

At Phoebe’s, we only have to worry about her mom—not really a concern, because she doesn’t know enough about this world to freak out; her stepdad—a major problem, because Headmaster Petrolas knows everything about this world, but luckily he’s in Athens on business; and her stepsister—another major know-it-all problem, but Stella tends to make herself scarce when we’re around. Besides, she’s busy getting ready to leave for Oxford in a few weeks.

Phoebe and I are counting the days.

“I found a site that says the Romans believed the entrance to Hades was through Lake Avernus in Italy.” Phoebe looks away from the computer screen and smiles at us. “Road trip?”

I shake my head.

“Can’t trust anything the Romans say,” Troy says without looking up from the atlas he’s reading.

Griffin looks up from the prehistoric-looking book on mythology he found in the nonsecret collection at the library. “They got everything wrong.”

I flip through another useless book, filled with all the standard mythological stories about Hades. Kidnapping Persephone, Odysseus’s odyssey, Orpheus trying to bring Eurydice back from the dead. Nothing helpful.

“Here’s something,” Griffin says. He reads from his book. “Supposedly, there is an entrance to Hades in Abyssos, the realm of monsters.”

“Realm of monsters?” I ask. That doesn’t sound fun.

“I’ve heard of that,” Troy says. “It’s where all the gods banished monsterkind after Medusa’s murder.”

“Murder?” Phoebe asks.

“It’s a long story,” I explain. “But how would we get to Abyssos?”

“It says there’s a door . . .” Griffin reads ahead, and then his face falls. “Oh. It says the door has been lost for millennia.”

“Great,” I mutter.

Square one.

“You know,” Troy says, “Hades isn’t the only god with access to the underworld. You could always call—”

“Shut it,” I growl before he says too much.

He should know that what he’s suggesting is not an option. Not. An. Option.

“Are you sure your
girlfriend
can’t help us out?” I ask, just to torment him.

Phoebe sits up straighter. “Troy has a girlfriend?”

“A
secret
one,” I tease.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says, turning his attention back to the atlas.

I smirk. Score one for Nicole.

Everyone returns to their searching. I’m about to read the story of how Hades kidnapped Persephone, how the biggest idiot in all of mythology cursed herself into spending three-quarters of eternity trapped in the underworld with her kidnapper—Stockholm syndrome much?—when Phoebe’s bedroom door swings open.

“Phoebe, did you take my—”

We all freeze at the intrusion of Phoebe’s stepsister into our lair.

Stella stops midsentence when she sees us scattered around the room, guiltily trying to hide the evidence of our research. She scans her steely gray eyes over the crowd and when her glare gets to me, it narrows.

I growl. We don’t have the best history.

“What’s going on here?” the queen
B
—and I don’t mean the bumble kind—demands.

“Nothing,” Phoebe, Griffin, and Troy insist.

“Seriously?” Stella rolls her eyes. “You three fail at lying.”

She studies each of us in turn, giving Phoebe, then Griffin and Troy, her most withering look. Choosing her victim wisely, she walks up to Troy, who is—literally—starting to shake.

“Troy,” she says in a voice far sweeter than should be possible for someone as sour as Stella, “what is the Greek squad up to?”

“I—um—well—we—” Hazel eyes wide, he looks wildly around the room for help.

If I don’t step in he’s liable to spill the whole story.

“It’s nothing, wicked witch,” I answer, trying to save him from more distress. “Go back to your evil castle and ask your monkeys to give you a makeover.”

Stella turns to me and flashes an unamused smile. “Always quick to his defense, rebel girl. Makes a girl wonder if you two are more than friends?”

Phoebe turns to stare wide-eyed at me. Griffin clears his throat and Troy studies the ceiling. Even though my heart is thumping in my chest, I force myself to stay calm on the outside.

“Did you need something?” I ask. “Or did you just come in here to interrogate us?”

“If I wanted to interrogate you,” she replies, “you’d know it. Now, tell me what’s going on or I’ll make the Spanish Inquisition look like tea with the queen.”

Phoebe, Griffin, and Troy all blurt out answers at once.

“We’re planning a party.”

“It’s a summer research project.”

“Book club.”

Stella shakes her head and keeps her focus on me. For several long moments we have a serious stare-down. Her gray eyes meeting my blue ones. It’s part battle of wills and part battle of powers. I can tell she’s trying to
psychospection
her way into my thoughts.

Don’t even think about it,
I
psychodictate
back into her snobby blond head.

She arches one dark blond brow.

Tell me,
she says.

There’s nothing to
—

Don’t bother lying,
she interrupts.
I inherited my father’s deception detector.

I suck in a tight breath, and scowl harder. If there are two things I know about Stella Petrolas it’s that her mind-reading powers are unequaled and that when she smells a juicy secret she’s like Cerberus with a freakin’ bone. She won’t back off until we come clean, and it’ll be easier if we do it sooner rather than later.

Fine.

“We’re trying to find a way into Hades.”

Phoebe gasps.

Griffin laughs.

Troy looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

I probably have. I’m not sure why I decided it was easier to give in. Maybe because if I didn’t she would probe my brain until she found out on her own. This at least gives me a chance at controlling the conversation.

Her only response is to ask, “Why?”

I stiffen my spine before answering. All in.

“Because I need ruby pomegranate seeds for an offering to Chronos.” When she tilts her head a fraction to the right, I add, “So I can travel back in time and stop my parents from getting banished.”

I clench my jaw.

As I watch Stella’s reaction, I expect her to be outraged. To act all snooty and superior and then run tattle to her headmaster daddy, but not before she gives us a scathing lecture on breaking one of the unbreakable rules.

Scathing lectures are her favorite pastime.

I think we’re all holding our breath.

If Stella turns us in, we’ll all pay the price. It was a stupid move. I should have kept my mouth shut and just focused on blocking her out of my brain. We’re all done for now.

After the longest silence of my life, Stella walks to the door. I shake my head, waiting for her to run to phone her father and tell on us.