The Eternity Key (6 page)

“Settle down, settle down,” Mr. Morgan says, coming into the room. “I see that a few of you found your belated Christmas presents. If you didn’t get a note in your cubbie, don’t despair; there are still a few parts left to assign. I’m still looking for a Hades, a handmaiden, and the Three Sisters Fate. I’ll be hosting one last round of auditions next week, so if you’ve been holding out on me, be sure to bring your A game. After that, rehearsals will begin in earnest. We’re only eleven weeks out from curtain.” He sits at the piano on the small stage at the front of the room and hits a key. “Daphne, will you lead the class in our vocal warm-up?”

Daphne takes the stage, and the others follow her lead. I’m not in the mood for singing, but I still watch as she sings a scale of notes from high to low. She looks so natural up there, calm—not on edge like she was only a few minutes ago when we were discussing the Key. Part of me gets why she didn’t want to skip music class, but her insistence on clinging to normalcy concerns me. We shouldn’t be singing warm-up notes when our time to find the Key is wasting away, but she is so stuck on her plan for her future that I am afraid she doesn’t realize that particular future may never come. What if her life never goes back to normal—how will she handle that?

And if by some miracle we
do
find the Key, stop the Keres, and escape the Court, will she really just go back to her regular-life plan? Forget about everything that has happened to her?

And what about us? Where do I fit in her grand plan? Will
she even want anything to do with me when this is all over? Or will she walk away from me, too?

You should tell her
. I haven’t been able to get Dax’s words out of my head since last night. Maybe if Daphne knew what she was walking away from, she’d reconsider.

Mr. Morgan catches my eye and gives me a cross look for not participating in the warm-up. I join my voice with the others, but I can tell mine sounds unsteady. The idea of telling Daphne about my feelings has me shaking again.

Between that and having lost control of that so-called strategy meeting, I’m not exactly feeling like the fearless leader that I need to be.

When class ends, I wait for Daphne, ready to escort her to our next class. Tobin stops her. He has the green diary in his hands. I realize now that he’d been holding it all through class.

“Can I keep this?” he asks Daphne.

“Of course,” she says, placing her hand on his arm. “You have more right to it than anyone.”

I know Dax would probably like to have a look at the diary, too, but I don’t say anything. Tobin squeezes Daphne’s hand and then takes his leave with the book.

Daphne lets me walk beside her on our way to humanities. My thoughts drift to when she held my hand before we left Ellis. The way her skin felt pressed against mine …

Daphne comes to a sudden halt in the classroom doorway. I hear a quick intake of breath through her lips. “What is it?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says, and quickly takes her seat. She almost seems embarrassed. I take my seat in the back of the class, wishing, not for the first time, that my desk were
closer to Daphne’s. But being in the back at least means I might be able to sneak in a few minutes of sleep. Ms. Leeds has proven herself to be somewhat nearsighted when it comes to my faults.

“Greetings, class,” a voice rings out just as I lay my head on my humanities book for a pillow. The voice is booming and male. A strange yet familiar energy buzzes in the air, sending an ominous shiver up my back. I snap upright, clenching the sides of my desk, as if bracing myself for a blow to the face. A very tall, very tan man with a close-trimmed beard stands at the podium where Ms. Leeds usually begins the class lecture. Tingling electric heat shoots through my arms.

I’ve seen him before.

“My name is Ethan Bowman. But you can call me Ethan. I don’t care for formalities. Your regular teacher has come into an unexpected … windfall. I will be teaching this class for the remainder of the year.” He looks through everyone else in the class and locks his eyes on me. A slight smile plays on his lips, like he’s letting me in on a joke. “I hope we can all get along just fine.”

His beard is shorter, his hair has been cut, and he’s dressed in crisp slacks and a button-up shirt rather than the grungy hat and coveralls that had been his disguise the last time I saw him.

