by Raye Wagner
“Is it because Athan found her?” He’d hinted at this before.
Xan shook his head. “Not my story. But he did everything arse backward.”
Hope studied him. There was more to this story, too. “Why do you hate him?”
“I don’t hate him.” He took a deep breath. “Actually.” His shoulders dropped.
She waited for him to continue, anxious to hear about Athan, and a little curious about Xan, too.
He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over, but with his quick reflexes, he grabbed it before it hit the floor. “You better hurry up. You have class.”
She stared up at him, hoping he would change his mind, sit down, and spill, but then his words sunk in. She glanced up at the clock on the wall behind him and then jumped up from the table.
“Holy Hades!” She dropped her bowl in the sink. “I’ll get that later!” she yelled as she ran out the door.
“LET’S GO OVER HOW the library is organized.”
Hope dropped the green folder containing information on Hermes’s sons and stared up at Obelia in shock.
“Really?” Hope had asked Obelia twice and been refused. Twice. As the days ticked by and Hope wasted time studying about demigods, incidentally not in alphabetical order, she’d occasionally poked around in the shelves closest to her desk. She’d found information on psychology, sociology, and anthropology. Interesting but not particularly helpful.
“You’ll need to be able to do research for your next few assignments, so we can’t put it off any longer.”
She’d been putting it off? Of course, she had.
“The library is organized by era first. Depending on when the book was written or published. Publication date takes precedence if there’s a discrepancy. If the book was never published, then it will be found in the era in which it was written.”
Hope nodded as she recited the information to herself.
“Once you get in the right era, books are organized by subject, then finally by author.”
“Like a regular library,” Hope said.
“Right.”
“But how do you know what is what if there are no labels on the shelves?” Hope’s leg bounced with excitement, and her heart thrummed with anticipation. This was it. She was going to finally be able to start her search.
“There’s a map. There, on the wall.” Obelia pointed to countless frames lining the walls. Quite literally, there were hundreds. Maybe thousands.
Was she kidding? Reading the maps would take years. She was never going to find anything.
“That’s the only way?” Her heart thudded dully with despair, and tears burned her eyes. It would be impossible. She’d never find anything.
Obelia pursed her lips. “Or you can use the computer.”
Like flipping a switch, anger clenched Hope’s stomach.
“And where, pray tell, is the computer?” Gods, did demigods take lessons on being obtuse?
Obelia pointed to the desk. She pushed a button under the right corner. The wood grain became translucent, and the bright light of a computer screen glowed to life.
Hope rolled her eyes. Right there, the entire time.
Obelia gave a brief lesson on searching for books by topic, title, author, and era. It took less than ten minutes. She then collected the rainbow of folders and stood. “Why don’t you spend the rest of class time getting comfortable with this? We’ll pick up studying tomorrow.”
Wait. “Really?”
Obelia raised her eyebrows. “Did you want to do something different?”
“No. This is great.” Just go away. “Thanks.”
Obelia left, and Hope tapped on the screen, trying various combinations of keywords, authors, and eras. Thankfully, she had a notebook to record the titles and locations. She tested it out and spent the better part of the next two hours familiarizing herself with the computer, then the library. When the lunch hour was coming to a close, Hope entered several more searches. It was the best she could do to bury her history. With minutes before her next class, she sprinted to her still sterile room and shoved the books between the crisp, white linens of her bed.
Hope sat up all night reading page after page, searching for some clue about Apollo, curses, and monsters. Hope continued to spend her days in classes, but her nights were now filled with research. After the first day, she stopped taking the books to her room and spent the bulk of her night in the library, catching only a few hours of sleep each night.
As the new moon approached, she felt the urgency to find the information. Time was running out, and no matter what else Priska had said, Hope knew she couldn’t change at the conservatory.
HOPE SAT AT WHAT SHE considered her desk in the library, a tentative truce easing the tension between her and Obelia. The smell of paper, leather, and old books hung heavily in the air. Hope was studying about Hermes, and thoughts of Athan burned through her concentration. She stared at the paper listing the god’s children, but her focus was on the only one she knew.
