Goddess in Time (15 page)

“We will visit you again in the future,” the old one says.

“You need training,” the young one explains. “So you don't, you know, go insane.”

“That would be nice,” I say sarcastically.

But when the three women start to fade away, I realize it shouldn't have been a joke. It really would be nice to learn how to use this power they just gave me. And it really would be nice to see them again. They might not be my parents, but they are my mothers. I want to know them—I want to know more about them.

You shall,
the voice of the middle-aged one says in my mind.

Then they're gone and I'm left alone in the past.

No point dwelling here.

I reach into my pocket and my fingers have barely closed around the gold coin from Chronos before the room around me melts away and I'm back in the pantheon temple.

I
take a moment to process everything. It's been an overwhelming few days and the realization that I actually succeeded is . . . I'm just not sure how to believe that. It's too surreal.

After a few minutes—and a few deep breaths—I head for the temple doors. I can't stay in here forever. Besides, my best friend is waiting for me.

When I push the big gold doors aside, Troy isn't the only one waiting for me on the steps. The whole gang is here—Phoebe, Griffin, Stella, and Xander are clustered at the bottom. I stop on the top step, expecting them to pelt me with questions like they did the last two times I came out of the temple. Instead, they're silent.

“I—”

Where do I begin?

“Did Troy fill you in on what Petrolas told me?”

They all nod. Troy turns red, like I'm going to be mad about that. But I'm too happy right now to be
mad about anything.

“I called them,” I say. “I called the Fates. And they came.”

It's like a floodgate opens. Once I start saying the words, everything comes out. I tell them about screaming at my mothers, about going back and not being able to do anything. About the second meeting with the Fates when they came back in time, too.

I don't tell them about the new power, though. Those words stay stuck in my mind, still not real enough to say out loud.

Finally, I say, “My parents are unbanished. They're free. Or at least they soon will be.”

“Omigosh,” Phoebe squeals, wrapping me in a big hug. “That's amazing! You did it.”

I hug her back, and I wish I could share her unbridled excitement.

Griffin stands off to the side a little while everyone else cheers. I can feel the tension radiating off him from several feet away. He knows me better than most people—better than probably anyone but Troy—and I'm sure he can see that my smile doesn't quite reach my eyes. I'm sure he noticed that I only said
my
parents, not
our
parents.

I'm excited to share the news with my friends, but it's a double-edged sword. I get my parents back, but he doesn't. Not yet.

Troy catches my eye over Phoebe's shoulder. He lifts his brows in question and I can only shake my head. His head droops and his mouth twists into a sad half smile.

I put my hands on Phoebe's shoulders and push her back.

“Give me a sec,” I whisper as I walk around her, heading for Griffin.

For several long moments—it feels like forever—we just study each other. I think I'm barely breathing as Griffin's bright blue eyes burn into me.

I don't know how to say it, how to tell him that I failed.

In the end, I don't have to.

“My parents are still smoted,” he says, his voice quiet and low, “aren't they?”

I nod slowly, as if that will soften the blow of the truth.

His brows pinch together. He doesn't ask why or how, but I fill in the blanks anyway.

“The Fates,” I explain, “said I couldn't alter the thread of your parents' lives.”

His nostrils flare and his hands clench at his sides. I don't blame him. I'd be pissed, too—I
was
pissed, when I thought I wasn't going to be able to change anything. But this doesn't have to be the end of the story.

“They said
I
couldn't,” I repeat, with special emphasis on the word
I.

The tension in his face relaxes, just a little, and he draws in a sharp breath. “
You
couldn't,” he says.

I nod.

“But I can?”

I nod again.

“How?” he asks.

“I don't know,” I answer honestly. “They didn't say.”

He looks confused, frustrated, but—and this is the only emotion that matters—hopeful. He has hope. For the first time in a decade, Griffin truly believes that
he
will be able to fix what happened to his parents.

Without waiting for him to respond, I step forward and draw him into a tight hug. I'm not much of a hugger—that's definitely more Phoebe's style—but in this moment, with my old best friend and the joy over what I made happen and what I know he is going to make happen, I can't help myself.

Griffin hugs me back, tighter than I think I've ever been hugged. It's a cross between loss and hope.

As I squeeze harder, Troy moves into my peripheral vision. He reaches up and slips his hand over mine. I turn it so our palms are facing and our fingers can weave together.

Thank you,
I mouth.

He shrugs, like it's no big deal. It's a
huge
deal. There's no way I could have done what I did without him—without all of my friends.

“Come on,” I say, releasing Griffin from my hug but keeping hold of Troy's hand. “Let's go celebrate.”

“Where?” Stella asks.

Phoebe suggests, “How about ice cream?”

“I could go for some rocky road,” Xander says.

Stella slips her arm around his and they start walking into the village.

Phoebe gives Griffin a mischievous look before saying, “I'll race you.”

They're off before he can even say, “You're on.”

“Are you okay?” Troy asks as we start after our friends.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why wouldn't I be?”

He tugs me closer as he gives me an are-you-joking look.

Fine, so I collected offerings from the gods, found out I'm the adopted daughter of the Fates, and went back in time to alter the course of my life. What's the big deal?

The big deal is . . . I'm the daughter of the Fates and I now have the power of precognition. For some reason, that particular turn of events is too big for me to talk about. I'm not even sure how I feel about that in my own head yet, let alone sharing it with someone else.

But as soon as I'm in that place, Troy will be the first to know.

“I'm fine,” I say, finally answering his question. “Really.”

For the first time in more than ten years, I finally feel like everything is going to be okay again.

The edges of my lemon-sourball double scoop haven't even started to melt when the bell above the door to the ice-cream parlor jingles. I don't look up until the dark figure bypasses the ice-cream counter and heads for our booth in the back.