He’s the trucker from the diner outside Vegas.

chapter five

I can’t take my eyes off the girl sitting in the front row of my humanities class. She’s new—I know I’ve never seen her before, but when I first walked into the classroom, I thought for almost a full three seconds that CeCe—oh yeah, Abbie—was sitting right in front of me. I almost dropped my tote bag and sprang at her for a hug before I realized how mistaken I was. The hair is totally different. Abbie’s hair was flame red and curly as could be, while this girl’s hair is a dark brunette, almost black, and her skin is a deep olive complexion. Not to mention that her tone is all wrong. CeCe had a jazzy, friendly tone like Tobin’s (when he isn’t angry), while this girl puts off a jumbled mesh of notes that sounds chaotic.

But everything else about her, from her face to the way she sits in her chair with both legs crisscrossed on top of the seat to the way she tugs on her hair while she reads, is so much like Abbie that for another two seconds I thought she was in some sort of elaborate disguise. But watching the girl now from my seat in the second row, I realize that she is far too young and too tall to be Abbie.

I am so distracted by the girl that I don’t notice the new
teacher until he starts talking. I stare at him and notice that he has almost the same look as the new girl. A connection that makes sense when after he finishes introducing himself, he says, “And one of the perks of being a teacher here is that I get to spend more time with my niece and nephew, who just started attending today. Both of whom happen to be in our class.” He indicates the girl. “This is Terresa Gordan.” And then he points to a teenage boy near the windows, whom I also hadn’t noticed before. “And this is her cousin, Calix.”

The boy scans the classroom with his dark eyes. The hair stands up on my arms, as if there’s an abundance of static electricity in the air. I look at Haden, but it’s like he’s intentionally not looking at me. A thought starts to form in my head, but before I can finish it, a silent message pops up on the iPad that sits on my desk with my textbook cued up. I keep my phone turned off at school but forgot that my texts get sent to my iPad when it’s left on. I figure the message is from Joe, wanting to see if he can bring me lunch like he used to before winter break—before I knew the truth—and almost dismiss the text without reading it. Then I notice it’s from Dax.

Skylords, the text says. There are Skylords in your classroom.

I almost jump out of my seat when I read it, but a second text pops up almost immediately. This time, it’s from Haden:
Do not react.

I start to look at him, but a barrage of further messages stops me:

Haden:
Don’t look at me.

Don’t acknowledge me.

Pretend you barely know me.

I nod slightly, even though I know Haden isn’t looking at me.
My first thought is that we should try to run, but then I realize that with Terresa by the door and Calix by the windows, they’ve got all the exits covered. We’re basically trapped.

My second thought is to play sick and ask for a hall pass, or maybe to text Dax to call us down to the office.… But, no, both of those would look suspicious. And what if they tried to stop us? That would be three against one. Well, two, if you count me, but it’s not like I know how to use my burgeoning powers for anything more complex than making raindrops dance. Maybe I could will chalk dust to fly in their eyes?

Yeah, that would be really useful against demigods who can wield lightning and thunder. In a room full of mortals no less. I have a feeling Skylords don’t have much of a problem with the concept of collateral damage.

I’m about to stealth-text Haden to discuss strategy when I hear a measured, symphonic tone hovering above my head. I look up to see the Skylord named Ethan standing in front of my desk. “I hope you’re studying the lesson on that contraption and not idling away your time on other concerns,” he says, smiling down at me in a seemingly knowing way.

“Uh, yes,” I say, quickly exiting out of my texting app. A textbook page pops back up on my screen, and I set my iPad on top of my desk to show him that I was scanning today’s lesson.

“Daphne Raines, is it?” he asks.

I nod.

“Can I borrow this?” he says, and his bronze fingers snatch up my iPad before I even have the chance to answer. My heart drops into my stomach like a rock as he looks at the screen. I can see his finger swiping on the surface, as if he’s looking for something. Was he onto my and Haden’s texting? The muscles in my
legs tense, getting ready to bolt. But it’s not like I’d get past the CeCe-sort-of-look-alike in front of the door. I wish more than anything that I could see Haden’s reaction.