With a big swallow of apprehension, she looked up at Obelia. The demigod daughter of domesticity was scowling at the computer screen.
“Can I ask you something?” Hope blurted.
“Can?” Obelia glanced up at Hope and sneered. “Can is the ability. So, can you?”
Hope blushed, wishing she could take the words back. “Um, yeah. Never mind.”
“That’s not a question.” Obelia let out a slow breath, and her face cleared. “Do you have a question?”
“Well, I wanted to know, um . . .” Hope hesitated, shifting in her seat. How should she ask? Was there a better way to do it? More than anything, she didn’t want to say it the wrong way and not get an answer. “I wanted to know about how you came to the conservatory. I heard Athan found you, too.”
Obelia froze. There was one, two, three heartbeats of silence.
“Yeah, Athan found me, but he didn’t bring me here.” Obelia pointed to the ground as she spoke and then gritted her teeth.
Either she would continue or not, but Hope wasn’t going to stop her for anything.
Obelia’s petite body sagged. “I was in Nairobi, British East Africa. That’s where my father was from. He died when I was very young, and I lived with two of his sisters in the city. My aunts were charmed with the foreigner who came to call. He was well-off, well educated, and seemed to be well respected in the short time he’d been in the community.” Obelia wrung her hands. “I used to love to hear him say my name, especially when the room was silent. He would whisper, but he knew I could hear. It would make me laugh.”
Hope stared at Obelia, slack-jawed. She couldn’t be saying . . . There was no way . . . A growing weight pushed on Hope’s chest. “You dated Athan?”
Obelia’s laugh was filled with bitterness and scorn. “Sure. At least I thought so.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s his way of getting you to leave with him, to trust him.”
The sting of betrayal burst white hot in Hope’s chest.
“It’s his way?” Hope took a ragged breath; the pressure was unbearable.
“Well, it certainly seems to have become his way.” Her brow creased, and she pointed at Hope. “You didn’t know.” She stood up. “You thought he was serious about you?” Pain flashed through her eyes, and her features hardened. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry.
All Hope could think was she would not cry in front of Obelia. With another deep breath, Hope closed her eyes and swallowed her hurt. She imagined the crumpled bricks around her heart being replaced with steel walls. Hard. Cold. Impenetrable. She shouldn’t have asked. When she opened her eyes, Obelia was still there with a small, contemptuous smile playing on her lips.
Hope refused let the other girl see how much she’d been hurt. “No worries. I completely understand the mix-up.” She straightened and met Obelia’s dark gaze. “I hope you’ll excuse me.” Hope stood and gathered her things. “Thanks for the information. You’re a wealth of knowledge.”
Obe
lia smirked, but her dull eyes were haunted with pain.
Hope forced herself to walk until she was out of the library, but once the door closed behind her, she ran to her room. Slamming the door shut, she flung herself on the bed, burying her head into the bright cotton bedding. When the first sob came, the dam broke, and Hope cried her pain into her pillow. Shame, anger, and hurt controlled her body until she couldn’t move, and exhaustion took over.
The morning light made the night seem very far away, and Hope began to doubt the veracity of Obelia’s story. After all, she was clearly a bitter person. Hope needed clarification. She needed verification. She needed someone she could count on for the truth.
Xan came to mind, as did Dahlia. Both were forthright, even brutally honest. She needed that. But both had made it clear they were not impartial regarding Athan.
With a growl of frustration, Hope crossed the black and white room to get in the shower.
HOPE WENT TO BREAKFAST, distracted and distraught. She’d scrubbed the evidence of her pain from her face, but her back was throbbing. She would have to leave today or early tomorrow morning at the latest to make the change, but she wanted to talk to someone first.
“Hey.” Xan bumped shoulders with Hope while she stood at the open fridge. “You’re looking a mite glum today.”
“Yeah?” She glanced at him, his good mood a grating irritation. “I’d hope I’m entitled to a bad day now and again.”
“Right.” He stepped back, surveying her.
