Goddess in Time (3 page)

He's trying to make a joke out of the situation, but that doesn't change my mind. Griffin is the only other person with a stake in the outcome, and I'm not asking him—or anyone else—to take this risk on my behalf. Enough people have already paid for my actions. I'm not adding to the list.

“I don't want you to get into trouble,” I explain. He's already in enough hot water about the whole musician thing. “I won't risk you getting hurt.”

Or worse.
When dealing with the gods, there's always something worse.

“Nicole,” he says, in a tone way more steely and serious than I'm used to from Troy, “you're my best friend. You need my help. There is no way I am letting you go through this alone. End of discussion.”

My mouth drops opens to argue, but I snap it back shut just as quickly. Troy doesn't usually make stands like this. I love him, but he's about ninety percent coward. It took him almost eighteen years to come clean to his parents about his music. The fact that he's standing up to me, of all people, is shocking and impressive.

Besides, he's right that I will probably need help. Who knows what the requirements for time travel are going to be? Not me, clearly, since I've been too chicken to even open the book. And he's also right that he's my best friend. What he might not know, though, is that I trust him more than anybody else in this world—or any other world.

If I'm going to have a partner in crime in this enterprise, it's going to be Troy or no one.

I finally say, “Okay.”

“Listen, Nicole, I know you don't like relying on—” He jerks back and blinks a few times. “Did you just say
okay?”

I stare at him.

“Wow.” His green-gold eyes widen in shock. “This must really be serious.”

“It is.”

Straightening his shoulders, like he needs to muster his strength, he asks, “So, what do we do first?”

“I don't know,” I explain, giving the book a wary look. “I haven't read it yet.”

“What are we waiting for?” He grabs the book from my hand, drops back onto my bed with his back against the wall, and sets the leather volume in his lap. “Let's crack this baby open.”

He's showing way more courage than he feels, I'm sure. But I'm thankful for every ounce of fake bravado. Maybe this is why I waited. Maybe I'm supposed to read the book with Troy, to follow the instructions and travel back through time with him at my side. All of a sudden, my fears and doubts and cowardliness evaporate. I'm ready.

I climb onto the bed next to him, scooting back to the wall for support. We each wrap one hand around the corner of the cover, and pull it open.

I'm not sure what I expected to happen. Thunderbolts, swarms of locusts, a Go Directly to Hades, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200 card. But, in reality, opening this particular book is just like opening any other.

As the burgundy leather cover swings out of the way, there is a blank page followed by a title page, which reads:

The Art and Science of Chronoportation: How to Travel Through Time Without Getting Caught

“That's promising,” Troy says.

“Not getting caught would be a definite advantage,” I agree.

Next is a table of contents, listing a preface, several chapters on the history of
chronoportation,
and—finally—the instructions. We look at each other and then Troy quickly flips to the last section. We don't need a history lesson; we need directions.

“The power
of chronoportation
is not as simple as the other twelve
dynamotheos
powers,” Troy reads. “Time travel requires more than just mental skill and should never be undertaken without careful consideration of the consequences.”

“Blah blah,” I say. “Skip ahead to the good part.”

“Funny,” Troy says, giving me an ironic look. “I think this is the part you need to hear most.”

I throw him a scowl. “If you're going to be dogging me about this the whole time, then you can leave now.”

He sighs, and turns back to the book.

“It says,” Troy explains, even though I'm reading over his shoulder, “we need to get the blessing of Chronos, the god of time.”

No wonder Olympus outlawed time travel. Chronos is one of the old gods—a primordial. They and their powers make the Olympic gods nervous. They've been around since before time began—literally, since Chronos is the god of time. They don't abide by Olympic law and there have been more than a few . . . skirmishes about that throughout history.

“And to do that,” Troy reads ahead a bit, “we need to gather three offerings.”

“What kind of offerings?”

Troy reads silently for a minute. “It doesn't say specifically. Just that they need to represent the three Olympic kings.”

“That would be Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades.”

Rulers of Olympus, the oceans, and the underworld.

“Oh, look.” Troy points to a spot farther down the page. “It says, see
Offerings to the Gods
by the same author.”

I have a bad feeling about that. Climbing off the bed, I log on to my computer and pull up the Academy's online library catalog. It only takes a few seconds to verify my fears.

I slump in my chair.

“Don't they have it?” Troy asks.

“Oh, they have it all right,” I answer. “It just happens to be another volume locked away in the secret archives.”

“That's bad.” Troy closes the book and comes to read the computer screen over my shoulder. “How did you get in last time?”

“Mrs. Philipoulos took us in.” And that hadn't been easy. She had been ready to send us out on our ears until she realized we were looking for Phoebe's dad's trial record. She deemed that worthy of bending library rules.

Highly doubtful she'd do the same for a book about making offerings to the gods. Especially if I'm the one doing the asking.

“Well, we need to get inside,” Troy says. “Any ideas?”

“Not unless you know someone who works as a library aid.”

Troy is silent, and I look up to find his cheeks bright pink.

“Actually . . .”

“Spill.”

“Look, I don't even know if she'll help.”

She? “Who is
she
?”

Troy shakes his dark-blond head. “Let me ask her. It'll be better if you don't get involved.”

I scowl at him—a trick that usually works—but he ignores me as he pushes to his feet.

“Meet me in the upper level of the library in an hour.” He hands me the book. “Either I'll have it or we'll figure out a Plan B.”

I watch, confused, as Troy leaves my room. Other than hiding his dream of becoming a musician from his parents, he's usually rubbish at keeping secrets. That he's keeping this one from me—and that it
involves a girl who makes him blush—only makes me more intrigued.

But if this girl can get the book that will help me make things right, I'll let him keep his secret. For now.