“What can you tell me about this?” Ethan says, holding my iPad aloft for the class, or maybe just for the other two Skylords in the room.

I look up at it, expecting to see the texts from Haden on display for everyone’s view, but instead I see a picture of a sculpture from our Greek mythology unit. It’s of a tall, thin, curly-haired young man with wings embracing a nubile woman, who is reaching up to cup her hands around his face. The two look as though they are about to kiss.

“Daphne?” Ethan asks, prodding me for an answer. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the female Skylord eyeing me. I’m sure the one named Calix is watching me also, but I don’t dare look toward the back of the room.

My thoughts are too clouded by the adrenaline leaving my body to come up with anything. I shake my head dumbly. Maybe behaving like an idiot will help my cover.

“Anyone else?” Ethan asks.

“He’s an angel,” Bridgette says, her sentence arching up at the end so I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question.

“Well, he’s certainly divine, but, no, not an angel. That is a common mistake, I’m afraid. Anyone else?”

Lexie’s hand goes up with a confident flick of her wrist, showing her disdain for those of us who couldn’t get the answer. We may be pseudofriends now, but I’m sure she’s happy for the opportunity to show me up. “
Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss
, by Antonio Canova, circa 1777. It resides in the Musée du Louvre,” she says, accenting her French at the end.

“Very good …” He checks the seating chart on the podium. “Lexie?”

She nods, and I can tell by the melody spiraling up from her that she is wholly unaware of his Skylord status and might be developing a teacher crush. For the moment, I figure it’s better if she doesn’t know anything.

“But isn’t Cupid supposed to be some fat little baby in a diaper who goes around shooting people with heart-shaped arrows on Valentine’s Day?” Bridgette says. “I mean, the dude in that sculpture is kinda hot.”

An amused smile edges Ethan’s lips. “Another common misconception. I am afraid Cupid—or Eros, as he probably prefers to be called—is the mythological god who has had his image most distorted by modern commercialism. He was, in fact, a man, and was part of one of the greatest love stories in all of history. Many of the most famous fairy tales and love stories—Rapunzel, Romeo and Juliet, Beauty and the Beast, Rumpelstiltskin, and even Sleeping Beauty—all find their roots in Cupid and his beloved Psyche’s tragic tale.”

Ethan tells the story of how Cupid fell in love with a woman named Psyche, and how their love was forbidden by Cupid’s mother, Aphrodite. We hear of the many obstacles and tragedies that befell their love and kept them apart. The other girls in the class are watching Ethan dreamily as he speaks of true love, and I am almost distracted from his clutch on my iPad by the absurdity of it all, but my ears perk up when Ethan mentions Psyche’s journey to the underworld. Apparently, in order to prove her love for Cupid to Aphrodite, she was tasked with retrieving a portion of Persephone’s beauty in a box.

“Persephone freely gave Psyche the box and warned her not
to open it. Unfortunately, when Psyche returned with the box, her curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it to see what was inside, perhaps hoping to claim some of Persephone’s beauty for herself to further strengthen Cupid’s love. But as soon as she opened it, she fell into a deep sleep, like unto death. None could wake her, save true love’s kiss from Cupid himself. Upon rescuing her from the enchanted sleep, Cupid, with Psyche, fled to Zeus, hoping to find refuge and seek intervention from any further punishement dished out by Aphrodite.

“Now this is where scholars differ on how the story ends. Some say that Zeus granted the two amnesty and convinced Aphrodite to drop her wrath against them. Others say that Zeus was angry with Cupid for allowing this forbidden love to continue, and cast them both out, cursing them never to be together again. So I guess it is up to you to believe whichever story you choose. Do you believe that tragedy comes to those who disobey the will of the gods, or do you believe that true love conquers all?”