Goddess in Time (6 page)

Anyway, I'm not the school delinquent or anything, but I have tried the headmaster's patience. Repeatedly.

“I didn't take the
first
book,” Troy whines.

My elbow connects with his ribs before he has time to make a pouty face.

“Ow. What?”

Phoebe's eyes widen. “You took
two
books?”

Troy casts me a sideways glance. “Oh.”

“He'll know it was for me,” I insist, trying to make Troy's color return to normal.

“Either way, he says you won't be in trouble if you return it—return
them,”
Phoebe corrects. “Just give them back and—”

“I can't,” I interrupt.

“You can't?” Phoebe frowns.

“Why not?” Troy asks. “We already know what to—ow!”

I shake my head as Troy protects his ribs. I can't tell her. I can't involve her in this. It's bad enough I'm letting Troy in—at least he's been a part of this world his whole life. Phoebe's only known about it for a year.

Besides, we might still need them. Surprise twists and all that.

Phoebe crosses the room to stand in front of me. “Tell me. I want to help.”

I open my mouth and close it again.

“Tell her,”
Troy nudges.

Tilting my head back, I stare at the ceiling like I'm going to find some kind of answer there. Nope, nothing but boring white plaster.

“We're friends,” Phoebe says. “You can trust me.”

“It's not that,” I blurt. “I trust you, I just . . .”

“Don't want to involve me,” she finishes.

I nod.

“She didn't want to involve anyone,” Troy adds.

“Too bad,” she says, surprising me. “Friends don't only help each other when it's safe or convenient. Whatever's going on, I'm in.”

I want to argue, to tell her that this is too dangerous. Too risky. Too important. I've already been responsible for ruining too many lives. I don't want them to risk their futures, too.

One glance at Troy tells me he agrees with Phoebe.

Two against one. He practically blackmailed me into letting him help. She probably would, too. Doesn't leave me much choice, does it?

“Okay,” I say, walking over to my closet, where the books are safely hidden under a pile of junk. “But you have to promise not to tell your stepdad.”

She scowls. “Do you even have to ask?”

Of course not. I dig the bigger of the two books out of the hiding spot. I only hesitate a second before walking back across the room. When I hand it to Phoebe, she reads the title and her jaw drops.

“You said it wasn't possible.” She flips open the book and skims the contents. “You said it was ridiculously illegal.”

“It's both,” I reply.

“Then why—”

She starts to ask the question. Why would I do this? Why would I take such a huge risk?

But then she jerks back, as if it all makes sense.

She glances at Troy, who shrugs and nods.

“Your parents,” she whispers.

I jam my hands in my back pockets. “It's the only way.”

The gods know I've tried everything else. I've petitioned Olympus, scoured the legal section of the library, even asked Headmaster Petrolas for advice. The answer was always the same: the decree is irreversible without a unanimous Olympic vote. Hera will never vote in our favor.

If I want to unbanish my parents and bring Griffin's back to him, I have to try.

“My only chance to make things right,” I say, “is to go back and stop it from happening in the first place.”

Phoebe stares at me for a long time. Like, an insanely long time. I can't read her thoughts—I mean, I could use
psychospection
if I really wanted to, but that's rude. Instead, I wait for her to finally speak.

“Changing the past,” she says. “Isn't that dangerous? Wouldn't you risk, like, unmaking yourself?”

“I would already be born,” I argue.

“But other things,” she insists. “You could screw up whole time lines that depend on that event happening. My mom used to love this old movie about a time-traveling car and—”

“There are fail-safes.” Troy points at the book. “According to the text, existing time lines are inviolable. Changing something in the past changes it
now,
but it still happened then.”

“What does that even mean?” I demand.

“I know, I had to read it three times to understand,” he says. “But basically, the primordial gods—the ones responsible for all the laws of nature and physics—didn't want time travel to break the space-time continuum. They ensured that going back can't change anything that happened between now and then. Only what happens from now on.”