T
he library makes me uncomfortable. All that gold and marble and the smell of musty, old books. I'd rather be pretty much anywhere.

I start tapping my fingers on the surface of one of the ancient-looking tables. The place is empty. The Academy only offers a few summer programs—like the premed one Troy's parents are making him take—so the campus is pretty deserted. Even Goddess Boot Camp, the training camp Phoebe had to complete to learn how to use her new powers, is over. All the snooty rich kids are off on their yachts in Ibiza or working at Daddy's law firm or Mommy's ad agency for the summer. The only ones left are the ones in summer school and those of us who have nowhere else to go.

I'm stuck on the island year-round. If I didn't get a reprieve from all the godlets in the summer I'd go insane.

It's been more than an hour since Troy said to meet him here. I'm getting antsy. If he can't get his hands on the book, I don't know what the next step will be. I can't exactly knock on Headmaster Petrolas's door and ask him how to travel through time.

It's not like he can expel me—terms of the Olympic decree—but I'm sure I'd get a lifetime of his worst detentions ever.

If Troy can't get the book, though, it might be—

Troy appears at the top of the grand, curving staircase looking very guilty. His eyes shift left and right before rushing over to my table and dropping into the chair next to me.

His hands are empty. My heart thumps.

“Your girlfriend couldn't get it?”

He lifts his brows, spreads his arms out over the table, and then pulls something out of his left sleeve. His grin tells me everything I need to know.

“She's not my girlfriend,” he insists.

Snatching the small, green book from his fingers, I ask, “How?”

Before he can answer, an annoying female voice says, “See you around, Troy.”

I turn to see Adara—aka evil cheer queen from Hades—waving as she crosses to the main entrance. My jaw drops. No wonder he didn't want me involved. My temper has a short fuse around petty popular girls.

This descendant of Aphrodite is pretty much the antithesis of everything I am, was, or ever will be.

“What?” She can't be his secret helper. She's like our archenemy. “Not
Adara?
”

He can't be interested in her. He can't
like
her. He just can't.

Troy waves to the cheer witch while shushing me. “It's not what you think.”

“Oh, really?” I ask as the door closes behind her. “What exactly do I think?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“You dating that vapid cow is definitely something to worry about.”

He scowls at me. “We aren't dating.” He nods at the book. “Don't we have work to do?”

I'm torn between wanting to push him for answers and wanting to find out what the three offerings are. My best friend dating my worst enemy is pretty awful, but I have more important things at stake at the moment. I can grill him later. In the end, the bigger picture wins out.

I flip open
Offerings to the Gods
without hesitation. “Don't think I'm letting this go indefinitely.”

Troy smirks and then bends his head over the book. “What does it say? What are the offerings?”

I quickly flip through the yellowed pages. It's really short, maybe two dozen pages altogether—barely worth the binding—so it doesn't take me long to skim the key points.

“It's pretty straightforward,” I explain. “The three offerings are a gold feather, a silver seashell, and a ruby pomegranate seed.”

“That's it?” Troy frowns. “Does that sound too easy?”

“The items aren't the tricky part,” I say as I close the book. “Their locations are.”

“I have a feeling I'm not going to like this.”

“You won't.” I twirl the volume under my finger. “The golden feather must come from Zeus's eagle, the silver seashell from Poseidon's throne room, and the ruby pomegranate seed from Hades's palace.”

“That means . . .”

I nod. “I have to visit their homes.”

Troy is stunned silent.

The homes of the three god kings—also known as Mount Olympus, the seafloor, and the underworld—are not exactly open to visitors. They're not exactly easy to access, either. Most
hematheos
go their whole lives without ever visiting any of the palaces, let alone all three. This is not my idea of a fun summer vacation, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Troy sighs as I slip the tiny book into my back pocket.

We get up to leave just as Phoebe and Griffin walk in the door. A gift bag dangles from Phoebe's hand. They're stuck here for the summer, just like us: Phoebe because Headmaster Petrolas is her new stepdad, and Griffin because he has nowhere else to go.

I throw Troy a quick scowl—he'd better keep his trap shut about what we're doing. These two don't need to be involved. No one else does.

“Hey, guys,” Phoebe says, swinging the gift bag. “What's up?”

“Hey,” I say back.

Griffin waves. “Hi, Nic. Troy.”

Troy stares at the floor.

Phoebe frowns at me. “I thought you hated libraries?”

“I do,” I reply. “We were just . . .” I glance at Troy, who shrugs helplessly. “Working on something. What are you guys doing here?”

She holds up the bag. “I got Mrs. Philipoulos a thank-you treat from the bakery. For helping with my dad's trial record.”

“We're going for a run after,” Griffin says. “What are you working on?”

“Did you read the record yet?” I ask Phoebe, hoping that will divert them from what Troy and I are doing, even though I already know the answer. If she'd read it, she would have told me.

“No.” She looks down at her running shoes. “I will. Soon.”

Griffin wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“When the time is right,” I say. Then, patting her on the arm as I walk past, I add, “We'll let you get on with your gift giving.”

“And your running,” Troy adds.

He hurries out in front of me, throwing Phoebe and Griffin a quick wave as he escapes out into the hall. I turn and follow him before they can ask any questions. Now that I know what needs to be done, I'm eager to get started. And without an audience.

“I don't like it, Nic,” Troy says, pacing in my room.

“I'm not asking you to like it,” I reply. “I'm not even asking you to be here.”

He flashes me an angry glare.

“Well, I am here,” he says. “And I'm staying. I'm not letting you do this alone.”

“Then enough with the warnings and disapproving looks.” I shove both books onto the top shelf in my closet. Just because we know what we have to do doesn't mean we might not need them again. The gods are brilliant at surprise twists. “Or I'll
neofacture
a gag and some handcuffs.”