She didn’t really want to fight with Xan. It wasn’t his fault she was irritable. It wasn’t his fault she’d been played. He’d even tried to tell her as much. She just hated that he was right. She stared at the contents of the pantry. Oatmeal, cold cereal, pasta, rice, and canned fruits and vegetables lined the shelves. What was with all the processed food? There had to be something else. She turned to open the next door, but it stuck. “Hey, this one—”
“That’s not a pantry, luv.” Xan crossed the hardwood floors.
Hope glanced down. A small keypad sat below the handle.
Xan grabbed her shoulders and rotated her back to the still open doors. “This is the pantry. That’s what we’ve got.”
Why would you have a closet in the kitchen? Hope swore and reached for a loaf of bread.
“All right then. I’ll be having a seat over there. If you want some company, you know where I am.” He bumped her with his hip before going back to his seat.
Hope made a quick sandwich and then left the kitchen without speaking to anyone else. She wandered outside on the damp grass. The huge mansion was actually quite small for all it contained. Hope contemplated the paradox of the immortal realm in the mortal world while she ate. Honestly, it made no sense. None of it. The conservatory sat in the middle of the city, but the demigods rarely left, instead choosing to stay safe in isolation because of Skia. Skia hunted demigods. Most demigods hunted monsters. And others sought out new or young demigods to bring them to the conservatory. Which seemed like another sad version of hiding. Her thoughts pounded into a solid headache at her temples. With a sigh, she decided to go to class. This morning it was “crafts and life skills” with Thenia, which usually meant building something.
Thenia, daughter or Athena, was one of those people. The ones so comfortable in their own skin you wanted to hate them, but you couldn’t because they were incredibly nice. Thenia was tall, probably close to six feet, and solidly built. She had long auburn hair and warm russet skin. From the notes she’d studied with Obelia, Hope knew Thenia’s father had been from one of the islands and living in Oregon when he met Athena. The demigod had been placed in a boarding school in Europe when she was younger and educated herself voraciously. She loved school, reading, the arts, strategic games, and hands-on projects. Most of the other demigods deferred to her. She was one of the senior demigods in the house—Xan being the other.
During one of their first lessons, Thenia shared how luck found her in boarding school when she was still a child. Demeter’s daughter, a girl named Lily, became her best friend, and Demeter had been quick to take Thenia under her wing, too. Hope hadn’t gotten to the Ds in history yet, so that was all she knew about Lily.
Hope made her way to the craft room attached to the greenhouse. The large oblong room was filled with industrial tables holding sewing machines, art easels, a pottery wheel, a spinning wheel, and boxes and bins of supplies. Several tables were covered with half-finished projects. Hope walked in and dropped into a seat at the first table. The room smelled of paint thinner, clay, and wet wool.
“Hope?” Thenia stood up from behind a far table.
Hope pulled herself from the chair and glanced to the back of the room. Two large plastic bins sat open on the table by the daughter of Athena. Yards of fabric were strewn across the surface, and a few had fallen to the floor, a veritable sea of color and patterns. A third bin, filled with envelopes, sat at Thenia’s feet, the lid propped up next to the chair.
“Come on back,” Thenia called.
Hope walked to the back of the room. As she approached, she noticed papers filled with lines on the next table over.
“Hey.” Hope glanced at the papers and fabric.
“Hey yourself.” Thenia was all sunshine and butterflies, but when her eyes met Hope’s, her voice dropped, “You all right?”
“Yeah, just great.” Hope frowned. “What are we doing today?”
“Oh, you’ll love it!” Thenia’s face lit up, and she held up a pattern. “I thought we could sew a skirt.” She cocked her head. “Do you know how to sew?”
This had become routine, especially with Thenia, who assumed Hope far more capable than she was. At least she’s nice about the disappointment. “No. I’ve never even picked up a needle and thread before.”
“Hmm.” Thenia pushed the fabric back, clearing a space. “Maybe we’d better begin with something more basic. Let’s do”—she surveyed the spread—“buttons. We can sew buttons. We’ll move on to a sewing project in a little bit. Always start easy, you know, to build confidence.”