I shake my head. I swear, that boy has too much book learning sometimes.

“You're sure?” Phoebe asks, and I can tell she is really concerned that I will destroy the universe by
chronoporting.

“I'm sure,” Troy promises.

“Think of it this way,” I say. “Why would the gods create a power that could unmake all their hard work?”

She considers that for a moment, studies both me and Troy like she's judging how much we believe what we're saying, and then finally relaxes her shoulders.

“This is insane.” She waves the book in the air. “Time travel?”

“I know.”

I try to snatch the book back from her, but she waves it out of reach.

“That's why I don't want anyone else involved,” I explain. “It's too dangerous.”

“Troy's involved,” Phoebe argues.

I roll my eyes. “Like I could stop him.”

Phoebe grins. “Well, you can't stop me, either.”

“Thank goodness,” Troy cheers and collapses onto my bed.

“You don't have to do this,” I tell Phoebe.

“I know,” she replies. “But I'm going to.”

She sets the book on my desk as she stands, and then pulls me into a hug.

“For you,” she whispers, “and for Griffin.”

I squeeze her back. She knows me well enough to realize that this isn't just about me or my parents. It's about Griffin's parents, too.

I should have known I could count on Phoebe. She cares about him as much as I do, so it's probably only right that she's helping. With a descendant of the goddess of Victory on my side, how can I fail?

“What about a scuba tank?” Phoebe suggests.

I shake my head. “Not enough air time.”

“Besides,” Troy adds, “the atmospheric pressure would kill her long before she got to the seafloor.”

Phoebe and I both gawk at him.

“What?” He raises his hands in defeat. “I took physics.”

I kick a pebble off the path as we cross campus from the library to Phoebe's house. We spent the morning working on the next step of the quest—getting a silver seashell from Poseidon's underwater palace.
All
morning.

According to our research, the hard part isn't getting the seashell—although I'm sure that won't be a walk in the sea park. The gods don't like making things easy for anyone, even their descendants.

No, the hard part is actually
getting
there.

The location of Poseidon's palace is a carefully guarded secret. Which seems like overkill to me because it's at the bottom of the seafloor and pretty much impossible to get to unless you belong there.

All I know is that it's somewhere at the bottom of the Mediterranean.

“We could ask one of his descendants.” Troy chases after the pebble, kicking it back onto the concrete like he's playing soccer.

My only response is a glare. Troy knows how I feel about those dumber-than-rocks surfer morons. I'd rather drink the entire Mediterranean, boats and all, than try to have a conversation with one of them. One disastrous science-project partnership back in Level 7 was enough togetherness to last my lifetime. And about eight more.

Phoebe ignores my irritation. “What about a submarine?”

“What
about
a submarine?” I echo. “Do you have one hidden away in the harbor?”

“No,” she says with a laugh. “Can't we
neofacture
one?”

“Neofact
—” Troy bursts out laughing.

I shake my head. “Not unless you have the complete schematics and the ability to memorize and understand them.”

Phoebe frowns.

“We would have to make sure every last bolt and wire was right,” Troy calms his laughter enough to explain. “None of us has ever built a submarine before, so it would be a huge risk.”

“That's why it's easier to
neofacture
small things, like fruit”—I hold out my palm, concentrate, and a moment later a perfect orange appears in my hand—“than big, complex things.”

“Too many variables,” Troy adds.

Phoebe blushes. “Well, how would I know?”

She's still new to this whole powers-and-the-rules-that-bind-them world. She doesn't know the ins and outs yet, but she's learning.

“I could always try getting in touch with a mermaid.” I hook my thumbs in my waistband. “Although I'd have to find one first.”

“Wait,” Phoebe says, turning to walk backward in front of me. “Mermaids are real?”

She sounds so shocked I have to laugh. Greek gods and their descendants and magical powers—that's totally plausible, but she has trouble believing in mermaids?