“Great,” I mutter.

Stella flashes the visitor a sunny grin. “Hi, Daddy.”

Phoebe looks from me to her stepfather and back to me. Clearly she thinks I'm in trouble.

Not possible. Headmaster Petrolas can't possibly know—

“May I see you alone for a moment, Miss Matios,” he says, pretty much ignoring everyone else at the table. He flashes me a pearly-toothed grin as he adds, “Now.”

I am not fooled by the friendly facade.

“Don't eat this,” I instruct Troy as I hand him my ice-cream cone and slide out of the booth.

Troy looks like I handed him a live grenade. Right, I forgot his taste buds are still cursed. Guess I don't have to worry about him consuming my celebratory treat.

I feel all five sets of eyes from my table watch as I follow Headmaster Petrolas out the front door. As the door shuts behind me, I brace myself for the lecture.

“I believe it is time you returned the book,” he says without preamble.

“The what?” I ask, half-shocked and half feigning ignorance.

To be accurate, he only said
book
—singular—so I don't technically know which one he might be talking about. But I have a feeling he'd be way more furious than he seems if he was talking about the first one.

“The book from the secret archives,” he explains, looking just as neutral as he had when he walked up to the booth.
“The Art and Science of Chronoportation.”

I can't have heard him right. He can't know I took the book—
that
book—and still be asking me in such a . . . polite way.

“I'm sorry, I don't—”

“Your parents will be arriving tomorrow afternoon for a long-overdue visit,” he says.

“I . . . they . . .” It's a struggle to form words into sentences at this point. “You know?”

He doesn't respond, just cocks his head slightly to the left.

He knows.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You've known all along.”

He shrugs and brushes a piece of dust off his jacket sleeve. “Of course.”

Of course.

“Then why didn't you stop me?” Or help me.

“Just because I am a . . .” He frowns, like he's trying to concentrate. “How did you put it after the incident with the baby oil in the boys' bathroom? A ‘tool of the gods'?”

I feel my cheeks burn. For the love of Zeus, this guy really does hear, see, and
know
everything.

“Does not mean that I blindly support their judgment,” he finishes. “I believe you deserved the chance to set things right.”

I am stunned—utterly and completely and totally shocked. Did Headmaster Petrolas—the bane of my rebellious existence
at this school—really
want
me to travel back in time? To break one of the unbreakable rules and cheat fate?

“I am pleased that you have succeeded,” he says when I still can't form words.

“I—you—” My mouth drops open as the pieces fall into place. “You made the book glow! You wanted me to find it. You set this whole thing up!”

His shrug is all the answer I need.

“Oh my gods, I can't believe it.” I shake my head. “I should have known.”

His expression turns serious. “That is the other thing I wished to speak with you about,” he says. “Your new gift.”

“My new . . . oh. Yeah, that.”

“Yes, that.” His voice drops to a low whisper that only I can hear. “Knowledge of the future is a rare gift, Miss Matios. It will take time to refine the power.”

“So my mothers told me.”

“If you find yourself needing . . .” He hesitates, like he's trying to pick out the perfect word. “Relief,” he finally says, “do not hesitate to ask.”

He's so intense that it actually makes me nervous. The situation between the headmaster and me has always been just short of serious. Even when I was in big trouble for some stunt or another, I could always sense his almost-laughter right beneath the surface.

Which is why his foreboding warning is so disconcerting.

“Right,” I say, trying to diffuse the tension. “You know, I already saw my future.”

“Oh yes?” he asks, cocking one brow up.

“Yeah.” I flash him a sly smile. “I saw a future where I don't get in trouble for my actions anymore.”

He laughs, and that makes me feel so much better. Even after so many things have changed in such a short period of time, our little cat-and-mouse game is still intact.

“The yacht will bring your parents from Serifos at two o'clock,” he says, completely changing the subject. “When we meet at the dock to greet them . . .”

He doesn't have to complete the sentence.

“I'll bring the book,” I reply with a smile.

He nods, as if pleased that his nonverbal communication skills are still in working order. “And bring the second volume as well,” he says. “The one Miss Spencer secured for you from the archives.”

I don't even bother being shocked at how he knew that Adara got me the book on the offerings for the gods. He just knows.

“I'll see you tomorrow, then,” I say, then start back for the door.

“And Miss Matios,” he calls out before I can grab the handle.

“Yes?” I ask, wait for another shoe—knowing Petrolas, probably an expensive Italian loafer—to drop.

“Please tell Mr. Blake that the gods are likely inclined to grant a special favor,” he says, “to the last descendant of Zeus's favorite son.”

Hercules has always been Zeus's favorite, and Griffin is the last in the Herculean line. If Petrolas thinks that fact will get Griffin special treatment, that bodes well for his quest to get his parents back.

When I turn back around to ask him to explain, he's already gone. That man is quick and quiet as a ninja when he wants to be. Someday I'll get the jump on him.

As I yank open the door and return to my friends, my steps are lighter knowing that hope for Griffin is even closer than we thought.

W
hen I get back to the booth, Stella is making googly eyes at Xander—and he's making them right back at her—in one corner. Phoebe and Griffin are snuggling together in the other corner. I take my seat across from Troy and grab my ice cream back.

“Hey, you ate some,” I accuse, inspecting the decidedly smaller scoop on top.

His eyes widen. “It was melting.”

“I thought your taste buds were still cursed.”

“They're . . .” He half smirks even as his cheeks flame bright pink. “Not anymore.”

I scowl, but decide that I'm in too good of a mood to pursue my usual plan of attack.

“So what did Damian want?” Phoebe asks, drawing her gaze away from Griffin.

I tell them what the headmaster said about my parents coming tomorrow and Griffin asking the gods for a favor—and leave out the part about returning the stolen book.