Thenia did that a lot. She’d address Hope and then make a comment to herself about her teaching. Usually, Hope found it endearing. But today, it rubbed her irritation raw.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” Thenia asked as she pulled out needles, thread, and scraps of fabric from a bin near the wall.
“The little aside?” Hope glowered as Thenia dropped buttons on the table. “You told me what we’re going to do, and then it’s almost like you’re coaching yourself.”
Thenia laughed and sat next to Hope. “No, Hope, I’m not coaching me. I’m trying to coach you. It seems like you just got here, but soon enough you’ll find your skill, what you’re best at, and then you’ll have to master it. While you master it, you’ll also teach it. I’m trying to give you some teaching pointers.”
That was laughable. “I won’t ever be teaching here.” Ever.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Your talents may lead you in another direction, but it’s nice if you choose to contribute. When and where you can, of course. The choice is always yours.” Thenia motioned for Hope to come closer. “Now, let’s sew some buttons. Pick one out and grab a scrap of fabric.”
Thenia demonstrated how to thread a needle, tie it off, and sew a button securely onto fabric. It took Thenia all of two minutes. At the most. She then got up and started cutting fabric at the next table over.
It took Hope the better part of a quarter of an hour to get her needle threaded and knotted. Forty minutes later, Hope set her sewing project down with an, “Ugh!” There on the table in front of her was a mess of fabric and thread. Somewhere in that mess was a purple plastic button.
Thenia came over to where Hope sat chuckled as she examined Hope’s work. “Well, this is a mess. I don’t think we’ll be moving on to anything else today.”
Hope snorted her disgust. Nothing was going right.
Thenia tilted her head, and the skin around her eyes cr
eased. “What’s with you today? Your button’s a mess, but everyone’s first sewing project is. Who cares?”
The chastisement stung because, really, who cared about a button? “Sorry.”
“What’s the problem?” Thenia asked as she sat down next to Hope. “This isn’t really about the button, is it?”
Hope shook her head.
“What’s the matter?”
Hope’s defenses crumbled. Tears slid down her cheeks, and she fought to compose herself.
Thenia patted Hope’s knee and offered a sad smile. “Oh, no. What is it?” She leaned closer and gave Hope an awkward hug. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hope pulled away and dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t know.” But this was her best chance at getting a straight answer. She plunged ahead. “Obelia told me that Athan . . . that he’s manipulative, and—”
“This is about Athan?”
Hope bit the inside of her mouth and nodded.
Thenia dipped her head and took a long breath. “I’m sorry.” She met Hope’s gaze and held it. “I don’t know his whole story, but I’ll tell you what I can, okay?”
Fear made her want to curl in on herself, but Hope thought of her steel wall and sat up straight. “I want to know the truth.”
“Of course you do. Let me see.” Thenia scooted back in her chair and studied the vaulted ceiling. “You already know Athan’s dad is Hermes. The two of them are very close. I know he had several years with both of his parents before his mom died. He came to stay with us at the conservatory when he was probably ten or eleven.” She glanced at Hope and then focused on picking the knotted thread of her button. “Even then he was very charismatic. And when his grief abated, he exuded enthusiasm. He was practically a human magnet: charming, made everything fun, and enjoyed the company of everyone. He and Xan were very close, but he had lots of friends.
“He and Xan left the conservatory for a while, a couple of years, I think. I don’t know what happened. I’ve heard rumors, but neither Athan nor Xan have ever talked to me about it. They changed. Both of them. Although Xan has been better the last year or two. But Athan?” Thenia exhaled a slow breath. “Even though he was still able to put up the front, he became restless. Closed off. The last five years, he’s been all about his work. We heard rumors that he employed tactics to get demigods here to the conservatory, tactics that were manipulative, but we’d lost enough demigods to Skia that the end justified the means. Now when we see Athan, it’s usually only for a day or two. He spends most of his time searching. Sometimes, I’m not sure what he’s searching for. I’m not sure he knows, either.” Thenia propped her chin on her fist. “I hope one day he can find happiness again.”