“Yeah,” I say. “They are.”

“It's the heat of summer,” Troy argues. “They've probably
headed for cooler waters.”

We fall silent as we approach Phoebe's house.

It shouldn't be this difficult to get to the underwater palace. Of course, the gods like to make everything difficult, so why would I think this should be any different?

“I haven't got a clue,” I finally say as Phoebe opens her front door and leads us inside, back to her room. “How in the world am I going to find Poseidon's palace and get myself down there without drowning?”

Phoebe pushes open the door to her room and I walk inside. I freeze two steps in when I see Griffin sitting on her bed.

Warning sensors blare in my brain. No, it's not
impossible
that Phoebe's boyfriend sitting there waiting for her is a total coincidence. But I've never been a big believer in coincidence.

“Phoebe?” The warning edge in my voice is unmistakable.

She moves to stand next to Griffin.

“He needs to know.” She takes his hand. “This affects him, too.”

I'm not sure how long I stand there fuming. Long enough for Troy to sneak around me and sink into the chair at Phoebe's desk. Long enough for the anger to fade from my bloodstream. Long enough for me to process why I'm so freaked about this.

I didn't want anyone else involved in this stupid quest. First Troy wiggled his way in. Then Phoebe did. Now she's bringing Griffin in, too. Why don't we get her stepsister Stella involved? Maybe Stella's boyfriend Xander, too? How about the whole school?

This quest is too dangerous. I don't want the responsibility of messing up their lives.

I was supposed to do this alone.

He stands, looking straight at me. “I know how you can get to the palace.”

“You shouldn't have told him, Phoebe,” I say.

“She didn't,” Griffin says.

Phoebe shakes her head. “Not all of it. Just the part about the seashell.”

“I told him the rest,” Troy volunteers.

“You what?” I spin on him and am amazed when he doesn't flinch. He's just full of courage lately.

“His parents vanished, Nic,” Troy says, his hazel eyes soft with sympathy. “He wants this as much as you do. If this has any chance of working, we need all the help we can get.”

“I deserve to be part of this,” Griffin adds.

They're right. I know they're right, but I don't want them to be. I don't have a hero complex or anything. I don't want to be the savior who single-handedly fixes everything. Okay, I do, but that's not
all
of it. Other people—other people's emotions—complicate things. I don't want them risking everything for my mistake. This is my make good.

Still, as much as I want to argue, I know they make a valid point. My parents only got banished from the mythological world. I can still talk to them on the phone, video chat with them on Skype. As soon as I graduate, I'll be able to see them in real life.

Griffin's parents got smoted. As in vanished off the face of the earth, never to be heard from again.

He definitely has the greater stake in the time-travel quest. Just because I want to save the day, single-handedly fix everything with no risk to anyone else I care about, doesn't mean that's the right way to approach this. Considering how impossible task two is being, I clearly need the help.

I run my hands through my short hair, trying to smooth out my emotions.

“Okay,” I say. “What's your idea? How do I get to Poseidon's palace?”

Everyone in the room relaxes.

Griffin smiles. “It just so happens, I know a sea nymph who owes me a favor.”

Great. A sea nymph. They have a history of being . . . temperamental. This is going to be a treat.

The next morning at dawn we meet on the beach. As the sky in front of us melts from flaming orange into brilliant blue, we wait for Griffin's sea-nymph friend to arrive.

“I've never met a sea nymph,” Phoebe says, her voice full of excitement.

“Me neither,” I reply.

Troy adds, “They're not exactly common on land.”

“How do you know her?” Phoebe asks her boyfriend.

His cheeks turn bright red. “I, um . . .” He glances nervously at me, as if I can help him out here. When I shrug, he says, “When I was fifteen, she saw me on a yacht off the coast of Italy.”

Phoebe's brows scrunch up. “And . . . ?”

Griffin huffs out a breath. “And she pulled me overboard.”